Az Edwin

Bear Canyon is chock-full of crawdads/crawfish/crayfish. They are all over! If you leave your fish on a stringer, they will get destroyed by the little buggers. We found a creel was the best method for keeping the fish relatively safe. Best bait for us? The fish heads/guts. They will fill your traps in no time. No need to leave traps out over night - they will fill up twice during the day, if you out them out in the early morning and clean them out around midday. No use throwing them deep, either. Keeping them shallow allows you to watch them fill up!

I bagged a turkey while it was snowing. My buddy shot one same morning 3 miles away. That whole morning was weird, but echos what was said above - they come down later and talk slightly less. They respond to calls, but you have to be almost on top of them before they answer. The only thing I've found that really shuts them up is the wind. Good luck

As a recent college grad, I've (somewhat) recently been in your son's shoes - it is not a fun place to be. In a perfect world, I would blame my parents and say that they had high expectations. Instead (in all my youth "wisdom") they were trying to encourage me to perform to the best of my ability - they knew what I was capable of and insisted that I perform at that level, not just once, but every time. Yes, this meant straight As through middle school and high school. It went as far as missing opening morning of a hunt just so that I could be in school on a Friday. You better believe their expectations... I mean encouragement... almost made me miss a few hunts. Before my first doe hunt in the Kiabab in 8th grade, a week before the hunt, I had an attitude problem and promptly kicked a hole in my wall. I learned pretty quickly how to patch drywall (with help from Dad, of course). Before my first November elk hunt I was spending too much time day-dreaming about bulls and what I would settle for (needless to say, I shot the first elk that I could). My English and chemistry classes suffered. Again, with a little help from Dad, we went in to school at 6:30am to meet with the teachers and figure out what I could do to improve my grades. (Chemistry it really was the teacher's fault! And though I swore Chemistry was my least favorite subject, I somehow ended up as a Biochem major.... go figure) If you already set your expectations, keep 'em up. If your son really wants to go, he will find a way to meet your standards. Being in the woods is great father-son time, but so everything at home. Learning to patch drywall? Seeing Dad's professional side in those meetings? Reading the chemistry textbook together because neither of us understood it? Absolutely. All bonding times that I won't soon forget. But I also know that I will never forget using Dad's back as a rifle rest to shoot my doe. Or loading our packs with bricks and racing around the neighborhood to be in shape for elk hunting. Or driving to the ER because he fell and broke his arm on a deer hunt. I guess what I am trying to say is that just because you are in the woods together does not mean there is magic in the air that makes this bond happen... (OK - there is a little buzz and anticipation of the hunt. I guess that is magic)... but the entire process leading up to it is important too. Oh - and once I got into college and was 2 states away with no one breathing "encouragement" down my neck, I learned to have my own set of expectations. Like father like son, I guess? Long post. Hope you take something from it, especially since it is kind of from the other side.

In June I was looking to put in for a tag. I only had 4 points and didn't think I had a chance of getting drawn, especially for a December hunt - the only one available due to going to school out of state. Well, I was the #2 tag for my 3rd choice, 34a! Finally, a coues hunt! Got home from Texas late on Dec. 16th, left for Utah the next day. Got back on the 25th and left early on the 26th. It was only my dad and I. We decided to hunt an area he used to hunt 10-15 years ago. Set up camp and get to glassing straight away. Only see does on that first night. Get up early on Tuesday, the 27th. Hike, glass - only does. Where are all the bucks? Mid-day we sat in the shade for a quick lunch and then decided to bump some hills to see if we could push something out of the fingers. (34a is nasty country - but isn't all coues country pretty rugged? - so I prefer glassing to bumping hills). Anyway, we were crossing an extremely steep hill when we hit a shale slide. I cross first and fall twice. Of course my father laughs. Well, he tries to cross... and falls backwards head first. Well, now it's my turn to laugh. That is, until I look back and see blood splattered all around him. Massive head wound and clean break on the forearm. 2 mile hike out, 2 hour drive to emergency room. Arm is splinted and head got 8 staples (and a new bald spot!) plus his left eye was swollen shut. Well, he obviously was going to be camp maid! Luckily the ER nurse saw our hunting clothes and started chatting us up. Turns out, he grew up in Patagonia - knows the place like his backyard. He offers to take me out on Thursday, his only day off. Wednesday my father decides he is feeling well enough to hike and glass. More of the same - does. Wednesday night he leaves for a Dr.'s appointment on Thursday, surgery on Friday. Thursday I meet up with Frank (ER nurse). He takes me to his "secret spot". Glass more does - and finally, my first buck of the trip. Massive buck. Frank puts it at 100-110. Try to put a stalk on, wind busts at 200 yards and he dashes. (I am still kicking myself for not taking a shot at the running buck. 200 yards is easily within my range!!) Can't find any more bucks that day. Thursday night my father's brother comes to hunt with me. Friday morning we go back to the secret spot. In the dark I glass up the big buck with a slightly smaller one, about 90 inches. Waiting for first light, they move up the hill to 500 yards - out of my comfort range. We chase after them - my uncle busts them at 75 yards, but I was not with him. We put on another chase.... get close enough to hear hoof steps, but on a north facing slope the brush was too thick to see anything. Wrong step = busted bucks. No more bucks on Friday. Saturday morning, 12/31 last day to tag out. Go back to spot. Find one buck (with a red/brown tail) moving at 600 yards. Last day so I decide to lob lead. But, by the time I range him, all I can see are his ears twitching behind the ridge. Thinking my hunt is over, we screw around for the afternoon. Late in the afternoon we decide to set up on the ridge that the bucks crosses over. At last light the buck from the morning (identified by the tail) comes wandering over. He stops and stares at us. BOOM. I wax him at 114 yards. Talk about a perfect set up! I shot slightly high and hit blow the spine. With that kind of shot (and my rifle has a muzzle velocity of 3100fps) he dropped right where he stood. My father was upset he couldn't be with me on this amazing adventure and for my first coues, but he is proud nonetheless. And recovering well.<br class="Apple-interchange-newline">

Tried to upload a few more photos, but apparently the file size is too big. Anyways, he scored 80 and change. Not bad for a first buck and considering all that had happened that trip!