I am an avid hunter who hopes that someday his wife will be one too. I think I'm making progress in that area, but it's pretty hard to tell sometimes. I started hunting on my Grandfather's farm in Aurora, Oregon. Probably the most sophisticated animal I hunted in the early years was either an opossum, or a neutrea (pretty much a water-logged opossum.) When I was old enough, my uncle Francis, his brother-in-law Doug, and their friends and family decided to teach me the finer points of deer hunting. I was in heaven. It's been over 10 years since the last time I was able to hunt with them, and I still miss it greatly.

I would have to say that Francis had the most influence on my hunting life of anyone I know. He taught me the practical side of outdoor safety, and made darned sure I practiced it in the field. Moreover, he was there for every deer I bagged in Oregon, and was even partially responsible for my first deer rifle.

It wasn't until recent years that I began hunting elk, the "Great Game Animal of North America". I believed (and still do) that the .30-30 I hunted with was too light for elk, and shied away from giving it a try. Lately, probably due to a weak survival instinct, I decided to take up the sport in earnest, and set about to find the perfect elk rifle, finally settling on the .300 Winchester Magnum. It's a very fine gun, and thankfully, the recoil isn't as bad as I was expecting... I've only dislocated my shoulder once. In all fairness, it was entirely my fault, I shouldered the rifle wrong, and didn't realize it until I pulled the trigger.

My second year elk hunting, I managed to bag a 5 point bull opening day by calling it in with a cow call. I started out the day in the lowlands below Lone Mountain outside of Rathdrum, in a wood known as 8 mile. I spent most of the day there without seeing more than a few deer, and decided to head up the mountain itself. I had been wanding around for an hour and a half or so, and was decending through an old watercourse when I slipped, and twisted my knee between two boulders. I was able to work my way back down to the truck, but with a great deal of difficulty. I still had an hour or so before dusk, and didn't want to give up on opening day just yet, twisted knee or no, so I drove down to the entrance of an area of 8 mile I had scouted elk in a couple weeks before. I still-hunted for about 45 minutes, making my way about 900 yards from my truck when I decided to head back so I could find a trail before dark. Just for the heck of it, I sat down for a rest and gave one last call on my cow call. To my surprise, I got an answer from 75 yards ahead of me and to my right among the thicker trees. Hopeful, but thinking it was probably just another hunter, I gave another call. This time I got answers from two different points, and saw an animal moving through the woods quartering away from me about 80-85 yards away. Shaking, I brought the rifle to my shoulder, and peered over the scope looking for a rack. I saw part of one, and that was good enough for me. I slipped the safety off as quietly as I could, and waited for a good, clear shot. As soon as he stepped into full view, I gave one more squeek on the cow call to stop him (I doubt he even heard that one, my mouth was so dry, and my breath so short). I steadied the gun across my knees, tried in vain to calm my nerves, and squeeeezed the trigger. Before he had a chance to take a step, I had jacked another round into the chamber and fired again. He then turned around, and seemed to be about to run or walk back the way he had come. By this time, it was getting toward dusk, and I didn't know how far he would make it before he fell, and didn't relish the idea of trying to track him in heavy woods, in the dark, on an injured knee, so I shot him again. I didn't need to. He was in the middle of falling while trying to take a step, and my shot went awry, hitting further back than I intended. (Read gut-shot.) He was dead before he hit the ground. When I started to dress him out, I discovered his heart was missing. The first or second shot had obliterated it. With the help of some very friendly hunters from the area, I managed to get him out of the woods and loaded into the back of my truck. (The story of how they came to help me, the trip out of the woods, the trip back INTO the woods, and the end result is another tale I'll have to put here some day.) By the time Laura showed up at the friends' house where I was hanging the elk, I could hardly walk. The next day, it was pretty much out of the question. I was still elated however, I had my first elk!

Eventually, I'll be putting up what I think are some good areas for large and small game in Northern Idaho, links to the different land and animal agencies in this state, and various other links that might help the fledgling or expert hunter. Stay tuned.