Mustangs Rule
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- Feb 4, 2021
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A Perfect Elk Place
Seven years ago, I won two antler-less elk drawings in a row. The first was a tag for a state elk hunt zone and my second successful drawing was for permission to use that tag on thirty thousand acres of private land in that zone. Public access has always been very restricted there, except for these rare few elk hunters who drew those two limited hunt permits.
There would be no pre-season scouting, and only horses were permitted for recovery. No motorized vehicles would be allowed except for one old road nor was any overnight camping, fires or dogs permitted. This was place was near exclusively for wildlife, not us.
The terrain exampled everything imaginable. Wide open, cold and windy, see forever high rolling grassy country. Deepest, steepest canyons, with low elevation green, wide valley bottoms or also knife edge ravines with “V” bottoms. There were some high round buttes which from the top, offered 360-degree views. They were all bare on the bright sunny side with thick pine forests on the north side.
Surprises were everywhere.
Following a drainage and going around a knoll, a stand of aspens would pop up in a wet area. Ducks would take flight and either mule deer or whitetails would explode, each running with their specific gaits. The deer were not hunted here, so many of the bucks were spectacular.
And everywhere there were elk beds, wallows, tracks, trails, droppings, and shed antlers from several thousand elk. Some elk needed to be culled to address the concerns that neighboring cattle ranches had about elk competing with their cattle for grazing.
Predators large, medium and small were there aplenty too. The only thing I could shoot however was one antler-less elk. Everything else was fully protected.
I had made arrangements way in advance for a horse packer, but it soon became clear that I could not count on him. I would be on my own.
I was 70 years old then and would be hunting alone.
The season was over three weeks long, and I spent the first week and a half, scouting, tracking and just being a tourist with a rifle in my arms. I was in no hurry to bring this adventure to a close by filling my tag.
Then I could never come back.
My season was late, ending a few weeks shy of Christmas. When a genuine howling blizzard hit, I followed the tracks of hundreds of elk going into the lower canyons. I had never seen anything like that ever before in my life.
Also following them off to the side were the tracks of a wolf pack, some from a male wolf. His tracks were beyond huge, in the five-inch range for the front tracks, not counting claws. I thought maybe there were made larger by sun-melt, but the measurement numbers for stride, straddle and the inter-group distance do not get effected, and besides, it never got above freezing. What I saw was real.
The elk had moved into a maze of lower but steep canyons covered with overwintering native grasses.
I decided it was time to take hunting seriously and pick the best place to sit, wait and watch.
Going through the center of this private land was an old horse-wagon road. My old 4x4 did fine, but i stayed away from the deep snow at higher elevations.
The canyon wall on one side was bighorn sheep country, super steep, rocky and rugged. The other side was more forgiving being ideal elk hunting country for a fit hunter. Going through the bottom was a small year round creek with lots of cover for animals to approach safely for water
Mile after mile there was only one way out of the main canyon, a little slit of a ravine, that opened up.
This slit got steep so fast but it flared into a series of sunny bowls covered with dry but still nutritious native plants. In these sunny lower elevation basins any snow would be short lived.
I like fine old things.
At that time, I had owned my 1984 Land Cruiser for thirty-two years. Bought it as a two-year-old from the original owner. Still have it. I keep it fit, well maintained and ready for service.
In the back of it I had a standard weight Winchester Model 70 in .270. It was made in 1954, when Winchesters’ WW2 era machinery had not worn out yet and their highly skilled machinists and gunsmiths had not yet retired.
It is such a fine rifle. Very much like the ones Marine Snipers chose to use in Vietnam.
I bought it in pawn shop when I lived in Cheyenne, Wyoming. A widow brought it in. Her Cowboy husband bought it new after he came back from the Korean War and married his new bride. It was his only ever rifle. Had and still has on it a Weaver 6x fixed scope.
I hiked up to a high point, had a two-hundred-and-seventy-degree view for my .270. All elk country at its best, also looking right down that ravine, i could see their watering route.
I used my range finder to check out distances. Longest cross canyon shots were right at 400 yards. Some much closer.
Everything was perfect.
It probably took a million years for erosion to form this little access canyon. Knowing that helped my being patient. I planned to come and sit right there everyday for the last week of the season. I did the hike up with ease, only being 70 years old then.
I chose a yearling elk to shoot. Legal, best meat, and manageable by myself. That was seven years ago.
Got Covid pretty bad since, both knees have gone south and got weak.
Several years ago coming down a canyon my knees gave out and I went for a rolling rocky slide.
I had one knee replaced and that other will need to be replaced in the not-too-distant future. I am however fit again.
Every year I have continued to apply for that double drawing. This year I got both again.
As before I was in no hurry for the magic to end. And speaking of magic, I saw one herd of about two hundred elk, all cows and yearlings. They were about three hundred yards onto other property where I could not hunt. Still, doing a video of them was so exciting.
I was going down a tiny little high prairie swale, saw a herd of mule deer way far away on a round knoll. I stalked them just for fun. In such a short hike the little swale turned into deep canyon. More millions of years. I slept on it, took the first of many naps. Will be 78 soon.
For the last three days of this season, I went back to that sneaky little ravine that allowed access to such fine elk country.
Going up I felt tired at first, then I always saw fresh tracks and droppings. Was like being a kid again. I probably should not have done that climb up to my old sitting place from seven years ago, but I did, over and over for three days.
A solid walking staff was a must, especially one with a cut off spike in the bottom for extra bite into the very unstable ground. A couple times I would have lost my balance without it for support.
Two out of those three days I saw elk, cows, yearlings, a few spikes, all easily in range. I chose not to fire.
I just liked sitting up there with my Winchester in my lap and seeing that wild world around me from a perfect elk place.
