Hunter4Life78
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- Sep 4, 2022
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Been Rooting Since you started Bro Beans!!
Wyoming Elk with my Old Man Part 2
- Thread starter jlong17
- Start date
Hunter4Life78
Well-known member
- Joined
- Sep 4, 2022
- Messages
- 1,151
Like notes of the bugle so are the days of our elk hunting lives....
The wait is killing me!!
The wait is killing me!!
I'd be totally lying to say I wasn't extremely jealous watching Justin drive off the mountain with a big rack and full ice chest in his old Dodge pickup truck. He was going to run his meat to a processor, see his family for a night, and then return in the morning. A roll of thunder snapped me out of my gawking, and the rain began to wash away the envy. We all piled into the fort (trailer), and began to discuss the plans for the evening. I asked my Dad how he felt. He said he needed 1 more day to give the knee a rest. He had hiked harder in the last week than the previous months combined. I didn't ask him in a way hoping he'd sit it out, thus giving me the flexibility to hunt harder. Because to be honest, I was worried my competitive tendencies would creep in on this hunt and I'd find ways to hunt more without my Dad than with him. Thanks to you folks on this forum, I saw this hunt as an opportunity to spend time with my Old Man and enjoy the hunt in different ways than usual. No, I asked my Dad if he could make the evening hunt with different intentions. I asked him the way I used to when I was in Little League baseball.
I can remember sitting at home after school and anxiously waiting for my Dad to get home from a long day of work. I wanted him to throw me some batting practice, and work on my infielder skills. At the time I didn't fully comprehend how tired he must've been, I just expected him to always say yes. However, every once in a great while he would say his elbow hurt and request that he just watch me hit off a tee or sit it out altogether. I'd feel bummed. What do you mean, no? I'd wonder. Your elbow hurts? It just didn't make sense. I couldn't understand that the man spent all day working hard in construction and then he'd come home to boys that needed him to keep working. He must've thrown more baseballs between BP and catch with his 4 boys than anyone I know. So when he said he'd sit out the hunt for another day, I understood this time. I understood that he had given it his all for a week straight, and that he wanted nothing more than to get out there with me. He just needed a little rest... and a storm happen to be rolling in.
I turn to Scott and ask him his thoughts. "I don't have a 4-wheeler so let's keep it close to roads, especially with this storm rolling in." He says. I realize I haven't given Scott a proper introduction. Scott is a friend of my cousins (the one that couldn't make the hunt). He is a WY resident, and avid hunter. In my cousins absence he had agreed to meet us out here for a day or two to see if he could help us out. Great guy. "Ok, if you don't want to hunt tonight, don't feel pressured." I tell him. He hesitates, but then agrees to give it a shot. "I'd like to hit this spot." I tell him while pointing at the map. It was a 45 minute drive on dirt roads. He agreed. He jumped into his truck, and I on the 4-wheeler (a decision I'd soon regret).
We arrive at the spot and start hiking down into the drainage. The thunder was really sounding off by this time, but there was only a light rain falling. It was the type of weather that myself, a Californian, loved. It was the weather that Scott, a Wyomingite, knew could be bad. Either way, we started pushing deeper into this drainage looking for evidence of elk. The spot looked really good. Lots of rubs, wallows, scat, and tracks. But no elk. We decide to push a bit deeper thinking that the weekend pressure on the roads may have sent elk into hidey holes. We were now 3 miles in with only an hour left til it would be dark. Our legs were starting to feel a bit tired, after all we had packed out a big bull elk that morning. We take a second to glass the adjacent hillside, which is really just the standard excuse you use when you are tired and don't want to let the other guy know you want a break. "Elk!!" Scott says with excitement. "You're kidding." I respond. Scott glassed up what looked like either a spike or small bull 1000 yards across the canyon. "You want him?" he questions. "Of course I do, but I'm not sure we could make it over there in time." Scott proceeds to tell me that he'll just "bring that elk over here". Intrigued, I tell him to do it. Scott blows through his cow call a few times. The young bull stood up on his feet at full attention. He lets out another couple cow calls. As if the street lights had just turned on, the bull started running home to us. I'm not kidding. This bull was trotting down the hill, across the creek bottom, and started making his way up the hill directly below us. I had never seen such a thing. "Holy Crap!" I mumble as I start looking for a spot to shoot from. As the bull gets 100 yards out I pull up my binoculars. He's a spike. I look out at the setting sun, and take in the sight. I look up at the sky and feel the moisture. I knock an arrow, but it just didn't feel right. I started going through the pros and cons of me shooting this bull right now. Pros: Meat. Cons: Long night. Dark pack out. Slick ground. 3 miles up hill. Dad's not here. I stop at that con and ponder it for a second. What was I expecting to do out here tonight. Of course if I were to have a shot, he wouldn't be here. I knew that before setting out, but the reality of it now sunk in. I felt like I was playing ball with another kids Dad, it didn't feel right. I didn't want to shoot this bull. I didn't know what was getting into me. Again, I had passed an opportunity. I watched as this bull came all the way to 20 yards. I caught an amazing video of his approach with the sun setting in the background. I looked back at Scott and shake my head, letting him know I wasn't going to take him. He looked relieved.I stood up, signaling to the bull that he could keep playing. Dinner wasn't ready yet...
