North Idaho Anniversary Adventure

May 2019

Seven years ago, my wife and I made a trip to northern Idaho to fish for northern pike. Our timing was late, and although we caught a few northerns, we were determined to return another year when the fishing was prime. This year, for our anniversary, Katie suggested we make a trip North again to catch the hot northern pike bite. Married well, I did!

From my research, early to mid-May was supposed to be the best time. We planned our trip for the first week of May, hoping to catch the big pike in the shallows just after they spawn. The weather forecast took a turn for the worse a few days before we left; daytime highs in the 50's and nighttime lows at freezing! Not ideal, however some plans are not flexible to change, so we were going regardless!

With the boat loaded and all of our stuff crammed in my truck, there was little room for anything else, except one last item: my shotgun. 

"Honey, how upset would you be if I happen to stumble upon some turkeys and maybe, just maybe went after them for like, 20 minutes?" I asked delicately. 

"That would be fine." Katie responded with a smile.

"Sweet, because I packed the shotgun." I chuckled.

By 6 pm we were pulling into the campground at the southern end of Coeur d'Alene Lake. We set camp, ate dinner and launched the boat. Tomorrow we planned to fish Chatcolet lake, Benewah lake and go for a bike ride on the Trail of the Coeur d'Alenes. 

I woke early the next morning to pre-fish Chatcolet Lake. Water temps in the shallows were in the mid 40's! I fished hard for a couple hours, talked to some turkeys on private land and returned back to camp skunked. When Katie woke, we went for a bike ride on the Trail of the Coeur d'Alenes.

An old railroad converted to a bike path, the Trail of the Coeur d'Alenes is spectacular and long. It starts at the south end of the lake and follows the Coeur d'Alene river past Kellogg. The path is super smooth and very scenic. 

Benewah Lake produced nothing that afternoon as well, giving Katie and I the first "skunked" day in years. That evening we drove into town for a delicious pizza dinner.

The following day we headed to Harrison, where we had access to another section of the bike trail, Harrison bay, the Coeur d'Alene River and Anderson Lake. By 10 am we were riding the scenic bike trail where we spotted a young moose and an otter.

The water we passed was gorgeous and calm; I couldn't wait to launch the boat and fish! Mother Nature had slightly different plans though. As soon as the boat touched the water, a blast of wind hit us. I looked up to the sky and cursed that blasted thing called wind.  That was the start of a very windy afternoon. We fish hard with one fish to the boat; a pike! Although small, it was a start.

We returned back to the truck for dinner before returning to the wind swept waters. This time we drove up the river and entered Anderson Lake. We headed straight for a fallen tree that surely held some fish. We weren't disappointed, for this tree held some big crappie!

Katie also managed to rope in a large sucker on her balanced minnow. 

As the evening progressed, the waters calmed and more fish were caught, including a very nice largemouth and more crappie.

The next morning we packed up camp and had a great breakfast in Coeur d'Alene. We also stopped at the local fly shop, Northwest Outfitters, for the latest reports. This shop has always been friendly and helpful to me. 

"Yep, water is cold. You're early. You should try for some trout in some of the streams." Mike told us.

We were given good intel on some hot trout bites, but we had hauled the boat all the way up there and were determined to catch some more pike.

By 3 pm we were launching the boat on Rose Lake. Rose produced some bass, bluegill and crappie, but no pike. 

We camped that night at a new campground. By 6 am the next morning I was solo on the water of another chain lake, casting to the bank in search of pike. As the sun rose, I heard a turkey gobble on a hillside near me. Another bird responded, followed by another. Three different gobblers could be heard on the same hill, likely checking in on each other and their hens as they prepared to fly down from the roost. I motored the boat closer and started gobbling back to them. All 3 birds eagerly challenged my gobbles. A huge smile formed on my face as I checked my map, finding this hillside to be public land. I raced the boat back to the ramp, grabbed my shotgun, peaked in on Katie sound asleep and took off toward the turkeys. I was ill prepared for serious turkey hunting; all I had was a Simms digital-camo hoody, white quick-dry pants and a grey ball cap. Regardless, I had 3 gobblers excited about the day and I had an hour to make something happen. 

