Hummer
Well-known member
My 11th Hour Elk
I'm not sure if it's a blessing or a curse but I sure have a knack for snatching victory from defeat in the last hours of season. It's happened many times over 3 decades that I've taken deer or elk on the last day, including my 2010, 2012, and now my 2013 elk.
This year I hunted the White River National Forest just outside the Flat Tops Wilderness during Colorado's 2nd rifle season. I had both bull and cow elk tags, and a bear tag. There was much more snow than expected, about 8 inches in camp at 9000 ft. and 20 inches up the mountain at 10,200 ft. It proved to be a difficult hunt with the snow, the full moon, and the worry about having had an unexpected stroke 2 weeks before, a few hours after dragging an antelope across the prairie. Yep, I was going elk hunting and nothing was going to stop me.
It's beautiful country that invigorates, revitalizes and heals. In the end, I did just fine as usual, pushing myself a little more each day, getting stronger and loving every moment.
The snow provided lots of tracks that proved the animals were coming out in the full moon and retreating to the dense spruce-fir timber early in the morning. But, with the deep snow and crunchy morning crust hunting the dark timber chock full of fallen logs was not very productive.
Early one morning I spotted two cow elk as they moved into the trees at 200 yards, but they didn't offer a clean shot. A few days later as I started to head to camp at the end of the day, I spooked six elk into running back in the timber. Too far, too fast, but at least it proved there are elk around.
Every day I hunted well, encountering plenty of wildlife. Sandhill Cranes flew over daily and other birds were abundant including three Northern Pygmy Owls, one of which I was able to call to me. I ran into Dusky Grouse almost every day, like this one that flushed in front of me.
On Sunday evening, the last day of season, I killed a cow elk. It was 6:22 p.m., just before dark, and I had decided it was time to give it up and go home. I'd been sitting under a tree about a half mile up the mountain from camp. I began to make some noise zipping my pack when I heard a branch crack behind me. There were elk there! A group was moving down a ridge right toward me. I nervously knelt, picked out the lead cow and took the shot at 69 yards. A scramble ensued and I tried to keep my eye on the cow as she jumped a log and ran up the ridge toward the other animals. I think there was a bull with them but I couldn't get a clear enough view through the trees.
I followed the tracks, found a few spots of blood, then a gush of it from the left side. Lung blood. After that, no more blood could be found, it just seemed to disappear. It was getting dark fast so I got out the flashlights and started following tracks. Most went off the ridge into the creek bottom. I searched the area pretty thoroughly for an hour and a half in the dark until my lights started dimming. My GPS batteries which showed full suddenly went dead and I knew I had to get out of there and back to camp. In the pitch dark and overcast sky, even with lights and knowing where I was, it's easy to lose perspective on direction. Hearing the creek I headed in that direction and found my way to a horse trail and back home.
The next morning I searched for more than 2 hours before I found that elk. At the big spurt of blood she had turned around and backtracked downhill off into the timber in the opposite direction of the other elk. It was a good double lung shot just behind the right shoulder so she surely died within a minute, 150 yards from where she was hit. I had mostly searched in the wrong direction. Incredibly, the night before just as I changed direction to head home when my lights were dimming, I was only ten feet from the downed elk. The tracks in the snow told the story.
(Photo shows the exit wound, and some grizzly fellow who happened by when I took the picture).
Even though I skinned the elk first and used the gutless method I could tell the meat was souring. She layed on snow and overnight temps had been in the mid-twenties but there was a lot of heat left in the hams. When butchering we had to carefully smell and taste test the meat. The tenderloins weren't good and had to be discarded. I trimmed and lost a good part of the backstraps and some of the hind quarter meat next to the bone. Fortunately, I was able to save most of it, losing maybe 20% over what we would have gotten otherwise. The front quarters were fine.
Not sure what souring really is but I know what it smells like now and it's different from the gamey smell of meat left too long in the cooler. It can happen darned quick on an elk.
This was the first time I hadn't recovered my elk until the next day. Not something you want to do. (Although, many years ago I recovered an elk someone else shot and lost the night before, and prepared it for a friend. The meat was fine.) If I had it to live over I would have quickly placed a second shot, but I usually avoid that when I know I made a good hit.
Only a half mile from camp I backpacked her out on Monday, about an hour or so round trip each time. This was my 25th elk in 28 years of hunting elk in the Flat Tops area. Success, with an asterisk.
An interesting side note, I tracked bears closely on several days but never saw one. No surprise that when I was busy packing the elk quarters to camp a bear had gotten to the hide right before I arrived to carry out the 3rd and final load. Fresh bear tracks were all over. Fortunately, the meat was in cloth sacks and the bear was more attracted to the meat and fat on the hide. I have this thing with bears.....
