Editor’s note: Reader Frank Davido of The Dalles submitted this article.
by Frank Davido
Finn was just 9 years old last year when he came to deer camp for the first time with our group in Heppner, Ore. He is my brother’s son’s boy – my great nephew — and he truly is a “great” kid.
Finn’s interest in hunting came from reading some of the other stories that I have written. His mother, Jen, was raised in Las Vegas and had no experience with hunting and had somewhat of a negative view of hunters and hunting. She told me that Finn would like to hunt with me, and even though she wasn’t enthusiastic, she would honor his wishes. I had her read Call of the Mild, and had Finn and his father Erik take the hunter safety course together in Seattle, where they live.
They took a little Rossi single-shot .22 to their cabin on Lake Wenatchee before that first deer camp. Finn, Jen, and Mona, Finn’s little sister, all shot the .22 and had a great time. Mona is now getting ready to take the hunter safety class this winter and plans to come to deer camp next year. I plan to have a week of greydigger camp with Mona this summer before she come to deer camp.
I had cut one of my rifles down to fit Finn the previous August and he had shot it a few times at a deer target, but he hadn’t practiced enough to feel comfortable shooting at a real buck. As it turned out, although we saw many does that hunt, I was unable to find that real buck for him to shoot in the few days he was allowed to miss school for deer camp.
He was also disappointed that he and I did our hunting by sitting on a stand and waiting for the deer to come to us. All of the other hunters in camp were stalking deer, and he wanted to do the same.
In March he accompanied the hunting party to Idaho to hunt for European boars, and although he was successful on that hunt, he was still having some trouble shooting from a standing position. In July, we arranged for Finn to come and stay with my wife, Jean Ann, and I for a few days in The Dalles to hunt greydiggers, a variety of ground squirrel that is a real nuisance to farmers. Getting Finn to The Dalles became a bit of an adventure in itself. He was supposed to fly out of Seattle and land in Yakima where Jean Ann and I would meet his plane. We got in the car and headed for Yakima two hours before his plane was scheduled to leave Seattle. When we emerged from the cell phone dead zone of Satus Pass, we had a message from Erik. Finn had missed his plane by two minutes. Traffic in Seattle had held Jennifer up and though the plane was still sitting on the tarmac when they made their frantic dash through the terminal, the gate attendants would not let Finn board the plane.
He was devastated. Erik said Finn and Jen were both in tears. Being retired, we offered to just drive on over to Seattle to get him, but Erik said he would leave his office and drive downtown to get Finn at Jen’s office then try to meet us at the freeway rest stop just west of Ellensburg. As we passed Ellensburg, we were able to phone Erik and found he hadn’t passed North Bend yet and so we revised the plan again and arranged to meet at the restaurant at the summit of Snoqualmie Pass. Not only did we get one happy hunter, but we also had a good lunch.
On the way back to The Dalles, we stopped at Cabela’s in Yakima. I bought a Ruger 10-22 with a scope for Finn and any other of the kids in the family to use to hunt greydiggers. The rifle had been bore sighted, but we needed to change the scope relief for Finn’s eye, and I let him adjust it to his preferences then had him put the bore sight back in and get it close enough to start fine tuning it on paper targets. We took the rifle to the wheat ranch of a very good friend, and out behind the barn, Finn zeroed the rifle at 50 yards.
FINN SIGHTS IN THE 10-22. (BROWNING PHOTO CONTEST)
After shooting most of a box of shells at targets, he was anxious to start the hunt. This would give him the chance to walk around and shoot squirrels from a number of different positions and at varying distances. It is exactly what I should have done with him the year before. By the time he had spent the week stalking the little critters, he was shooting squirrels at ranges up to 100 yards from sitting, kneeling and standing.
