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Hunting with kids: more effort with more rewards

Kids and Hunting

My son started coming hunting with me as soon as he could walk, he would toddle along behind me always excited for whatever it was we were going to do. I took every opportunity to bring him along, though sometimes the days  events were too rough to bring a small child. This was a lesson I learned myself as a youngster, but I was determined to make sure I pushed the endeavour as long as it stayed fun for him. My Ridley is a legal adult now, and I often wonder if I could go back in time, would I have done it the same way.

My Ridley on one of his first deer hunts.

A Father’s Guidance

I grew up under the watchful eye of my father, himself quite a dedicated hunter. I often speak of how my dad was also raised hunting these same dry desert mountains of Utah, so it should come as no surprise that as far back as I can remember I wanted to hunt. So many of my most memorable childhood experiences were related to the times that I was able to tag along with my dad or my grandfathers. You can read more about those Memories right here.

A shot of my dad from the early 80’s

That was a different time I suppose, different rules and more hunting options that were much easier to participate in. My dad is a bowhunter, while he’s shot plenty of animals with a rifle I think in his heart he truly enjoys the thrill of the ancient art of archery.

I’ve been on a few bowhunts in my lifetime, and looking back I can better understand why I never got to go as a child. Sneaking into archery range of a Mule deer is hard enough when you have the wind, concealment and noise working against you. I can’t imagine trying to put the sneak on one with a child by your side.

the freedom to roam and explore are the currency of boyhood, let him spend it often

My Experience with Kids

As a young man, I too was bitten by the bug carrying the archery pathogen, and spent countless hours preparing myself for an eventual bowhunting trip. Unfortunately I grew out of it by the time I had reached the age to go, that and the fact that teenage girls existed greatly reduced my dedication to the sport.

Ridley packing around his first rifle, the Cricket EX17hmr

Many years later I would find myself longing for hunting memories that never were. So when my lifelong dream of becoming a father was realized, I made a mindful decision that my own son would never want for the chance to join a hunting adventure. In fact I hoped that conversely he might someday look back, and wish he’d taken the opportunity more often.

One of the many adventures involving my son, also happened to involve my dad. It was well over a decade ago, and my father and I were situated along the spine of a steep ridge in Utah’s Wasatch Mountains. One side of the ridge was a traditional slope that had a trail we had come in on ATV’s that morning, the opposite side of the ridge was as steep a hill as you can imagine. It was littered with thick brush and deadfall, and dropped for over a mile into a thick wooded forest below.

I consider my kids lucky, I sure hope they do too

We were after Mule deer bucks that morning, and I had learned the pattern of them crossing this ridge spine over the years. Dad and I had spread out several hundred yards across the ridge to better cover potential bucks crossing over. Ridley was probably four or five years old at the time, and he sat near me quietly munching snacks and watching the sunrise. We’d spent the morning softly answering his many questions about trees and squirrels and every other thing that caught his curious eyes.

As we sat there in near silence, I heard a noise that immediately captured my own curiosity. It sounded like sticks breaking and the occasional rustle, I closely paid attention to the sound, and told Ridley to do the same. It would come and go, but I knew that something was moving up the steep drop off below us. As minutes passed, I continued to listen.

After a few minutes I knew action was at hand and I motioned to my dad to come toward me, in anticipation of something stepping out. As dad made his way towards me, my son in a whisper asked me if he could walk over to the fourwheeler to get something. Sensing his pocket to snack ratio reaching critical, I told him he could go as long as he stayed quiet and in sight.

Once again I heard noise coming from the drop off, and this time it was much closer. My heart nearly stopped when I heard the familiar chirp of an elk from below. Now, I had said we were deer hunting but it just so happened that my father also carried a cow elk tag in his pocket that was still good. I immediately started making frantic hand motions for him to hurry to me, he had clearly understood the message, all but the frantic and hurry parts.

a shot from years long passed

As he made it to me I told him what had been happening just over the edge of the ridge. We sat there quietly listening to rustling brush, and the occasional elk chirp. Ridley was quietly refilling his pockets with goldfish from the backpack on my fourwheeler as dad and I watched carefully for the sign of an elk coming through the trees.

