mdunc8
Well-known member
Well, then, we are tied at days in the field
Don't worry. You're not missing much. I've only heard one bugle so far this year. The deer and antelope hunting has been great though.
MT archery elk - We're baaack!
- Thread starter Big Fin
- Start date
Don't worry. You're not missing much. I've only heard one bugle so far this year. The deer and antelope hunting has been great though.
Bigfalls32
New member
- Joined
- Mar 9, 2011
- Messages
- 13
Congrats Randy! Can't wait for the story and pix!..... Hope Troy is ok!
rutdog
New member
i'm sure the story will be well worth the wait.. Congrats!!
krshntr81
Member
Congrats, can't wait for the story!
Lawnboy
Well-known member
I was driving home and a truck pulled in front of me a ways up with what looked like branches coming out. Well low and behold it was Randy and the rack. Just got done prying my dirty fingers from around it. It is a real cool looking bull. Wingman post up a picture of that bull you had with the giant g3. I assume it was from this area. Randy might have a number to add to the Frankenbull thread with his g 3.
This story should be worth the wait.
This story should be worth the wait.
idnative1948
Well-known member
Just guessing we are going to be something WILD from somebody who gives it his all. Go figure....
Lawnboy
Well-known member
I just checked the Frankenbull thread and Randy officially has the g 3 spot by a ways
Sorry Wingman I must of been confused it looks like yours had the big g1's and g2's.
Sorry Wingman I must of been confused it looks like yours had the big g1's and g2's.
Sorry for the delay guys. We have been at it so hard the last three days, just no time for updates, etc. And, a crash of my computer battery made it impossible to do much posting. Home now, freshly showered, and thanking my wife for her tolerance of my hunting indiscretions.
Sunday, we climbed high, having given up on my grand scheme to walk over and stay the night. We went light and thought we would hit the country higher up.
When we got high at daylight, we could see the elk pouring back into the spot we had thought about but were further our way, putting them right on the boundary. That was more than a guy could bear.
I told Troy I knew of a spring where we could water, so if it took most the day and most our water to get there, we could use the Aquamira drops to rewater. It was far, but we could see the number of elk had now quadrupled as another huge herd had joined the fray. Even from almost two miles away, you could see some were monsters.
Off we went. Navigating the checkered pattern of private added a couple extra miles to our jaunt. On the way, ran into a group of blue grouse. Troy threw down the tripod and yelled, "Shoot one, that's dinner." One unlucky bird thought he was hid at about 12 yards. The arrow went right through at the top of the chest. A quick cleaning and we had chicken dinner.
We continued on our way, finding the spring I told Troy about. That put us less than a half mile from where the elk seemed to be bedding. And, very close to the private boundary.
We stopped at the spring to cool off. It was scorching and dunking one's head in that cool water was great. Same with dousing your hat.
I put the grouse in a plastic bag, then tied it to a rock with p-cord. Idea being the cool spring water would keep the grouse cold for the afternoon, rather than walk around in my hot pack and spoil.
We moved forward, listening for elk. We could hear them bugling from their beds. They were right on the boundary. We played the wind cautiously and walked in within a couple hundred yards. We could see some of them had come right through here in the morning. Now, if only some of them would do the same thing this afternoon, we were set up in a postion downwind of their travel.
We decided to sit the day and see what happened. The long walk gave us good cause for rest. We heard the occasional mid-day bugle and all was going as planned.
Around 5pm, the elk activity got stronger. They were moving our way, or so it seemed. Off toward the flat was a big cattle tank and we could hear frolicking of elk in that water. The wind turned to our favor, allowing us to stalk toward them and hope to cut them off before they reached private.
The noise and smell was amazing. If ever there was an "Elk Woodstock," this was it. More elk debauchery than a man could envision. I counted 140 around the water tank, and that was not the majority of them. Amazing.
The bulls were sounding off. The cows were whining. Everyone was taking their dip in the pool, which unfortunately, was about 200 yards off the boundary. We called to see if would could get a satellite come into our set up. No luck. Just too much competition from the real thing.
We could only watch and drool over the size of some of these bulls screaming a mere 100 to 200 yards awat. I would not dare shoot right on the boundary, so they were even further from where I would feel comfortable taking a shot.
As the elk headed out, they headed to the same place we watched them come from this morning. This would be the second striaght day they would do this travel patter.
Troy got a big smile and asked if I wanted grouse over an open fire, and if I would be willing to stay here tonight, so we would be right in them, come morning. Sounded good to me. But, we were short on warm gear and food. I know what Troy is like when he is hungry, but if he was game for this scheme, so what I.
We headed back to the spring to get our grouse and reload the water. When we got there, Troy noticed the bear crap. I noticed a missing bag of grouse. WTH? What low-down no account Yogi would do such a thing as steal a guy's dinner?
Troy was now reconsidering his plan to stay. I told him I would hike back tomorrow, if need be. He was upset about his chicken dinner, but an inventory of our remaining food was a bagel, a PBJ, one Snickers, four granola bars, and sme packs of GU. Hardly a feast, but enough to get us through the night.
We were both low on water. This spring was delivering some serious water for the cows, so we figured some AquaMira drops could get us 2.5 liters each, no problem. We were set. If only our clothing stock looked as good as our water rations.
To be continued
The only remaining proof that Troy's dinner had been killed.
Sunday, we climbed high, having given up on my grand scheme to walk over and stay the night. We went light and thought we would hit the country higher up.
When we got high at daylight, we could see the elk pouring back into the spot we had thought about but were further our way, putting them right on the boundary. That was more than a guy could bear.
I told Troy I knew of a spring where we could water, so if it took most the day and most our water to get there, we could use the Aquamira drops to rewater. It was far, but we could see the number of elk had now quadrupled as another huge herd had joined the fray. Even from almost two miles away, you could see some were monsters.
Off we went. Navigating the checkered pattern of private added a couple extra miles to our jaunt. On the way, ran into a group of blue grouse. Troy threw down the tripod and yelled, "Shoot one, that's dinner." One unlucky bird thought he was hid at about 12 yards. The arrow went right through at the top of the chest. A quick cleaning and we had chicken dinner.
