It’s safe to say that hunting the backcountry is a dream everyone has had once or twice. High mountain peaks bellowing out to you in the early morning twilight as you arise from your tent with nothing but solitude around you is truly something to behold. For many, the thought of being alone, truly alone, is not a comforting thought, and before attempting a backcountry adventure, you really need to consider the logistics of doing so. If you can get past the fear and uncertainty however, I promise you there is nothing quite as liberating. In this article I will recall several of my very first experiences and lessons learned in the high country of my home state of Colorado, enjoy.
I was first drawn to backpacking four years ago, when dreams of velvet muley bucks filled my mind and pulled at my soul. Mid March had me choosing a unit, simply by looking at google earth and various other online map resources. Come June, my tag arrived in my mailbox, this was really happening. A week later I was heading out to the trailhead to get boots on the ground for that first voyage into uncharted wilderness. I had chosen an open basin three miles from the trailhead to begin my scouting. My arrival was greeted by snow covered peaks and sloppy trail conditions, but my enthusiasm carried me to my predetermined destination. Spotting some bucks along the way, I saw their velvet antlers were still small with much growing to do. Breaking through the timber to lay my eyes on my basin for the first time, my jaw dropped and my breath was taken from me. I had never seen anything so beautiful and had never felt so small. I was a mere 3 miles away from my vehicle and felt like I was in the middle of nowhere, just the wilderness and me.
A first taste of the backcountry
Two days and 23 miles later I had wandered much of that basin, seeing very few deer, but learning a lot about my new backpacking gear and how it all worked. Every creek and spring was absolutely raging with the ice-cold waters of late spring, the emerald green foliage that contrasted the still snow covered peaks captivated my soul and beckoned my return. Two weeks later I found myself breaking through the trees to view that magnificent sight I had seen the previous trip, the same feeling of awe rained over me. This time I decided to venture further back into the valley and by 8:00am I was five miles back and growing weary from the 43lb pack I was carrying. Finding some shade on the steep hillside I shed my pack, used it as a pillow and laid down for a short nap. When you have nowhere else to be, time is of very little importance, so when I arose at 9:00 I decided to eat lunch. One of the most unique aspects of backpacking is that you always have everything you need to survive right there on your back. Food, shelter, and water, all right there and waiting to be deployed at any time. Well, that whole water thing sometimes isn’t so cut and dry.
When venturing deep into the backcountry, water is typically procured from sources out on the mountain. Seeing as it is so heavy to carry, transporting more than you need for a day is illogical. The following year I decided to go back to that same valley, only this time I was going to scout up high on the peaks and ridges above tree line. I had located a spring on my map about 100 feet below where I had intended to camp. A grueling 4 mile hike, gaining 2500 vertical feet placed me at the bottom of an alpine basin at 11,000 feet. Sparse grasses and clusters of pines covered a seemingly unexplainably steep face which towered above me in the late morning heat. I had packed in 24oz of water to get to the spring where I would filter water and refill my hydration bladder. Crossing the basin I arrived at where the spring appeared on the map, but it was dry! At this point I had traveled 5 miles, and had been hiking and bushwhacking for nearly four hours. My water was gone and I was exhausted. I knew there was water about 1200 feet below me at the place I had camped last year. Begrudgingly I started my descent. The mountainside was steep, and by steep I mean if you reached back behind yourself, your hand was on the mountain. I arrived at my final obstacle, a rock slide, remnants of an old mine.
The view from atop the rockslide
Peach pit sized gravel covered the 50 degree slope for some 150 yards. I took my first step, sliding down a few inches. Proceeding forward I was successfully traversing the slide, then the size of rocks shrunk, making travel much more unstable. The slope grew steeper as well, each step I found myself sliding several feet downward before stopping. The next flat spot below me was 75 feet down. My muscles clenched tighter with every step, knowing that at any moment my feet could slip out from under me and I’d be tumbling with my 40lb pack propelling me downhill. As I approached the edge of the slide, a small willow reached out it’s branches as to offer me a hand. I jumped, upon landing my feet slid down the hill. So here I am, in the middle of this breathtaking landscape, on my belly, hanging from a 5 foot tall willow. Sometimes solitude is priceless. I would make it down to the spring unscathed except some light bruising to my ego. Exhausted, I sat, drank some water and decided to pitch camp.
A well deserved rest after the rockslide
A real, quantifiable concern when hunting or exploring the backcountry in the summer and early fall is lightning, particularly at high elevations. Being closer to the sky comes at a price, that price being heightened responsibly and awareness of the potential dangers a lightning storm possesses. My first experience with a high country lightning storm in the backcountry occurred on my third trip out. The hot midday sun was beginning to give way to afternoon clouds, growing darker by the minute. 4pm found me at my camp spot at 10,500 feet of elevation. The sky had grown increasingly dark as I scrambled to set up my tent and tarp. At 4:30pm the first crack of thunder erupted over the peak to my west, shortly followed by the flash of lightning. As I sat under my tarp holding a cup of freshly brewed coffee, the rumbles grew increasingly close until the storm was directly on top of me. As I prepared to take a sip of the coffee, the thunder cracked, causing a ripple inside my cup. My ears rang, and hair stood on end. FLASH…BOOM! FLASH..BOOM! A light rain began to fall, increasing in strength by the second until I found myself getting pelted with dime sized hail. In a matter of minutes the ground had been covered with hail, appearing as if a snow storm had come through. As fast as it came, it was gone and the sun had returned. Unfortunately for me, my inexperience had compromised my gear. I had placed a second tarp under my tent in lieu of a ground cloth. The tarp essentially funneled the water from the storm directly under my tent. My down sleeping bag was soaked. Reluctantly, I wadded my wet gear into my pack and hiked out with a feeling of defeat and a newfound respect for the mountains echoing through my mind.