Like they often do, the elk made their way so close to us under cover that we were quite surprised when they emerged. Barely sixty-yards or so away, two cows came up through some aspen trees. It was quite obvious that they knew nothing of our presence.

As dad lifted his rifle I remember thinking to myself; that’s it, we’re gonna have elk for dinner. As the front elk cleared the second one, I knew that dad was probably starting to press the trigger.  That’s when things went south…

Perhaps fifty yards away in a different direction, my son continued his supply mission. I was of course looking at the elk, so I can only imagine what it was like from his little guy perspective when he too spotted the elk standing on the edge of the treeline. Forgetting all the counsel I’d given him that morning, he saw the elk and in the most excited voice he shouted out: “Dad there’s two elk!”. I can just imagine his big brown eyes wide open, spitting bits of goldfish as he belted out his discovery.

I’ll spare you the rest of the story, and the rest of that hunt for that matter, it was uneventful after that morning. I remember hurrying over to the fourwheeler to him, his face lit up with excitement. I remember a sense of calm that came over me, and despite my internal rage of missing an easy opportunity, I calmly explained to him the consequences of him breaking silence. I distinctly remember wanting to make sure not to chastise him, and sour the experience of hunting for him.

Dad and me were both a bit sour though, we’d been so close.

No Regrets

I’ve never regretted taking Ridley along, not that day nor any other. He learned his lesson about keeping quiet, and that was his very first experience with elk, but it would not be his last.

My 12yo Ridley with his first elk, you can read that story here

We’ve been on so many hunts together since, and my daughter too has come along with us. She has an elk tag of her own this year. I think back to all the times where I had to carry extra snacks, make fires to keep kids warm, and hold chubby little hands as we descended a sketchy trail. And there is no amount of venison, or bones on the wall that would mean more to me than the adventures we have shared together.

I can guarantee that the elk we didn’t get that day isn’t the only animal lost because I had one of my kids along, but the experience is far more valuable to me. I don’t blame my dad for not taking me hunting more when I was younger, but someday when I’m long gone I hope my kids will remember all the adventures we made, and smile. And more importantly I hope it serves as inspiration for them to raise the next generation of adventure seekers.

Kids cant see the magic of hunting if you dont bring ’em

-CBM 

Ridley with his buck from last season

Mule Deer Hunting: Seasons Change

Many was the time that I woke up early in the morning, grabbing boots and other gear as I fumbled out the doorway into the winter cold. Though I was not the exceptional scholar my parents had hoped for, I eventually made it to school hours later but not after shooting up a limit of ducks in the muddy marshes near my home. Hunting has always been a passion of mine, but there came a time as a young man that I often chose other things over my beloved waterfowl. Life often has a way of distracting us from passions and responsibilities, and teenage boys seem to catch the lot of it.
Years later I returned to my old ways, and it seems the absence had only increased my passion for the outdoors and being a part of it. A whole generation later, it would seem that my son is in the same haze of youth we all passed through. He has hunted by my side since he was three years old, and even as a toddler he was always excited to do anything that involved the mountains. But the past few years he has been so busy with the life of a teen, friends and other activities to spend much time glassing the mountains with me. It’s natural I suppose that everyone chooses their own path and eventually decides where to focus their efforts and time, but it warmed my heart when several of my kids voiced a desire to spend the hunting season with me in the high country.

My Ridley on one of his first deer hunts.

Despite their busy schedules and school, we managed to spend a few days enjoying the beauty of these Rocky Mountains. My son Ridley shew great interest in tagging along to fish, ride ATV’s, and shoot both pictures with his camera and his little Remington that I put together for him years ago.
Being an astute father with a taste for venison, I had ensured my kids would have at least one tag in their pockets this fall. Just incase the freezer got light. We spent a week in the High Uintas chasing after elk and Brook Trout, we celebrated Ridley’s eighteenth birthday up there at 10,000 feet. I could see the excitement of adventure even through the smug teenage faces he would make, and though getting up early was a challenge he still did it most days.