We continued on our way, finding the spring I told Troy about. That put us less than a half mile from where the elk seemed to be bedding. And, very close to the private boundary.
We stopped at the spring to cool off. It was scorching and dunking one's head in that cool water was great. Same with dousing your hat.
I put the grouse in a plastic bag, then tied it to a rock with p-cord. Idea being the cool spring water would keep the grouse cold for the afternoon, rather than walk around in my hot pack and spoil.
We moved forward, listening for elk. We could hear them bugling from their beds. They were right on the boundary. We played the wind cautiously and walked in within a couple hundred yards. We could see some of them had come right through here in the morning. Now, if only some of them would do the same thing this afternoon, we were set up in a postion downwind of their travel.
We decided to sit the day and see what happened. The long walk gave us good cause for rest. We heard the occasional mid-day bugle and all was going as planned.
Around 5pm, the elk activity got stronger. They were moving our way, or so it seemed. Off toward the flat was a big cattle tank and we could hear frolicking of elk in that water. The wind turned to our favor, allowing us to stalk toward them and hope to cut them off before they reached private.
The noise and smell was amazing. If ever there was an "Elk Woodstock," this was it. More elk debauchery than a man could envision. I counted 140 around the water tank, and that was not the majority of them. Amazing.
The bulls were sounding off. The cows were whining. Everyone was taking their dip in the pool, which unfortunately, was about 200 yards off the boundary. We called to see if would could get a satellite come into our set up. No luck. Just too much competition from the real thing.
We could only watch and drool over the size of some of these bulls screaming a mere 100 to 200 yards awat. I would not dare shoot right on the boundary, so they were even further from where I would feel comfortable taking a shot.
As the elk headed out, they headed to the same place we watched them come from this morning. This would be the second striaght day they would do this travel patter.
Troy got a big smile and asked if I wanted grouse over an open fire, and if I would be willing to stay here tonight, so we would be right in them, come morning. Sounded good to me. But, we were short on warm gear and food. I know what Troy is like when he is hungry, but if he was game for this scheme, so what I.
We headed back to the spring to get our grouse and reload the water. When we got there, Troy noticed the bear crap. I noticed a missing bag of grouse. WTH? What low-down no account Yogi would do such a thing as steal a guy's dinner?
Troy was now reconsidering his plan to stay. I told him I would hike back tomorrow, if need be. He was upset about his chicken dinner, but an inventory of our remaining food was a bagel, a PBJ, one Snickers, four granola bars, and sme packs of GU. Hardly a feast, but enough to get us through the night.
We were both low on water. This spring was delivering some serious water for the cows, so we figured some AquaMira drops could get us 2.5 liters each, no problem. We were set. If only our clothing stock looked as good as our water rations.
To be continued
The only remaining proof that Troy's dinner had been killed.
We headed to the small little bench where we had agreed to tuck away in the scattered ponderosas. Before it got too dark, Troy was on mission to gather enough pine limbs to make a comfortable nest. Thinking he was losing his marbles, I humored him by pluck a few for myself to make a nice bedding area.
I was worried that Troy had nothing more to keep him warm, other than his light Ascent shirt, along with a light fleece to put underneath it. I was living big. I had a Traverse Zip-T.
Given the skimpy cold weather gear, I decided to look at what else we had carried in our "light pack" scenario. I had five nylon game bags. Troy had a Buff and a little kids plastic poncho. I decided to offer him four game bags, leaving me one to put beneath me and my bed of pine boughs.
We settled in, listening to the chorus of bugling elk. They had moved off to the private and were doing their normal routine of feeding in the alfalfa. I was sleeping in about five minutes, while Troy continued his logging operation.
Troy briefly disrupted my dreams when he claimed he heard something in the trees behind us. The benefits of hearing loss is that you sleep better in bad conditions. I told him I was too tired to think about it. He asked what I intended to do if it was the bear. I offered my best efforts to retrieve his blue grouse, but could not muster enough energy to have a serious discussion. Not sure what Troy did to fend of the critter, but I sure enjoyed sleeping through it.
I was awoken by a huge wind blast around 1 am. The four hours of sleep felt as good as this wind felt cold. Without warning, it was howling. I turned on my light to see how Troy was coping. Well, I really couldn't tell, as all I could see was a pile of pine limbs stacked three feet high and ranked eight feet long. Somewhere in the midst of that, Troy was trying his best to stay warm.
Seeing Troy looked more comfortable than me, I decided to try a bigger pile of limbs. I went on my own scrounging quest. Returning with arms full of limgs, I planned to imitate Troy's plan. Little did I know that he was under this pile of wood, Troy was shivering.
I laid for a couple minutes, thinking I was still not very warm. Time for some more ingenuity. Only thing I could find was my Mystery Ranch Crew Cab. If I emptied it, folded it open and put it on covering my chest, it might serve as some form of warmth. So, I emptied the contents to a pile, folded the back of the Crew Cab down and now had a make shift blanket, albeit, not very flexible.
Being prone with my new blanket and piling pines upon me, the wind was somewhat lessened and my core seemed warmer. Ah, I might get some sleep if the wind stayed under 30mph.
Troy was awakened by a combination of my snoring, wind blasts, and his teeth chattering. He asked me how I was doing. I replied cold, but would survive. He replied that survival was questionable for him.
He then shined his light to examine my operation. He started laughing hysterically. WTH was so funny? He said I looked like a turtle shell with my Crew Cab blanket extending from my neck down to my knees. I never thought about it, but all that stuck out were legs, arms, and my head. Probably did look like a turtle to a guy feeling the early affects of hypothermia.
Not satisfied with his current igloo of limbs, he set out to get even more, after emptying his Crew Cab to try the turtle shell tactic. I heard him looking for his boots, but said it was not worth the effort to dig them from the four cords of wood stacked upon them. He went thinning the pines in his stocking feet. You know where this is going in the benchlands of central Montana.
Over the howling of wind, I could hear the howling of Troy. Scouring for the finest trees in this sparse woods, Troy's cloth-covered feet had found a huge patch of prickly pear. Ouch. He came hobbling back, with another cord of wood on his back. He reached for his Leatherman pliers and spent the next half hour plucking quills, while I tried my best to sleep. When I finally dozed off, he was just combining the best of his turtle blanket with his house of limbs.