THE GROUND SQUIRRELS LEARNED TO FEAR FINN AND HIS RIFLE. (BROWNING PHOTO CONTEST)
This year was to be my hunting group’s moose hunt. Because we would be in Canada during the first week of the Oregon deer season, our party decided not to apply for deer tags. Instead, most of the group bought a preference point that will guarantee that we get drawn for the 2014 deer hunt in Heppner. I, however, couldn’t take a boy deer hunting one year and then tell him that it would be two years before he could do it again, so I applied for a West Biggs tag with a second choice of Hood River. The chances of drawing the West Biggs tag without any preference points was 72 percent, but the Hood River backup would guarantee a deer tag somewhere within driving distance of home.
I talked with another good friend who has wheat in the West Biggs unit on the breaks of the Deschutes Canyon and got permission to hunt on his land if we drew the tag. The tag would be in my name, however, through the Oregon Mentored Hunter Program; Finn would again be able to hunt with me and fill my tag if he had the opportunity.
I got lucky and drew the West Biggs tag, but shortly thereafter a wildfire in the Deschutes Canyon took the critical deer food and shelter around Freebridge then jumped the river and burned up the Sherman County side to Harris Canyon and then jumped the river again and burned back down to about where it had started. This reduced the number of deer in the area and changed my plans for hunting. Another fire in my friend’s wheat during harvest destroyed a truck and quite a few acres of wheat further reducing the chances of success on his ranch.
The moose group returned to The Dalles with five moose that needed to be cut and wrapped on Tuesday, the fourth day of the Oregon deer season. We cut all day Wednesday and Thursday and until 3:00 p.m. on Friday. Erik, Finn and Erik’s friend Bruce arrived Friday evening to start Finn’s hunt on Saturday. Erik and Bruce brought their dogs and planned to hunt birds while Finn and I looked for a deer. We spent all of Saturday looking for places that could be hunted for birds and or deer. We got up early and drove to the top of the canyon at Freebridge. I had Finn load his rifle and we crept to the edge and looked down to the river far below– no deer, but we did jump a covey of chukar. The dogs ran and sniffed, relieved themselves and then we loaded back up in the truck and continued to the upper end of my friends wheat fields.
As we drove back to the pavement, we saw the first deer of the day. On a ridge a few hundred yards away, we saw three does and a small buck. We stopped and watched, but because I didn’t have permission to hunt on the property, we were soon on our way again.
Chem-fallow, a process of controlling weeds by spraying instead of by plowing and cutting the stubble short for no-till seeding, has changed the look of wheat land. Stubble is cut much shorter than it was in the days of summer-fallow. The short stubble doesn’t seem to provide the cover necessary for game birds and the populations have declined noticeably.
From Freebridge, we drove to the mouth of the Deschutes River by way of the Old Moody Road high on the canyon wall above the Columbia River. We saw a couple of herds of does and a herd of five branched antler bucks. I know the rancher who owns this land and even though I know he usually doesn’t allow hunting on his land, I felt I should ask just to see if there might be a chance. There was no change. I believe it was good for Finn to see that we could be denied permission and not hold any ill feelings toward the rancher. I think it was also good for him to see that I wasn’t even considering letting him shoot from the road – he was here to hunt and that was what we were going to do.
We drove to the top of Gordon Ridge to the short piece of road that crosses public land and provides and access to the Harris Canyon, Sayrs Canyon and Deschutes River from the Sherman County side. As we stood and looked across Harris Canyon with our binoculars, a large buck, disturbed by the sound of shotguns erupting at birds along the edges of the distant wheat fields, trotted across the flat ridge top between Harris Canyon and Sayrs Canyon and then disappeared into the depths of Sayrs Canyon. He was over a mile away from us, but we counted him as buck number seven for the day.
We continued south to the access road from Sherars Bridge and drove down the Deschutes River looking for hills that weren’t too steep for bird hunters and their dogs. I let the group out for a short hunt and sat and watched a curious mountain sheep ram on the ridge high above and across the river. We were obviously not the first humans this ram had seen as a small yellow tag dangled from his neck collar.
