smalls
Well-known member
Before the MT guys chime in and remind me of the 2-week extension...my season is over due to commitments I've made to the wife over the next couple of weeks...really the extension is just a little more salt in the wound.
My elk season started opening day of archery season way back in September. You may remember that I was hopeful since I had watched a big 6 point cross the same meadow for several consecutive nights prior to the opener. My plans of being tagged out on elk as the sun crested the morning horizon were thwarted with the onslaught of camoclad, hoochie-mama crying, royal buglin' hunters through MY meadow. I realize it was my fault, the area I was in was far too accessible and obvious; and I'd allowed myself to become enamoured with that bull so as to stop looking in other areas for elk.
Labor day weekend brought my Father-in-law and a buddy of his out to hunt with me. I was able to put them on elk every day, with the closest encounter with a bull at about 70 yards. I took a backseat this weekend in the effort of getting them an animal. Even though nothing was killed, it was his first time in elk country and he enjoyed it. It also made me realize what a tough SOB he is...I was sucking down my 2-liter bladder of water every day while he usually brought about a pint of water with...not once did I hear him complain of thirst and I think he usually brought his bottle back to camp about half full.
My best chance at an elk came in the latter part of September, the cows were rounded up and herds seemed easy to find. I tried to put a quick stalk on a bull before I lost shooting light while two friends looked on during an unseasonably warm evening. The setup was perfect other than my rushed pursuit up the drain below the bull. I was only 30 or so yards from the large boulder I needed to get to on the cusp of the drain when I decided to stop and gain my breath and composure prior to the last bit of the stalk. I was hunched over, hands on my knees, trying to find the oxygen in the air when I hear my buddy start screaming on his cow call. I looked back at them throught the binos and saw them waving their arms frantically to the left...then to the right...what in samhell were they trying to tell me? Apparently when I was staring at the ground the bull wandered right over to the boulder above me. Apparently it watched me for awhile, it didn't even move when I turned around and was watching my friends through the bino's. I never did see that bull up close and personal. As I moved left up the hill he and the cows moved right, into the timber and out of sight.
The next night on the same mountain I followed the sounds of a distant bugle and stumbled onto a herd of 39 cows, 2 spikes, and a raghorn all being tended to by the biggest bull I've seen on the hoof, a big 6x6 I nicknamed S3 (Sans 3rds) because all of his tines had awesome length other than his little bitty 3rds (not more than 6 or 7"). This bull had a great game plan as he kept the herd rounded up in the middle of a large meadow. I was only able to get within 150 yds, I attempted to cow call at him but he flat wasn't venturing anywhere near the timber. I followed that bull for 3 days never getting closer than 100 yds. I probably could have had one opportunity to get a shot on him but it was I zigged when I should have zagged.
The last part of Sept I thought that there were big elk on every mountain. I found another very good bull in some terrain that I thought might make this herd a little more approachable. Swirling winds proved my nemesis on day 2 of hunting this bull as the I had a strong breeze blowing into my face right up until the time the lead cow of hit the edge of the timber only 30 yards from my hiding spot. I was greeted with the familiar bark left with the sounds of earth rumbling under hoof. I successfully spooked that herd up and over the nearby ridge onto private land. My request for access was laughed at...and the outfitter/landowner thanked me for letting me know where this bull was.
Rifle season...
