Strike 5...you're out!

[zadvorney]

Yep, fifth time was not the charm for me and the crew. I went into this season with a little trepidation on using a gun to get my first elk. I really envisioned it happening with my bow. Now, I am a member of the unfortunate club of archery elk hunters who have had the displeasure of practicing "catch-and-release". Once to private property and once to a cliff, both of which claimed my prize. But now with the prospect of dropping a bull in it's tracks with a bullet I headed to unit 65 in Co. with dreams of back straps in my mind. I was the point man on this trip as the other two had personal business to attend to until the season start. Arriving at the camp area I found a few groups of hunters finishing up their first season exploits. One group consisting of five men were hauling out a nice cow elk to the parking area and were generous enough to allow me to tag along with them as they hiked back in to break down camp. Along the way they gave me some pointers about the area and I bid them farewell at a divide in the trail. The trail was really a forest service road and the walking was easy on me, even if I had just come from 400 feet of elevation a mere 24 hours earlier. I found a large park with the intent of watching it until dark and then making my way back to the car to sleep. A few minutes later some hunters appeared in the meadow so I removed myself from the area as not to disturb them. Within a few hundred yards down the trail a strange feeling overcame my body. I could not focus my eyes and a headache developed. My boots started to throb with every step and my balance was failing. I felt like I was drunk and had a hangover. With every step I had difficulty catching my breath. Crap, altitude sickness. No lie, I thought I was immune from such things as my ego told me so...he lied. Long story short, no sleep, nausea and a migraine bad enough to kill a grizzly made for a long night. At sunrise I drove back down the mountain. This was made even more difficult sitting on the tail between my legs and Mr. Pride laughing at me from the passenger's seat. Two Ibuprofen and a coffee made everything right as rain and I made the call to the other guys about the goings on. We decided to hunt unit 62 where we archery hunt. Here I took my time setting up base camp in a familiar meadow and met the neighbors who have been coming to this spot for the last 15 years. Great guys and they took pity on me and helped me set up my tent and even dragged over some wood for a fire. I'm not amazed anymore at the caliber of people I meet on these hunts. Good people are the norm in the hunting community and it does wonders for the spirit to know that they are out there. All the gear is set up and I decide to test the waters with a quick scout around camp. Two miles later I realize I'm not in the right valley so a short tumble over a small but rocky cliff cleared my senses and I make it back to camp just in time for night fall. Note to self, put the headlamp in the pack. Sleep came easy that night in the back of my truck. I had set up an air mattress and was lulled to sleep to the gentle whisper of a slow leak. The morning found me rested but a bit claustrophobic in my plastic taco/air bed. Good thing I checked that before I left, that's why I brought two. The second one held up just fine. More scouting and the arrival of the rest of the crew filled the next day as well as getting the sleeping trailer set up and a proper fire pit to warm us. Homemade Chili helped the decision as to the sleeping arrangements and I chose to keep my truck as my primary residence for selfish reason I assure you. No matches allowed. Friday we scouted the area in ernest and a battle plan for opening morning was drawn up. That night I put butter in a fry pan for the afternoon meal of elk hearts and onions that we'd be enjoying, you know, to save time. Zero. Nothing. Nada. Day two, different area of the hill, zip. Day three, two cows sighted, otherwise ziltch. Seventy two hours and the guys were ready for mutiny. I'm glad I wasn't Capt. Bligh. But alas, the hunt was over. Miles traveled and dollars spent and all for naught. We went the next day back to unit 65 but with cameras in hand. The high mountains and valleys filled with golden grass led us up a route filled with vistas that could fill volumes of dime store calenders. It is hard to swing a dead cat and not hit something beautiful up in the mountains. At the third glacial dam I divided myself from them and went into the steep forest. No signs of sickness were with me this time as I ascended to above tree line and could look down and see mere specks of bright orange that beamed from my friends coats. I've never walked that high and can honestly say I was unprepared for the rewarding view beholden to me.
I'm glad I did it if for no other reason than to vanquish any doubt that it was still possible for my 45 year old body to do it. Yes, and then some. Funny thing happened on my way to the bottom, ten cow elk jumped up and flushed under my feet as I entered the woods from the rock fields. No bulls but I was encouraged enough to return the following day after sending off my partners back to their homes. One more day was all it would take I figured. Later, after I settled into my bivy tent, the snow cam down in pebbles. By morning there was an inch of grapple accumulated on the hill. Tracking was going to come easy. I snuck up the hill at daybreak. By noon I'd made it to tree line. At 1 I ate lunch in an old bed on top of the mesa at 12125 feet. I could still smell what had slept there a few day earlier. Heavier snow moved in and with it the winds blew away any remaining hope of finding a bull on this hill. I stalked back to camp by 3 and packed up. Not one track was crossed and never again did I see an elk. On the way out I did see a bull moose eating grass in a willow choked stream bed. Talk about luck. There is more to this story but enough with it for now. I'll be back. In two years. This time I'm doing things different. You see I'll......