Visions of the Way it Was, Circa 1961
The First Mule Deer, 1961
By Tom Dorigatti
As I stated in my last blog about that monster pronghorn
buck I took with my 30-06 rifle a few days after I turned 14, I was born and
raised with a fishing pole in one hand and a trusty rifle in the other! I won’t bore you with repeating past details
about the cost of licenses, and how great the hunting was back in the later
1950’s and throughout the 1960’s. I’ve
already outlined that in my prior blog concerning that B&C pronghorn hunt.
The Search for a Decent
Sized Mule Deer Buck
By and large, finding a decent sized mule deer buck back in
1961 wasn’t a big problem. As you will
see, the problem was with getting to them once you “found them.” My father was by and large a spot and stalk
hunter, OR, he would take me up to the top of a mountain before daylight and
wait for the shooting to start and that would drive the big bucks and/or bulls
up to us. Climbing mountains in the dark
however is yet another story I’ll relate to you later!
This blog is about a spot and stalk of what at the time, to
a 14-year old kid seemed to be of epic proportions. I knew I was going to get me a mule deer, but
didn’t know quite how, when, or where this would happen.
On the morning of this hunt, the weather was pretty rough
and forecasts weren’t the best. Thus, we
slept in, hoping to head out late morning instead of before sunrise so as to
avoid a “bust” of our hunt due to weather.
What a crappy, cold, overcast, and windy day this was going to be!
We headed out with intents and purposes to hunt on Little
Prospect Mountain, which is North of Farson, Wyoming and on the way to the Big Sandy
Openings. We weren’t going to end up
there either, however. Nope. On the way, my dad decided to stop along the
road to investigate “Elk Mountain,” a spot he’d always wanted to hunt, but
hadn’t yet done so. That, as I soon
found out was about to change.
But before we get here, let’s relay the equipment that was
being used on this hunt for mule deer:
The rifle used was a Montgomery Wards 30-06 sporter with a
right handed Mauser 98 bolt action and a 4X Weaver Scope and a standard stock
mounted leather rifle sling. The stock
was a standard walnut Monte Carlo stock with
the cheek pad on the wrong side for this left-handed shooter. I never had a rifle with the cheek piece on
the correct side for shooting left handed!
I also didn’t like left handed bolts, so we never bothered with that
option either. We also did not use
tripods on our guns back then; I had to learn the standing, kneeling, and
sitting positions with only the aid of the standard military manner of using
the rifle sling to steady the rifle. It
had a 22” barrel on it and for a 120 pound kid, this rifle absolutely kicked
like a mule!
Here are the other specifications for those of you
interested in reloading the 30-06 caliber loads. For the pronghorn I had used
the load with the 4320 powder. Over the
course of the prior 3 weeks, we switched to the load with the 4350 powder.
Why? Heck I don’t know, haha.
Bullet: .308 Sierra Semi Point, 150 grains (we used
180 grain bullets for elk).
Powder: 58 grains of IMR
4350, (or IMP 4320, 52 grains
powder). We kept our loads separate and
appropriately marked.
Brass: Military Brass, fire-formed and neck sized
only. (Fire-form load: IMR 4320
powder, 49 grains.)
Primer: Winchester
C-120, flash hole cleaned before reloading.
Speed: approximately 2950 fps.
I didn’t note before that back then, hunter orange was just
beginning to make the scene. We were
required to wear bright red caps and upper body garments. Camouflage clothing wasn’t prevalent, nor
could it be used during rifle season anyway.
So, as you will see in the photo of me and that deer, I was clad in
exactly the same coat, hat, and shirt that I was wearing when I took the
B&C pronghorn 3 weeks prior.
Elk Mountain
So, we are driving along the rough dirt road and my dad
decides to stop and to “glass” Elk
Mountain from the
road. He starts in to glassing from the
top of the mountain down. He hadn’t
glassed for more than two minutes when he seemed to just stare at a single
point for what seemed like forever. Then
he said, “Well, well, there they are.