I sat there for the next two hours, shivering and trying to find ways to block the wind. No luck. The harder I tried to block the wind, the harder the wind would blow. Somewhere in this struggle, bulls started to sound off as though they had come back early. I ignored it, knowing the sounds were still on private and attributing the noise to the efforts of some stragglers smelling the remnants of the elk party from the last evening.
Troy was now snoring. I could not see him for all the debris stacked around him. It was now 5 am. Troy told me to take some suffering footage with the point-of-view camera. Since I was too cold to sleep, I figured I may as well do something to take my mind off my misery and trembling. The footage will suck, as I was shaking too bad to hold the camera still, but hopefully it gives the effect of just how crazed a hunter can get in pursuit of an elk.
By 5:45 am, Troy was awaked by the increasing rowdiness of these elk 200 yards down slope. He looked as bad as I have ever seen him. As though he had run a gauntlet. He was not sure what was worse, his porcupine looking feet, his aching back, or his lowered core body temperature. Not that it matter, as any of it would prevent him from further sleep.
We decided we were going to film some of this foolishness. That we would walk around and try to sneak in on these elk as they started their earlier-than-usual retreat to the bedding grounds. We had a half hour before shooting light and almost an hour before good filming light.
We laughed at the stupidity of what we had done. We are both experienced hunters usually prepared for any event. Inside, we both knew it was a stupid stunt to stay overnight when we had purposely lightened our packs the previous morning in our effort to "go lighter and go farther." Normally, we both carry much more essentials, knowing what it takes to survive a night in the woods.
Fire was not an option. The wind was howling. It had not rained for weeks in this area, making the grass and pine needles a pile of tinder waiting for a flame to send a fire screaming across the prairie. Troy and I agreed that a fire was out of the question prior to finalizing our decision to stay the evening. If it got too bad or started to rain, we would hike the five miles back to camp under headlamps.
I was never so glad to see the sun start to rise. Even more excited to see the sun than to hear and see the swarm of elk coming back to their beds two hours early.
An early arrival was not part of what we had planned. We feared they would travel further than normal, taking them beyond the place they had bedded the last three mornings. If so, they would get beyond this boundary area, far into a private section. As we paralleled them from the public, our fears were quicly coming to reality.
Not sure what kind of big spiders these are, but the woods were awash with them. I was squishing them whenever I could. I have a deal with the rattle snakes that I leave them alone and hope they leave me alone. Spiders benefit from no such relationship.
Add in a jumbo sized bull snake, and I had my fill of spiders and snakes. Even though these rattler-colored bull snakes are harmless, they sure get your blood pressure pumping as they slither a foot away from your boot.
I was worried that Troy had nothing more to keep him warm, other than his light Ascent shirt, along with a light fleece to put underneath it. I was living big. I had a Traverse Zip-T.
Given the skimpy cold weather gear, I decided to look at what else we had carried in our "light pack" scenario. I had five nylon game bags. Troy had a Buff and a little kids plastic poncho. I decided to offer him four game bags, leaving me one to put beneath me and my bed of pine boughs.
We settled in, listening to the chorus of bugling elk. They had moved off to the private and were doing their normal routine of feeding in the alfalfa. I was sleeping in about five minutes, while Troy continued his logging operation.
Troy briefly disrupted my dreams when he claimed he heard something in the trees behind us. The benefits of hearing loss is that you sleep better in bad conditions. I told him I was too tired to think about it. He asked what I intended to do if it was the bear. I offered my best efforts to retrieve his blue grouse, but could not muster enough energy to have a serious discussion. Not sure what Troy did to fend of the critter, but I sure enjoyed sleeping through it.
I was awoken by a huge wind blast around 1 am. The four hours of sleep felt as good as this wind felt cold. Without warning, it was howling. I turned on my light to see how Troy was coping. Well, I really couldn't tell, as all I could see was a pile of pine limbs stacked three feet high and ranked eight feet long. Somewhere in the midst of that, Troy was trying his best to stay warm.
Seeing Troy looked more comfortable than me, I decided to try a bigger pile of limbs. I went on my own scrounging quest. Returning with arms full of limgs, I planned to imitate Troy's plan. Little did I know that he was under this pile of wood, Troy was shivering.
I laid for a couple minutes, thinking I was still not very warm. Time for some more ingenuity. Only thing I could find was my Mystery Ranch Crew Cab. If I emptied it, folded it open and put it on covering my chest, it might serve as some form of warmth. So, I emptied the contents to a pile, folded the back of the Crew Cab down and now had a make shift blanket, albeit, not very flexible.
Being prone with my new blanket and piling pines upon me, the wind was somewhat lessened and my core seemed warmer. Ah, I might get some sleep if the wind stayed under 30mph.
Troy was awakened by a combination of my snoring, wind blasts, and his teeth chattering. He asked me how I was doing. I replied cold, but would survive. He replied that survival was questionable for him.
He then shined his light to examine my operation. He started laughing hysterically. WTH was so funny? He said I looked like a turtle shell with my Crew Cab blanket extending from my neck down to my knees. I never thought about it, but all that stuck out were legs, arms, and my head. Probably did look like a turtle to a guy feeling the early affects of hypothermia.
Not satisfied with his current igloo of limbs, he set out to get even more, after emptying his Crew Cab to try the turtle shell tactic. I heard him looking for his boots, but said it was not worth the effort to dig them from the four cords of wood stacked upon them. He went thinning the pines in his stocking feet. You know where this is going in the benchlands of central Montana.
Over the howling of wind, I could hear the howling of Troy. Scouring for the finest trees in this sparse woods, Troy's cloth-covered feet had found a huge patch of prickly pear. Ouch. He came hobbling back, with another cord of wood on his back. He reached for his Leatherman pliers and spent the next half hour plucking quills, while I tried my best to sleep. When I finally dozed off, he was just combining the best of his turtle blanket with his house of limbs.