The country was just too beautiful to not have a good time, even though the elk hunting was pretty high pressure and not successful we still came home happy as could be. And laden with fish for the smoker, to be canned and put into storage for a rainy day.

As the deer hunt quickly approached, we prepared our gear and plotted our plans. Ridley ended up missing the first weekend of the hunt as he participated in his High School mountain bike team final race, which ended up being ok, as I had my hands full with my other son’s first deer. Mid-week Ridley caught back up with us, and he was excited as ever. I could see the competitive desire to outdo his friends who might also be deer hunting with their family.

I have found that consistency is what gets me within striking distance of animals. Not necessarily consistently going to the same place or anything, but consistently working hard to be in the best places I can be as often as I can. Furiously glassing and peering over every blade of grass to take advantage of every opportunity we might get.
Taking new and/or young hunters along is often a roll of the dice. I saw deer and bucks every day of the hunt, but it was often when my “pupils” were busy with something else. I passed more bucks this year than any year prior if I’m not mistaken, hoping they would still be there when I came back with my children.

It was a Tuesday afternoon when Ridley, my wife, and I returned up a canyon draw where I had seen several bucks earlier that morning. I carried my gun because I can’t be without it, but I was really there trying to get both of them on a buck. As we climbed steadily I pointed out a knob on a ridge to Ridley, and explained how I had seen a deer disappear there earlier that day. My hope was that him or any other buck was still hiding out in this little canyon, but when I told Ridley of my hopes he quickly shot down the idea saying “that was three hours ago Dad.” As we carried on up the ridge spine before us, the sun poured down over us making it nearly uncomfortably hot. Only a few hours earlier I sat on this same ridge uncontrollably shivering in the ice cold wind of a storm front, driving snow sideways across the mountains and blanketing the whole of it in white.

The contrast was incredible, but my hope for a buck was still high so we carried on. In a simple stop to catch our breath, everything changed quite rapidly. Incapable of turning off, my eyes peered through my binoculars combing the ridges for the sign of a deer. I froze as I turned and looked behind us, as my eyes made out the obvious outline of a buck laying in his afternoon bed. The same knob that I had indicated to Ridley earlier was now the complete focus of all three sets of our eyes. I was astounded that the young buck had simply laid there and watched while we walked right under him on the opposing ridge, and another set of hunters had followed the same path only a few minutes before us. Yet there he lay, confident in his hide. Obviously he didn’t know who he was dealing with, but he would very soon.

With as little excitement as we could manage, both Ridley and my wife lay their rifles across their backpacks to get the right angle for a shot. I feigned disinterest and avoided looking at him, as he was studying our movement. Ridley was in a good shooting position and watched the buck through his little TS8X riflescope while I helped my wife build a solid shooting position on the steep hillside.
Despite my disinterested attitude and the minimal movement, way up on that knob where the buck lay quietly three-hundred and thirty yards away, I think he was starting to get worried. I often think that deer can feel a rifle bearing down on them, like the all seeing eye of Sauron looking into the heart of whoever wears the ring. And with it comes the accompanying discomfort.
I wasn’t looking his direction when he stood up, but Ridley was on his scope and announced it to the rest of us. I immediately raised my binos to my eyes, and not wanting to lose our opportunity I told him; if he is standing up shoot him. As I said those words he was already starting his press. My wife and I watched through our optics as the first shot broke, and the buck jumped as if startled by the noise. Ridley ran his bolt as I told him he had shot just under him, the deer took a few steps towards the other side of the ridge but he stopped to give us one last look. By then Ridley had already sent a second bullet his way, and this one was perfect. I watched through my binos as the bullet impacted, sending a patch of hair into the air and the buck dropped from sight.

Ridley’s rifle with the Yankee Hill Machine R9 suppressor

We hugged with excitement, and then we quickly made our way up the ridge to the downed buck. I am not one to trust a deer that I can’t see, so we snuck up on the buck who had died almost instantly but looked suspiciously alive. We gave him a moment of reverence, and then spent a few minutes examining what a fine example of a Rocky Mountain mule deer he was. He’d already had a close call during the season, someone had taken a shot at him nicking one of his antlers, but his luck had run out.

