Mustangs Rule
Well-known member
- Joined
- Feb 4, 2021
- Messages
- 821
There were 136 elk in this long, strung out single file line. I counted them twice. Cows and yearlings with a few spikes. I took notes. The country was so huge they looked like ants. Not even big ants, and this was not even a large herd.
Towering in the background was Utah’s Grand Staircase, Escalante National Monument, adjacent to the Aquarius Plateau. At 11,328’ it is the tallest plateau in North America, and it is fully forested too.
Altogether, a magnum version of Elk Country.
I was nestled into crack in huge round boulder, behind a trophy sized lone Pinyon Pine, a 1,000-year resident of this crack. Covering my head was a thick, worn and very warm sheepskin hat. My lucky hunting hat. It was my mothers. I was wearing a tough as nails, light brown Car-hart XL canvas wool lined work coat.
Call it “Utah Camo”, since it so perfectly matched the high desert boulders. It was the warm part of the day, single degrees above zero. At night it was 18 below zero.
The elk needed fuel to feed their internal furnaces. They would be active early.
I was wearing double long underwear one wool. One cotton. Then heavy wool German Army trousers. Double wool socks inside Classic Italian hiking shoes. I had sprinkled some cayenne pepper powder in my socks.
Under my coat were layers of wool and down. Double wool combo mittens with a solo trigger finger.
I had a GI issue wool scarf wrapped around my face.
No toxic plastic microfibers please.
My boulder was in a pile of boulders in the middle of basin filled with native grasses. They keep their nutrition all winter.
In this pile of boulders was an out of the wind flat place where I had slept out the night before. My sleeping rig was classic winter cowboy oversized canvas bedroll, with a liner made with thickest Austrian surplus blankets sewn into a four-layer rectangle shaped envelope. It was big enough for water bottles, rifle, boots, a pee bottle and some chow.
A cocoon for this winter cow elk hunt, brought in the day before my planned hunt with a 4x4 truck.
Taped at the muzzle of my rifle were long mane hairs I cut off my horse. They really show the direction of the wind. They felt right hanging down off my pre-64 Model 70 in .270 with a Texas made Weaver fixed 4x scope. It was loaded with 130 grain Barnes TTSXBT, they really “modern up” that old caliber.
With my Leica Range finder, I graphed out my killing zones, with 400 yards being my max range.
I filled a small squeeze plastic bottle with fine white juniper ashes from the woodstove in the bunkhouse. Sleeping in the bunkhouse was so tempting, but those elk have big long eyes. Best to just sleep out in that rockpile and wake up ready. Incredible night sky with shooting stars.
The elk were coming in. Again, long single file line. My ashes squeezed into the air said all was perfect. The horse mane hairs taped to my muzzle agreed. Soon!
At 650 yards the hairs on my rifle muzzle were blowing in totally the wrong direction. The ashes agreed. It was a rouge current of wind that lasted for maybe 3 or 4 seconds.
I waited, maybe 7 or 8 seconds later and the line of elk stopped. The lead cow and the last cow, the bookend sentinels were the first to raise their noses, then instantly all noses were high.
The long line began compressing, then into a perfect elliptical shape then round, with noses high.
Then the last cow elk became the new lead cow. The circle went to elliptical. And the new lead cow led them out. Incredible behavior to witness. I took notes and photos.
I would have missed all this if I shot them way far away out of range of their natural defenses.
The next day I took a tender yearling cow, but not the first few. They are in training to become the new lead cow. Along with the last ones, they are the treasure chest of knowledge.
Felt great to sleep in the bunkhouse.
Took three days to get meat cut wrapped and frozen. Spent that time doing some bird hunting on public land. The future of our public lands there is really in jeopardy. Might not be sold, just leased out forever without protection.
MR
Towering in the background was Utah’s Grand Staircase, Escalante National Monument, adjacent to the Aquarius Plateau. At 11,328’ it is the tallest plateau in North America, and it is fully forested too.
Altogether, a magnum version of Elk Country.
I was nestled into crack in huge round boulder, behind a trophy sized lone Pinyon Pine, a 1,000-year resident of this crack. Covering my head was a thick, worn and very warm sheepskin hat. My lucky hunting hat. It was my mothers. I was wearing a tough as nails, light brown Car-hart XL canvas wool lined work coat.
Call it “Utah Camo”, since it so perfectly matched the high desert boulders. It was the warm part of the day, single degrees above zero. At night it was 18 below zero.
The elk needed fuel to feed their internal furnaces. They would be active early.
I was wearing double long underwear one wool. One cotton. Then heavy wool German Army trousers. Double wool socks inside Classic Italian hiking shoes. I had sprinkled some cayenne pepper powder in my socks.
Under my coat were layers of wool and down. Double wool combo mittens with a solo trigger finger.
I had a GI issue wool scarf wrapped around my face.
No toxic plastic microfibers please.
My boulder was in a pile of boulders in the middle of basin filled with native grasses. They keep their nutrition all winter.
In this pile of boulders was an out of the wind flat place where I had slept out the night before. My sleeping rig was classic winter cowboy oversized canvas bedroll, with a liner made with thickest Austrian surplus blankets sewn into a four-layer rectangle shaped envelope. It was big enough for water bottles, rifle, boots, a pee bottle and some chow.
A cocoon for this winter cow elk hunt, brought in the day before my planned hunt with a 4x4 truck.
Taped at the muzzle of my rifle were long mane hairs I cut off my horse. They really show the direction of the wind. They felt right hanging down off my pre-64 Model 70 in .270 with a Texas made Weaver fixed 4x scope. It was loaded with 130 grain Barnes TTSXBT, they really “modern up” that old caliber.
With my Leica Range finder, I graphed out my killing zones, with 400 yards being my max range.
I filled a small squeeze plastic bottle with fine white juniper ashes from the woodstove in the bunkhouse. Sleeping in the bunkhouse was so tempting, but those elk have big long eyes. Best to just sleep out in that rockpile and wake up ready. Incredible night sky with shooting stars.
The elk were coming in. Again, long single file line. My ashes squeezed into the air said all was perfect. The horse mane hairs taped to my muzzle agreed. Soon!
At 650 yards the hairs on my rifle muzzle were blowing in totally the wrong direction. The ashes agreed. It was a rouge current of wind that lasted for maybe 3 or 4 seconds.
I waited, maybe 7 or 8 seconds later and the line of elk stopped. The lead cow and the last cow, the bookend sentinels were the first to raise their noses, then instantly all noses were high.
The long line began compressing, then into a perfect elliptical shape then round, with noses high.
Then the last cow elk became the new lead cow. The circle went to elliptical. And the new lead cow led them out. Incredible behavior to witness. I took notes and photos.
I would have missed all this if I shot them way far away out of range of their natural defenses.
The next day I took a tender yearling cow, but not the first few. They are in training to become the new lead cow. Along with the last ones, they are the treasure chest of knowledge.
Felt great to sleep in the bunkhouse.
Took three days to get meat cut wrapped and frozen. Spent that time doing some bird hunting on public land. The future of our public lands there is really in jeopardy. Might not be sold, just leased out forever without protection.
MR
