Popo Agie Canoe Trip

Schaaf said:
Knob Creek, but not a white woman to be found :confused:
Click to expand...
That quote form that movie, along with the quotes about the Judith and the Mussleshell in Jeremiah Johnson, fueled more adolescent fantasies about being a mountain man and the places they were than any other.
 
Day 1- We all reached the boat ramp...in central Wyoming... at about 12:30. Our destination was a string of three islands about 15 miles downstream that I figured would give us enough room to roam for the next 5 days. We had hunted these islands for turkeys in the Spring of 2019 and were thrilled at how many deer we had seen throughout the area and vowed to make it back soon for a deer hunt during the rut. There were four of us in three canoes filled to the brim with Old Milwaukee and Schmidt beer. For half of the party, this was our first canoe trip but really there is no better time to learn how to paddle a canoe than when it’s below freezing.

We made quick work of the 15 mile float and in no time we were on the main island bank looking for a spot to camp. We quickly noticed the numerous deer tracks on the gravel bar and within a couple minutes I spotted a buck just upwind cruising through the willows about 150 yards away. We had all left our rifles still strapped to the canoes but no one seemed to give a thought to running back and grabbing the rifle for a quick ending to the trip. We all felt content to just watch the lone buck for the moment.

Rather than set up camp on the gravel bar we decided to hop back in the canoes and cruise down the river another half mile to where I had originally picked out the camping spot based off of aerial imagery. Looking down to where our camp would eventually be, we were able to watch a lone mule deer buck walk down off the bluff to the river’s edge and within fifteen seconds wade out into the river and swim the main channel to the western edge.

This section of the river seemed to be the fastest yet and gave us our one good scare of the trip. We planned on placing our camp on the northern edge of the island right where the side channel dumps into the main river, keeping our wind and disturbances to a minimum. When we reached the tip of the island there was a major eddy that swung the nose of the canoe around to the right to a complete stop and kept the rear of the canoe swinging around at about 6 mph. We had deliberately given each other enough space to get out of the canoe with enough time that we each had the “oh shit” moment individually even though we all tried to get the attention of the next canoe coming down the river.

We quickly set up camp on a cold but calm November evening. First dinner on the menu was Old Milwaukee, Pancakes, Eggs, and Bacon. Live, Laugh, Love.
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Because of @Randy11 ‘s prolonged absence, I will delegate a #makinghunttalkgreatagain. However, if you don’t quit dawdling on this story I’ll post a spoiler picture.
 
Day 2- It was cold as hell today. We had a high of 17 with about 25 mph winds out of the west. Scott and I decided to canoe across to the river just to the south of camp and John and Hayden would pair up on the main island we were camped on. Shortly after crossing to the south island, I spotted a handful of mule deer 600 yards away. 3 does with one buck sniffing them all. I wasn’t really expecting to see mule deer out on the islands. I wasn’t against shooting a mule deer but it would have to be a worthy buck and this guy wasn’t it. We left those 4 deer be and continued on our path up to the small bluffs that overlook the southern island. Right about when we reached the top of the bluffs there were another 4 deer being chased right towards us by a different Muley. We both sat down and watched them trot to 47 yards below us. The buck played the role of rutted up muley perfectly. He spotted me at 60 yards with only his head poking over the Yucca plants and then he proceeded to step out into the open at 47 yards and glance back and forth at me and his 3 does, deciding which was more important. Ultimately, the does took a wrong turn and he was back at work keeping them contained.

Scott and I continued on our original path. Half a mile later we were walking the edge of the slough when 3 coyote pups came sprinting down the ice on the slough at about 30 yards. The third coyote in line was the only one to spot us. Like a true friend, he never made a peep and hit the brakes on the ice, tucked tail, and went in the opposite direction leaving his friends to fend for themselves. A true Montanan would have unloaded the magazine at those two last spring Pups.

We spent the rest of the morning slowly working through the mix of mature Cottonwood, Juniper, and Russian Olive trees. This island contained almost no sign until you waded into the timber. Even that sign seemed to be several days old. There was a large amount of cows on this chunk of public ground that I wasn’t expecting considering it was this late in the season. By early afternoon we still hadn’t seen any fresh sign on this island so we decided to split up for the evening. I would stay and overlook the willows close to the gravel bar that showed the most recent, although still outdated, sign on the island and Scott would head back towards the other end of the island closer to camp where we had seen the mule deer earlier that morning.

Nothing moved the rest of the afternoon, except for the split crotch in my puffy pants after straddling a downed cottonwood tree. I decided to slowly work my way back to the north end of the island where Scott and my canoe were at. Halfway back to the canoe I glanced off to the west across the side channel of the river to a sand bar and spotted a handful of deer grazing on the cottonwood saplings that were poking up through the snow. This was probably 10 minutes after sunset so I didn’t have a lot of time to play with but a quick look through the binoculars confirmed there was a nice 5 point whitetail on the sand bar with a couple does and a smaller buck still standing in the willows looking down on the more mature buck. I closed the distance to 250 yards and was laying down with the rifle on the bipod overhanging the cutbank of the river waiting for the buck to turn broadside. The buck turned to his right and stopped, I squeezed the trigger, heard the boom, waited for the thwap, and then there was nothing. The buck turned back to his left and sprinted for the thickest part of the island only 60 yards away. I was confused but still confident in my shot. I gave John and Hayden a call to check where they were at and see if they could hurry to the sand bar before it was completely dark. A quick check showed where the buck was at when I shot and the quick turn to his left. No hair, no blood, clean miss.

We were all too chilled to sit another second outside so we decided to cook Day 2’s menu of Beef Stew on top of my Knico Stove inside the tent. The buns were frozen but the soup warmed a guy up.8258880B-0985-4091-BD7E-FE7689D9B338.jpeg6F61F698-9E3F-4651-BFEC-C5E8A45C0BA9.jpeg1C8041DA-B5E5-4BF6-AA0A-63D19B6A2492.jpeg
 
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