I sat there for the next two hours, shivering and trying to find ways to block the wind. No luck. The harder I tried to block the wind, the harder the wind would blow. Somewhere in this struggle, bulls started to sound off as though they had come back early. I ignored it, knowing the sounds were still on private and attributing the noise to the efforts of some stragglers smelling the remnants of the elk party from the last evening.
Troy was now snoring. I could not see him for all the debris stacked around him. It was now 5 am. Troy told me to take some suffering footage with the point-of-view camera. Since I was too cold to sleep, I figured I may as well do something to take my mind off my misery and trembling. The footage will suck, as I was shaking too bad to hold the camera still, but hopefully it gives the effect of just how crazed a hunter can get in pursuit of an elk.
By 5:45 am, Troy was awaked by the increasing rowdiness of these elk 200 yards down slope. He looked as bad as I have ever seen him. As though he had run a gauntlet. He was not sure what was worse, his porcupine looking feet, his aching back, or his lowered core body temperature. Not that it matter, as any of it would prevent him from further sleep.
We decided we were going to film some of this foolishness. That we would walk around and try to sneak in on these elk as they started their earlier-than-usual retreat to the bedding grounds. We had a half hour before shooting light and almost an hour before good filming light.
We laughed at the stupidity of what we had done. We are both experienced hunters usually prepared for any event. Inside, we both knew it was a stupid stunt to stay overnight when we had purposely lightened our packs the previous morning in our effort to "go lighter and go farther." Normally, we both carry much more essentials, knowing what it takes to survive a night in the woods.
Fire was not an option. The wind was howling. It had not rained for weeks in this area, making the grass and pine needles a pile of tinder waiting for a flame to send a fire screaming across the prairie. Troy and I agreed that a fire was out of the question prior to finalizing our decision to stay the evening. If it got too bad or started to rain, we would hike the five miles back to camp under headlamps.
I was never so glad to see the sun start to rise. Even more excited to see the sun than to hear and see the swarm of elk coming back to their beds two hours early.
An early arrival was not part of what we had planned. We feared they would travel further than normal, taking them beyond the place they had bedded the last three mornings. If so, they would get beyond this boundary area, far into a private section. As we paralleled them from the public, our fears were quicly coming to reality.
Not sure what kind of big spiders these are, but the woods were awash with them. I was squishing them whenever I could. I have a deal with the rattle snakes that I leave them alone and hope they leave me alone. Spiders benefit from no such relationship.
Add in a jumbo sized bull snake, and I had my fill of spiders and snakes. Even though these rattler-colored bull snakes are harmless, they sure get your blood pressure pumping as they slither a foot away from your boot.
As I stated, we feared that an early retreat to their bedding area would give these elk more time to penetrate deeper into the private and away from this boundary area that provided us a chance, a slim chance. Following these elk was quickly revealing that our worries were well placed.
They did not even stop near the place we had watched them frolic the evening before. They just kept on moving. We kept moving along the public ridge crest, keeping pace with the bugling down below. The public veered further away from the noise, putting us and our options further away from the elk.
Our path took us through an area they had bedded within the last couple days. Sometime, they had bedded on this north facing slope, and their beds were only 50 yards onto the public. Not the best option, but if for some reason they came higher, a better option than any to this point.
As we reached the peak of this ridge, we could see the entire tangle of elk mixing below us 400 yards, safely on private. All we could do is sit and wait. Wait and sit. Hoping beyond hope that they would get a wild hair and decide that they liked our steep shaded public grounds more than the hot private grounds down below. Hope all they want, these elk knew this place better than we did, and they were not coming in range of arrows, if they could help it.
It was now getting hot, even at 9 am. Not a good deal, as this chase had taken us even further away from camp. Our only hope was to sit and be patient that a few would break off and come our direction. Patience Fin, patience.
We followed the ridge to where a very steep canyon stopped our progress. If we crossed the canyon, the steepest in the entire area, we would still have public land for three eights of a mile ahead and a band a quarter mile wide. It did not seem like enough public land worthy of the task and labor required to drop down this canyon and scratch up the steep face it formed in our narrow swath of public land.
We heard some bugling in the bottom of the canyon, much ahead of the bigger herd. We decided to get to an rock outcrop that would allow us to see down into the canyon. Keeping quite on this decent was no easy task with the dry grass and loose rocks. Troy said he heard something below and to the left. I creeped forward to a lip and looked down. A long string of cows was looking around trying to make sense of the human odor dropping down on them.
No more than I had pointed them to Troy, did a cow bark, sending about twenty of them through the canyon toward the public. The rest turned and scrambled down the canyon, right to the private sanctuary.
What luck. The elk we had heard bugling were way further down the canyon. We had not heard any noise from where these cows had been. I knew our wind was travelling that way, but was more concerned about our wind in relation to the noisy band headed up the canyon. Guess I should have thought that one out more.
I told Troy i was toast. After the difficult night and the mile trot across the ridge this morning, combined with the deflation of scaring these elk off, I was mentally worn. He agreed. We needed rest, real food, and a lucky break.
With the sun rising higher, I wanted to get to camp before noon. This was going to be a long march, dodging and weaving around the private sections that stood between us and our camp. We heard a bugle below, which we thought might be part of that group we spooked from the canyon. Troy suggested a bugle reply. I reached for my bugle, only to realize that somewhere in our travels of the day I had lost the bugle tube. Guess I could scream, which would be about the same value. Having lost that, I was now completely checked out and headed toward camp.
We got to camp around 11:30 am. We were soaked and worn. We were almost too tired to eat, but given the starvation rations of the last twenty four hours, I loaded up a cinnamon raisin bagel will the PB and J it could hold. Combined with a cold bowl of Lipton Cup of Soup, lunch was to be had. Troy chugged a gallon of water mixed with Gatorade powder and crashed in the shade of some trees.
I was not far behind. My tent was more like a sauna. The sun acting like a microwave to my already drained muscles. I grabbed my pillow, found a big shady pine, and eeked out two hours of sleep.
Around 3pm, Troy climbed from his nest and proclaimed he was ready to start packing elk quarters. I laughed. Obviously, his state if delirium had not receded. Elk? Elk? Your talking elk? You gotta be crazy.