I began to hike up the hill and crept within a couple hundred yards of the last location I heard a gobble and started calling. The birds responded, only this time they had traveled a few hundred yards further away and higher up the hill. I slowly walked uphill and closer to their gobbles. Each time I would stop and call, they sounded the same distance away. Eventually I realized I must have passed one of the gobblers. Then I heard it; a loud chest reverberating gobble directly behind me. Oh yeah! I yelped back at him with my mouth and he gobbled loud and long in response. This bird wants to play! I crawled on my hands and knees to a downed log and slowly crested my shotgun over the top, peering down the barrel. Sixty yards away on the opposite hillside, strutted a red-headed, bearded gobbler. The bird slowly worked his way closer, stopping here and there to check his surroundings. I couldn't believe this was happening. Was I going to get a turkey on my anniversary trip? No sooner had the thought popped in my head, the bird stopped at 45 yards, perked up and made an alarmed yelp. Perhaps it was the strange gray ball cap sky-lined on the hill in front of him or he had seen me move. Afraid this was my only chance, I aimed for the base of his head and pulled the trigger. The bird fluttered for a moment and then took off in flight. Not good! I cycled the empty shell out of my gun as the obviously not dead gobbler glided out of sight. I blew it! Instant depression set in. As I walked back to camp, I thought of all the different things I did wrong: I was impatient, I should have stayed further back where I wasn't sky-lined, I should have tried to call the bird closer, I should have patterned this choke tube with these shells prior, I'm a pitiful hunter! 

I moped into camp and woke Katie up, telling her what had happened.

"Maybe you'll find him later this afternoon. Sounds like you probably hit him, just not a lethal shot." Katie consoled.

"Perhaps. If I did hit him, he'll probably hide somewhere and become coyote food. Darn it, I suck," I said with a huge frown.

"Maybe you can look for him later today?"

"Let's go fishing and when we come back to camp tonight I'll go look for him. I seriously doubt I even hit him."

We headed to Hayden Lake for the day. Hayden Lake was gorgeous and loaded with great pike water, except no pike wanted to play this day. We did however, get into a mess of large crappie! 

All day I thought about that turkey. Guilt and disappointment filled my conscious until I couldn't take it anymore. With 12 crappie in the cooler, we headed back to camp, hoping to also add a turkey to the spoils.

I headed up the hill behind camp in search of my bird. I doubted I would find any evidence of a wounded turkey. I didn't even know for sure if I had hit the bird! Once you pull the trigger, you owe it to any animal to confirm if your shot was a hit. I made it all the way up to the spot where the bird had stood when I shot. Not even a feather lay where the bird had been. I slowly made my way in the direction the bird had flown; back towards camp. I had almost made it back to camp when a turkey feather caught my eye on the ground. I gazed into the woods to the right and then to the left. A small red object caught my attention only 30 yards away: a turkey head! Crouched next to a burnt stump was a turkey! As soon as we made eye contact, the bird stood and took off running down the hill. That's got to be my bird! The turkey took flight and headed straight for a large ponderosa pine. Below me, through the gaps in the trees, I could see the turkey flapping as he tried to land in the tree. Then, as if he hit a brick wall, I saw him fall straight from the sky and hit the ground. Great, he's going to take off running again. I'm never going to get this bird! I took off down the hill, hoping to catch the bird as he ran off. As I neared the tree, I saw a dark object laying on the ground. Great, he's probably crouched and hiding again and going to take off like a bat out of hell when I get close. I approached slowly, ready for battle with the 10 pound tom. But a battle was not necessary, the bird lay limp and clearly dead. What just happened? Had this bird had a heart attack? That last flight and rush of adrenalin had done him in. I was happy and relieved that I was able to apprehend my bird. I had seriously doubted I would find this bird again. There was absolutely no evidence this bird had even been shot, but dead he was and I was thankful. I notched my tag and hauled him back to camp. From pure depression to thankful relief, it had been a roller coaster day.

