Trophy Cows and Soiled Undies

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This hunt brought to a close a very busy hunting and memorable 2021 season. It started off with a CO muzzleloader alpine buck hunt, which you can read about here.

This was followed by heading up to WY where by brother made a cactus enriched 100 yd belly crawl on a nice pronghorn buck, and I filled my doe tag the next day.

 

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This was followed by a few days tunneling through horrendous oak brush and simmering a rich cow tag soup in a CO otc unit.


This brings us to 3rd season, where I played sherpa for my brother and his son, who were both successful in filling their respective bull and doe tags.

 

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Which brings us to 4th season...Thanksgiving week. As a teacher I had the whole week off, which I was pretty excited about. I've never had the flexibility to be able to be in a unit several days before an opener, and I would be doing so all by my lonesome, which was also much needed after a slightly stressful school year.

This unit takes a couple decades to draw a bull tag, and is notoriously steep, while providing some sporty opportunities to utterly destroy your truck accessing some of its more remote chunks of public. It is an area I know fairly well, having worked on a nearby fish hatchery in the area for 6 months or so when I was 18, waiting out week long snow drifts, reading Twain and Tolstoy, and generally trying to figure out what the hell I was going to do with my life.

I arrived in the unit Monday, before the Wednesday opener. The first evening was spent glassing a large riparian basin, which turned up a few dozen deer, but no elk. My strategy was to spend a morning or evening at each of my top 3 spots in descending order of horrible access roads before the opener. That night, I picked up and drove to spot 2, and parked in a sage brush basin right on the CO/UT border around 9 pm.

I knew I has possibly #@)(*%* up when I opened the truck door, and immediately heard a bugle not more than 200 yards to the south. Too scared to make any more noise, spread scent, or generally compound my problematic close quarters intrusion, I quickly grabbed some food, my sleeping bag, and jumped into the reclined passenger seat to get some sleep.

It was a fitful and utterly memorable night of "sleep" and I listened to hundreds of bugles, chuckles, and cow chirps over the course of the night. Early in the morning, I snuck out of the truck and climbed up the opposing canyon wall to get a look at what I had listened to all night.

As it turned out, I had inadvertently parked not more than 200 yards from a huge herd of at least 150+ elk. I wish I had gotten a picture, but 5 cows proceeded to do an investigatory loop not 20 yards from my truck.


I watched as the elk casually fed through the basin, and up the slope to the saddle in the below photo, right on the CO state border. It was tight, but I thought I might just be able to make a play on them the next morning.

 

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I spent the day doing a huge loop to get above the herd, and glassed surrounding basins and the huge expanse of interspersed BLM and ranches to the south. I didn't locate any more elk, but did nearly poop myself several times when grouse exploded from underneath my feet. At the time, I did not appreciate the harbinger of events to come that these close calls represented.

 

[fishing4sanity]

Your title has piqued my interest, I'll be checking back for more.

 

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After hiking back to my truck that evening, and with the elk safely in the timber, I moved it across the basin tucked into some high sage brush. Unfortunately, I was no longer alone, with a black F-150 joining me in the basin. No sign of the occupants.

I set up for the night, and watched as the elk retraced their steps back into the bottom of the basin, totally undeterred by myself or the new truck. My plan was to set up right at the state border above them the next morning, and wait as they fed up to me. The herd, again, was not quiet. Nearly nonstop bugles, chirps, and general elk ruckus filled the basin. You'd have to be a real $*)Q!#@$ moron not to hear, see or smell this imposing herd.



Then, I noticed headlamps. I watched in increasing dismay, and the occupants of the F150 got back to their truck, turned it on, proceeded to drive directly at the herd (it is now absolute last light) and set up a tent directly where the herd had been not 10 minutes before, and directly between the herd and the CO state border. Much foul language was uttered as I packed the truck up, turned it on, and bombed out of the basin towards the distant and inhospitable spot #3. I mournfully waved in the direction of the herd, now safely in Utah, on my way out.

 

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Spot #3. I drove about 5 miles up an unpleasant 4wd road and parked for the night. Abandoning 150ish elk was difficult, but I had seen a good herd in July in spot #3 on a scouting trip, so I was optimistic.

Opening morning was cold, and the wind was biting. I hiked in a couple miles to where I had last seen elk, but no dice, and no fresh sign. After about 45 mins of glassing, ELK! And firmly in Colorado, on public no less. I could see a few bus and maybe 20 cows 2 miles to the east right on the rim of large cliff. I packed up, and headed that direction.

 

[Wallydeuce]

I love a good story and this is a good one. Keep it coming please!

 

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Approaching within 1000 yards or so of where I had last seen the elk, the wind was whipping at my back. I creeped around the backside slope of a large rise/series of cliff bands. I could see 4 cows and a bull bedded, now about 650 yards away. Now, I do have a 6.5 creedmoor, so of course, that shot is BASICALLY just a layup, but I thought to myself, nah, why not be a rebel, go against the grain, and try to get within 300 yards. That and the minor detail I probably would have missed by about 20 feet at that distance.

The combination of wind and exposure/complete lack of cover were a major problem. I thought, patience is usually rewarded, so I figured I'd sit tight and see what the herd would do. About 2 hours in, interspersed by sneaking away to do jumping jacks and run in place, I realized that not only am I not a patient man at all, I may freeze to death in another hour if I don't move.

