It was raining the next morning. I was bummed Rich had to go. I still had another week off, but in all honesty it was a mental struggle. I missed my family and was contemplating going home. I drove into town with Rich and we had chicken fried steaks for a send off breakfast.
I drove back to camp in the rain. I donned my rain gear and set out on an old fire trail a local guide told us about. Rain came down in buckets. I saw a couple whitetail deer, but no elk. By midday I dropped into this basin.
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I realized I had watched fall transform the mountains. It was no longer summer. I finally heard a bugle. It was faint and I wondered if I was hallucinating. I worked down the ridge. I paid homage to the whitetail who lost this.
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I finally heard the bull late in the afternoon. Thermals were doing weird stuff, so I opted to back out and come in very early the next day.
Friday I left the truck early. I was in the old burn well before daybreak and sat down to listen. Finally, just after sunrise I heard the bull chuckling again. I started moving slowly through the burn.
I stepped up onto a giant deadfall, probably waist high and 16-18” in diameter. I looked to my right and saw a bedded cow at about 70 yards. The wind was in my face. I knew I couldn’t get down because the alders were too tall. Finn was on the same log and I whispered to put him into a down stay on the log. I chambered a round, as I no longer carry hot
@Big Fin.
She got nervous and stood up, then another, and another, till finally six elk were milling around. They started to line out of though the timber. I could see several small bulls. The last one stopped to look back. I settled the crosshairs and pressed the trigger. The .280 barked.
Mayhem ensued. I immediately chambered another round. I could see the bull lunge up the hill and I knew it was a good hit. I saw a spike run over the ridge, and in disbelief wondered it that was the elk I shot.
I immediately found blood where I had shot the bull. With Finn by me, we started work the blood track up the hill.
This should dispel the myth copper bullets don’t leave a good blood trail.
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We continued up the hill for about 15 yards and the blood seemed to stop. I looked to my left and saw this.
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No gummy bears.
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At 6:40, I notched my tag. This knife was a birthday present from Ted on my 40th birthday.
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I’m not going to lie, I was as excited and emotional about this spike as the biggest bull I’ve ever shot. I was sad Ted or Rich weren’t there with me. I had really hoped to pack elk for them and not myself.
Knowing rain was in the forecast, I got with the program. I had him processed and bagged in an hour and a half.
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I decided to three trip him.
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The Toyota hauled its first kill and I cracked a PBR for Rich.
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I hate breaking camp solo, but I had another PBR and got to work. With the rain, I’ll have some serious gear cleaning to do.
Leave only tracks, and maybe some firewood.
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The end.