I really don't like the masses that rifle season brings out. That said, I never really had a problem "competing" for animals where I was at. Even in the snow over the last 2 weeks of the season I only came across one set of another hunters boot prints which were far from fresh. The bulls that seemed so plentiful during archery season evaporated into the thin air of the high country it seemed. Until the last week of the season there was very little white stuff and it seemed like all the elk were hanging out as high as they could get. I had no problem finding cows nearly every time I went out, but no matter how hard I stared, I simply could not grow horns on any of them. Thanksgiving morning seemed story book to me. There was a hefty amount of fresh powder on the ground and I'd heard some reports that the elk were migrating in a major fashion. I headed out to one of my favorite early season spots to do some glassing. Even in the moonlight I could see herds moving across the bright white background. After watching 6 herds totalling around 150 cows I finally found a lone elk sitting under a pinetree on a distant ridge. I watched him through the spotter for about 20 minutes trying to see if it was a browtined bull (in this unit, a bull w/ browtines was the only legal animal for me). My eyes were already hurting from the sun glaring off of the snow that stretched in every direction, and this elk would not cooperate. I swear he did not move a solitary muscle, no head tilt, stretching, or ear scratching for what seemed like eternity. Finally he stood and made his way out of the sun and into the shadows behind a single tall pine tree. As he walked away I saw his awesome spread and great beam length and I knew I was in business. There was a road below my lookout location that would bring me to within a mile of him, so off I went. The deep snow caused some unexpected complications; the pine boughs hung heavy and low across the road and about halfway to where I was going to park a branch that lay beneath the blanket of snow slashed the sidewall of my front passenger side tire. Leaving my truck where it was and taking off after the bull wasn't an option as I was blocking the road, so out comes the jack and spare. While changing the tire I had taken my bino-system off and laid it on the hood...I couldn't get moving fast enough know that I had just wasted precious time. I pulled over in a little area where others could get by and put my coat on, took my rifle out of the case, checked my pack for the essentials, put on my binos...wait...where are my binos!? After backtracking on foot twice to the point I changed my tire I saw a smidge of elastic strap sticking out of the 18" deep snow...phew, no damage. Alright, back to the bull. I used my best ninja skills to get up the naked backside of the ridge I last saw my bull. Cresting the top, rifle in hand, I did my best silent A-HA! But no bull. I found his bed, and his tracks to another bed, and more tracks and another bed. It looked liked he kept moving and rebedding as the sun revealed each of his locations from the shadows. I thought, no big deal, I got his tracks, I got him. That's a great plan as long as those tracks don't join up to what looked the interstate of elkland. 2 hours of still hunting later I had turned up neither hide nor hair of him and I needed to boogie home for Thanksgiving dinner.
The last weekend of the season found me scouring that mountain where I'd last seen that bull to no avail. As the sun set last night I was scanning the land around me and in a tiny meadow set in the middle of a sea of the thickest timber around I saw what I believe is the same bull I had been hunting. I am not, and may never be, certain, but I think he flipped me the bird from a mile away as shooting light expired. (This unit is not one that was extended)
My wife is happy that big game season is over, now about halfway through the pregnancy she figures its time for me to dedicate some time to her and some time to getting our home ready for our first born, what the doctors tell us is a little girl. I don't know how fatherhood will effect my future hunting seasons, I may very well look back at this season as the "golden age" for my hunting days. Although no elk ever bit the dust, I can't call it a complete failure, more like a series of lessons in humility.
My elk season started opening day of archery season way back in September. You may remember that I was hopeful since I had watched a big 6 point cross the same meadow for several consecutive nights prior to the opener. My plans of being tagged out on elk as the sun crested the morning horizon were thwarted with the onslaught of camoclad, hoochie-mama crying, royal buglin' hunters through MY meadow. I realize it was my fault, the area I was in was far too accessible and obvious; and I'd allowed myself to become enamoured with that bull so as to stop looking in other areas for elk.
Labor day weekend brought my Father-in-law and a buddy of his out to hunt with me. I was able to put them on elk every day, with the closest encounter with a bull at about 70 yards. I took a backseat this weekend in the effort of getting them an animal. Even though nothing was killed, it was his first time in elk country and he enjoyed it. It also made me realize what a tough SOB he is...I was sucking down my 2-liter bladder of water every day while he usually brought about a pint of water with...not once did I hear him complain of thirst and I think he usually brought his bottle back to camp about half full.
My best chance at an elk came in the latter part of September, the cows were rounded up and herds seemed easy to find. I tried to put a quick stalk on a bull before I lost shooting light while two friends looked on during an unseasonably warm evening. The setup was perfect other than my rushed pursuit up the drain below the bull. I was only 30 or so yards from the large boulder I needed to get to on the cusp of the drain when I decided to stop and gain my breath and composure prior to the last bit of the stalk. I was hunched over, hands on my knees, trying to find the oxygen in the air when I hear my buddy start screaming on his cow call. I looked back at them throught the binos and saw them waving their arms frantically to the left...then to the right...what in samhell were they trying to tell me? Apparently when I was staring at the ground the bull wandered right over to the boulder above me. Apparently it watched me for awhile, it didn't even move when I turned around and was watching my friends through the bino's. I never did see that bull up close and personal. As I moved left up the hill he and the cows moved right, into the timber and out of sight.