I snuck around, got into the cliffs, and made my way carefully through the rocks towards the herd. I could hear them chirping and bugling as I got closer. I poked my head up above a boulder, maybe 300 yards away, to see them starting to stand, nervously looking around, and group up. This was unsurprising, and the wind was whipping into me and the cliffs and swirling all over the place. With the swirling, I could tell the elk had no clue where I was. I did not have a clear shot without completely exposing myself.

As they herded up, luckily, they began to spill down the saddle, and walk directly below the cliffs where I was perched. The herd was far larger than I had originally realized, again at least 150 animals, accompanied by a very impressive 6x6.

I ran back 30 yards through the cliffs, retracing my steps to get a clear lane. The herd was now directly below me, mewing and feeding at a quick pace. I threw my pack down, waited for a calf-less cow to step into my tight shooting lane between rocks and brush.


Finally, one did. I pulled the trigger. The whole herd began to run towards the pines at the top of the photo. After about 30 yards or so, one cow was left standing, looking slightly groggy. I shot again, and she flopped over.

Making my way down the cliffs, I located her about 20 minutes later, took a few photos, and got to work.

 

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Now, I know lots of you grizzled vets on here have butchered many an elk solo, but this was my first on my own. Well, props to you all, because sweet jesus, that is some tough work. I had trouble figuring out how to not get it to roll onto me or down the steep slope when the only thing to tie it off to was some overgrazed sagebrush. 3 hours later or so, the job was done.

 

[AvidIndoorsman]

“Cactus enriched”

 

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I got 3 loads about a half mile up to a nearby saddle on the canyon rim that evening. There, I discovered a 2 track that was not on onX. After some serious enhancing, I saw it was connected to where I had parked my truck. Hmmmm...

With the bonus/prime cuts back in my pack, I hiked the road system back to my truck, arriving about 10 pm exhausted, cold, and definitely dehydrated. The road was pretty bad, but I thought I could probably make it. I had completely failed to drink enough water in the cold temperatures, a lesson that I seem to have to learn 2 or 3 times every year.

This is where the real stupidity kicks in. In my truck, I fount a couple slices of homemade pizza in a Tupperware that I had accidentally left out the day before. Hey, it's cold, it's probably fine right? I scarfed them down, chugged some partially frozen water, and fired up the ol Tacoma.

The further I got on the road, crawling up ledges, straddling frozen deep ruts of mud, the more my stupidity became apparent. The final push, to my stash of 2 quarters, was particularly horrendous. Ledges of bedrock poked into the narrow 2 track, tilting my truck dangerously towards a 100 foot drop into a sage brush bottom. With little margin for error, I made it to the top.

During my sleep, the farts began to increase to unnatural frequency.

I woke up, feeling like complete shit. I hiked in, put the remaining rear a front quarter on my pack, knowing that I only had 1 trip in me. That was a heavy half mile and perhaps the heaviest pack I've ever carried.

Back at the truck, the real challenge restarted. A couple times I had to stop and take deep breaths to keep my foot from shaking as the truck leaned horribly sideways towards the drop off. I had driven some shifty roads in my former jobs for USFWS, but this was the most anxiety I have experienced at the wheel. Towards the end of the road, I misjudged my first fart.

After a regretful cleanup, overwhelmed by adrenaline, shame, and self disgust, I got back on the road and made it to pavement. The damage to my truck was luckily all superficial. I smashed the trailer electrical hookup mount on some random ledge, gained a few more racing stripes, but that seemed to be it.

 

[Wallydeuce]

A wet one eh? Oh, the shame.

This is good shi..ah, stuff! Keep it coming. The story I mean.

 

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This began my 6.5 hr drive home, and my new race against the clock to make Thanksgiving dinner. This was not an obligation, I was planning on being gone the whole week, but hey, why not try.

About an hour into the drive on pavement, I had no say in the misjudgement of the next "fart". I was now deep into the bench of my packed undergarment options. Passersby near Craig may have been very suspicious of what the hell was going on on the other side of the Tacoma parked on the highway as clean up number 2 was underway.

Somewhere around Steamboat Springs, the straw shattered the camels back. I parked as quickly as I could and soiled the highway shoulder with explosive ferocity.

There was nothing left to do but finish the drive.
Long story short, I made it home, 15 minutes before my wife left for Thanksgiving dinner, quickly hung meat, showered (thank god), and attended the most uncomfortable dinner of my life. I believe I ate some mashed potatoes which were quickly recycled into the host's porcelain throne (huge progress and victory).


The next 2 days were pretty rough, but provided an appropriate aging window for the meat.

 

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Lessons were learned, freezers were filled, and I will not be consuming thrice thawed pepperoni pizza again. Thus ends hunting season 2021.

The End.

143 grain ELDX taken from the middle of the heart during processing.

 

[rtraverdavis]

Well that took a turn for the Ontario-esque…

Great write up though, and congratulations on the cow!

 

[CowboyLeroy]

My man said "explosive ferocity"

 

[AvidIndoorsman]

 

[JEL]

 

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Well that took a turn for the Ontario-esque…

Great write up though, and congratulations on the cow!

No turds were burned in the making of this production thank you very much. Frankly I'm not sure there were any solid enough to burn. I have considered burning the underwear in some sort of faux Norse ceremony.