Buddies Reunite For An Epic Hunting Adventure With Predators, Birds On The Agenda

The following appears in the December issue of California Sportsman:

By Tim E. Hovey

During the summer of 2020, I retired from my state job as a California fisheries biologist and moved my family to southern Idaho. It was a planned relocation to take advantage of the lower cost of living in the Gem State. Both my daughters had been accepted to Boise State University, and despite wondering if retiring before paying their tuition was a wise move, we were all looking forward to this new chapter for the Hoveys.

As soon as we settled in Idaho, I started exploring the public hunting opportunities in and around the Treasure Valley. It didn’t take me long to realize that there was plenty to do for the sportsman within 30 minutes of our new home.

Three weeks after our relocation, I was seated in the Idaho sage at sunrise on the September opener, waiting for the mourning doves to start flying. It was my first hunt in my new state. During a lull in the flight, I thought about how drastically my life had changed in the last month. Retiring and relocating had taken some adjustments, but my family never faltered. I heavily relied on their strength to make this leap of faith, and I will always be grateful for their support.

Despite hunting solo that morning, I wasn’t sad or lonely. Even though I had essentially left all my hunting buddies back in California, I knew I’d see them again soon. My small circle of outdoor friends had made it clear that once I had explored the area, they’d travel my way for a visit. With thousands of square miles of open land and plenty of room at the new Hovey home, I knew they’d be coming.

THE FOLLOWING YEAR, MY buddy John Mattila touched down at Boise Airport ready to hit the ground running for an Idaho hunt.

Knowing he’d be arriving close to noon, I picked up lunch at the Golden Arches, a gesture that is now a visiting tradition. I picked him up at the arrival area and we headed out to hunt. John had timed his visit to take advantage of several open hunting opportunities.

Heading east, I exited the highway and drove towards the foothills. I drove down a road surrounded by public land, every foot of it open to hunting. After a few miles, I pulled over and we grabbed the predator hunting gear. We eased through the low sage and set up at the edge of a dry drainage. The sun and wind were perfect, and from previous visits, I knew the area held coyotes.

We settled in and I started calling. John was to my right, using one of my predator hunting rifles. We both scanned the desert terrain looking for movement. Within minutes, we both spotted a coyote standing in an opening about 120 yards out. His bright white chest was easy to spot. He began to slowly trot our way, cutting through the vegetation. I could see John tracking him in the scope of the rifle.

“Are you on him?” I asked. “Yep,” John stated. I let out one sharp bark and the coyote instantly stopped. John squeezed the trigger and the coyote dropped there. Less than an hour after landing in Idaho, John had his first animal on the ground.

THE NEXT THREE STANDS were blanks, but I had one more spot to try before we headed west for something a little different. We pulled into the area and got ready to call. After five minutes of screaming rodent calls, I spotted something about 300 yards out. It was moving, but it didn’t seem to be coming our way. I looked through the scope and all I could see was flying dirt. “What the heck?” I said to myself. Almost as if he heard me, the animal instantly stopped what he was doing and the black-and-white-striped face of a large badger looked my way.

Since the badger was on my side, John let me put a stalk on him. I eased into the canyon and cut the distance by 200 yards. I peaked over the sage and found him aggressively digging his hole. I snuck in a little closer and put my rifle on my shooting sticks. When I was comfortable, I whistled loudly. The badger stopped digging and looked my way. I put the crosshairs on his chest and squeezed the trigger. Less than three hours into the sportsmen’s weekend and we had two animals in the truck.

We loaded up all our gear and headed further west.

I WAS RUNNING A trapline out in Weiser, Idaho, on a piece of private property and needed to check the nuisance traps that afternoon. John mentioned that he wanted to tag along on that. The landowner had even suggested we stay on the property after the trap check and hunt one of his ponds for the evening flight of waterfowl. I figured it would take about an hour to run the line and then we could settle in for a little duck hunting.

The trapline on the property was set for egg-eaters like skunks, racoons, opossums and feral cats. The landowner didn’t want his upland game and waterfowl harassed by these nuisance species, so he had hired me to remove them.

At the property, I drove the trap set and collected a skunk and opossum. We loaded up the animals, and with an hour left of shooting time, we eased into the pond to see if we could end the day with a few ducks.

As the weather cooled, the fog started rolling in and settled in on the water. We could hear ducks moving around, but low visibility kept our shotguns silent. I was just about ready to call it and head back home for dinner when my phone rang. It was the landowner wanting to know how the trap check had gone. I excused myself and walked a short distance from the blind to talk. Within a minute I heard two shots from John. The fog was so thick that I couldn’t see what he was shooting at, but I was glad he had some opportunities.

With the conversation concluded, I returned to the blind to find John holding a large Canada goose and sporting a huge smile. He told me as soon as I left that he’d heard a flock of geese dropping into the pond. As they dropped below the fog, he took a shot and dropped one. Admiring the bird, John mentioned that he had never shot a goose before.

THE NEXT DAY WE planned to chase upland birds. I had a few quail spots I wanted to check – there were three or four wildlife management areas near my house that held pheasants as well – so we loaded up the game vests and the shotguns, grabbed breakfast on the run and headed out.

It was late in the upland season, and the quail were sparse and flushing out of range. We stomped around for a few hours, took some shots, but came up empty. During a lunch break. I suggested to John that we head out to one of the game management spots and look for pheasant. Having never shot a pheasant, he was all in.

We parked in the parking area, grabbed our orange upland vests, loaded up with bigger shells and started kicking the brush. We worked a huge flatland area covered in sagebrush and low native grasses for over an hour. We crossed a small creek to access another section. As soon as we reached the brushy bank on the other side, a pheasant flushed loudly and headed out on John’s side. I watched him raise his shotgun and track the bird. The first shot was a clean miss. The second shot crumbled the bird in midair, and John had his first pheasant.

We ended up back at the truck in the late afternoon with three birds. We cleaned the pheasants and decided to see if we could jump shoot some ducks at a river spot on the way home. With less than an hour of shooting time left, we were able to add four goldeneye ducks to the weekend’s tally. It capped off a great quick trip for John, and he was impressed with all the opportunities that were available in Idaho.
John had an early flight the following day, so we were at the airport an hour before boarding. He thanked me for the hunt and showing him around. He grabbed his luggage and started wheeling it towards the terminal doors. Just before he entered, he turned around and yelled, “Let’s plan a spring turkey hunt?”

I smiled and gave John a big thumbs-up. CS