HONDO
New member
My great unlce came out from the East Coast to chase elk and mule deer. Being a lifetime whitetail hunter, he had always wanted to harvest a bull elk. He tried Wyoming several times, but could never close the deal on elk. Now at seventy one years old he was running out of time.
I decided not to put in for any hunts this year and take him on a general bull hunt. I chose an elk zone that has a lot of elk, but also a lot of hunters. On opening morning we were climbing the mountain a few hours before sunrise. I put my uncle on a semi open ridge that I thought the elk would use if they were pressured. I continued to the top of the mountain, my plan being to drop down the other side and work my way around the mountain back to him, pushing pockets of timber as I went.
As the sun rose the shooting began. I honestly never thought I could see so many hunters on one mountain. I saw guys on horses, guys with llamas, and a lot of guys on foot. I also saw a lot of elk on the run. By 8:30 of opening morning I had counted over fifty five head of elk, most were running from one pocket of timber to the next.
At about 10:00 I decided not to drop down the back side of the mountain, I figured there were enough people on the mountain that I didn't need to push pockets for my uncle. I started back down the mountain his way. On my way down I started glassing, looking towards the spot I had left my uncle. He was standing in a little clearing a couple hundred yards from the ridge I had left him on. There were also two other hunters standing there with him, all of them standing over an elk. It took me about forty five minutes to get down to them.
When I got to the group, I was horrified to see my uncles face covered in blood with a hankerchief balled up on one side of his head, his ballcap loosely holding it on, with blood trickling out from under it. I examined the wound on the side of his head, a seven inch gash that I could see through to his skull.
A group of elk had filed out on the ridge below my uncle, he counted twenty two cows before this little spike came out, one shot from his Thompson Encore had done the spike in. On his way down to the elk he had taken a spill and caught his head on a tree. Fortunately a father and son had come along to see if he needed a hand and stayed with him until I got down there. They thought he had a concussion because he kept repeating himself.
I bandaged him up the best I could with the emergency first aid kit from my pack. I got him back to camp and then went and got his elk out. After getting the elk back to camp we headed to the Idaho Falls hospital. Nine stitches on the inside of the gash and twenty six staples on the outside.
I've got to give the old buzzard credit. He's seventy one years old, he trained on his treadmill for months before coming out, he climbed with me for about an hour on a steep trail. The day after he fell and cut his head, he was back at camp looking for mule deer. I'm very grateful that he was able to see and harvest a bull.
After this hunt I realize why I pack into horrible country and hunt with a bow most of the time.
I decided not to put in for any hunts this year and take him on a general bull hunt. I chose an elk zone that has a lot of elk, but also a lot of hunters. On opening morning we were climbing the mountain a few hours before sunrise. I put my uncle on a semi open ridge that I thought the elk would use if they were pressured. I continued to the top of the mountain, my plan being to drop down the other side and work my way around the mountain back to him, pushing pockets of timber as I went.
As the sun rose the shooting began. I honestly never thought I could see so many hunters on one mountain. I saw guys on horses, guys with llamas, and a lot of guys on foot. I also saw a lot of elk on the run. By 8:30 of opening morning I had counted over fifty five head of elk, most were running from one pocket of timber to the next.
At about 10:00 I decided not to drop down the back side of the mountain, I figured there were enough people on the mountain that I didn't need to push pockets for my uncle. I started back down the mountain his way. On my way down I started glassing, looking towards the spot I had left my uncle. He was standing in a little clearing a couple hundred yards from the ridge I had left him on. There were also two other hunters standing there with him, all of them standing over an elk. It took me about forty five minutes to get down to them.
When I got to the group, I was horrified to see my uncles face covered in blood with a hankerchief balled up on one side of his head, his ballcap loosely holding it on, with blood trickling out from under it. I examined the wound on the side of his head, a seven inch gash that I could see through to his skull.
A group of elk had filed out on the ridge below my uncle, he counted twenty two cows before this little spike came out, one shot from his Thompson Encore had done the spike in. On his way down to the elk he had taken a spill and caught his head on a tree. Fortunately a father and son had come along to see if he needed a hand and stayed with him until I got down there. They thought he had a concussion because he kept repeating himself.
I bandaged him up the best I could with the emergency first aid kit from my pack. I got him back to camp and then went and got his elk out. After getting the elk back to camp we headed to the Idaho Falls hospital. Nine stitches on the inside of the gash and twenty six staples on the outside.
I've got to give the old buzzard credit. He's seventy one years old, he trained on his treadmill for months before coming out, he climbed with me for about an hour on a steep trail. The day after he fell and cut his head, he was back at camp looking for mule deer. I'm very grateful that he was able to see and harvest a bull.
After this hunt I realize why I pack into horrible country and hunt with a bow most of the time.