The bird was a middle-aged tom with a 7 inch beard. I breasted and de-legged the bird, leaving the feet with spurs to show evidence of sex for transport. I still found no pellets or signs that this bird had been shot, but I figured he was somehow my tom. 

The following day we would be leaving for home. It had been a great camping, biking, dining and fishing trip in new waters. The pike had once again eluded us. Perhaps in another 7 years we'll return hoping, "the third time's a charm"!

Landlocked Chinook in the Family Boat

April 2019

They say there are two best days in a boat owner's life. One is the day he buys the boat and the other is the day he sells the boat. I hear a lot of stories where people buy boats, only to never use them and then sell them a short time later. How can this be? Boat neglect is a serious offense. I'm sad to say that I've also been guilty of it!

My family has a small fishing boat and some of my fondest adolescent memories have been in that boat. The family gem is a 14 foot 1970's Mirror Craft riveted V-bottom. 

The original grimy yellow color was never much to look at so when I was in junior high, we sanded it down and painted it camouflage. I'd always wanted a bass boat, so we eventually built a platform on the front and mounted a foot controlled trolling motor. This "poor man's bass boat", has seen a lot of fish over the years. However, the last few years it has sat idle in my fathers garage. Convinced he was going to buy a larger boat for the grandchildren, my father sold the old outboard and purchased a larger heavier outboard from a friend. A new boat purchase had to be put on hold in the last several years and we worried the new motor would be too heavy for the old boat, so the boat has sat in limbo for the last 4 years. 2019 held too much promise to let the boat sit any longer, so I decided to get the boat back in operation!

I started by cleaning out all the junk that had collected in the boat -(a boat in a garage makes an excellent storage container). I had to grease the wheel bearings, re-inflate the tires and replace a trailer tail light. I then took the boat down to the carwash for some deep scrubbing. Once the boat was dry, I vacuumed out the 20 years of accumulated gravel, dirt and split-shot. It was then time to register the boat and trailer, as well as purchase an invasive species sticker. Convinced the boat could handle the new motor, I mounted the motor on the transom and made the appropriate fuel connections. Once I had fuel in the gas tank, it was time to see if the motor would run. Comfortably bathing in a garbage can of water, I began pulling. Three pulls was all it took and she fired right up. 

The only other thing left to do was add some support to the motor when traveling on the trailer. Worried the heavy motor would damage the back of the boat when traveling, I mounted a support arm on the trailer to help absorb the road bumps. The boat was now ready to fish! 

On an early April day, I decided to take the boat to Lucky Peak and test her out. Joining me would be my favorite experimental adventure buddy and brother-in-law, Trevor.   

Lucky Peak is home to planted rainbow trout, Kokanee salmon and landlocked Chinook salmon. These fish would all be cruising high in the water column this time of year. I chose to troll with a sinking fly line and some flashy flies, while Trevor started with a spoon on the spinning rod. 

It only took 10 minutes before I felt a fish bite. I set the hook and began fighting the mystery fish. A few moments later, a rainbow trout came thrashing to the surface.  

We made another pass in the same area and I connected with another fish. This one fought much harder and was definitely heavier. As it came closer to the boat, I saw it was a Chinook salmon! I forgot to bring a net, so landing the scrappy fish was a challenge. After some comical splashing and boat side wrestling, I had the fish apprehended.

These Chinook are planted in several reservoirs throughout Idaho to help manage the Kokanee salmon population. Kokanee salmon tend to get stunted when their numbers are too high. Voracious predators like Chinook salmon help by eating the smaller Kokanee, as well as providing more angling opportunities. 

We continued trolling, but so far Trevor's setup hadn't gotten a sniff. I hooked up with a couple more fish that I lost before we reeled in and cruised to the other side of the lake.

Trevor switched to a chartreuse crank bait and was rewarded with a rainbow trout.  