Ridley pulled out his knife, a knife my brother had given to him several years ago but he had yet to use it for its intended purpose. As we enjoyed the beautiful afternoon, Ridley did his best to clean the deer and fill his phone up with pictures of it. We didn’t kill any other deer that day, but not for a lack of effort.

I have watched my son grow up, and though he has his own plans it warms my heart to see his success and be a part of it. My greatest hope is that we can continue to share our passions with each other, and if at all possible continue to hunt together for as long as we’re able to. We make a pretty good team.

-CBM


A Rifle for Coldboremiracle Junior

Coldboremiracle Junior

Some of you have seen CBM Jr. following along on some of my adventures, he’s been my little hunting companion since he first came on the deer hunt when he was three years old. He has grown up quite a bit, not missing a single hunt, to the point that he thinks he’s one of the guys in our hunting group. This year marks a special point in his life, as it will be the first year that he is old enough to hunt himself. Just last month he finished his hunter safety course, and he is excited as ever to go hunt elk, and deer with the big boys. He has long hunted small game with his little .17HMR, but it surely won’t do for anything bigger than rabbits and chucks.

Junior shooting his .17

I had anticipated this for some time, and for the last year or so I have been putting together the necessary parts to put him together a proper rifle, one he can use and be proud of as long as he has need for it. A huge thanks goes to the PR community for helping me get the parts put together for a very economic price.

Both my kids come hunting and shooting with me as often as possible

See Junior’s rifle in its first action here!

The game plan I had started with the basics, what action? I wanted this to be good, but cheap. So I figured a good Remington or Savage action would do well, and in short time, I had my hands on a good 700 short action. The next question which I spent a lot of time debating was caliber. Sure, there are plenty of easy options. How many kids start their hunting career with a 243? That was an easy answer, but my kid inherited his Mother’s taste. And he seems to desire elk hunting more so than deer. Granted, plenty of elk are killed every year with 243’s, but I wasn’t sure I wanted something that light for a kid who has big dreams of elk. I also was taking into account the practicality, I already have everything to reload 308, so that would be a valid option as well (downloaded for a small kid of course). So after much debate, going back and forth, I decided to settle on the .260 Remington, the choice of distinguished shooters everywhere.

It didn’t hurt that it’s one of my favorites as well, and I have everything I need to load it. Plus, a 260 fits right in that spot; plenty big to hammer any deer or antelope, and just big enough to work well on elk. With the added benefit of still being short action, and modest recoil when downloaded with light bullets, just right for this kid.
So I started looking for a 264 barrel, and to my surprise, I found the perfect barrel for my project. A slightly used pre-cut AAC barrel made for a Remington. It was a 24″ with an 8 twist, but I had a friend cut it down to 16″, and re-threaded for the much needed muzzle embellishments. The stock was made from an old walnut Remington, that I cut down, and did some whittling to fit a smaller framed hunter. I added a pic rail to the front for a bipod mount, and bottom/side flush cups for sling mounting. A bit of bedding compound, and some grip texturing, followed by some keen squirts of Duracote to handsome up the ensemble.

I started out with a very in expensive 120BTHP from PVRI, loaded up on top of 38g of some Benchmark I had been given. With mag feed seating depth, it gave around 2800 fps from the short little barrel. And with very little adjustment, or load development for that matter, I could pound 8″ targets at 500 yds all day long. That’s about all the shooting I’ve done with it yet, I plan on letting him get comfortable with it, and once he has burned up the 500 120 PVRI bullets, maybe we’ll step him up to the 140’s. At first I had put a Minox 1-6 scope on it, but the scope currently riding on top is a US Optics TS8X in 30mm rings and a 30MOA EGW scope base.

He’s grown up, but he still likes that little rifle.

Believe it or not, I am into this project for less than 500$ (except the scope of course) Thanks to many who either gave me parts, or their time. It’s a fine rifle, one that any kid getting into hunting would be happy to have.
-CBM