We did a few TV issues and decided to hit the ridges above camp and see what we could find. We would move along the ridge and try our best to set up and call in the lonely bull looking for a group to join up with. We did that for about three set ups when we heard elk in a meadow far to our west. We hustled to see what the ruckus was about.
Using the wind to our favor, we reached the crest of the rocks on the north side of this meadow. Across the drainage 300 yards away was a small bull with a group of cows. What was this guy doing with cows then so many big bulls were further below fighting for girls?
I tried my best to cow call and see what might come our way, knowing the odds were very slim. Calling a bull with cows across an opening is always a hard task. All I managed to do was bring another group of elk with a much bigger bull into the meadow. Probably not my calling that brought them there, rather than them being on their way for evening food and company.
We say until dark, watching and plotting what we could do to take advantage of this group of elk. Being this was the next to last day, I could not see anything that would give me hope of a change to the recurring events of each day. At least we knew a couple bulls were in this area and it was only an hour hike from our camp.
Lighting our headlamps, we turned back toward camp. I was mentally beat down. I wondered what the hell I was thinking when I decided to do another central Montana archery elk hunt. Last year was record heat when we filmed our archery elk hunt and this year was the same, combined with an absolute peak of the full moon. Stupid is as stupid does.
Oh well, I was elk hunting. A lot of other guys were doing much worse things with their time the past week. If nothing else, I was getting in pretty good shape for my elk hunt in New Mexico the following week.
By the time we reached camp, the moon was completely overhead. We were both too tired to cook, so some small snacks made dinner for that evening. I used what little phone juice I had to log on to Hunt Talk and see that everyone was giving us their best wishes. Thankfully, most did not realize the futility of plight, and their optimism far exceeded mine.
I went to bed trying my best to hear a bugle that would be the starting point for the last morning. Last I remember the bugle count was stuck at zero.
They did not even stop near the place we had watched them frolic the evening before. They just kept on moving. We kept moving along the public ridge crest, keeping pace with the bugling down below. The public veered further away from the noise, putting us and our options further away from the elk.
Our path took us through an area they had bedded within the last couple days. Sometime, they had bedded on this north facing slope, and their beds were only 50 yards onto the public. Not the best option, but if for some reason they came higher, a better option than any to this point.
As we reached the peak of this ridge, we could see the entire tangle of elk mixing below us 400 yards, safely on private. All we could do is sit and wait. Wait and sit. Hoping beyond hope that they would get a wild hair and decide that they liked our steep shaded public grounds more than the hot private grounds down below. Hope all they want, these elk knew this place better than we did, and they were not coming in range of arrows, if they could help it.
It was now getting hot, even at 9 am. Not a good deal, as this chase had taken us even further away from camp. Our only hope was to sit and be patient that a few would break off and come our direction. Patience Fin, patience.
We followed the ridge to where a very steep canyon stopped our progress. If we crossed the canyon, the steepest in the entire area, we would still have public land for three eights of a mile ahead and a band a quarter mile wide. It did not seem like enough public land worthy of the task and labor required to drop down this canyon and scratch up the steep face it formed in our narrow swath of public land.
We heard some bugling in the bottom of the canyon, much ahead of the bigger herd. We decided to get to an rock outcrop that would allow us to see down into the canyon. Keeping quite on this decent was no easy task with the dry grass and loose rocks. Troy said he heard something below and to the left. I creeped forward to a lip and looked down. A long string of cows was looking around trying to make sense of the human odor dropping down on them.
No more than I had pointed them to Troy, did a cow bark, sending about twenty of them through the canyon toward the public. The rest turned and scrambled down the canyon, right to the private sanctuary.
What luck. The elk we had heard bugling were way further down the canyon. We had not heard any noise from where these cows had been. I knew our wind was travelling that way, but was more concerned about our wind in relation to the noisy band headed up the canyon. Guess I should have thought that one out more.
I told Troy i was toast. After the difficult night and the mile trot across the ridge this morning, combined with the deflation of scaring these elk off, I was mentally worn. He agreed. We needed rest, real food, and a lucky break.
With the sun rising higher, I wanted to get to camp before noon. This was going to be a long march, dodging and weaving around the private sections that stood between us and our camp. We heard a bugle below, which we thought might be part of that group we spooked from the canyon. Troy suggested a bugle reply. I reached for my bugle, only to realize that somewhere in our travels of the day I had lost the bugle tube. Guess I could scream, which would be about the same value. Having lost that, I was now completely checked out and headed toward camp.
We got to camp around 11:30 am. We were soaked and worn. We were almost too tired to eat, but given the starvation rations of the last twenty four hours, I loaded up a cinnamon raisin bagel will the PB and J it could hold. Combined with a cold bowl of Lipton Cup of Soup, lunch was to be had. Troy chugged a gallon of water mixed with Gatorade powder and crashed in the shade of some trees.
I was not far behind. My tent was more like a sauna. The sun acting like a microwave to my already drained muscles. I grabbed my pillow, found a big shady pine, and eeked out two hours of sleep.
Around 3pm, Troy climbed from his nest and proclaimed he was ready to start packing elk quarters. I laughed. Obviously, his state if delirium had not receded. Elk? Elk? Your talking elk? You gotta be crazy.
We did a few TV issues and decided to hit the ridges above camp and see what we could find. We would move along the ridge and try our best to set up and call in the lonely bull looking for a group to join up with. We did that for about three set ups when we heard elk in a meadow far to our west. We hustled to see what the ruckus was about.
Using the wind to our favor, we reached the crest of the rocks on the north side of this meadow. Across the drainage 300 yards away was a small bull with a group of cows. What was this guy doing with cows then so many big bulls were further below fighting for girls?
I tried my best to cow call and see what might come our way, knowing the odds were very slim. Calling a bull with cows across an opening is always a hard task. All I managed to do was bring another group of elk with a much bigger bull into the meadow. Probably not my calling that brought them there, rather than them being on their way for evening food and company.
We say until dark, watching and plotting what we could do to take advantage of this group of elk. Being this was the next to last day, I could not see anything that would give me hope of a change to the recurring events of each day. At least we knew a couple bulls were in this area and it was only an hour hike from our camp.
