THWAK1
New member
- Joined
- Jul 25, 2011
- Messages
- 787
Last month, I described my elk hunt in a different thread and that my dad helped me pack out my bull. Because of work and the weather, he had not been out after elk all season other than to help me pack, just deer and antelope a few times. Also, my dad enjoys rifle hunting like I do archery hunting, another reason he doesn't get out too often.
Well, we had talked about the fact that archery season was almost over and this weeks forecast was for cooler weather, so he took a couple of days off to coinside with his weekend. He met me at my house Wednesday morning, packed my truck and headed to the same area where I shot my bull in September. Dad said he was willing to shoot the first elk he could (if it's brown, it's down) so that he could share the meat with our family and some older people at church. I said it was up to him, but we'd have to find some first. We arrived at the trailhead at 6:40 am, and the wind was blowing something terrible...we grabbed our backpacks and bows, and headed up the trail. As we were leaving, headlights were pulling into the trailhead behind us. 30 minutes up the trail, as we were trying to listen for elk, 2 young kids walked up to us. They said they were camped a few miles away and that they had been hunting here this week and that they were heading farther up the trail to hunt. I said that was fine, I had been hunting here for over 20 years and asked if they were even that old, and that my dad and I were hunting here anyway. I kind of laughed and could tell they were pissed off, so I said "good luck" as they headed down the trail in their Sitka gear and both carrying Primos Terminator elk calls. They reminded me of guys flyfishing the Missouri River, all decked out in Orvis and LL Bean gear, that wade past me and can't catch a damn thing...while I am waist deep in shorts, sandals, and an old fishing vest, and kick their asses! LOL I was kind of irked at them, we were there first, but being older now I realized that I was hunting with my dad, and that is what was important. They were trying, but probably wouldn't kill anything, experience was on my side and I know the area like the floor plan of my house. I figured that they would stay on or near the trail, and taking the wind into consideration, we headed into the dark timber on the north face of the mountain. As we were leaving the trail, I could hear the classic Terminator bugle on the ridge well ahead of us...it made me smile and laugh to myself.
We had not gone 30 minutes into the timber and I could smell elk...but the wind was swirling SO bad! I was going slow, still hunting, glassing ahead and to the sides as we went, chewing on the side of the diaphram call pressed between my teeth and cheek, dad right behind me. Through the timber I spotted the tawny color of an elks hide, ahead and below us. I could make out a very nice 6x6 bull and about a dozen cows, feeding and milling about, headed down the drainage, same direction we were headed. I told dad that we needed to gain some elevation toward the top of this particular ridge and try to get ahead of them. He agreed and off we went, wind mostly in our favor, but still swirling. We had gone a few hundred yards and were dropping in elevation, to get in front of the herd, when I spotted an elk below us and coming from the direction the heard was. I glassed the elk and saw that it was a spike. I asked dad what he wanted to do. He said he would be willing to take a shot if given the opportunity. I asked if he wanted to wait and take a chance on the herd bull or one of his cows and he said no, season was almost over and that a spike would taste better anyway. I said "OK". As the spike got closer, I could see the herd quite a ways behind him, coming threw the trees toward us also. Dads mind was made up. As the spike walked the trail below us, I cow called to stop him. I ranged him at 37 yards (TBR). Dad was next to me at full draw and had to adjust a little bit to get the shot off. The spike just stood there looking for the cow as dad released his arrow. Just before his arrow hit it's mark, it hit a dead pine branch and was deflected to the right and struck the spike in the neck. The elk took off toward the bottom of the drainage and made an arc to the right and went out of sight. Almost immediately I heard a crash of branches breaking. I looked back at the herd of elk, which were now within 100 yards, and they also took off to the bottom of the drainage and up the other side, out of view. We waited a few minutes and talked about the shot and then walked to where the elk had been standing. We found his arrow and immediately began to see large splashes of blood on the ground; I guessed a jugular hit. Following the upturned pine needles and blood could not have been any easier, and after a short ways, we spotted the spike laying on his side. As we approached the elk, I looked back and guessed he had not gone more than 150 yards. It also appeared that he had propped himself up against a blowdown in an effort to stay on his feet before falling over dead...there was blood everywhere! It was 8:30 am.
We took off our packs, grounded our bows, took off our hats, and dad said his ritual prayer while we knelt and touched the elks head, thanking the Good Lord for letting us take one of his animals to help provide nurishment to family and friends. Then I took pictures, dad tagged him, and we discused how we were going to get him out. We agreed, that since I was younger, lucky me, I would take both packs and both bows and head back to the truck and return with our pack frames and hiking sticks...I guessed the distance to be less than 3 miles. Dad sarted skinning, quartering and boning out the elk as I headed to the truck.
After my 2 hour round trip, I was back with the packs. The elk was boned and ready to be put in the game bags I left behind. Dad was eating one of my sandwiches I had also left behind and I ate the other. Then we cut the antlers of the skull and popped out his ivories. We packed the meat into the pack frames, I took both hind quarters, neck and misc meat, while dad took the front quarters, backstraps and loins, and we were on our way. Taking breaks as needed and stopping to take a few pictures, we made it back to the truck in less than 2 hours (the young guys truck was gone...I'm guessing they weren't successful). A couple more pictures, a couple of cold drinks, packing up the truck, and we were ready to head home. We left the trailhead just before 3 pm and were home before 5 pm.