The dogs jumped a small flock of chukar and the bird hunters got to replace the accumulated dust in their barrels with burnt powder residue. The access road has been used by so many boat trailers this year that the washboard ruts are the worst that I have ever seen. After a few more miles of clinching our teeth to keep from jarring a filling loose, we decided to turn around and head back toward Sherars Bridge and the pavement.
On the way, we stopped at the bottom of a side canyon to make one more attempt at finding some birds. By chance, I parked right over a small rattlesnake. The day was cool enough that the snake wasn’t alerting us with the buzz of his tail and fortunately Bruce spotted him before one of the dogs found the snake. This hunt produced no birds and soon we were on our way again. A large herd of mountain sheep yews and lambs with one immature ram were on the first rock outcropping above the road.
(BROWNING PHOTO CONTEST)
At Dufur we turned back toward the river and climbed toward the Center Ridge Road. We saw a couple of large herds of does and fawns and two more small bucks. Nine bucks in one day could have been a road hunter’s dream – it is no wonder that poaching is such an impact on deer populations here in Wasco County.
I placed phone calls to two of the ranchers who had been students of mine to see if we could get permission to hunt on their land the following morning, however neither was home and so Finn and I would drive back to Gordon Ridge, hike down about 1,000 feet in elevation into Harris Canyon, then climb all of that 1000 feet back up to the top of the ridge between Harris and Sayrs Canyons to see if we could find the big buck we had watched slip away from the commotion in the adjacent wheat fields the day before.
It wasn’t quite light as I slipped an extra water bottle in my pack, picked up my walking stick and turned on my headlamp. We wanted to be far enough into the canyon when it got light that we could look up into the small finger canyons that joined together to make the larger side canyons that eventually dumped into Harris Canyon. Hopefully we would see deer moving off Gordon Ridge and heading for the safety of the canyons below. The fields adjacent to the road on Gordon Ridge, however ,had recently been seeded and so there was very little food available for a deer, consequently, our sitting and glassing was unproductive. This left no alternative other than continuing down into Harris Canyon and heading for the spot where we had seen the buck.
DESCENDING DEEP INTO HARRIS CANYON. (BROWNING PHOTO CONTEST)
Going downhill is always hard on old knees, and though I had picked the gentlest ridge to descend, I knew I was going to hurt for a while after this hunt. When we got to the bottom, we found a well-used game trail that headed diagonally up the side of the hill toward the ridge between Harris and Sayrs Canyons. We passed numerous deep depressions where deer have dug back into the hillside to bed without having to lay out in the heat of the sun. I was feeling good about our possibilities of finding deer since there was a lot of fresh deer sign and this area was remote and required a physical commitment to hunt. We could see a steelhead fly-fishermen in the Deschutes River far below us and hear the whine of a distant jet boat bringing more fishermen up river for the day.
Just before we reached the top of the ridge, I heard another sound – a quad! It was right above us in the area we had planned to hunt. I was surprised because we were now on land that belongs to the Oregon Department of Fish and Wildlife and I didn’t think they allowed cross country travel on their property. Once on top we could see the freshly torn-up tracks that indicated that the driver was driving out onto any vantage point he could find overlooking Sayrs Canyon. Maybe we weren’t the only ones to see the big buck the day before.
Finn and I continued up the ridge. We would find a good place to sit and watch in Sayrs Canyon and then climb back over the ridge and sit and watch in Harris Canyon. Had we seen deer across the canyon on either side, they would have been too far for Finn to shoot, so we were hoping to find some animals bedded that we could sneak up on. We continued our hike toward the head end of Sayrs Canyon and I remember thinking that if the rifle were on my shoulder and the tag in my pocket, I wouldn’t be here. This is just too far to pack a deer, but Finn is a 10 year-old and I am determined to do whatever is necessary to get him a shot at a deer. I started making contingency plans for getting the animal out of here without having to climb back up to the truck. Plan one would be to call the adjacent land owners to see if they would allow access; plan two was to pack the animal down to the Deschutes River and see if I could find one of the river guides that I know and get them to boat us to the mouth of the river; and plan 3 was to take the deer to the river and hang it overnight, climb back up to the pickup then come back in the morning with our wheel cart and walk in the 6-plus miles to get the deer on the old abandoned railroad bed.
