My combined Siskiyou/ WY trip of 2770 miles used 193 gallons of gas, worth $715, at 14 mpg.

     $506 of that I recouped from the Nevada Gaming Industry, playing Blackjack at $5-15 per bet.  It was quite a relief to roll like that, after the last couple of 'off' years.  I even took insurance, perhaps for my first time ever, based on my card count- and won.

     Now if only I'd seen 2770 or 193 or 715 or 14 or 506 deer!  Well, I might, -might-, have seen 14 deer.

In Wyoming's Sierra Madre (Medicine Bow NF), on the evening of Opening Day my meadow held two bull elk and three bucks!  But four of the five were spikes, the other little more.  On the third afternoon Craig & I drove around the flat, sagey, Tullis area (on a theory that might not be far wrong), and had a couple of does pop over a ridgelet close to the truck.  That experience was a symbol of what was a trip truism- the closer we were to a vehicle and a road, the better our chances of seeing deer!  On day seven I saw three does. At last light of my last night, a good buck slithered out of the forest into my meadow on Dexter.

     It was too dark to see him well, but, though 'good', he was not an instant shooter.  I dithered around, seeking intently for a bachelor buddy who might have been hanging back, letting 'junior' expose the risk; thinking about the pack job back to the Bronco, and how it would be a two tripper - over two days - and that I had no camp, as I'd packed up before making this final hunt, and where I might sleep -would I curl up in the car, dig out one of my tents, or drive the 1 1/2 hours to town- ; and about the weather, reported to be beginning a snow storm; and seeking intently for a bachelor buddy who might have been hanging back; and wondering if I had the strength, as I'd been sick and weak much of the week, and staring intently for a bachelor buddy who might have been hanging back, ...

     The upshot of it all is that I made no shot, up or down.  But I watched the guy for a good half hour, straining my eyes to differentiate, in the dark, his body from the terrain.

     That's about my deer total, leaving out the ones we could see afar off: from our misc. perches on one or another side of either of the Sandstone Creeks we could see the opposite side for a mile or three, and from Dexter or Divide Peaks we could see forever (Charlie's ranch, with the five buttes of Five Buttes where we'd had our camp, and Bird Gulch, were in hazy blue view); and the also leaving out the all silly darn femchicks that kept trying to get into the truck with us.

     I'll let the others tell you their deer stories, but don't expect too much.  (But don't let Craig skip Siskiyou.)

     We went in with low expectations- the winter kill was more than significant, we were hunting on pretty flat public ground, and we won't ask many questions about what oil/gas rig machos do for fun during the winter.  No one we talked to, before or after, expected many deer or antelope in the area, nor for great antler growth on those that survived.

     On the way out I stopped in to visit with Tom, our taxidermist (in better times).  He called this a record bad year.

     I might have seen more if I'd gotten afield more.  I took three mornings off in Siskiyou -out of shape- and in WY I had a cold or something.  My energy was sapped, I took several mornings, at least, off.

     Some grouse were about, blue, spruce, or sage hens (or some or all of the above); I flushed one puppy-footed showshoe hare; an antelope buck scampered back into the pines deep in the forest, far from its expected sagelands; you've heard about the bears; I called in, but was unable to collect, one coyote in Siskiyou, and Sandstone keeps on retainer a choir or two; a hawk landed anext me while I was calling, I suppose to pick up any meat chunks I might leave behind; and there were plenty of elk, though no significant bulls, everywhere in WY.

  We 'coyoted out' (camped in a "spike" camp, with Craig in his truck and Bill and David in a small 3-season backpacking tent; no fire, just cooked on a mini Coleman - David) in WY twice, the second time returning to find our coolers had been savaged by a bear.  That night's steaks were gone, so we sent Craig to town for more.  Misc. lunch meat & bacon were still on the ground nearby; I suspect that someone- perhaps us, even- scared the bear away before he'd finished gorging.  My plastic cooler now wears two sets of bite marks; my now discarded gas can was punctured twice; Craig's tent has a couple of new holes and his canvas ground tarp has a tear; the tent has muddy paw prints up on the window screen; the campsite neighbor's deer hide, dragged near us by a coyote, presumed, disappeared; and a pile of seed-filled scat, looking like a 13-lump horse dump, was deposited nearby.  But Craig took care of that last, peeing on it in defiance.  We had no more bear trouble.

     But I did see one, slinking into the roadside pines as I drove off the mountain, in the dark, for the last time.

     Speaking of bears- I had a tag for one in Siskiyou, and called as often as I could.  Only one came in, while I was seated in the deep forest.  But, of course he came in from behind.  As always, I was nervously swiveling my head in all directions, and I looked over my left shoulder to find a smallish blacky at fifteen yards, sitting between two trunks and watching me.  He was smaller than I wanted to take with my rifle, and by the time I got the WoundMaster Plus out of my shoulder holster and twisted around again, he was galumphing out of sight.  I'd heard not a whisper.  (I need to take better care to choose protected calling spots!)

     I did see a big'un up there, but at something surely beyond 600 yards.  Others of the group had there own sightings; one even popped a young one out of the ferns just after leaving camp for the morning hunt.