It's not the biggest bull my dad has shot, as matter of fact it's the smallest bull either of us have ever shot! But, he'll taste great for everyone who gets to share him. It was a great hunt with my dad, which is always important to me, especially since he's not going to be able to hunt like this for many more years. That, and it took less than 2 hours!
Well, we had talked about the fact that archery season was almost over and this weeks forecast was for cooler weather, so he took a couple of days off to coinside with his weekend. He met me at my house Wednesday morning, packed my truck and headed to the same area where I shot my bull in September. Dad said he was willing to shoot the first elk he could (if it's brown, it's down) so that he could share the meat with our family and some older people at church. I said it was up to him, but we'd have to find some first. We arrived at the trailhead at 6:40 am, and the wind was blowing something terrible...we grabbed our backpacks and bows, and headed up the trail. As we were leaving, headlights were pulling into the trailhead behind us. 30 minutes up the trail, as we were trying to listen for elk, 2 young kids walked up to us. They said they were camped a few miles away and that they had been hunting here this week and that they were heading farther up the trail to hunt. I said that was fine, I had been hunting here for over 20 years and asked if they were even that old, and that my dad and I were hunting here anyway. I kind of laughed and could tell they were pissed off, so I said "good luck" as they headed down the trail in their Sitka gear and both carrying Primos Terminator elk calls. They reminded me of guys flyfishing the Missouri River, all decked out in Orvis and LL Bean gear, that wade past me and can't catch a damn thing...while I am waist deep in shorts, sandals, and an old fishing vest, and kick their asses! LOL I was kind of irked at them, we were there first, but being older now I realized that I was hunting with my dad, and that is what was important. They were trying, but probably wouldn't kill anything, experience was on my side and I know the area like the floor plan of my house. I figured that they would stay on or near the trail, and taking the wind into consideration, we headed into the dark timber on the north face of the mountain. As we were leaving the trail, I could hear the classic Terminator bugle on the ridge well ahead of us...it made me smile and laugh to myself.
We had not gone 30 minutes into the timber and I could smell elk...but the wind was swirling SO bad! I was going slow, still hunting, glassing ahead and to the sides as we went, chewing on the side of the diaphram call pressed between my teeth and cheek, dad right behind me. Through the timber I spotted the tawny color of an elks hide, ahead and below us. I could make out a very nice 6x6 bull and about a dozen cows, feeding and milling about, headed down the drainage, same direction we were headed. I told dad that we needed to gain some elevation toward the top of this particular ridge and try to get ahead of them. He agreed and off we went, wind mostly in our favor, but still swirling. We had gone a few hundred yards and were dropping in elevation, to get in front of the herd, when I spotted an elk below us and coming from the direction the heard was. I glassed the elk and saw that it was a spike. I asked dad what he wanted to do. He said he would be willing to take a shot if given the opportunity. I asked if he wanted to wait and take a chance on the herd bull or one of his cows and he said no, season was almost over and that a spike would taste better anyway. I said "OK". As the spike got closer, I could see the herd quite a ways behind him, coming threw the trees toward us also. Dads mind was made up. As the spike walked the trail below us, I cow called to stop him. I ranged him at 37 yards (TBR). Dad was next to me at full draw and had to adjust a little bit to get the shot off. The spike just stood there looking for the cow as dad released his arrow. Just before his arrow hit it's mark, it hit a dead pine branch and was deflected to the right and struck the spike in the neck. The elk took off toward the bottom of the drainage and made an arc to the right and went out of sight. Almost immediately I heard a crash of branches breaking. I looked back at the herd of elk, which were now within 100 yards, and they also took off to the bottom of the drainage and up the other side, out of view. We waited a few minutes and talked about the shot and then walked to where the elk had been standing. We found his arrow and immediately began to see large splashes of blood on the ground; I guessed a jugular hit. Following the upturned pine needles and blood could not have been any easier, and after a short ways, we spotted the spike laying on his side. As we approached the elk, I looked back and guessed he had not gone more than 150 yards. It also appeared that he had propped himself up against a blowdown in an effort to stay on his feet before falling over dead...there was blood everywhere! It was 8:30 am.
We took off our packs, grounded our bows, took off our hats, and dad said his ritual prayer while we knelt and touched the elks head, thanking the Good Lord for letting us take one of his animals to help provide nurishment to family and friends. Then I took pictures, dad tagged him, and we discused how we were going to get him out. We agreed, that since I was younger, lucky me, I would take both packs and both bows and head back to the truck and return with our pack frames and hiking sticks...I guessed the distance to be less than 3 miles. Dad sarted skinning, quartering and boning out the elk as I headed to the truck.
After my 2 hour round trip, I was back with the packs. The elk was boned and ready to be put in the game bags I left behind. Dad was eating one of my sandwiches I had also left behind and I ate the other. Then we cut the antlers of the skull and popped out his ivories. We packed the meat into the pack frames, I took both hind quarters, neck and misc meat, while dad took the front quarters, backstraps and loins, and we were on our way. Taking breaks as needed and stopping to take a few pictures, we made it back to the truck in less than 2 hours (the young guys truck was gone...I'm guessing they weren't successful). A couple more pictures, a couple of cold drinks, packing up the truck, and we were ready to head home. We left the trailhead just before 3 pm and were home before 5 pm.
It's not the biggest bull my dad has shot, as matter of fact it's the smallest bull either of us have ever shot! But, he'll taste great for everyone who gets to share him. It was a great hunt with my dad, which is always important to me, especially since he's not going to be able to hunt like this for many more years. That, and it took less than 2 hours!