The next night on the same mountain I followed the sounds of a distant bugle and stumbled onto a herd of 39 cows, 2 spikes, and a raghorn all being tended to by the biggest bull I've seen on the hoof, a big 6x6 I nicknamed S3 (Sans 3rds) because all of his tines had awesome length other than his little bitty 3rds (not more than 6 or 7"). This bull had a great game plan as he kept the herd rounded up in the middle of a large meadow. I was only able to get within 150 yds, I attempted to cow call at him but he flat wasn't venturing anywhere near the timber. I followed that bull for 3 days never getting closer than 100 yds. I probably could have had one opportunity to get a shot on him but it was I zigged when I should have zagged.
The last part of Sept I thought that there were big elk on every mountain. I found another very good bull in some terrain that I thought might make this herd a little more approachable. Swirling winds proved my nemesis on day 2 of hunting this bull as the I had a strong breeze blowing into my face right up until the time the lead cow of hit the edge of the timber only 30 yards from my hiding spot. I was greeted with the familiar bark left with the sounds of earth rumbling under hoof. I successfully spooked that herd up and over the nearby ridge onto private land. My request for access was laughed at...and the outfitter/landowner thanked me for letting me know where this bull was.
Rifle season...
I really don't like the masses that rifle season brings out. That said, I never really had a problem "competing" for animals where I was at. Even in the snow over the last 2 weeks of the season I only came across one set of another hunters boot prints which were far from fresh. The bulls that seemed so plentiful during archery season evaporated into the thin air of the high country it seemed. Until the last week of the season there was very little white stuff and it seemed like all the elk were hanging out as high as they could get. I had no problem finding cows nearly every time I went out, but no matter how hard I stared, I simply could not grow horns on any of them. Thanksgiving morning seemed story book to me. There was a hefty amount of fresh powder on the ground and I'd heard some reports that the elk were migrating in a major fashion. I headed out to one of my favorite early season spots to do some glassing. Even in the moonlight I could see herds moving across the bright white background. After watching 6 herds totalling around 150 cows I finally found a lone elk sitting under a pinetree on a distant ridge. I watched him through the spotter for about 20 minutes trying to see if it was a browtined bull (in this unit, a bull w/ browtines was the only legal animal for me). My eyes were already hurting from the sun glaring off of the snow that stretched in every direction, and this elk would not cooperate. I swear he did not move a solitary muscle, no head tilt, stretching, or ear scratching for what seemed like eternity. Finally he stood and made his way out of the sun and into the shadows behind a single tall pine tree. As he walked away I saw his awesome spread and great beam length and I knew I was in business. There was a road below my lookout location that would bring me to within a mile of him, so off I went. The deep snow caused some unexpected complications; the pine boughs hung heavy and low across the road and about halfway to where I was going to park a branch that lay beneath the blanket of snow slashed the sidewall of my front passenger side tire. Leaving my truck where it was and taking off after the bull wasn't an option as I was blocking the road, so out comes the jack and spare. While changing the tire I had taken my bino-system off and laid it on the hood...I couldn't get moving fast enough know that I had just wasted precious time. I pulled over in a little area where others could get by and put my coat on, took my rifle out of the case, checked my pack for the essentials, put on my binos...wait...where are my binos!? After backtracking on foot twice to the point I changed my tire I saw a smidge of elastic strap sticking out of the 18" deep snow...phew, no damage. Alright, back to the bull. I used my best ninja skills to get up the naked backside of the ridge I last saw my bull. Cresting the top, rifle in hand, I did my best silent A-HA! But no bull. I found his bed, and his tracks to another bed, and more tracks and another bed. It looked liked he kept moving and rebedding as the sun revealed each of his locations from the shadows. I thought, no big deal, I got his tracks, I got him. That's a great plan as long as those tracks don't join up to what looked the interstate of elkland. 2 hours of still hunting later I had turned up neither hide nor hair of him and I needed to boogie home for Thanksgiving dinner.
The last weekend of the season found me scouring that mountain where I'd last seen that bull to no avail. As the sun set last night I was scanning the land around me and in a tiny meadow set in the middle of a sea of the thickest timber around I saw what I believe is the same bull I had been hunting. I am not, and may never be, certain, but I think he flipped me the bird from a mile away as shooting light expired. (This unit is not one that was extended)
My wife is happy that big game season is over, now about halfway through the pregnancy she figures its time for me to dedicate some time to her and some time to getting our home ready for our first born, what the doctors tell us is a little girl. I don't know how fatherhood will effect my future hunting seasons, I may very well look back at this season as the "golden age" for my hunting days. Although no elk ever bit the dust, I can't call it a complete failure, more like a series of lessons in humility.