We fished for another hour or so without a bite. The afternoon had been beautiful and the boat had performed well. 

The maiden voyage was a success and with spring run-off starting, the family boat will not be neglected in the coming months! 

Crane Falls in March

One day while working at the fly shop, I received an anonymous tip that large trout were being caught at Crane Falls Lake. It was early March and the ice had only recently receded enough to float tube there. Intrigued, I checked Idaho Fish and Game's website for the stocking report; a valuable resource for catching trout. The historic stocking report showed F and G had planted catchables (8-12 inch) in October and adults (16-24 inch or "brood stock") in November. Excited for the potential to catch winter "carryover" rainbows in addition to big ugly brood stock found me at Crane Falls on a mild March day.

Joining me on my first still water trip of the year was long-time family friend, fishing buddy and godfather, Bruce Schuld.  

The weather was perfect; cloudy and calm with temps near 60. The water was very clear and aquatic weeds could already be seen growing in clumps, stretching into the depths of the lake. Early season trout tend to cruise near the surface or near the shore, so I set up a rod with an intermediate line and a leech. I set up my other rod to bobber fish with a balanced minnow. 

Bruce and I kicked out into the lake just past the edge of the weeds. On my first cast, a couple strips in, I felt the quick jittery take of a scrappy rainbow trout. Slow to the take, I missed numerous fish on my first several casts before finally connecting with one.

Bruce was also experiencing the same action. We had only kicked a few yards past the weeds and were immediately into a ton of fish. Bruce was using a large leech trailed by a small green Carrey Special. 

The next couple hours were filled with action as we worked around the edge of the lake. We both caught plenty of 9-14 inch fish. 

Although the water temperatures were cold, I suspected a few largemouth bass could be plucked from the bottom. I switched rods, casting my balanced minnow to the visible clumps of weeds climbing to the surface of the lake. The minnow took a couple trout before I set the hook on a heavy, bottom hugging fish. A bass surfaced near my tube, lethargically shaking it's head. I was pleasantly surprised to lip an Idaho largemouth bass in March.  

We kicked back towards the truck and as we neared the weed line, Bruce hooked into a monster. I quickly kicked over to see what he had caught. 

Although not the prettiest fish, this brood stock rainbow demanded a picture. At 20 some inches, she could get anyone's heart pumping.

We came in for lunch to warm up our feet. The day so far had been great and the weather beautiful. There were still many more fish to catch and I hadn't given my bobber enough love. In the morning I caught most of my fish stripping a leech but I knew it was time for some bobber dunking! I switched from the minnow to a balanced damsel.

We kicked out to the weed edge, but instead of continuing to kick and troll near the edge, I camped out on top of a weed clump and strategically placed my casts toward the dark water near the weed clumps. 

Every cast resulted in a take down of the bobber and soon I was bringing in a fish nearly every cast.

 

While I was racking up numbers of fish, Bruce was concentrating on finding another bruiser. His efforts paid off with a great 18 inch fish.

"Ryan, you can have all those little minnows, I'm going to stick with catching these big fish." Bruces said with a wry smile.

"That's fine, I'll get a big fish one of these casts." I replied.

I eventually did, but lost it near the boat. Meanwhile I continued to catch many smaller fish. 

Bruce's action had slowed considerably in the afternoon, but the balanced damsel under a strike indicator had been the ticket. When that started to slow, we knew it was time to head home. 

Crane Falls was an excellent way to kick off the 2019 still water season. We estimated catching approximately 50 trout and 3 largemouth bass. Checking Fish and Game's website for historic stocking is a great way to identify potential early season hotspots. Better yet, Fish and Game announced they would be planting another 1,200 catchable rainbows the last week of March. It's time to dust off the float tube and give Crane Falls a try! You may even catch a monster.

The Great Elk Hunt of 2018

Landing my dream job last year as a fire fighter left little time in the fall of 2017 to chase deer or elk. Regardless, our families took care of us and kept our freezer full. This year I was lucky enough to apprehend the same elk tag I held in 2016. Only this year, so did my brother in law and his cousin!

