BirdManMike
Well-known member
Wonderful writeup. Cant wait for more.
A Rollercoaster Ride Through The CO Alpine
- Thread starter trb
- Start date
davinski
Well-known member
Damned dirty SDans! (I was one). Great writeup. What I've told my friends is that not to worry, we all lose a wounded animal once in a great while. It will only bother you for 20 years or so.
noharleyyet
Well-known member
Articulate picture book as per usual...sub'd
NEWHunter
Well-known member
They get prep time here and there during the day and a lunch. If he can pick up extra tags he can surely get this wrapped before 3:15 pm. No excuses - keep hammering. We’re all waiting. . .
The Evening of the Opener
After eating, talking, and trying my best to just be logical about next steps, we decided to move camp. I had punched my buck tag, I truly felt there was no hope of recovering the deer, and I needed to fully commit to the switch of focus to elk.
We packed up, and began to ascend the 800 ft off trail ascent to a rocky saddle that would lead to the next basin over, the one I had taken my co-worker to earlier in the summer. At this point I have to shout out to my brother, who tore his achilles in March. It was incredible to me that he was able to join me on this hunt, much less to keep pace crossing scree fields and crossing through 12k ft saddles. The magic of modern medicine I suppose.
Ptarmigan family mid plumage change
Once we crossed over into the next basin, we sat and glassed for about 30 minutes. Nothing, but this was to be expected, as we still had a bit before I'd have expected animals to start feeding out at dusk. I ripped a locator bugle into the basin, and got an immediate response down and to our left, down the ridge that we had just crossed. We dropped 600 feet of elevation past a small unnamed lake to set up our camp among the cover of a stand of stunted krummholz spruces. After doing so, we made our way back up the ridge to a rock pile to glass in the direction of the bugle. Within 10 minutes, we had picked out cows feeding out of the timber into the tree line transition zone about 800 yards away as a crow flies, but separated from us by 2 cliffy zones that I would have to get around.
After a few more minutes, one of the gravelliest bugles I have ever heard ripped out from the zone where the cows were. Five minutes more, and my brother and I almost simultaneously said "I've got the bull." We both had noticed a small spruce being absolutely trashed right about the treeline. At this point we had about 40 minutes until last light. The wind was what inReach weather would describe as "Light Air". A gentle and inconsistent breeze mostly in our face. As the bull emerged from his tree-destruction session, we could immediately tell that he was seriously impressive. With a nearly jet black mane and 7 clear ivory tips on each side, he growled out a bugle again as we debated whether I should move now or wait till morning. I know these pictures aren't the best, but they are what I could get in the fading light through the spotter. My brother's point was convincing: "He's a 7x7...you have to at least try."
The Land of Giants
(I would be stalking along the horizontal line of lighter grey rocks from the L of the photo towards the elk, who were on the 45 degree skyline slope)
I left my brother on the rock pile to signal if needed, as I quickly grabbed nothing but my gun and bino harness and backed off the finger ridge to where the elk were. I now had less than 30 minutes of light left. I crept around rocks and rolls in the alpine as I closed distance. By the time I got to within about 300 yards of the bull (who was obscured from me but that my brother was signaling was still there and feeding), I had to cross over a small rolling rise with a wet willow patch below it. As I slowly popped up over it, two things went wrong. First, I could feel the wind starting to swirl. It was hitting the sidehill bumps and swirling instead of the consistency it was blowing across the finger ridge we had been glassing from. Second, there was a cow and calf below me in the wide open willow patch feeding at 75 yards. My brother was frantically signalling me to keep going, but he couldn't see the cow from his vantage, and he was feeling a very different wind.
The last thing I wanted to do with this bull was bump him, especially with hopefully a viable play in the morning. I quickly backed out and returned to the rock pile as we watched and listened to the elk feed up into the alpine and into the darkness.
That night as I went to sleep, there was a glimmer of positive focus, a 7x7 bull no less, that allowed me to at least for a moment put the gut-wrenching experiences of the morning out of my mind.
After eating, talking, and trying my best to just be logical about next steps, we decided to move camp. I had punched my buck tag, I truly felt there was no hope of recovering the deer, and I needed to fully commit to the switch of focus to elk.
