I’ve been “hunting elk” since I was 12, though really it was just a bull tag after deer season or the occasional cow tag. Early years it was road hunting with my uncle. Later, my dad would join us and tell stories of way back when he was a kid and he and my grandpa would backpack into the wilderness after rutting bulls. He told me if I ever actually wanted an elk, that’s what it would take.
We never had much luck road hunting, and the only times I got close were the years I skipped buying a bull tag picked up a cow tag instead. Once I got to college, I started hunting OTC elk with classmates and quickly realized the elk were always miles into the roadless country. I told my father I planned on getting a tent and backpacking after them, and he was ecstatic. He convinced me muzzleloader during the rut was the way to go, and to let him take me to one of the spots where he and my grandfather used to go. It wasn’t his wilderness area, but a good place to start. He dusted off my grandfather’s old Knight muzzleloaders and spent the summer getting me dialed in. The following September we parked at the trailhead and started hiking up the mountain my father remembered as a child. Shortly after hiking in we started hearing bugles. We never saw a bull but I passed on a few cows as I was always hearing bugles only a few hundred yards away. The following year my dad drew the same tag and had a similar experience but laid eyes on a few bulls that he never got a shot opportunity for. On both trips we only hunted the weekends as I was in school and professors wouldn’t give me the time off to hunt.
This year, first season after graduating, I have the same tag and I could finally take the full season to find a bull.
Day 1 (Saturday)
After driving all night, I napped in the truck bed at the trailhead. My dad was bringing the RV later. At 7 a.m., hiking solo, I heard weak bugles from the valley below. I didn’t believe they were elk. Assuming they were midwesterners who picked up a bugle tube as a last minute thought, I kept hiking.
A couple hours later, I spotted cows and a 5 point bull. I cow called, and the bull bugled back before catching up to his cows. Then out of nowhere, a cow popped up at 20 yards and stared me down. I mewed softly and apparently she doesn’t discriminate based on looks because she continued to casually walk by… At least until she finally winded me and ran off.
One of the first elk I had seen on this trip. I can’t remember if this was the 5 point or a cow.
A horrible picture of the cow at 20 yards, you can see her eye just above the thick branch in the center.
At this point, I had only practiced bugling in my car and wasn’t confident enough to talk to a real bull. I began to hike down the mountain expecting my father to arrive shortly. The whole way down I continued to hear the pathetic bugles I first heard in the morning, although to my surprise, there were no other trucks parked at the trail head. I finally accepted that the bugles were real and if they could sound that bad, then my bugling couldn’t be any worse. I get ahold of my father and find out he was still several hours out so I headed back up the mountain.
That afternoon, storms rolled in. Fog, wind, misting rain. Near the meadow, I cow called and two bulls answered. I finally decided to bugle, and to my surprise instead of dead silence or the sound of elk running off, I got responses. One gave a lazy bugle and the other ripped an aggressive, raspy challenge. For half an hour we traded “F-yous” back and forth.
Shivering in my soaked polyester clothes, I watched a cow spawn out of the fog, once again at 20 yards. As she got past, she winded me and began running back toward the bulls. After the previous experience with a cow that close, I cow called to her. She slowed down looking back at me. I then gave her a gentle bugle which stopped her. She then looked away and slowly walked back to the herd without spooking them. Minutes later, a dark shape emerged. A 5-point at 50 yards, hidden behind a tree. As I steadied, another shape appeared through a break in the fog. A heavy 6-point with dark antlers and ivory tips gleaming, and screaming every few steps as he closed to 70 yards.
The cow at 20 yards through the fog
The 5 point through the fog, behind the tree
I was shaking so badly I couldn’t steady for a shot, and the thought of freezing for hours after a kill made me hesitate. The 6-point searched for me, bugling hard, but I went silent and let them drift away. By the time I hit the truck, I was soaked and numb, but ecstatic. It was the best day of hunting I’d ever had, even without pulling the trigger.
The 6 point bull during a break in the fog, waiting for my chance to escape undetected.
We never had much luck road hunting, and the only times I got close were the years I skipped buying a bull tag picked up a cow tag instead. Once I got to college, I started hunting OTC elk with classmates and quickly realized the elk were always miles into the roadless country. I told my father I planned on getting a tent and backpacking after them, and he was ecstatic. He convinced me muzzleloader during the rut was the way to go, and to let him take me to one of the spots where he and my grandfather used to go. It wasn’t his wilderness area, but a good place to start. He dusted off my grandfather’s old Knight muzzleloaders and spent the summer getting me dialed in. The following September we parked at the trailhead and started hiking up the mountain my father remembered as a child. Shortly after hiking in we started hearing bugles. We never saw a bull but I passed on a few cows as I was always hearing bugles only a few hundred yards away. The following year my dad drew the same tag and had a similar experience but laid eyes on a few bulls that he never got a shot opportunity for. On both trips we only hunted the weekends as I was in school and professors wouldn’t give me the time off to hunt.
This year, first season after graduating, I have the same tag and I could finally take the full season to find a bull.
Day 1 (Saturday)
After driving all night, I napped in the truck bed at the trailhead. My dad was bringing the RV later. At 7 a.m., hiking solo, I heard weak bugles from the valley below. I didn’t believe they were elk. Assuming they were midwesterners who picked up a bugle tube as a last minute thought, I kept hiking.
A couple hours later, I spotted cows and a 5 point bull. I cow called, and the bull bugled back before catching up to his cows. Then out of nowhere, a cow popped up at 20 yards and stared me down. I mewed softly and apparently she doesn’t discriminate based on looks because she continued to casually walk by… At least until she finally winded me and ran off.
One of the first elk I had seen on this trip. I can’t remember if this was the 5 point or a cow.
A horrible picture of the cow at 20 yards, you can see her eye just above the thick branch in the center.
At this point, I had only practiced bugling in my car and wasn’t confident enough to talk to a real bull. I began to hike down the mountain expecting my father to arrive shortly. The whole way down I continued to hear the pathetic bugles I first heard in the morning, although to my surprise, there were no other trucks parked at the trail head. I finally accepted that the bugles were real and if they could sound that bad, then my bugling couldn’t be any worse. I get ahold of my father and find out he was still several hours out so I headed back up the mountain.
That afternoon, storms rolled in. Fog, wind, misting rain. Near the meadow, I cow called and two bulls answered. I finally decided to bugle, and to my surprise instead of dead silence or the sound of elk running off, I got responses. One gave a lazy bugle and the other ripped an aggressive, raspy challenge. For half an hour we traded “F-yous” back and forth.
Shivering in my soaked polyester clothes, I watched a cow spawn out of the fog, once again at 20 yards. As she got past, she winded me and began running back toward the bulls. After the previous experience with a cow that close, I cow called to her. She slowed down looking back at me. I then gave her a gentle bugle which stopped her. She then looked away and slowly walked back to the herd without spooking them. Minutes later, a dark shape emerged. A 5-point at 50 yards, hidden behind a tree. As I steadied, another shape appeared through a break in the fog. A heavy 6-point with dark antlers and ivory tips gleaming, and screaming every few steps as he closed to 70 yards.
The cow at 20 yards through the fog
The 5 point through the fog, behind the tree
I was shaking so badly I couldn’t steady for a shot, and the thought of freezing for hours after a kill made me hesitate. The 6-point searched for me, bugling hard, but I went silent and let them drift away. By the time I hit the truck, I was soaked and numb, but ecstatic. It was the best day of hunting I’d ever had, even without pulling the trigger.
The 6 point bull during a break in the fog, waiting for my chance to escape undetected.