Lighting our headlamps, we turned back toward camp. I was mentally beat down. I wondered what the hell I was thinking when I decided to do another central Montana archery elk hunt. Last year was record heat when we filmed our archery elk hunt and this year was the same, combined with an absolute peak of the full moon. Stupid is as stupid does.
Oh well, I was elk hunting. A lot of other guys were doing much worse things with their time the past week. If nothing else, I was getting in pretty good shape for my elk hunt in New Mexico the following week.
By the time we reached camp, the moon was completely overhead. We were both too tired to cook, so some small snacks made dinner for that evening. I used what little phone juice I had to log on to Hunt Talk and see that everyone was giving us their best wishes. Thankfully, most did not realize the futility of plight, and their optimism far exceeded mine.
I went to bed trying my best to hear a bugle that would be the starting point for the last morning. Last I remember the bugle count was stuck at zero.
Redfishing1983
Member
I'm loving it!!!! I just can't make you type fast enough!!!!
HeavyD66
New member
It's 10:30 here and I can't go to bed till I read more.
At 5:15 the alarm was again ringing. As my buddy Jerry often says, "Doesn't take long to spend the night around here." Never had the statement been more true. I struggled to find enough energy to get out of bed, let alone what it would take to reach the meadow where we left the elk last night.
I heard Troy rustling. I was going to tell him to go hunt by himself. He had worked harder than reasonably expect, and he deserved a day to hunt on this trip. We had talked about that yesterday and he emphatically said that he was not hunting until my bull was tagged, so quit talking about it.
My mind was not in the state of what it takes to hunt another day. I needed to find some motivation. Then it came to me.
When mentally wore down in Kansas three years ago, I was looking for excuses/reasons to pack it in. Miller posted a comment here that my dad and Grandpa always used - "No one ever killed an elk at camp/home."
Yup, I sure wasn't going to kill an elk laying in my tent. With that, I rolled out of the bag, put on my cleanest dirty shirt and headed out the tent to meet the day. I'd smoked my legs the night before on dreams of bulls and songs that they'd been singing.
OK, enough of Kris Kristofferson's Sunday Morning Comin' Down. But, that is how I was feeling,
We shouldered our packs and headed up the ridge well before filming/shooting light. We got to our normal lookout and decided to wait in the opening where we could glass the big private alfalfa fields below and listen for bugles on the public land to our south and west.
It was much cooler today. More humidity. My clothes seemed damp from this change in weather. The sun was late in lighting up the ridges, deterred by the increasing clouds to the east. Finally, some relief from the torching sun.
Like most all other days, this last day started like many others. The elk slowly left the private fields and loafed upon the ridges leading to the sparse timber they found safe and comfortable on the lower private ridges. We glassed them and laughed at how comfortable they seemed with this daily pattern of feed and bed, feed and bed, .....
We hoped a few might break off and come further up to our hunting grounds. But, we could hope all we want. It wasn't going to happen this morning.
Troy's good ears heard some bugles the direction where we left the elk the night before. Nothing better to do, so we headed that way. While sidehillng the ridge I kept my eye on the elk down below. The cattle were now penned very close to where the elk had been hanging out. Yet, I knew what the outcome would be. I turned my focus ahead and hoped one of those elk were now on public, bugling east of where we had left them the night before.
As we neared the meadow, I could see a decent bull over on the west side, the private side, bulging and entertaining his cows. The wind was perfect as we sidehilled toward the saddle that was formed by a steep north canyon running up to this area, and two steep ridges heading to the south, forming a great funnel that runs pretty much north to south. Dropping off the north face of the saddle is very steep. Almost impassible, Taking your eyes south, down the gentle slope of this drainage makes visions of elk dance in your head.
The drainage is mostly public, about two-thirds. The steeper west half of the valley is private, about one-third of the terrain. But, this steep timbered area is where the elk always emerge. Not sure what is over there, or on top of that ridge, but it seems to attract elk.
Anyhow, back to the stalk. As we neared the saddle, Troy tells me he hears elk directly to our south. We are headed west, into the wind.
I move forward slowly, checking the wind as often as I can. We are now on the north side of a rock pile where Troy thinks he heard the elk. We are getting ready to set up and see what happens. As often happens, a big wind comes up the drainage from the north, putting us directly upwind of what Troy thinks the elk are located.
Immediately, we hear the rumble of a scared herd. A bugle rings out. Immediately over the rocks. I scramble over this small spine of rocks to see a nice bull trotting away at about 100 yards, following his cows who have now vacated the station. I cow call and he stops to look. He is well into the public, but his cows are towing him toward the private on the west side of this basin.
How the hell could I blow that one? My last morning and a band of elk with a nice bull are feeding well into the public and a wind gust screws me up. Given how close the elk sounded and where the bulls was following the fleeing of his harem, I suspect we were within 75 yards, just over the other side of the rocks. Had the wind stayed it course, we would have been set up in a direct crosswind and could have waited for them to move closer or at least reveal their location and give us a better bearing on their spot.
I am beyond mad. I think Troy had concluded he could just as well be walking the streets of Bozeman as to be hunting these ridges with me. Both bring equal odds of capturing an elk kill on film. One being much less strenuous.
I heard Troy rustling. I was going to tell him to go hunt by himself. He had worked harder than reasonably expect, and he deserved a day to hunt on this trip. We had talked about that yesterday and he emphatically said that he was not hunting until my bull was tagged, so quit talking about it.
My mind was not in the state of what it takes to hunt another day. I needed to find some motivation. Then it came to me.
When mentally wore down in Kansas three years ago, I was looking for excuses/reasons to pack it in. Miller posted a comment here that my dad and Grandpa always used - "No one ever killed an elk at camp/home."
Yup, I sure wasn't going to kill an elk laying in my tent. With that, I rolled out of the bag, put on my cleanest dirty shirt and headed out the tent to meet the day. I'd smoked my legs the night before on dreams of bulls and songs that they'd been singing.
OK, enough of Kris Kristofferson's Sunday Morning Comin' Down. But, that is how I was feeling,
We shouldered our packs and headed up the ridge well before filming/shooting light. We got to our normal lookout and decided to wait in the opening where we could glass the big private alfalfa fields below and listen for bugles on the public land to our south and west.