There are at least 7 of them and I’m thinking there are also several
large bucks there, too. I guess we will
just have to go up there and see if we can nail one of them. Grab your gun, ammo, and put the rope in your
pocket. Mom, you stay here, Tommy and I
are going up that mountain and fetch us a deer.” So, the “stalk” begins.
Now if you look at the photo, Elk Mountain
may look like it is really close.
Wrong! It is a long hike to the
area where my dad spotted those deer moving over the crest and down into the
“hollow” depicted by the arrow on the photo!
The brush is high, and there is more than one climb involved, along with
some pretty steep grades to negotiate as well.
It was approximately a mile to mile and a half to where we needed to go
to get to those deer.
I remember making a comment to my dad as I was getting the
stuff together, and it made him a bit angry with me: I remember saying, “Yeah, it was probably a
bunch of sheep that you saw and we’ll get up there to look at sheep.” That was the wrong thing to say, and it
insured that I was going to have to climb that mountain so he could prove
himself right in what he saw, too!
So, the climb begins.
I was told at the start that unless any deer we saw on the way up there
were huge and close, we were NOT going to shoot at anything. We were on a mission for one of those big
ones that were up there, and that was it.
So, we climbed, and we climbed, and then climbed some more. It was really cold and windy, and the wind
was in our faces the entire way up there. (That is a good thing, however,
because they weren’t going to hear us or smell us!)
We are Close:
After all this climbing, we are finally almost to the top of
the lower of two ridge lines that are near the top of Elk Mountain.
If you view the photo, we came in from the right side, but stayed off the ridge
line. We ran into several deer on the
way up there, but nothing would sway my dad from his goal of getting to the big
ones he knew were there. The deer (or
what I thought were sheep, ha), were settled in the hollow between the ridge we
were on and the top of the mountain, sort of like a small saddle (see arrow). We stopped, and my dad gave me explicit
instructions: “When we go over the top,
all hell is going to break loose. There
likely will be deer all over the place and they’ll be surprised. I want you to sit down and take out the first
BIG mule deer buck that you see. Don’t
waste time, take your shot, and do what you know how to do. They will be close, so you shouldn’t miss. Now, close your bolt half-way, and let’s go
get ‘em.”
So, that is what we did.
We came over the top of the rise, and by golly, those weren’t sheep that
were in that hollow, those were several does and also several very, very large
bucks to boot. So, I immediately spot a
large buck, about 30 yards away, standing there looking at me. I finished closing the bolt, sat down, put
the cross-hairs low on his neck and pulled the trigger. Down went that deer! Then, all hell really broke loose as more
bucks got up out of the high brush and started for the top of the ridge! There were literally deer growing up out of
the brush. However, my deer was down, so
I just sat there and watched them start to bug out. My father is yelling at me to shoot the
bloody deer…the big one over here.
“Dammit, you missed him! Shoot
again, before he gets away.” I told my
dad the deer was down. He then smacked
me along side the head and grabbed my rifle and said, “If you won’t shoot then
I will.” Fortunately, my dad took a
longer shot at a running buck (bigger than the one I shot), and he missed that
shot. Now he was furious with me for
“blowing my chances at a big buck!” I
kept telling him that I had already shot a big buck and he was ranting and
raving at me for screwing up.
I got up after he roughly gave me rifle back to me and he
said, “well that was a wasted hike up this *$@*% mountain for NOTHING. You idiot!
I told you to shoot quickly and you missed an easy shot! I started walking towards the deer that was
down and I remember him saying, “We are not going after those deer, they are
long gone. We are going back to the
car! I told him, “Dad, we are going over
to get the deer that I shot.” I started
walking to the dead deer with him hollering at me to go the other way. Finally, he followed along, grumbling about
the blown opportunity. He grumbled for about
15 yards until he finally saw the dead buck lying in the brush. Obviously, his demeanor changed and he was
put to rest and assured that Tommy hadn’t screwed everything up, but had done
what he was told, as in: “Take the first big buck you see that is close, and
shoot him.”
So, we get to the deer, and I remember me saying, “So now
how are we going to get him out of here?”
