This article first appeared in Muzzle Blasts Magazine in 2004. NMLRA Members get access to digital scans of all the Muzzle Blasts Magazines since 1938. Join Today

by Jim Baichtal

lt was one of those hard-to-get-to places that had held my fascination for several years. The ridge nagged at me frequently, since it was in my back yard. Friends had made the climb at my urg­ing only to come home with tales of see­ing big bucks, but empty-handed. Long­time residents slowly gave up stories of hunting the peak in their younger days and harvesting and seeing great bucks. The time had come for me to make the trek up the mountain.

A relatively new logging road got me near the slope's base, but the his­toric route up the mountain's southern flank now had been harvested via heli­copter logging. Those familiar with con­ventional timber harvest methods that utilize cable logging. even with down­hill yarding, understand that skid trails make relatively easy going up to the backline of a harvest unit. Helicopter yarding, however, results in unorga­nized, and most importantly, unconsoli­dated slash randomly spread on the landscape. Place this on 80% to 100% slopes, and it definitely makes crossing these areas a challenge. One per­son who had hunted this mountain years ago suggested an alternate route, which timber harvest and wind-thrown trees would soon rule out.

I waited until the weather forecast and the satellite imagery agreed on a two-day favorable weather opening. The two friends who were to go with me backed out the night before, so I re­packed for a light, solo hunt. I  figured I would leave after work and get as high up the mountain as daylight would al­low. I gave my somewhat skeptical wife a good-bye hug and kiss and told her I'd see her the next evening or the one after that. With a raised eyebrow she wished me luck, mumbling something about some crazy person. Obviously she was not referring to me.

I parked the truck at the base of the helicopter unit, donned my pack, and began the climb. I had planned on try­ing the alternate route suggested, but found that the harvest unit had been expanded and the stream buffer r was going to climb through had blown down.

The unharvested corridor we thought was still there was gone. That left me little choice, and l turned to face the helicopter unit.

For two hours I climbed through the slash to the backline of the unit. I en­tered the timber and raced against the setting sun to find a place on the 80%­plus slopes to pitch my tent. A some­what level spot on the uphill side of the base of a large spruce would have to do. T pitched the tent, threw in my sleep­ing bag and pad, and hung my pack and gear. T stretched out for the night and let my muscles relax, drifting off to sleep in anticipation of the morning's hunt.

I awoke at 5:00 A.M., discovered by a pair of ravens. With their urging, I dressed and donned my pack, now much lighter without the tent and sleep­ing bag. Forty-five minutes later J broke out into the alpine. it had been calm in the timber on the south-facing slope during the climb up. On top the wind howled, the top of the mountain ob­scured by the fog that cascaded over its crest from the north like a waterfall. Everywhere else, all the surrounding peaks and ridges were clear, stirring under the first sun’s rays.

Even with the wind and fog, I spot­ted two large bucks feeding in a pro­tected hollow nearly a mile away. I con­tinued to climb the ridge. working my way through the alpine meadows, small ponds, and cliffs. By 7:30 A.M. I was within a quarter-mile of the bucks, but they had taken refuge from the wind. I did not want to spook them from their resting spot.

As the morning progressed. the wind increased in velocity and grew colder. I climbed back down below the fog, put on my rain gear to break the wind. and cowered behind a small rock ledge out of the wind. For an hour l glassed the surrounding basins and ridges, trying to absorb all the warmth I could from the rising sun's rays. Sev­eral times I braved the chilling wind to scan and see if the bucks were back out feeding. The second time l crested the ridge l came face to face with a black bear boar. With the wind howling from him to me, he lumbered along with head down. Even from less than twenty feet, it took three tries for me to get his at­tention. He finally snapped his head up, giving me a look that combined surprise with disgust. He spun and disappeared up the ridge into The fog. I returned to my sheltered outcrop.

At about 8:30 AM. the fog began to lift and the wind calmed. f took my bin­oculars and scanned where the bucks were last seen. They were back out feed­ing; in fact, two other smaller bucks and two does had joined them. [ decided to work closer.

About fifteen minutes later I found myself within 350 yards of the clos­est deer, planning my stalk. I glassed the bucks again; the big. wide, three­point nearest me would do if I could get close enough. As he and two of the other bucks fed behind a stringer of alpine trees, 1 began to cross the open alpine slope.

I had gone only ten or so yards when out of the deep draw directly below me stepped a heavy-horned 4 X 5. I bad never spotted this buck. He fed with a small fork-horn and a doe. Needless to say, my focus changed from the wide three-point across the bowl. There was only one problem: they were 200 yards below me and I had no cover for the first 150 yards. I was caught out in the open in the head of a steep alpine bowl. All three deer fed downhill and away. I took off my pack, grabbed my possibles bag, and carefully cradled my Hawken in my arms across my lap. My plan was to move when all three deer fed. Bit by bit I should be able to cut down the distance.

As the trio began to feed, I inched for­ward. For the next hour I moved when their attention was elsewhere. They fed, scratched, bedded, groomed themselves and each other, and from time to time stared intently at that dark form in the alpine bowl above them - one of those intense looking­througlt-you stares. f thought I was busted at least a dozen times. They tried the stare-feed-got-ya routine, each time satisfying their curiosity, relaxing, and feeding more. Finally, I slid into a fold in the ground that al­lowed me to duck-walk into a boulder field directly above the buck. I picked the rock I wanted to reach, checked the wind and the powder under the nipple, and crawled forward.

Upon reaching the boulder I peered around its base f om behind a small, stunted cedar; the buck was feeding a mere forty yards distant. I took the extra few moments to watch this incredible animal as he scanned his surroundings. He fed closer to the base of the slope, momentarily hiding all but his antler tips. I inched to the side of the rock, resting my elbow on my knee to steady the heavy-barreled rifle. I was now in the open, thirty yards above the buck. l set the trigger as he stepped from behind the ridge. Once more he scanned the valley, watching the bucks on the far slope. When I fired, the thick smoke briefly obscured the buck f om my vision. I rolled from be­neath the rising smoke to find the buck lying still on the bench below. The doe and fork horn that fed with him were forty yards to my left. As the roar of tl1e Hawken echoed off the surrounding hills the deer across the valley stood motion­less. l reloaded and moved to pay re­spects to the buck.

As I sat by his side the doe and small buck moved across the basin to the other deer. They Loo had begun to slowly move away into the timber. During my stalk the fog had completely dissipated and the wind all but subsided. The warming rays of the sun fell good; il had turned into one of those days we cherish in the Southeast. I climbed back up to my pack and returned to take photos and bone out the deer. Wil.h the boning complete, I packed up the meat and my gear and began the climb back up the ridge. l had all day, so I took my time, resting often and exploring the ridge top that was ear­lier obscured by fog.

I got to my camp by about 2:00 P.M. I look down the tent and stuffed the sleeping bag. I added the gear to my already heavy pack and started the climb throt1gb the slash of the he­licopter unit below. I had thought that negotiating the slash ou the way up was difficult. The combination of the heavy load and the unsure footing the logging slash provided required I move with extra caution. l took 2 1/2 hours to work my way back to the truck. My somewhat skeptical wife was surprised when one, I was home before dark, and two, I had not stayed for two days on the mountain, given our weather,

The buck was a massive 4 X 5. His rack is only 13 1/8" wide, but it is 13 l /2" tall with a heavy base nearly four inches in circumferences. His rack scores a gross of 100 7/8", netting 94 3/S". The buck should place in the top ten of the Sitka blacktail deer in the Longhunter Muzzleloading Big Game Records Book