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

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.

Three years strait. That's a hell of a slump buster, and these past 3 years of success were doubled up, representing harvest of both deer and elk following a dry spell of mind-bending frustrations and crazy bad luck stacking up on my hunting efforts, to the level I eventually, (albeit reluctantly) proclaimed I'd been cursed! Because for a decade in the early two thousands my hunting efforts were plagued with failure- in the sense of tagging out at least.   

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 bike

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:

It had been almost 20 years since I'd gone deer hunting with a rifle, and this switching of gears from archery elk season to targeting deer proved to be super fun. I roamed all new parts of regional public lands, places that I'd never seen or necessarily even knew were public. That alone became addicting, and within a handful of days in the field I'd had so much fun I declared the effort a success.    Absolute satisfaction came when I climbed a thousand or so feet up a mountain and into a series of north facing coves that from google earth caught my eye as ideal zones I'd hope to find bucks. No sooner had I taken my old 7mm to hand and put a round in the barrel, did I sidehill into the sagebrush pocket to find exactly what I was looking for. Following an hour or so of negotiating the topography and swirling wind I gathered my composure and executed a hundred yard shot that put my best buck to date into our freezer! 

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.

Hi there! I'm Bryan Huskey, a photographer, filmmaker, and general outdoor ding dong in Boise Idaho. At this point- many of you who are listening are probably my buddies, but for the new folks that have stumbled in here, here's a little intro to get a feel for who I am and what to expect from this podcast.  First off- seriously thanks for listening! The response to this first series will have a lot to do with if, or how much effort I put into this podcasting endeavor. I mean lets be honest, people have to like this to make it worth continuing! So if something accidentally ends up actually being worth your time - please, pass it along to anyone who may also dig what we're doing here. Thanks! K- so my earliest memories are with my dad as he fished for salmon and steelhead along the coastal rivers of the Oregon. From Tillamook, we moved to Bend in 1985, and that's where I lived till 2000. After high school in Bend I went to COCC, worked construction, then eventually got into the cottage industry of composite air

I'm not sure how others think of the time between a shot and recovery, but to me it's the most golden and cherished period of a hunt. It's the part my mind races & fast forwards to in daydreams. I like to take my time and savor this part of the hunting experience. Others I know are totally opposite of me, putting little interest in understanding the details between the shot and the prize at the end of the trail. Just get to the animal as quickly and directly as possible. But to me the tracking is the best part. It's the imagination's opportunity to soak in the minutia, to tease into existence the enviability of such hard earned and tangible success. Taking very slow and careful steps I'd made it around ten yards from where the bull was standing when my arrow connected with him. He was lunging straight uphill at this point, and I was parsing the ground in front of me when a few glints of crimson finally caught my eye. Several dime sized drops of rich, heavy-looking blood draped over the rocky ground. First

It was a long shot, but upgrading to a high-end 2016 bow and respectable effort and results in my shooting preparation since summer, I felt confident in the release of my arrow. The bull was totally broadside and looking right at me as I shot. I could hear the impact of a hard hit, but it was tough to see exactly where. It didn't have the tell tale sound of open ribs pass-through. And I couldn't see anything on the light tan canvas of the 6x6 bull's mid-section. But I certainly heard my arrow hit something solid. He lunged forward and immediately hooked uphill. He charged away through a group of massive wind-swept doug firs. He was a good hundred yards out before I really got a look at him. Per usual, I tore out my camera as I visually tracked him fleeing the area. Looking through and straining to hold the camera steady, my eyes finally confirmed what I'd been desperate to see- the green and white fletchings of my arrow were there, just behind his shoulder, deep into the dark brown patch in the bulls armpit.

I set out of camp on the second and final morning, aware but not intimidated by the fact it was my last day to hunt. My step had a decent bounce to it and I was still gleefully taking in all this new country. I admired the evidence of an elaborate beaver complex that had years ago flooded what was once was a good sized aspen grove. All the trees had died and since fallen into what nature had transformed into a meadow. The dam had long ago blown out and no beavers had since undergone reconstruction efforts. Just portions of the old dam remained in the deforested creek bottom. I was pondering the timeline of these events as I made my way up the finger I'd planned to climb to survey the larger network of feeder canyons and folds. I'd barely made it out of the trees and into the "dead head" phase of the climb when in the distance off to my right a figure caught my eye. Three or so hundred yards to my right a large bull elk strolled along the neighboring ridge line. 

Bryan Huskey's 2017 Rut Report Ch1- "Gone with the Wind" The 2017 archery season approached in a state of tremendous confidence and optimism. I'd begun a respectable training regimen in July that consisted of trail running with weights three days a week. For the first time in 9 years my long time hunting buddy Adam from Oregon was again going to ante up to hunt with me in Idaho. Another first since 2004, I'd finally upgraded to a bow with current technology, and we were setting our sights on an entirely new area that appeared to have great potential. Most importantly, as a new father, my wife Ali had secured a full week off work to allow a 9 day venture into the backcountry. And finally, my great friend Ian from 2014 and 2015 Rut Reports cleared his week- and the three of us planned a luxurious RV base camp to shoulder both sides of wilderness spike camp elk hunt. The table was set for epic results.