The picture above was taken in 1974 at hunting camp located at Telegraph Springs near the Crooked River in Oregon. The old timer, Harry Lawrence and his wife Velma, their daughter, husband Ed and kids. Old Grizz with the orange cowboy hat. I started hunting with Harry upon invite in 1970. It was the beginning of a run of good luck with a buck every opening day for years. Most were forked horns, some three points and one four point. I was accused on many occasions, of shooting my deer before the season started as most were down by 8 am. Harry and Velma usually went to the springs a week before the season started, just to enjoy the autumn beauty and do a little scouting. The rest of us came on the day before the season opened. Telegraph Springs was on US Forest Service land that overlooked private land known as the Teeder Ranch. The ranch bordered the river and was surrounded by rich alfalfa fields. Canyons led from the heavy forest above to those fields and the river. Harry had his favorite stands located on several of those canyons. In those days after the breaking dawn, hundreds of deer would leave the river and the fields and start the long climb up to the cool forest for the rest of the day. Long strings of mule deer would work their way up and past those stands, and usually there was at least two or three bucks in the groups.

In the picture to the right, I talk to Harry while he does something in his hunting rig. People would laugh when they saw this being towed behind his pickup, however there probably isn't a 4 X 4 today that could do what this rig could do. Harry built it on a Model A frame, 4 cyl jeep engine, and two transmissions, one behind the other. He had so many gear ratios I couldn't keep track. It could just about go straight up. It was very light weight. We used it to go out to the stands from camp in the mornings and to retrieve downed deer. It beat walking and dragging heavy deer. The best that I can recall I took at least 6 bucks from here and many more I never shot. Each buck and the camp have its own story. I will hit upon some of the more unique hunts that I can remember.

One year there was and old guy (about 80yrs old) who lived down the road from Harry and he visited quite often . He told me he wanted to go hunting, but no one would take him, not even his son. I said if you are ready Friday, I'll pick you up and you can go with me. When I picked him up he was a site to be seen. He had on knee high lace up leather boots, jodhpurs, plaid shirt and a ragged old cowboy hat with arrowheads all over it. He has an old beat up Winchester 30-30 and a bedroll. And oh ya, a grin from ear to ear; he was going deer hunting again. He told me many stories while driving to hunting camp. At camp he rolled out his bedroll under a tree and I invited him in the tent but he refused. It got down in the low twenties at night. The next morning I got him up at 0430, made him some coffee and got in the back of Harry's rig for the ride out to our stand. After arriving at our stand I took him down the canyon and told him not to move, as I wanted to know where he was if I had to shoot. I went back up the canyon and awaited daylight.

True to form, at the break of dawn a big fat forked horn ran up to the canyon, 20ft away. Blam, dead deer at the bottom of the canyon. The old boy came up using his 30-30 as a cane and asked if I shot, I said yes he's right there, pointing at the dead buck. I gutted it and dragged it to the top of the canyon to await Harry going in for breakfast. An hour later the deer was in camp and breakfast was ready. The old guy wasn't eating so I asked him if he was sick, he said NO, I FELL DOWN AND IT APPEARS I LOST MY TEETH!......I laughed so hard I dropped my breakfast. Later that morning I found his teeth and cooked him some venison steak for dinner. I'm so glad I took this old guy hunting, he was ecstatic about how good a time he had. He died in his sleep at home three weeks later. .........................

The year my first wife was sick and dying, I promised her I wouldn't kill anything. But I had to go hunting, I needed a break from our misery at that time. I went, I hunted and I had the crosshairs on a four point. I said a prayer and said bang. The buck looked at me, and walked about ten yards, stopped and looked at me again. I got up and threw a rock at him and he left. I sure enjoyed the camp and fellowship that year.

Harry eventually got fed up with the hunting in Oregon and moved back to his homestead in Wyoming . I continued to hunt at Telegraph Springs for a number of years, enjoying hunts with my father, brother Dean and other friends. Daniel Sisson author of "Grandpa and The Kid" in Field & Stream magazine hunted there and wrote a story for the magazine about his hunt with me. I'll put it in here if I can find it. Most of these hunts I came home without a deer for some reason.

My last hunt at this camp was made with my son Alan. We worked hard and got him out of school and off we went on the great adventure. We thought we would have a week of fun. We arrived a day early and put in a great camp. Spent the day hiking, building pine needle forts etc. For some reason the building of the "poop pit" had a lot of humor in it. Other families that had hunted telegraph springs arrived and set up camp. Some of these folks had hunted here as long as I had. There was always lots of competition to get to the best stands. Alan and I got up and out at 4 am to beat the crowd, using headlamps made our way to a stand that I had never used before but had scouted on another hunt. It had three canyons coming together opening into a draw leading down to the river. The big bucks in the timber used it for an escape route when the shooting started above. Alan and I sat under a pine and waited for dawn to break. It was cold as hell, like most mornings over there. Dawn broke, the shooting started up in the timber, soon we hear the tell tail click of hooves on rocks. Several bucks ran out into the clearing.

One was a beautiful four by five. The shot was a running shot at 150 yards. Kablam, as the great buck ran behind a pine as the rest ran off. We couldn't see the buck so I thought I might have missed. We waited to see if anything moved. We started towards the area we last saw the buck. As we rounded the pine, the great buck lay, head up looking at us. I had broke his back and he was very much alive. I quickly dispatched him. After a short prayer celebrating this great bucks life and his gift to me, we dressed him out and prepared to drag him out. We were three miles from the truck and we didn't have Harry to come get it anymore. I gave Alan the pack and rifle and I grabbed the horns and pulled the deer didn't move. It was at least 200 lbs dressed out. There was no other choice but to drag it a couple feet at a time. I was able to move the truck closer but still had a two mile drag. This deer was well earned. Oh ya, the buck was shot at 6:55am on opening day. This one was for Harry.