SkyLines

Later that day, an hour or so of glassing distant ridges and with the luck of a few rogue bugles I'd identified a small herd with a nice bull holding court among them. I'd taken a huge loop in efforts of having a shot at this bull and the wind gave me the firm middle finger. Even beyond the middle finger, we refer to the full hand of fingers we call the eagle. But as the sounds of hoofbeats faded, I knew I needed to be listening for bugles too. Because under almost all but the worst herd busting scenarios this time of year, as a herd bull follows his harem to relocate after being spooked, the bull will bugle. It's like he can't stop himself. I'm not sure if it's the simple stirring from what was a normal setting,.. the common behavior of broadcasting his presence as normal elk protocol when entering a new zone, or simply getting cranked up following the backside of all his cows- he just can't keep his mouth shut! And when a herd like this is relocating, it can also be helpful in the sense of just stirring the pot. If the elk enter an area that's already occupied by other elk, there will be some level of dialogue between the groups, which can be a godsend in the middle of the day when everything is otherwise quite and tight lipped.

It was an absolute pleasure to wake and emerge from my tent already miles and thousands of feet above from where I'd previously camped at the truck. In the grey light of morning, I sparked my micro burner stove to make instant coffee and oatmeal. Although chilled in the cold morning air, I removed my puffy vest and packed it into my Eberlestock along with provisions for the day. Not long out of camp, as I gained enough altitude to view much of surrounding habitat, I spotted exactly what I'd hoped to see, a large and mature bull perched above a harem of cows. In the calm of early morning, wind would be at it's most cooperative and predictable. I set a course to close the gap, a mile or little more to get into his zone. Short of a twenty or so minute delay to allow the stare of vigilant cow to dismiss, the stalk went very well.

For the third week of September we as a family had banked all our resources for me to have five full days to hunt. This was it- I really needed to make something happen this outing as getting me back up here again was not going to be easy for any of us. So as I'd complained earlier, I was over the miles long commute into the prime hunting areas and had indeed prepared this trip to pack a camp up and into the juice, and stay. It was the only realistic and responsible way that I could imagine being able to pack an elk out of this country this year. And frankly, I was giddy at the thought of posting up a camp deep in the guts of such a wild and rugged place.

Pulling into my camp/parking area now on my second trip I was both thrilled and relieved to find no other rigs or sign of people. I mean after all it's totally understandable that other hunters would stumble into this place and I'd overlap with their time in these mountains.

Hey, I'm your host Bryan Huskey,   and as eluded to in my introduction of this podcasting effort, content here is going to range across a variety of topics and interests. Now for the most part, all of these subjects share a few common threads; that they relate to adventure,   and are my own experiences I'm sharing with you first hand. Today I want to share my experiences with competition, racing and the fuel it's been for me over my entire life; charging a wild imagination as a tike to staying young at heart in now in middle age.   

Since the training wheels came off, I wanted to live on two wheels.   I took a place on a starting gate for the first time at the age of 6. So for as far back as I can remember, I found a favorite kind of satisfaction aboard two wheels. A few years later I was racing the 80cc mini class at various motorcycle races in Millican Valley and China Hat areas East of Bend, Oregon. In the late 80's though, my friend's dad crashed and broke his neck while out riding, and although dirt bikes were a staple activity for my dad and I, he freaked out a bit and pulled us out of regular moto riding. I was crushed, and missed riding & racing immensely. Despite the disconnection, I continued to follow professional motocross racing like other kids followed their favorite football or basketball teams- which I had very little interest in! What grew inside me over following years was a connection to the individual athlete and racing, and a grand respect for what made those kinds of champions. 

Hi there, I'm Bryan Huskey. In addition to the stories I've shared here so far, I also have a lot fishing related content I'm looking forward to sharing. What I'm going to start of with here is the backstory a phrase in fishing that's become very popular all around the globe relating to catch & release practices. It's called keepemwet. If you've looked at many fishing photos on social media you've probably seen the hashtag. Well, that phrase, (now paired with nearly 200,000 photos on Instagram alone) originated right here, and from the time I first scribbled it down as a footnote it's had quite a journey. Here's how it happened:

Have you ever been lost in the wild? I mean to the point where you come to a realization that makes your heart literally skip a beat- and then begin to race- and you can't slow it down. Truly scared. It's certainly happened to me a few times. Each time I've regained the comfort of resolve in one form or another, before it got too far into the night. And each time it instilled a sense of respect that is visceral to me- a sense of appreciation every single time I make it back to the truck. If you haven't been in situations like that before   you might not be able to instantly whip up vivid imagination of being trapped in the wild. What it would feel like to be drowning in the black of night, or lost and clinging to a tree or rock, shaking with terror as hypothermia, sickness or injury had your existence firmly locked int it's jaws. Likelihood of these kinds of circumstances are rare and to some degree preventable, but the hunter like myself who prefers to go in alone is exposed to such risks at a higher level.