Greenmtnboy
62 Cal.
- Joined
- Dec 10, 2005
- Messages
- 2,582
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Well as a AMM member(American mountain man) I did my original Aux Aliments du pays("on my own hook")two falls ago in North west MT. But to be honest there wasn't much "going hungry" about that trip. Two hundred yrds from the wagon I ran into grouse and ate fat for the next three days, Huckleberries , wild artichokes, and lots of grouse really didn't make it much of a challenge.
So this spring with all the snow in the high country I figured that a spring solo camp on my own hook would be just the thing to really prove I was ready for my Hiveranno.
I have a honey hole I found a few years ago in Southern CO after weeks of pouring over maps and hiking many a mile. The only thing is that an a normal snow year the hike in is about four miles.
This year that four miles turned into a six mile hell march through, at times thigh deep snow.
I got to the head of secret creek late afternoon fri and was ass dragging something terrible.
Not a lot of dry camp places that were flat but as luck would have it not only did I find a dry flat patch of dirt it was under a roost tree with feathers and turkey poop and not all that old.
Not having anything more to digest but Bullet Rye I decided on a cold camp that night.
As evening fell I did a bit of scouting and got a volunteer gobble WAY down in the valley below me, at least 1,500 ft below me. Oh well.
At this point I was hungry I mean hiking all day in the mountains hungry and with nothing to eat I turned in for the night.
Next morning I was up well before dawn and heading down into the valley where I had gotten a volunteer gobble the evening before. I was probably five hundred yrds from where I thought the roost tree should be and started to "tree call" quietly no sooner had I hit mt turtle shell slate call when all hell broke loose. At least three or four lead hens started cackling hard at me telling me to PISS OFF, holy manure there had to be at least thirty birds roosted in four huge Ponderosa trees below me.
Well the draw back to my slate call I had made was the shell was small and didn't throw sound out very far so I grabbed my wing bone call and turned up the heat, cackling back louder than the lead hens figuring that if I sounded like the mother of all hens I would at least pull one lonely Tom out of the main flock.
This dueling banjos between me and said hens went on until day break when it all went quiet. THEY WERE ON THE GROUND! I slowed down and started to purr and cluck like a happy unpressured hen.
About 10 min later a group of about four Jakes came a hauling up hill to me with a nice Tom right behind them.
What to do? I was hungry and knew if I bumped the Jakes the gig was up. But man I wanted that bearded bird so I shut up and didn't move a muscle.
Well as luck would have it the Young Toms ran right up to me doing circles around me and the stump I was glued to and the Tom Hung up 50 yrds down hill doing the super strutt fan wide open spitting and drumming. Stupid bird.
Well the first Jake busted me and dropped his head and started down hill towards the strutting Tom at this point I went into hillbilly hunt mode. I stood up and put my front blade on the closest Jake and let him have it!
He went down in a pile of feathers and dust, YEEHAW dinner time.
I dressed out my bird( didn't want to hump any waste 1,500 ft uphill to camp) and got out of there.
Once back to camp I was so hungry and shaking I had a hell of a time getting a flint and steel fire going but the gods were on my side and 20 min later I had my bird roasting.
That day and the next was spent looking for early spring veggie shoots (onions) and scouting for my wife and daughter's hunt once the snow melts and access is a little quicker(never easier)
Sun morn dawned warm and windy and I knew a storm was a brewing so I humped my ass out of there and the rest is history.
So this spring with all the snow in the high country I figured that a spring solo camp on my own hook would be just the thing to really prove I was ready for my Hiveranno.
I have a honey hole I found a few years ago in Southern CO after weeks of pouring over maps and hiking many a mile. The only thing is that an a normal snow year the hike in is about four miles.
This year that four miles turned into a six mile hell march through, at times thigh deep snow.
I got to the head of secret creek late afternoon fri and was ass dragging something terrible.
Not a lot of dry camp places that were flat but as luck would have it not only did I find a dry flat patch of dirt it was under a roost tree with feathers and turkey poop and not all that old.
Not having anything more to digest but Bullet Rye I decided on a cold camp that night.
As evening fell I did a bit of scouting and got a volunteer gobble WAY down in the valley below me, at least 1,500 ft below me. Oh well.
At this point I was hungry I mean hiking all day in the mountains hungry and with nothing to eat I turned in for the night.
Next morning I was up well before dawn and heading down into the valley where I had gotten a volunteer gobble the evening before. I was probably five hundred yrds from where I thought the roost tree should be and started to "tree call" quietly no sooner had I hit mt turtle shell slate call when all hell broke loose. At least three or four lead hens started cackling hard at me telling me to PISS OFF, holy manure there had to be at least thirty birds roosted in four huge Ponderosa trees below me.
Well the draw back to my slate call I had made was the shell was small and didn't throw sound out very far so I grabbed my wing bone call and turned up the heat, cackling back louder than the lead hens figuring that if I sounded like the mother of all hens I would at least pull one lonely Tom out of the main flock.
This dueling banjos between me and said hens went on until day break when it all went quiet. THEY WERE ON THE GROUND! I slowed down and started to purr and cluck like a happy unpressured hen.
About 10 min later a group of about four Jakes came a hauling up hill to me with a nice Tom right behind them.
What to do? I was hungry and knew if I bumped the Jakes the gig was up. But man I wanted that bearded bird so I shut up and didn't move a muscle.
Well as luck would have it the Young Toms ran right up to me doing circles around me and the stump I was glued to and the Tom Hung up 50 yrds down hill doing the super strutt fan wide open spitting and drumming. Stupid bird.
Well the first Jake busted me and dropped his head and started down hill towards the strutting Tom at this point I went into hillbilly hunt mode. I stood up and put my front blade on the closest Jake and let him have it!
He went down in a pile of feathers and dust, YEEHAW dinner time.
I dressed out my bird( didn't want to hump any waste 1,500 ft uphill to camp) and got out of there.
Once back to camp I was so hungry and shaking I had a hell of a time getting a flint and steel fire going but the gods were on my side and 20 min later I had my bird roasting.
That day and the next was spent looking for early spring veggie shoots (onions) and scouting for my wife and daughter's hunt once the snow melts and access is a little quicker(never easier)
Sun morn dawned warm and windy and I knew a storm was a brewing so I humped my ass out of there and the rest is history.