My dad said, and I specifically remember this, “First YOU have to clean
him, so get out your knife and get busy on it.”
I said, “Aren’t you going to help me?”
He then said, “Nope. I cleaned
the goat for you, this one belongs to you!
You shot it, you clean it, but don’t get blood and guts all over your
clothes or you’ll be in big trouble.”
About The Knife
The knife I used is something unique; it is an heirloom. There probably aren’t more than 10 of these
knives in existence, since they were individually hand-made by a relative that
was a professional hunter’s guide in Wyoming
for many years, Norman Gillespie. This
knife is made out of used power hack saw blades, with a brazed on handle bolt,
and real elk-horn for the handle. Note
that the blade has the cutting edge on one side (not hollow ground, however),
and the hack saw teeth on the other, with the grooves for the fingers even
carved out of the elk-horn. The reason
for the hack saw teeth, out West, when we clean big game, we split the rib cage
from diaphragm all the way to the edge of the brisket. We also split the pubic bone as well. This prevents tearing any “gut” and/or
getting any of that onto the hind quarters.
It also makes for better venting and quicker cooling of the carcass and
makes it a ton easier to get the lungs and upper body entrails out of the
animals. There were other manufactured tools out there at the time, but this
knife was a do it all and was light, compact, and very effective in getting the
job done.
I managed somehow to clean that deer and also didn’t get any
blood on me anywhere other than my hands.
Now what to do to haul this 200+ pound animal out of here and down
(fortunately only one rise to get over, then downhill the rest of the way).
My dad tells me to get out my rope and we will cut down a
small aspen and carry him down “Indian style.”
Rope? What rope? Yep, in my hurried rush to get the stuff
together, I had left the ¼” rope in the car, and the car was at the base of Elk Mountain! So, I got to do the next best thing and that
was to take my shoe laces (leather laces) and cut off a few short pieces to tie
the boots on good enough to walk in. The
rest of the leather laces were used to lash the deer’s hooves to the “pole” so
we could carry that deer down the mountain. (Did I tell you that the “knife”
makes for a good saw to saw down the aspen “pole” we used?) The only good side to this was that my dad
carried the back end of the deer, while I got the “lighter” and “Pokier” end of
the animal to fight with. Several hours
later, we got the deer off that mountain, and took the photos of the animal by
the car. Mom was ecstatic and thought
this was terrific. My dad was still
miffed a bit that I hadn’t seen the giant one he was looking at until I had
already taken this one. He gave me “crap”
about forgetting that rope for years and years afterwards. But it isn’t the only “crap” I was going to
take for minor “mess ups.”
I will mention again that this mulie wasn’t the biggest on
in the herd. The one my dad took the
shot at was by far larger than this one!
However, I had only followed his instructions and took the first big
mulie I saw that was close and a sure shot.
I don’t think that shot was any farther than 30 or at most, 40
yards. We had managed to sneak right up
on them and surprise the heck out of them!
The antlers were very thick beamed, a true and near perfect 4X4 buck
with 30” across the beams. This time, we
managed to get the antlers off the skull without breaking them. They were mounted and sat in my dad’s garage
for many years. He gave them to my uncle
from England
that wanted them to take back to England with him, and I don’t know
whatever came of them after that.
The biggest memories from that hunt are the “those are
probably sheep”, that cold, blustery October day, the long climb, the
surprising of the herd of deer, that single shot, my father yelling at me
because he was looking at one deer and I had already shot a different one, the
“You shot him, you clean him” comment, forgetting the rope, and the long,
arduous carrying of that heavy thing off of “Elk Mountain” near Farson, Wyoming
in 1961.
In my next blog, I’ll relate a story about a terrific group elk
hunt, circa, 1963! Unfortunately, the
photos of the camp and the elk we harvested have been lost, but the memories
are still vivid in my mind! Oh, but for
the good ole days of easy hunting in old Wyoming! Oh, if I could only provide you photos of
these (note the plural) elk!
--Tom Dorigatti, May, 2015
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