We packed up, and began to ascend the 800 ft off trail ascent to a rocky saddle that would lead to the next basin over, the one I had taken my co-worker to earlier in the summer. At this point I have to shout out to my brother, who tore his achilles in March. It was incredible to me that he was able to join me on this hunt, much less to keep pace crossing scree fields and crossing through 12k ft saddles. The magic of modern medicine I suppose.
Ptarmigan family mid plumage change
Once we crossed over into the next basin, we sat and glassed for about 30 minutes. Nothing, but this was to be expected, as we still had a bit before I'd have expected animals to start feeding out at dusk. I ripped a locator bugle into the basin, and got an immediate response down and to our left, down the ridge that we had just crossed. We dropped 600 feet of elevation past a small unnamed lake to set up our camp among the cover of a stand of stunted krummholz spruces. After doing so, we made our way back up the ridge to a rock pile to glass in the direction of the bugle. Within 10 minutes, we had picked out cows feeding out of the timber into the tree line transition zone about 800 yards away as a crow flies, but separated from us by 2 cliffy zones that I would have to get around.
After a few more minutes, one of the gravelliest bugles I have ever heard ripped out from the zone where the cows were. Five minutes more, and my brother and I almost simultaneously said "I've got the bull." We both had noticed a small spruce being absolutely trashed right about the treeline. At this point we had about 40 minutes until last light. The wind was what inReach weather would describe as "Light Air". A gentle and inconsistent breeze mostly in our face. As the bull emerged from his tree-destruction session, we could immediately tell that he was seriously impressive. With a nearly jet black mane and 7 clear ivory tips on each side, he growled out a bugle again as we debated whether I should move now or wait till morning. I know these pictures aren't the best, but they are what I could get in the fading light through the spotter. My brother's point was convincing: "He's a 7x7...you have to at least try."
The Land of Giants
(I would be stalking along the horizontal line of lighter grey rocks from the L of the photo towards the elk, who were on the 45 degree skyline slope)
I left my brother on the rock pile to signal if needed, as I quickly grabbed nothing but my gun and bino harness and backed off the finger ridge to where the elk were. I now had less than 30 minutes of light left. I crept around rocks and rolls in the alpine as I closed distance. By the time I got to within about 300 yards of the bull (who was obscured from me but that my brother was signaling was still there and feeding), I had to cross over a small rolling rise with a wet willow patch below it. As I slowly popped up over it, two things went wrong. First, I could feel the wind starting to swirl. It was hitting the sidehill bumps and swirling instead of the consistency it was blowing across the finger ridge we had been glassing from. Second, there was a cow and calf below me in the wide open willow patch feeding at 75 yards. My brother was frantically signalling me to keep going, but he couldn't see the cow from his vantage, and he was feeling a very different wind.
The last thing I wanted to do with this bull was bump him, especially with hopefully a viable play in the morning. I quickly backed out and returned to the rock pile as we watched and listened to the elk feed up into the alpine and into the darkness.
That night as I went to sleep, there was a glimmer of positive focus, a 7x7 bull no less, that allowed me to at least for a moment put the gut-wrenching experiences of the morning out of my mind.
Green Hunter
Active member
What a fantastic write up, I am really enjoying the experience. Thanks for sharing it all. I have dreamed of this type of backcountry adventure so this is great!
Andrewlonghi
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- Joined
- Jan 23, 2022
- Messages
- 307
Getting better and better, like opening up each present on Christmas day
Deckerp
Well-known member
- Joined
- Jul 5, 2020
- Messages
- 135
Can’t wait for the rest! Wonderful hunt story.
Irrelevant
Well-known member
I look forward to @trb write ups as much, if not more, than Christmas... currently manning a watch post over the Great Deer Desert. This helps.
Sunday
With my brother having to start his hike out and return to civilization midday, and with a forecast of incoming rain and snow in the afternoon, I awoke Sunday morning eager to be aggressive as soon as possible and make a play on the 7x7. We made our way back to our glassing rock, and watched as elk fed into the alpine like clockwork with the brightening horizon. However, this time, there was no bull and no bugling. I let off one locator bugle with no response.
