So I’m back from my hunting trip. I met my friends at a cabin in the Shasta-Trinity National Forest, on the north side of Clair Engels lake. We call it “the compound”. I got there Saturday night and stayed as long as I could. I left last night.

I didn’t sleep my first night. I wasn’t that tired when everyone turned in at midnight. I wasn’t drunk enough. I slept in the upper cabin–AKA The Sawmill. Andy snores violently. Curt and Jeff aren’t too bad, but they still snore. At one point all 3 were snoring and I had to laugh. I just gave up on sleep and tried to calm my brain down. When we got up before the dawn I was glad. I didn’t sleep at all.

Sunday we hunted all up and down the mountain. After the morning hunt we came back to the compound for beers and sandwiches. Some took naps. I sat outside in the sun and enjoyed the beautiful weather and breathtaking surroundings. For the evening hunt Scott and I left and drove up the mountain. We split up after a few minutes. I walked all the way up the old mine road. I stopped at a little mineral spring and waited, hoping a buck would happen by for a little drink. Nothing. After an hour or so I continued up the trail to the mine. I went a little further and still saw nothing. I took my time walking back to my truck. I would walk through the brush, careful not to make too much noise. I would stop every 20 feet or so and listen. I would stop at some good ambush points and wait for 10 minutes or so and watch. Still no bucks. I got back to the truck and waited for Scott, and finally took a little nap.

Sunday night we partied our asses off. We had tri-tip for dinner and a lot of beer. I moved to the lower cabin and managed to get 5 hours sleep.

Monday we drove up the mountain as far as we could. Then we got out and walked up to Devils Lake. From the top of the mountain we could see fantastic views of Mount Lassen and Mount Shasta. I think the elevation up there is 8,000 feet. At any rate, the air was very thin. My legs weren’t burning, I was chugging along just fine, but I was breathing pretty heavy. It was hard. We reached the summit and dipped down into the bowl where the lake was. I was glad to finally be hiking downhill. Once at the water’s edge I looked up and realized that we must be inside an old volcano crater. It wasn’t a very big lake, you could walk around it in about 30 minutes. It was still gorgeous. It was filled with trout too. But no bucks. We hunted the area for a bit and then hiked back to the truck.

Monday evening we went to the meadow, below the mine. A little artesian spring flows right below the meadow. Andy saw 17 does in the area on Sunday morning, so we all went back there. Deer trails littered this area. Between the meadow and the spring is a grove of oak trees. This is prime deer habitat. We split up at about 600 yard intervals and settled in to wait. I took the far end of the meadow and sat down beneath a grizzled old sequoia. I drank my beer as the sun started it’s downward turn and searched the forest for signs of movement. After a couple hours I got restless and decided to make my way back to the truck. I saw two deer below me and froze. My heart was pounding out of my chest. The wind was blowing up the ridge, so I knew they hadn’t caught my scent yet. I made my way down and got a closer look. Does. Dammit. Are they ANY bucks on this mountain? They let me get really close. I followed them down past the spring where Andy and Jeff were. There were no other deer with the 2 does, so I gave up and went back to the truck.

Monday night after another meal of tri tip I turned up the heat. I was drinking Cappy and 7, and I was liquored up. I passed out at 11pm, I couldn’t hang any more.

Tuesday morning Andy and Jeff left. Vic and Eric left soon after that. Curt left to hunt by himself. So that left me, Scott, Scott’s dad Neil, and Scott’s sister Karen. The four of us spent the entire morning hunt driving around the lower clear cuts very slowly, hunting from the truck. We saw some more does, but still no bucks.

3 days of hunting and all we saw were does. This is usually how it goes in California. Bucks are pretty damn smart. They pretty much have to make a mistake for you to spot them. Most hunters go many years without harvesting a buck. My buddy Scott is a damn good deer hunter, and he hasn’t gotten one in over 5 years. It’s a lot tougher than most people realize. Oh well, I’ll get ’em next year…