It was much cooler today. More humidity. My clothes seemed damp from this change in weather. The sun was late in lighting up the ridges, deterred by the increasing clouds to the east. Finally, some relief from the torching sun.
Like most all other days, this last day started like many others. The elk slowly left the private fields and loafed upon the ridges leading to the sparse timber they found safe and comfortable on the lower private ridges. We glassed them and laughed at how comfortable they seemed with this daily pattern of feed and bed, feed and bed, .....
We hoped a few might break off and come further up to our hunting grounds. But, we could hope all we want. It wasn't going to happen this morning.
Troy's good ears heard some bugles the direction where we left the elk the night before. Nothing better to do, so we headed that way. While sidehillng the ridge I kept my eye on the elk down below. The cattle were now penned very close to where the elk had been hanging out. Yet, I knew what the outcome would be. I turned my focus ahead and hoped one of those elk were now on public, bugling east of where we had left them the night before.
As we neared the meadow, I could see a decent bull over on the west side, the private side, bulging and entertaining his cows. The wind was perfect as we sidehilled toward the saddle that was formed by a steep north canyon running up to this area, and two steep ridges heading to the south, forming a great funnel that runs pretty much north to south. Dropping off the north face of the saddle is very steep. Almost impassible, Taking your eyes south, down the gentle slope of this drainage makes visions of elk dance in your head.
The drainage is mostly public, about two-thirds. The steeper west half of the valley is private, about one-third of the terrain. But, this steep timbered area is where the elk always emerge. Not sure what is over there, or on top of that ridge, but it seems to attract elk.
Anyhow, back to the stalk. As we neared the saddle, Troy tells me he hears elk directly to our south. We are headed west, into the wind.
I move forward slowly, checking the wind as often as I can. We are now on the north side of a rock pile where Troy thinks he heard the elk. We are getting ready to set up and see what happens. As often happens, a big wind comes up the drainage from the north, putting us directly upwind of what Troy thinks the elk are located.
Immediately, we hear the rumble of a scared herd. A bugle rings out. Immediately over the rocks. I scramble over this small spine of rocks to see a nice bull trotting away at about 100 yards, following his cows who have now vacated the station. I cow call and he stops to look. He is well into the public, but his cows are towing him toward the private on the west side of this basin.
How the hell could I blow that one? My last morning and a band of elk with a nice bull are feeding well into the public and a wind gust screws me up. Given how close the elk sounded and where the bulls was following the fleeing of his harem, I suspect we were within 75 yards, just over the other side of the rocks. Had the wind stayed it course, we would have been set up in a direct crosswind and could have waited for them to move closer or at least reveal their location and give us a better bearing on their spot.
I am beyond mad. I think Troy had concluded he could just as well be walking the streets of Bozeman as to be hunting these ridges with me. Both bring equal odds of capturing an elk kill on film. One being much less strenuous.
I sit on the rocks, exasperated. Frustrated beyond belief. Elk hunting is hard. Even when you get a few breaks to go your way, it is hard. When you cannot catch a break, it is impossible, or close to impossible.
I apologize to Troy that I have messed up this opportunity. We finally have elk on our hunting turf and it goes south. He smiles and tells me what I already know - that's how it goes sometimes.
I decide to sit and gather my thoughts. I have only this day remaining, and I need a plan. A serious plan.
I ask Troy his input. He suggest we start working down the steep slopes to the faint bugles we hear near where we lost our grouse to the bear. I have no better ideas and my mind is failing me at this time. Down the ridge we go.
We hear a few bugles that seem closer. Hmmmm. Haven't heard anything around here the many times we have passed above. May as well hang out here and see what is happening for the next half hour. Hopefully my mind will clear and we can have a plan for the rest of the day.
As we sit on this little knob, I tell Troy that I have been watching the ranchmen down below. They have their rigs parked right where the elk had been and the herd disappeared since the last time I had looked. Given they habitual tease that group had been, we both discounted any change to patterns.
The bulls that previously seemed withing a quarter mile, were now quiet. Had we scared them. Doubtful. The wind stayed steady on our decent. Best plan was to wait and rest for a while. Try to hear where they were traveling and get ahead of them.
Sounded good to me. So, I broke open a Snickers as a follow up to breakfast. Troy suggested we start and interview, as the next morning would not allow for such with having to pack camp and get ready for the ride out. Sure, I had a lot of thoughts I wanted to share about elk hunting.
Mostly thoughts about frustration an the mental challenges. The challenges it posed, both physical and mental, mostly mental. How the hurdles of private and public interface complicated an already difficult task - public land On Your Own elk hunting. That I hunt these places because tags are easier to get due to access issues. But, the access issues that increase drawing odds and improve age structure can also be the hurdle most difficult to clear.
We set up for the diatribe. Troy laughed at my humorous idea to scale across this steep canyon now that we had cleared the private boundary. He looked down the ridge where the bugles were now getting louder and more frequent. Unfazed, he opened the production book and asked me the first question. Not sure what my answer was, as in the middle of my rant, a group of elk appeared about 500 yards above Troy;s left shoulder.
I stopped and grabbed my binos. Troy knows my serious mode and instantly turned and saw the same thing. We watched them cross the opening above, quartering across private, on a path that would take them across the saddle we had left a mere hour ago.
I was too tired to fight for the 500' of elevation at this time. I told Troy we would sit and watch. Our view was perfect. If the elk continued on that path to the saddle and crossed to public, we would ease up there and make that our last chance of this hunt.
We sat for a half hour as a sting of over 200 elk crossed, all heading the same direction. Some big bulls were in the pile. A couple we recognized from our time spent down on the boundary below. The bugles coming our way from the bottom were the group of elk from the private. These were the same elk, the bulls were similar, and the herd size equally large. It appeared the activity of the ranchers had finally moved the elk off the private, up here to the checkerboard where we at least stood a poor man's chance.
Troy filmed the procession. We listened as they disappeared out of sight, in the meadow above. Had the veered east and moved on to public, or had they strayed west and taken shelter on the private ridges beyond the meadow where I had the encounter last night and again this morning? Only time would tell.