While this was unexpected, I felt confident enough to still make a play since his herd was still in the exact same spot, and I had heard a bugle overnight. However, the wind was now coming from due W and a consistent clip (we were camped W of the elk), so due to the aforementioned cliffy fingers coming off the slope, the stalk would have to be long to get the wind right.
My brother packed up his camp as I kept an eye on the herd, who were relaxed and feeding right at treeline. We would have to drop about 800 feet in elevation to bypass cliffs, sidehill about a mile east, then gain about a 1,000 ft up a steep rocky slope, which would put us on the edge of a small meadow 200 yards from where we guessed the bull would be. So, that's exactly what we did.
The trip over was fairly uneventful. We found some heavily used wallows (probably more heavily used the week or two prior), jumped a doe, but that was about it.
The whole process took us about 2.5 hrs as we were going fairly slowly though the sidehill section, softly cow calling to no avail along the way.
After the climb, we made it to the edge of the meadow, where our plan was to cow call a bit, but then rake, then escalate to some aggressive bugling in the hopes we'd be close enough to the herd to piss off the bull. In general I much prefer just being sneaky to bugling, but with so many eyes in this herd, and no real idea where the bull was, we hoped to encourage him to close the final distance.
I cow called...nothing. I raked.....nothing. I bugled, and although a cow and calf came into the meadow, no response. This whole sequence of calling and waiting lasted about an hour or so. I had kind of lost hope that the bull would make a play towards us, and I was also getting increasingly worried that I had been sitting danger close to these elk for a decent bit of time now, and wind or thermal swirl was inevitable at some point.
The clock hit my brother's departure time, and he began his descent back to the trailhead, as I decided to sneak forward towards the herd. I would be moving back towards my tent, into the wind. So from the 45 degree slope back to where this picture was taken from.
I made my way slowly, now just lightly cow calling, through the patchy edge of treeline. Periodically I would see cows a hundred or so yards below me, feeding or bedded. In good cover, I tried a raking setup, which illicitted nothing from below.
Above me, I suddenly heard voices. About 500 ft of elevation above me, 3 hikers were apparently making a daring run at the unnamed, 12k ft rolling peak above me. Their Conrad Anker-esque voices were clearly carrying far below them and easily within earshot of the elk. At this point, I was laterally in the middle of the herd, although above them by about 100 yards. I saw heads whip around and they began to make their way downhill, into the timber, and out of my view.
I made my way back to tent just as the clouds gathered above and the rain began. It rained for about 4 hours, with one gap at the start of prime glassing time.
From the same location, I heard a single bugle, although it didn't sound as gravely as the night before. With a short window in the clouds, and the wind reversing between waves of moisture, I figured I should get close. I worked towards the same slope for the third time, now in the same direct route as the aborted stalk the night before. I closed to 200 yards and waited and watched. A bugle ripped out from the timber within 50 feet of where the bull had been the night before. But this time, it was a distinctly whiffle-batty sound, and I knew that the pursuit of the 7x7 was completely over. Sure enough, I saw blaze orange through the trees as I clearly heard the sound of some lackluster raking of a stick against other sticks... I don't know if these hunters had heard my bugling that morning from the same spot, or if they had somehow glassed him the night before or that morning, but regardless, I had no interest in spending another day in the same zone as others chasing already bumped elk.
As I made my way back to the tent, I knew that overnight weather might reshuffle the deck, and that I'd likely be moving camps in the morning. Right at last light as I was starting to get my stove going, 5 cows walked less than 100 yards from my tent. I was ready with my gun up hoping the bull was in tow, but no such luck.
Lying in my bag that night with sleet pounding the fly of the tent, I scoured onX wondering where the 7x7 could have gone. Could he have peeled off chasing a single hot cow? Could he have broken off part of the herd and begun his transition into the deep dark timber and out of the alpine for the year? Would anyone kill him this season? Would he survive the winter and grow even bigger, and retrace his steps next September?Not knowing any of these answers is what makes it so cool to have seen an animal like that with a tag in my pocket. In some ways, not having killed him is better for the mystery of the place than watching him die. By next year, I look forward to him growing in legend and size in my retellings like Bill Brasky, and carrying the mantle of the freshest "one that got away" in the annals of my mind.