Good hunting,
Hummer
I'm not sure if it's a blessing or a curse but I sure have a knack for snatching victory from defeat in the last hours of season. It's happened many times over 3 decades that I've taken deer or elk on the last day, including my 2010, 2012, and now my 2013 elk.
This year I hunted the White River National Forest just outside the Flat Tops Wilderness during Colorado's 2nd rifle season. I had both bull and cow elk tags, and a bear tag. There was much more snow than expected, about 8 inches in camp at 9000 ft. and 20 inches up the mountain at 10,200 ft. It proved to be a difficult hunt with the snow, the full moon, and the worry about having had an unexpected stroke 2 weeks before, a few hours after dragging an antelope across the prairie. Yep, I was going elk hunting and nothing was going to stop me.
It's beautiful country that invigorates, revitalizes and heals. In the end, I did just fine as usual, pushing myself a little more each day, getting stronger and loving every moment.
The snow provided lots of tracks that proved the animals were coming out in the full moon and retreating to the dense spruce-fir timber early in the morning. But, with the deep snow and crunchy morning crust hunting the dark timber chock full of fallen logs was not very productive.
Early one morning I spotted two cow elk as they moved into the trees at 200 yards, but they didn't offer a clean shot. A few days later as I started to head to camp at the end of the day, I spooked six elk into running back in the timber. Too far, too fast, but at least it proved there are elk around.
Every day I hunted well, encountering plenty of wildlife. Sandhill Cranes flew over daily and other birds were abundant including three Northern Pygmy Owls, one of which I was able to call to me. I ran into Dusky Grouse almost every day, like this one that flushed in front of me.
On Sunday evening, the last day of season, I killed a cow elk. It was 6:22 p.m., just before dark, and I had decided it was time to give it up and go home. I'd been sitting under a tree about a half mile up the mountain from camp. I began to make some noise zipping my pack when I heard a branch crack behind me. There were elk there! A group was moving down a ridge right toward me. I nervously knelt, picked out the lead cow and took the shot at 69 yards. A scramble ensued and I tried to keep my eye on the cow as she jumped a log and ran up the ridge toward the other animals. I think there was a bull with them but I couldn't get a clear enough view through the trees.
I followed the tracks, found a few spots of blood, then a gush of it from the left side. Lung blood. After that, no more blood could be found, it just seemed to disappear. It was getting dark fast so I got out the flashlights and started following tracks. Most went off the ridge into the creek bottom. I searched the area pretty thoroughly for an hour and a half in the dark until my lights started dimming. My GPS batteries which showed full suddenly went dead and I knew I had to get out of there and back to camp. In the pitch dark and overcast sky, even with lights and knowing where I was, it's easy to lose perspective on direction. Hearing the creek I headed in that direction and found my way to a horse trail and back home.
The next morning I searched for more than 2 hours before I found that elk. At the big spurt of blood she had turned around and backtracked downhill off into the timber in the opposite direction of the other elk. It was a good double lung shot just behind the right shoulder so she surely died within a minute, 150 yards from where she was hit. I had mostly searched in the wrong direction. Incredibly, the night before just as I changed direction to head home when my lights were dimming, I was only ten feet from the downed elk. The tracks in the snow told the story.
(Photo shows the exit wound, and some grizzly fellow who happened by when I took the picture).
Even though I skinned the elk first and used the gutless method I could tell the meat was souring. She layed on snow and overnight temps had been in the mid-twenties but there was a lot of heat left in the hams. When butchering we had to carefully smell and taste test the meat. The tenderloins weren't good and had to be discarded. I trimmed and lost a good part of the backstraps and some of the hind quarter meat next to the bone. Fortunately, I was able to save most of it, losing maybe 20% over what we would have gotten otherwise. The front quarters were fine.
Not sure what souring really is but I know what it smells like now and it's different from the gamey smell of meat left too long in the cooler. It can happen darned quick on an elk.
This was the first time I hadn't recovered my elk until the next day. Not something you want to do. (Although, many years ago I recovered an elk someone else shot and lost the night before, and prepared it for a friend. The meat was fine.) If I had it to live over I would have quickly placed a second shot, but I usually avoid that when I know I made a good hit.
Only a half mile from camp I backpacked her out on Monday, about an hour or so round trip each time. This was my 25th elk in 28 years of hunting elk in the Flat Tops area. Success, with an asterisk.
An interesting side note, I tracked bears closely on several days but never saw one. No surprise that when I was busy packing the elk quarters to camp a bear had gotten to the hide right before I arrived to carry out the 3rd and final load. Fresh bear tracks were all over. Fortunately, the meat was in cloth sacks and the bear was more attracted to the meat and fat on the hide. I have this thing with bears.....
Good hunting,
Hummer