Troy was already making tracks up the steep grade. I had gathered my goods and follow trail. Within a half hour we were on the cusp of the meadow, coming in from the steep north face. We looked south as the draw slowly slanted down into heavy timber, sideboarded by steep ridges on the west and lesser ridges on the right.
Since the sun was still in the mid-morning eastern sky, I told Troy we would gain the first ridge east, use the ridge crest to disguise us as we moved south and try to hear where the circus had traveled.
It did not take long. We heard the chatter and frolicking to the west. They had went the direction most safe, even if most steep. I decided I was going to sit out the afternoon and see what these elk did. For once, the big herd was up in this checkerboard. As much as they moved around in their rutting dances, there was a chance they might stray to some public where we would have our chance.
No other options really existed. We settled in for the duration. Troy wanted to knock out the interview in the less harsh light of morning, so we found a opening, he framed it up, and Randy spent 45 minutes rambling on about his thoughts of elk hunting and how poor of a performance he had provided for the audience in this event. When it was over we retreated to some soft ground under the pines, rotating napping and listening detail.
About 2pm, the monotony of listening to bugles causes me to take up my optics and see what I can find on that ridge 600 yards across. At first, nothing but more pine trees and rocks. Within ten minutes, I find a cow elk up and gathering a mid-day snack. Closer scrutiny reveals over a dozen. They had stayed bedded the entire time Randy provided his rant about elk hunting. I wonder what they thought of my drivel.
I apologize to Troy that I have messed up this opportunity. We finally have elk on our hunting turf and it goes south. He smiles and tells me what I already know - that's how it goes sometimes.
I decide to sit and gather my thoughts. I have only this day remaining, and I need a plan. A serious plan.
I ask Troy his input. He suggest we start working down the steep slopes to the faint bugles we hear near where we lost our grouse to the bear. I have no better ideas and my mind is failing me at this time. Down the ridge we go.
We hear a few bugles that seem closer. Hmmmm. Haven't heard anything around here the many times we have passed above. May as well hang out here and see what is happening for the next half hour. Hopefully my mind will clear and we can have a plan for the rest of the day.
As we sit on this little knob, I tell Troy that I have been watching the ranchmen down below. They have their rigs parked right where the elk had been and the herd disappeared since the last time I had looked. Given they habitual tease that group had been, we both discounted any change to patterns.
The bulls that previously seemed withing a quarter mile, were now quiet. Had we scared them. Doubtful. The wind stayed steady on our decent. Best plan was to wait and rest for a while. Try to hear where they were traveling and get ahead of them.
Sounded good to me. So, I broke open a Snickers as a follow up to breakfast. Troy suggested we start and interview, as the next morning would not allow for such with having to pack camp and get ready for the ride out. Sure, I had a lot of thoughts I wanted to share about elk hunting.
Mostly thoughts about frustration an the mental challenges. The challenges it posed, both physical and mental, mostly mental. How the hurdles of private and public interface complicated an already difficult task - public land On Your Own elk hunting. That I hunt these places because tags are easier to get due to access issues. But, the access issues that increase drawing odds and improve age structure can also be the hurdle most difficult to clear.
We set up for the diatribe. Troy laughed at my humorous idea to scale across this steep canyon now that we had cleared the private boundary. He looked down the ridge where the bugles were now getting louder and more frequent. Unfazed, he opened the production book and asked me the first question. Not sure what my answer was, as in the middle of my rant, a group of elk appeared about 500 yards above Troy;s left shoulder.
I stopped and grabbed my binos. Troy knows my serious mode and instantly turned and saw the same thing. We watched them cross the opening above, quartering across private, on a path that would take them across the saddle we had left a mere hour ago.
I was too tired to fight for the 500' of elevation at this time. I told Troy we would sit and watch. Our view was perfect. If the elk continued on that path to the saddle and crossed to public, we would ease up there and make that our last chance of this hunt.
We sat for a half hour as a sting of over 200 elk crossed, all heading the same direction. Some big bulls were in the pile. A couple we recognized from our time spent down on the boundary below. The bugles coming our way from the bottom were the group of elk from the private. These were the same elk, the bulls were similar, and the herd size equally large. It appeared the activity of the ranchers had finally moved the elk off the private, up here to the checkerboard where we at least stood a poor man's chance.
Troy filmed the procession. We listened as they disappeared out of sight, in the meadow above. Had the veered east and moved on to public, or had they strayed west and taken shelter on the private ridges beyond the meadow where I had the encounter last night and again this morning? Only time would tell.
Troy was already making tracks up the steep grade. I had gathered my goods and follow trail. Within a half hour we were on the cusp of the meadow, coming in from the steep north face. We looked south as the draw slowly slanted down into heavy timber, sideboarded by steep ridges on the west and lesser ridges on the right.
Since the sun was still in the mid-morning eastern sky, I told Troy we would gain the first ridge east, use the ridge crest to disguise us as we moved south and try to hear where the circus had traveled.
It did not take long. We heard the chatter and frolicking to the west. They had went the direction most safe, even if most steep. I decided I was going to sit out the afternoon and see what these elk did. For once, the big herd was up in this checkerboard. As much as they moved around in their rutting dances, there was a chance they might stray to some public where we would have our chance.
No other options really existed. We settled in for the duration. Troy wanted to knock out the interview in the less harsh light of morning, so we found a opening, he framed it up, and Randy spent 45 minutes rambling on about his thoughts of elk hunting and how poor of a performance he had provided for the audience in this event. When it was over we retreated to some soft ground under the pines, rotating napping and listening detail.
About 2pm, the monotony of listening to bugles causes me to take up my optics and see what I can find on that ridge 600 yards across. At first, nothing but more pine trees and rocks. Within ten minutes, I find a cow elk up and gathering a mid-day snack. Closer scrutiny reveals over a dozen. They had stayed bedded the entire time Randy provided his rant about elk hunting. I wonder what they thought of my drivel.
fishing4sanity
Well-known member
I'm supposed to be harvesting onions right now, but I have to keep checking this to find the pic of the big bull. Hurry, please!
Coming soon, real soon. Mrs. Fin has been asking me all evening, "Aren't you done yet?"
Point Creep
Well-known member
A thousand words is worth a picture.