With my brother having to start his hike out and return to civilization midday, and with a forecast of incoming rain and snow in the afternoon, I awoke Sunday morning eager to be aggressive as soon as possible and make a play on the 7x7. We made our way back to our glassing rock, and watched as elk fed into the alpine like clockwork with the brightening horizon. However, this time, there was no bull and no bugling. I let off one locator bugle with no response.
While this was unexpected, I felt confident enough to still make a play since his herd was still in the exact same spot, and I had heard a bugle overnight. However, the wind was now coming from due W and a consistent clip (we were camped W of the elk), so due to the aforementioned cliffy fingers coming off the slope, the stalk would have to be long to get the wind right.
My brother packed up his camp as I kept an eye on the herd, who were relaxed and feeding right at treeline. We would have to drop about 800 feet in elevation to bypass cliffs, sidehill about a mile east, then gain about a 1,000 ft up a steep rocky slope, which would put us on the edge of a small meadow 200 yards from where we guessed the bull would be. So, that's exactly what we did.
The trip over was fairly uneventful. We found some heavily used wallows (probably more heavily used the week or two prior), jumped a doe, but that was about it.
The whole process took us about 2.5 hrs as we were going fairly slowly though the sidehill section, softly cow calling to no avail along the way.
After the climb, we made it to the edge of the meadow, where our plan was to cow call a bit, but then rake, then escalate to some aggressive bugling in the hopes we'd be close enough to the herd to piss off the bull. In general I much prefer just being sneaky to bugling, but with so many eyes in this herd, and no real idea where the bull was, we hoped to encourage him to close the final distance.
I cow called...nothing. I raked.....nothing. I bugled, and although a cow and calf came into the meadow, no response. This whole sequence of calling and waiting lasted about an hour or so. I had kind of lost hope that the bull would make a play towards us, and I was also getting increasingly worried that I had been sitting danger close to these elk for a decent bit of time now, and wind or thermal swirl was inevitable at some point.
The clock hit my brother's departure time, and he began his descent back to the trailhead, as I decided to sneak forward towards the herd. I would be moving back towards my tent, into the wind. So from the 45 degree slope back to where this picture was taken from.
I made my way slowly, now just lightly cow calling, through the patchy edge of treeline. Periodically I would see cows a hundred or so yards below me, feeding or bedded. In good cover, I tried a raking setup, which illicitted nothing from below.
Above me, I suddenly heard voices. About 500 ft of elevation above me, 3 hikers were apparently making a daring run at the unnamed, 12k ft rolling peak above me. Their Conrad Anker-esque voices were clearly carrying far below them and easily within earshot of the elk. At this point, I was laterally in the middle of the herd, although above them by about 100 yards. I saw heads whip around and they began to make their way downhill, into the timber, and out of my view.
I made my way back to tent just as the clouds gathered above and the rain began. It rained for about 4 hours, with one gap at the start of prime glassing time.
From the same location, I heard a single bugle, although it didn't sound as gravely as the night before. With a short window in the clouds, and the wind reversing between waves of moisture, I figured I should get close. I worked towards the same slope for the third time, now in the same direct route as the aborted stalk the night before. I closed to 200 yards and waited and watched. A bugle ripped out from the timber within 50 feet of where the bull had been the night before. But this time, it was a distinctly whiffle-batty sound, and I knew that the pursuit of the 7x7 was completely over. Sure enough, I saw blaze orange through the trees as I clearly heard the sound of some lackluster raking of a stick against other sticks... I don't know if these hunters had heard my bugling that morning from the same spot, or if they had somehow glassed him the night before or that morning, but regardless, I had no interest in spending another day in the same zone as others chasing already bumped elk.
As I made my way back to the tent, I knew that overnight weather might reshuffle the deck, and that I'd likely be moving camps in the morning. Right at last light as I was starting to get my stove going, 5 cows walked less than 100 yards from my tent. I was ready with my gun up hoping the bull was in tow, but no such luck.
Lying in my bag that night with sleet pounding the fly of the tent, I scoured onX wondering where the 7x7 could have gone. Could he have peeled off chasing a single hot cow? Could he have broken off part of the herd and begun his transition into the deep dark timber and out of the alpine for the year? Would anyone kill him this season? Would he survive the winter and grow even bigger, and retrace his steps next September?Not knowing any of these answers is what makes it so cool to have seen an animal like that with a tag in my pocket. In some ways, not having killed him is better for the mystery of the place than watching him die. By next year, I look forward to him growing in legend and size in my retellings like Bill Brasky, and carrying the mantle of the freshest "one that got away" in the annals of my mind.