(BROWNING PHOTO CONTEST)
Just before we dropped to the bottom of Sayrs Canyon and started working our way back toward the mouth, a doe and a fawn ran right at us. They were well within Finn’s range, but no antlers. As we watched them cross the canyon and start up the other side, six more does and fawn strung out in a line on the opposite side of the canyon. Maybe we would still find that buck.
Near the bottom of the canyon, we found an old wagon road that had been built sometime around the time that the railroad in the Deschutes Canyon had been built. Gravity and water had taken a toll on the road. In many places the creek had undercut and washed it out, trees and other brush grew so thick in some places that we had to work our way up on the side hill to get around them and in other places rock slides had covered the old road. The further we went the more damage we found and harder it was to keep moving. Finally we climbed back up on the side hill and followed a game trial because though it was much harder on our ankles, it was easier going. For the last quarter of a mile down to the confluence with Harris Creek, we returned to the road in the bottom of the canyon. Here Finn abruptly retraced a few steps to avoid an 18-inch rattlesnake, and in the next 50 yards we encountered another larger snake. Finn told me that from that point on he was going to walk behind me and only step where I stepped. We finally worked our way across Harris Creek and started back up the ridge toward the pickup. It was 4:00 p.m. and we were out of water when we finally made it back to the road.
Sunday evening, I called a neighbor who has wheat near the eastern border of the West Biggs Unit to ask if he would allow us to hunt on his property. He said he would send me a text as soon as he was done with some morning appointments and let me know when he would have the time to show us his property boundaries.
DAWN BREAKS ON MT. HOOD. (BROWNING PHOTO CONTEST)
Finn and I headed back for the Center Ridge Road Monday before day light, but after I had to drive back to the house for my rangefinder and camera, we no longer were going to be able sneak into a field in the predawn in the hopes of surprising a feeding buck on the property that we had permission to hunt. We again were seeing numerous does and fawns on the drive. A nice 2-point stopped feeding to watch us drive by – not where we could hunt, a spike ran, turned broadside and stood – not where we could hunt and finally a very small spike stood along the fence that marked the boundary of where Finn could hunt. I was beginning to wonder if I would ever find a deer for him.
We got our text message and headed for the small community of Wasco. A half an hour later we were being chauffeured and shown property boundaries and likely places to find deer. We drove up on a ridge in the CRP and there, just a couple of hundred yards away, was a herd of six does and a three-point buck. We backed away from them so as not to disturb them and continued on our tour of the ranch. Hopefully the herd would settle back down and Finn and I would be able to sneak up on them later.
FINN SPOTS MORE DEER. (BROWNING PHOTO CONTEST)
The wind was blowing at about 20 miles per hour and the deer we had seen in the CRP had been on the sheltered side of a small hill. Finn and I walked back and glassed for the herd, but they had moved. We continued in the direction that they most likely would have traveled and looked for another area that was protected from the wind. In a tight little draw running at right angles to the direction of the wind, I spotted a single doe feeding. She didn’t see us and I felt the rest of the herd was probably close. I spotted antlers in the sage. The rangefinder showed him to only be 65 yards away – the perfect distance for Finn. I told him to move forward and rest his rifle on the wire on the fence so that he would have a solid rest when the buck stood up. As he moved, the doe spotted us and the whole herd exploded into escape mode. The buck never stood up. It went from resting to a full run and I was unable to get him to stop and look back at a whistle. These deer had probably spent the previous weekend evading hunters and they were getting good at it. Finn didn’t take a shot. He ask me later if he should have and I told him that he should only shoot at an animal if he is comfortable with the shot. I told him we would find him another buck and at the same time, I made a mental note to put a large bull’s eye target on a tire in greydigger camp next summer and let him practice shooting at moving targets.