The setup of my demise
It would take two seasons for me to find hunting success while backpacking, and coincidentally it was a last resort trip that yielded a notched tag. The 2018 deer season had arrived and my plan was to hunt an area conducive to car camping. My ultralight backpacking gear remained at home, since I wouldn’t need it. As I pulled up to the turnoff to head to my spot, a flashing traffic sign read “ACTIVE WILDFIRE AREA…NO PUBLIC ACCESS TO FOREST.” One of the most prolific wildfires in recent history raged literally over my planned hunting area. I had no backup plan, and scrambled to come up with a solution. The one thing that I had going for me was that my tag was good for six different units, essentially a 75 mile stretch of north and south running highway was huntable to me on either side for 10 miles each direction. I drove to the northernmost unit and began to hunt. Failing to find any deer, I traveled south unit by unit until I had reached the last evening of my allotted hunting time. I had one morning left to hunt and I was back to square one, my backcountry basin. As the day dawned, I found myself at 10,500 feet, right where this all began. I took the main trail back towards the parking lot, cutting off and heading up the mountain into a small meadow. Large aspen trees cover the hillside, each one only 2-3 feet apart. Once the sun rises, the shadows cast make it nearly impossible to see a deer before it sees you. Lucky for me the sun was still behind the mountain and the dawn was just beginning to break. I hiked to a large bench that runs along the hillside like a belt around a lumberjack’s waist, 50 yards deep, and 1/4 mile long. Catching movement I froze and looked up the hill to see a doe staring at me at 56 yards. She circled downhill and now had a large pine tree directly between us. I was only two feet behind the tree when a pine squirrel appeared 3 feet away from me. He began to sing his song of betrayal, doing his best to give up my position. The doe, now looking in my direction, decided to come investigate. She came downhill directly at me, stopping at 12 yards before bounding back up the hill. I remained frozen, she turned back, circled again, this time going past me walking to my left. She cut through an opening I had ranged at 39 yards too quickly for a shot. Then, she turned around AGAIN, coming right at me, I ranged a tree in front of her, 28 yards. She stopped a few yards past it, at what I had guessed 23ish yards. I was already at full draw, I released, only to watch my arrow hit her high in the spine. She dropped, then began kicking and rolling down the mountain. I ran around to her downhill side as fast as I could, stopping at 15 yards, then sending an arrow through her vitals. She expired in seconds. My heart was pounding out of my chest, adrenaline was racing through my entire body. I had succeeded, after a hard five days of hunting it all happened on the last morning.
The steep aspen hillside where my doe was taken
The next step was figuring out how to get a full deer, and my camp off the mountain from three miles deep. Since originally I had not planned on backpacking, my gear was not the specialized, ultralight equipment system I had developed through trials and multiple trips into the backcountry. Typically with my ultralight kit, my pack will weigh approximately 35 pounds for a 3 day trip, on this occasion it was north of 50. I started by deboning the deer and putting the meat into game bags, then propping it up on logs and large rocks to cool. I then made the 3/4 mile hike back to camp with an empty pack, upon arrival, I tore down my tent, tarp, and other gear and returned to the place where I had cut uphill. After stashing my pack and bow in the bushes beside the trail I hiked back up to my doe with my meat frame on my back. The slope is incredibly steep, in some places it is nearly 60 degrees! After loading up all the meat, I stumbled down to the trail to reattach my pack to the frame. A full deboned mature mule deer doe, and my 50lb pack made for an entertaining spectacle as I tried to get the pack onto my back. Lying down on top of the pack I strapped in, then rolled onto my stomach, finally doing a push up and using a tree to reach my vertical position. The trail out is well maintained and downhill, however my pack was over 100lbs and the progress was slow. Nonetheless, I had filled my tag and had nowhere to rush off to, victory had been achieved, one trip, everything out.
The challenges of the backcountry are some that I have learned to overcome in my still limited experience, however, through meticulous attention to detail and stringent assessment of my gear and skill set, I feel confident in my abilities. A new backpacker will always bring too much gear, so learning what you do not use is crucial to getting your pack weight down to a manageable weight. There are also items that need to be in your pack no matter the weight, as stated in a previous article (The Western Mountain Gear List), you will need to decide where your loyalties lie and where you want to make sacrifices as far as heavier gear. For me, my sleeping pad is not ultralight, but it is comfortable and I always sleep well on it. My Platypus Gravityworks water filtration system is also heavy, but the ease of use and ability to store water is worth it. Backpacking is a pursuit that does not yield a quantifiable measure of progress, but always possesses different challenges each new trip. The mountains are unforgiving, beautiful, rugged, and command respect. When it comes to knowledge and experience with backpacking the wilderness, there is a lesson to learn every single time your boots leave the trailhead.
Sunset from atop the highest peak in my hunting area