I spent several months planning, mapping and scheming for the much anticipated hunt to come. Before I knew it, the season was upon me and I still didn't feel as prepared as I had hoped. It was hard to narrow down a starting location! Elk inhabit lots of places, so it was hard to know exactly where to start. We eventually fell back on where I had harvested my spike the previous hunt. 

My first trip gave me 5 days of hunting, and man did I hunt hard those first 5 days! Thirty-five miles on foot, several mountains scaled and I saw plenty of cows and calves. I even missed a shot on a medium sized mule deer buck. Buck fever perhaps? At the end of the week, no one had harvested an animal and I felt beaten down. I needed a break and a new set of plans. I needed to hunt smarter, not harder.

My hunting party was able to stay a few days later but I had to return home. On my way home, I scouted an area that had been suggested as an option, but by no means an easy area to hunt. The area scared the rest of my hunting party; "That area is nasty steep." and "Let's try some other areas first." Regardless, what we had been doing wasn't working like I wanted it to. I scouted the area and saw it's potential; a lot of fresh sign and no other hunters. I was sold. 

A week later I had my gear packed and was ready to start fresh in a new area. I planned to go with my brother in law, Trevor. But he had just returned home from his first trip, in which he ended up harvesting a spike. He had to cut his elk up and his truck had broken down on the way home. With those things to do, it was clear I would be on my own for at least a couple days. My friend Ryan would join me later in the week, since he had a deer tag and had never shot a deer. 

I drove up, set camp at an experimental location and began hunting. My first day produced little game but a gorgeous sunrise. 

On the second evening, I relocated to the nasty area and found myself at a glassing location as the sun set. I immediately began to spot animals; several deer here, a herd of cows and calves there, a bugle over there... Holy crap, was that a bugle? There's a bull here! By dark I had confirmed there was at least 3 different bulls in the drainage. My optimism was high!

The following morning I returned to the glassing spot to find several more groups of elk feeding leisurely about. I heard a couple bugles but had not spotted any bulls. By 10 am the animals had all retreated to their mid-day lounging spots, telling me it was either time to go lounge myself or try another ridge to glass from. I chose to try another ridge.

I hiked over to a finger ridge and began to descend. The slopes began to steepen exponentially as I descended. I needed to find a location to glass before I ended up too deep into this drainage, and would spend the rest of the day trying to get out of it. As I quietly descended the ridge, a familiar shape came into view on the side of the hill below me: a mule deer ear. I froze and began to scan the area. As I peered around through the trees and brush, the shapes of about 6 deer began to materialize. Then the wind switched. All 6 bedded deer stood up and turned their eyes toward me. Busted! All I saw were does, but a buck could be nearby. All 6 deer stampeded off across the hill. As they did, I heard a glorious sound on the ridge to my left: a bugle! My eyes immediately focused on it's location. Weaving in and out of the trees was a mature bull elk. He bugled again as if to say, "you stupid deer are making an awful lot of noise!" Then I heard another crash. Above where the deer had been bedded, a larger bodied mule deer took off in the direction of the does and the elk. A buck! A monster buck! Not only did his body look like he'd just finished at the gym but his large antlers swept out past his ears. I didn't have a clear shot and he quickly reached a distance too far for me to comfortably shoot. That was cool! Both the deer and the elk were close to each other. I think ill go over there! 

I quickly ascended my ridge and worked my way over to the ridge with the elk and deer. I dropped my pack, checked the wind and went into full predator mode. I began to sneak onto the ridge and begin my descent. It hadn't rained or snowed in weeks and the dying plants were very dry and noisy. Like a dream shattering landmine, the wrong step on a dry plant sounded like a bag of potato chips being crushed, alerting every animal on the mountain something was coming. 

