If Ole So and So Wins This Election, I’m Leaving....

We suffered a slight vehicular injury when a counter-protesting juniper grabbed my side mirror. What kind of benevolent government let’s the roads get so grown over?
 

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Judging from the amount of other demonstrators in the area and the multitude of roads we decided to head in another direction.
We grabbed some gas station lunch of questionable nutritional value and picked another random road that looked like it headed into public land.
Turns out, I should have zoomed into OnX a little closer. BLM ground was parallel to the road for several miles but about 50’ from the road right of way.
We did see a fearless mountain chicken who was trying to cross the road.
He wouldn’t tell us why and wouldn’t get out of the way so Allison got out to talk to him and see what his grievances were. He just walked away. Oh well.40D325D8-349E-4B7D-AD31-B019E6989764.jpeg57A5171A-C6C2-4E87-B4CD-2D48930F824D.jpeg
 

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Finally, at about two pm we decided our strategy of driving and looking wasn’t working. After many miles of bouncing down nominal mountain roads we had arrived closer to civilization again.
There was a sizable chunk of private land enrolled in Block Management, kindly paid for by nonresident hunters who paid exorbitant fees for the privilege of marginal opportunity to hunt elk. Thanks guys! (And girls.)

We signed in, suited up and started walking and glassing.74378DB8-E7DD-455D-BEED-E9F7183C6A4F.jpeg44867D44-2E39-4908-B058-ADFFC7449EEE.jpeg5D898155-5DF8-4FA1-9181-7564A54361E1.jpeg
 
As the wind whipped us and the sun sank lower, our plans and goals were suddenly interrupted by a herd of elk that fed up out of a little pinion and juniper trees draw.
Allison is hunting on the MT Apprentice Hunter program and only has a deer tag.
However, I have an elk tag and we are in a district that allows me to shoot a brow-tines bull or a cow with my general tag.
I quickly ran the equation through my head. Empty freezer, limited time to hunt with building our house, one mile to the truck, the encouragement of my daughter...Yeah, I will shoot a cow.
One point of hesitation I had to overcome was that the only rifle we had was my .243. I had never shot an elk with anything lighter than my .270, but knowing many other people have killed plenty of elk with a .243 and knowing the 80 grain Barnes TTSX bullets I was shooting weren’t going to come apart, I felt confident a good broadside shot was ethical and reasonable.
 

Pay attention to the little calf at the edge to the herd starting at the :35 mark. She'll enter this story in dramatic fashion later on. I'm focused on trying to pick out a mature cow and don't notice her limping.

There were three candidates that I was going back and forth between, I just needed one to get clear of the others for a safe shot. Finally, the cow behind the spike presented a clear broadside shot and I sqeezed the trigger. Even with the relatively light recoil, I couldn't tell what happened at the shot, but the solid thwack of the bullet strike as the herd ran off confirmed I had hit her. As they ran down across the hill, one elk was lagging slightly behind. I was sure it was her and that she would be dead in a short distance. There wasn't time for a second shot and it wouldn't have been safe to shoot again even if I could have been for sure which cow I had shot.
 
We gathered up our gear gave it about ten minutes and started over to take up the track.
The herd had run out of sight after about 75 yards with one elk lagging behind about 20 yards. I assumed it was my dying cow.
I played back the shot on my camera. On the little screen it looked perfect.
The ground was bone dry, scattered grass and hard dirt. I could see the scuff marks of running elk about every ten yards. I started following them to the edge of the timber.
After about fifty yards, I saw one thumbnail sized splotch of fluffy orangish blood on the ground. Almost looked like a chunk of lung or coagulated blood. Awesome.
No other blood, but that didn’t concern me too much. I figured the .243 probably didn’t have an exit wound and it is pretty common not to have great blood trails with the thick hair soaking up blood. I kept following tracks, trying to see if one elk peeled off downhill from the herd.
After almost 200 yards, the light is fading quickly, no dead elk, no more blood, and that unsettling doubt began creeping in.
Maybe a.243 won’t kill an elk? Maybe the shot wasn’t as good as I thought?
 
I told Allison, I think we should ask God to help us find this elk so we bowed our heads for a quick prayer.

Not even a minute into our continued search and motion on the far hillside caught my eye.
About 400 yards out, one lone cow was limping across the hill, nearly into the timber.
My mind went into overdrive factoring in the variables. It’s 15 minutes or more after I shot, the elk is limping on it’s left front leg. All the tracks of the herd were leading that way. No more blood. I had forgotten about the 20 mph crosswind. It must have pushed the bullet into the scapula or broken a leg.
I tried a desperate Hail Mary offhand shot as she disappeared into the timber with the expected result. A miss.
 
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