MR
Seven years ago, I won two antler-less elk drawings in a row. The first was a tag for a state elk hunt zone and my second successful drawing was for permission to use that tag on thirty thousand acres of private land in that zone. Public access has always been very restricted there, except for these rare few elk hunters who drew those two limited hunt permits.
There would be no pre-season scouting, and only horses were permitted for recovery. No motorized vehicles would be allowed except for one old road nor was any overnight camping, fires or dogs permitted. This was place was near exclusively for wildlife, not us.
The terrain exampled everything imaginable. Wide open, cold and windy, see forever high rolling grassy country. Deepest, steepest canyons, with low elevation green, wide valley bottoms or also knife edge ravines with “V” bottoms. There were some high round buttes which from the top, offered 360-degree views. They were all bare on the bright sunny side with thick pine forests on the north side.
Surprises were everywhere.
Following a drainage and going around a knoll, a stand of aspens would pop up in a wet area. Ducks would take flight and either mule deer or whitetails would explode, each running with their specific gaits. The deer were not hunted here, so many of the bucks were spectacular.
And everywhere there were elk beds, wallows, tracks, trails, droppings, and shed antlers from several thousand elk. Some elk needed to be culled to address the concerns that neighboring cattle ranches had about elk competing with their cattle for grazing.
Predators large, medium and small were there aplenty too. The only thing I could shoot however was one antler-less elk. Everything else was fully protected.
I had made arrangements way in advance for a horse packer, but it soon became clear that I could not count on him. I would be on my own.
I was 70 years old then and would be hunting alone.
The season was over three weeks long, and I spent the first week and a half, scouting, tracking and just being a tourist with a rifle in my arms. I was in no hurry to bring this adventure to a close by filling my tag.
Then I could never come back.
My season was late, ending a few weeks shy of Christmas. When a genuine howling blizzard hit, I followed the tracks of hundreds of elk going into the lower canyons. I had never seen anything like that ever before in my life.
Also following them off to the side were the tracks of a wolf pack, some from a male wolf. His tracks were beyond huge, in the five-inch range for the front tracks, not counting claws. I thought maybe there were made larger by sun-melt, but the measurement numbers for stride, straddle and the inter-group distance do not get effected, and besides, it never got above freezing. What I saw was real.
The elk had moved into a maze of lower but steep canyons covered with overwintering native grasses.
I decided it was time to take hunting seriously and pick the best place to sit, wait and watch.
Going through the center of this private land was an old horse-wagon road. My old 4x4 did fine, but i stayed away from the deep snow at higher elevations.
The canyon wall on one side was bighorn sheep country, super steep, rocky and rugged. The other side was more forgiving being ideal elk hunting country for a fit hunter. Going through the bottom was a small year round creek with lots of cover for animals to approach safely for water
Mile after mile there was only one way out of the main canyon, a little slit of a ravine, that opened up.
This slit got steep so fast but it flared into a series of sunny bowls covered with dry but still nutritious native plants. In these sunny lower elevation basins any snow would be short lived.
I like fine old things.
At that time, I had owned my 1984 Land Cruiser for thirty-two years. Bought it as a two-year-old from the original owner. Still have it. I keep it fit, well maintained and ready for service.
In the back of it I had a standard weight Winchester Model 70 in .270. It was made in 1954, when Winchesters’ WW2 era machinery had not worn out yet and their highly skilled machinists and gunsmiths had not yet retired.
It is such a fine rifle. Very much like the ones Marine Snipers chose to use in Vietnam.
I bought it in pawn shop when I lived in Cheyenne, Wyoming. A widow brought it in. Her Cowboy husband bought it new after he came back from the Korean War and married his new bride. It was his only ever rifle. Had and still has on it a Weaver 6x fixed scope.
I hiked up to a high point, had a two-hundred-and-seventy-degree view for my .270. All elk country at its best, also looking right down that ravine, i could see their watering route.
I used my range finder to check out distances. Longest cross canyon shots were right at 400 yards. Some much closer.
Everything was perfect.
It probably took a million years for erosion to form this little access canyon. Knowing that helped my being patient. I planned to come and sit right there everyday for the last week of the season. I did the hike up with ease, only being 70 years old then.
I chose a yearling elk to shoot. Legal, best meat, and manageable by myself. That was seven years ago.
Got Covid pretty bad since, both knees have gone south and got weak.
Several years ago coming down a canyon my knees gave out and I went for a rolling rocky slide.
I had one knee replaced and that other will need to be replaced in the not-too-distant future. I am however fit again.
Every year I have continued to apply for that double drawing. This year I got both again.
As before I was in no hurry for the magic to end. And speaking of magic, I saw one herd of about two hundred elk, all cows and yearlings. They were about three hundred yards onto other property where I could not hunt. Still, doing a video of them was so exciting.
I was going down a tiny little high prairie swale, saw a herd of mule deer way far away on a round knoll. I stalked them just for fun. In such a short hike the little swale turned into deep canyon. More millions of years. I slept on it, took the first of many naps. Will be 78 soon.
For the last three days of this season, I went back to that sneaky little ravine that allowed access to such fine elk country.
Going up I felt tired at first, then I always saw fresh tracks and droppings. Was like being a kid again. I probably should not have done that climb up to my old sitting place from seven years ago, but I did, over and over for three days.
A solid walking staff was a must, especially one with a cut off spike in the bottom for extra bite into the very unstable ground. A couple times I would have lost my balance without it for support.
Two out of those three days I saw elk, cows, yearlings, a few spikes, all easily in range. I chose not to fire.
I just liked sitting up there with my Winchester in my lap and seeing that wild world around me from a perfect elk place.
MR
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