We hunted across the rest of the CRP looking for another wind-protected area. The only area we saw was on an adjacent ranch in the distance where we counted half a dozen deer with two bucks feeding on a wind-sheltered hillside.
We left the CRP and drove to one of the small canyons that crossed the ranch. The problem with the canyon was the fact that it was parallel to the direction of the wind and though there were numerous fresh tracks, we didn’t find any deer. When we could see what remained of the canyon before it crossed the fence that marked the edge of the next property, we hiked across the field toward the contour on the screen of my GPS that marked the next canyon which would take us back down toward the pickup. This canyon was even more open to the wind and I was beginning to think we would have to come back in the morning to get another chance at a deer. Finn spotted an old barn and vacant house ahead in the canyon and beside it was the remains of an old black locust wood lot. Our intent was to stay in the canyon and pass the barn then come back up to it from below so that if any deer were in it, they would have to run across the open hillside where Finn could see them.
I looked at the woodlot with my binoculars and a doe stood up. I stopped and watched as she tried to determine what we were. I could see heads and ears of other deer beyond her laying in the grass in the wind protection of the trees. We moved forward ten steps and again stopped. Only the one doe continued to watch us. We moved ten steps again. I had Finn move up to a fence post to rest his rifle so that he would be ready if a buck stood up – still no movement from the other deer. Finally the doe bolted and seven more does and fawns jumped and ran with her. No bucks.
Finn and I worked our way up to the barn. Deer often will enter vacant farm buildings to get out of the sun and the wind. Finn was reluctant to step in but when he did there were no deer inside. We turned and started back down the canyon in the direction of the pickup. Through the limbs and leaves of the trees, I could see the eight does, about 300 yards away, bunched up and looking back to try to determine what we were. I noticed that they would look back into the woodlot and then look up across the canyon on the adjacent hillside. I knelt and could see four bucks in a bunch on that side of the canyon. I had Finn move up to the last tree at the edge of the field, told him to sit down and lay his rifle on the old roll of pig wire. I could only see one of the bucks from my position and I ranged him at 245 yards. I have loaded Finn’s .243 shells with a 90-grain bullet at a modest velocity and I told him that he needed to hold the crosshairs 8 inches above where he wanted the bullet to hit. In the last three days I have told him to hold the crosshairs steady and slowly squeeze the trigger so many times that he must think I am losing my mind.
Bang! The shot came so quickly after he sat that my first thought was that he had jerked the trigger, but in that same instant the buck that was the highest on the hill jumped forward in a high sharp arc, made two more bounds, then seemed to lose his footing as he disappeared into the draw. That high sharp arc meant that little bullet had done the job.
We sat for a minute or two while the other three bucks ran a short distance then stood on the hillside and looked for us. I took a picture of the three, then we walked down to where we had last seen Finn’s buck. In the bottom of the canyon I could see his antlers. I moved forward with Finn and had him touch the eye of the buck with the barrel of the rifle. I told him if the animal blinked he needed to pull the trigger again – but this deer was already dead. A nice three-point.
FINN AND HIS TROPHY. (BROWNING PHOTO CONTEST)
We took a few pictures and I called the rancher to tell him that we had a buck and to ask if we could get a key to the gate so that I could drive up the road to get the deer. He said he was just leaving Wasco and would come up and get us in a few minutes. During those minutes, I got the deer cleaned and ready to load. Finn’s shot had hit behind the front shoulder, passed through the heart and both lungs and was lying just under the skin in front of the other front shoulder.
We brought the deer home whole. I haven’t done that in many years, but Finn wanted his dad to see his deer. It weighed 175 pounds without the viscera and so we figure the animal was at least 225 pounds live weight. We got it skinned and quartered Monday evening, then started cutting and wrapping Tuesday morning so that Finn could be home and back in school on Wednesday.
I have hunted deer for 50 years and have enjoyed every hunt, but none of them compare to the excitement of seeing a new hunter work so hard and get his first deer.
FINN LENDS A HAND DURING THE CUTTING AND WRAPPING PARTY. (BROWNING PHOTO CONTEST)