Monday Morning
I woke Monday morning to a thin sheet of ice on, well, everything. Despite the night disappointment of the night before I was excited for what this shift in weather could mean for the rut activity and animal movements, including the anticipated recreational post-weekend exodus from the CO backcountry.
From the glassing knob that morning as I destroyed some MH biscuits and gravy, it quickly became clear that my hopes were being realized.
Within the next 30 minutes or so, I had 5 different bulls picked out feeding or chasing cows on the slopes of a now snow-dusted mountain across the basin. This slope was the front side of the exact basin that I had found all the bulls in a few weeks before. The past two days it had been empty, but now, teeming with rut activity. Two herd bulls pushing small herd and bugling across the skyline. 3 satellite bulls feeding or thrashing brush. All well above treeline and clearly visible despite being 2 miles away.
The skylined herd bull, who I am pretty sure was this same photogenic bastard from weeks before, eventually drifted into a small timber patch at 11, 200 ft.
Meanwhile, a half mile or so to the east, these two perfectly respectable satellite bulls fed serenely through a puzzle of krumholz, cliff bands, and openings. These two were clearly in no hurry, and also clearly aware of the rut pecking order.
My plan would be to get above these two and try to tempt them out of their midday beds with cow calls, before turning my attention to the herd bull if that didn't pan out. It seemed like a low consequences play that the terrain and wind would allow for.
With multiple opportunities within 2 miles reach, it was time to move.
I woke Monday morning to a thin sheet of ice on, well, everything. Despite the night disappointment of the night before I was excited for what this shift in weather could mean for the rut activity and animal movements, including the anticipated recreational post-weekend exodus from the CO backcountry.
From the glassing knob that morning as I destroyed some MH biscuits and gravy, it quickly became clear that my hopes were being realized.
Within the next 30 minutes or so, I had 5 different bulls picked out feeding or chasing cows on the slopes of a now snow-dusted mountain across the basin. This slope was the front side of the exact basin that I had found all the bulls in a few weeks before. The past two days it had been empty, but now, teeming with rut activity. Two herd bulls pushing small herd and bugling across the skyline. 3 satellite bulls feeding or thrashing brush. All well above treeline and clearly visible despite being 2 miles away.
The skylined herd bull, who I am pretty sure was this same photogenic bastard from weeks before, eventually drifted into a small timber patch at 11, 200 ft.
Meanwhile, a half mile or so to the east, these two perfectly respectable satellite bulls fed serenely through a puzzle of krumholz, cliff bands, and openings. These two were clearly in no hurry, and also clearly aware of the rut pecking order.
My plan would be to get above these two and try to tempt them out of their midday beds with cow calls, before turning my attention to the herd bull if that didn't pan out. It seemed like a low consequences play that the terrain and wind would allow for.
With multiple opportunities within 2 miles reach, it was time to move.
Last edited:
MtnElk
Well-known member
kiwi hunter
Well-known member
- Joined
- Jul 21, 2013
- Messages
- 1,084
So jealous.
Khunter
Well-known member
me likey!
Pahoundsman
Well-known member
Your recaps are always well written and this one doesn’t disappoint. Sucks you lost that buck but you should use it as a lesson learned. Looking forward to more!
seeth07
Well-known member
Its now Saturday morning. Trying to decide if I should fail you or let you turn in your assignment late? Would you let your kiddos turn in late work? Maybe if it has a really good finish?
Wow! Tough gig on the deer.
Great writing (great pics!) for a school teacher. You must have run this through Microsoft Word before posting. Don't count or red ink this post though I likely have more grammatical and spelling errors in this post than your entire thread! Smart edumacation you have!
Looking forward to the rest of the hunt.
Great writing (great pics!) for a school teacher. You must have run this through Microsoft Word before posting. Don't count or red ink this post though I likely have more grammatical and spelling errors in this post than your entire thread! Smart edumacation you have!
Looking forward to the rest of the hunt.