I went as slow and quietly as possible, my eyes scanning ahead of me. I hadn't made it far down the forested ridge when another familiar shape appeared in front of me: elk. Two spike elk came into view below me. Each stood staring at me. Busted again! I couldn't see the mature bull but I knew if these 2 spikes took off, so would the big bull and the buck, likely to never be seen again. I had a decision to make. I could let the elk go, back out of the area and hope to get on another bull later. Or I could shoot one of these legal elk right now, finishing my 2018 elk hunt. I chose meat over antlers. I took a knee and shot the elk giving me the best shot. BOOM!!! At 50 yards I felt confident in my hit. Still, the elk took off down the hill, disappearing from view. The woods below me erupted as elk scattered everywhere. About 5 seconds after most of the crashing stopped, I heard another crash below me. Was that my elk dying?

I backed out of the area and returned to my backpack. I knew it was wise to wait almost an hour to return to the area in case my elk needed time to pass. It felt like an eternity, but eventually I returned to the spot where the elk had been when I shot. No blood. I followed his tracks for several steps. No blood. Doubt began to creep into my mind, especially since I had missed a deer earlier in the season. I began to follow his tracks down the ridge. Still no blood. Tracks starting going every direction. There must have been at least 10 elk down here when I shot! I stuck with a set of tracks that went straight down the hill. Still no blood. Crap! Did I miss again? Then I saw him; piled up next to a small tree was my spike! Thank the Lord! 

He lay on a very steep hill. The only thing keeping him from rolling further was a 4" diameter tree he appeared to be sitting on. My shot had been perfect; right through his heart. Yet still the only blood to be found was right at the bullet entry. I took a few photos and got ready for the fun part; breaking this large animal into manageable pieces of organic meat. 

I tied his antlers to a small tree near his head to keep his body from sliding down the hill as I worked. I found quartering an elk by yourself to be difficult, but not impossible. Two hours later I had 5 large game bags full of delicious elk meat. I decided to shuttle all the meat up to an old road at the top of the ridge. That way, the remaining 1.5 mile pack-out would be relatively flat and easy. I carried 2 front quarters on the first trip to camp. Ryan arrived just in time to put a pack on and help me get the rest of the meat. By 6pm we were back in camp with the entire elk.

It was bittersweet to have notched my 2018 elk tag. It's rarely easy to get an elk. I was successful and would be bringing home a lot of great meat. However, I had just started getting into the elk. Would I regret taking a spike with 3 days left to hunt? I just had a feeling that I would not only see more mature bulls in the coming days, but have chances to shoot a mature bull. I pushed these feeling to the back of my mind. Let's get us some deer! 

The following morning we set off for the glassing spot. Before we got there though, we ran into a herd of elk feeding across the road we were on. There were about 15 elk in this group, including one spike (which I could have shot) and a bull just below us out of sight that bugled a couple times. They all meandered off, allowing us to get into position on our glassing spot. From there we spotted a herd of elk on the hillside in front of us. This group had almost 20 elk, including one very wide 5 point, (which I could have shot). This became the pattern for the next 3 days. Everywhere we went in search of deer, more elk turned up. We couldn't buy a deer! Even in spots that screamed deer country, we found elk. One day we stumbled upon a huge herd of elk containing 8 individual mature bulls. It was almost becoming comical. 

The last deer I even saw was that large buck the day I shot my elk. Before driving home, Ryan and I were able to reflect on the trip. It was certainly a memorable and informative one. I had found an elk hotspot. We had seen more elk and witnessed more elk behavior than any of us had in our lives. That alone was worth the trip. Unfortunately, Ryan was still deer-less and would have to wait for 2019 to harvest his first deer. 

Katie, Ryan and I processed my elk in our garage that evening.  By 11 pm the freezer was full. A hunt brings many memorable events; spotting that animal, the rush and excitement of the pursuit and pulling the trigger. But few are as rewarding as opening that freezer and pulling out a package of delicious organic meat, knowing exactly what you're eating and where it came from. I may not have any antlers to touch and hold this year, but those bulls we left behind will only be bigger next year...