(Bull at the lower right in picture)
I can remember sitting at home after school and anxiously waiting for my Dad to get home from a long day of work. I wanted him to throw me some batting practice, and work on my infielder skills. At the time I didn't fully comprehend how tired he must've been, I just expected him to always say yes. However, every once in a great while he would say his elbow hurt and request that he just watch me hit off a tee or sit it out altogether. I'd feel bummed. What do you mean, no? I'd wonder. Your elbow hurts? It just didn't make sense. I couldn't understand that the man spent all day working hard in construction and then he'd come home to boys that needed him to keep working. He must've thrown more baseballs between BP and catch with his 4 boys than anyone I know. So when he said he'd sit out the hunt for another day, I understood this time. I understood that he had given it his all for a week straight, and that he wanted nothing more than to get out there with me. He just needed a little rest... and a storm happen to be rolling in.
I turn to Scott and ask him his thoughts. "I don't have a 4-wheeler so let's keep it close to roads, especially with this storm rolling in." He says. I realize I haven't given Scott a proper introduction. Scott is a friend of my cousins (the one that couldn't make the hunt). He is a WY resident, and avid hunter. In my cousins absence he had agreed to meet us out here for a day or two to see if he could help us out. Great guy. "Ok, if you don't want to hunt tonight, don't feel pressured." I tell him. He hesitates, but then agrees to give it a shot. "I'd like to hit this spot." I tell him while pointing at the map. It was a 45 minute drive on dirt roads. He agreed. He jumped into his truck, and I on the 4-wheeler (a decision I'd soon regret).
We arrive at the spot and start hiking down into the drainage. The thunder was really sounding off by this time, but there was only a light rain falling. It was the type of weather that myself, a Californian, loved. It was the weather that Scott, a Wyomingite, knew could be bad. Either way, we started pushing deeper into this drainage looking for evidence of elk. The spot looked really good. Lots of rubs, wallows, scat, and tracks. But no elk. We decide to push a bit deeper thinking that the weekend pressure on the roads may have sent elk into hidey holes. We were now 3 miles in with only an hour left til it would be dark. Our legs were starting to feel a bit tired, after all we had packed out a big bull elk that morning. We take a second to glass the adjacent hillside, which is really just the standard excuse you use when you are tired and don't want to let the other guy know you want a break. "Elk!!" Scott says with excitement. "You're kidding." I respond. Scott glassed up what looked like either a spike or small bull 1000 yards across the canyon. "You want him?" he questions. "Of course I do, but I'm not sure we could make it over there in time." Scott proceeds to tell me that he'll just "bring that elk over here". Intrigued, I tell him to do it. Scott blows through his cow call a few times. The young bull stood up on his feet at full attention. He lets out another couple cow calls. As if the street lights had just turned on, the bull started running home to us. I'm not kidding. This bull was trotting down the hill, across the creek bottom, and started making his way up the hill directly below us. I had never seen such a thing. "Holy Crap!" I mumble as I start looking for a spot to shoot from. As the bull gets 100 yards out I pull up my binoculars. He's a spike. I look out at the setting sun, and take in the sight. I look up at the sky and feel the moisture. I knock an arrow, but it just didn't feel right. I started going through the pros and cons of me shooting this bull right now. Pros: Meat. Cons: Long night. Dark pack out. Slick ground. 3 miles up hill. Dad's not here. I stop at that con and ponder it for a second. What was I expecting to do out here tonight. Of course if I were to have a shot, he wouldn't be here. I knew that before setting out, but the reality of it now sunk in. I felt like I was playing ball with another kids Dad, it didn't feel right. I didn't want to shoot this bull. I didn't know what was getting into me. Again, I had passed an opportunity. I watched as this bull came all the way to 20 yards. I caught an amazing video of his approach with the sun setting in the background. I looked back at Scott and shake my head, letting him know I wasn't going to take him. He looked relieved.I stood up, signaling to the bull that he could keep playing. Dinner wasn't ready yet...
(Bull at the lower right in picture)
Scott and I started making our way back out of the drainage as the spike bull walked back down it. I learned that elk only walk when you don't care. He would've torn the hillside off with him had I wanted to harvest him. We were about a mile from the road when it started raining pretty good. We pulled out the head lights and rain jackets, and continued climbing over deadfall and navigating the burnt timber. After blaming OnX for user errors, we finally make it back to the vehicles. Scott hops in his truck. "Sucks for you!" he laughs. I get onto the 4-wheeler, already soaking wet. I still had a 45 minute ride back to my camp, and the rain was becoming torrential. The temperature was dropping, and I could do nothing but laugh at the situation. If you recall at the beginning, my pre-elk season ritual involves nothing but cold showers for the month leading up. "I guess it's just another cold shower" I tell myself. On the bright side, I hadn't showered since being out here, and could use the rinse. That ride back was one of the most uncomfortable things I had ever done, and I thanked the elk woods for the opportunity.
I finally get back to the trailer, and my Dad signals for me to hurry up and get inside. He has dinner waiting, and the heater running. I strip out of my soaking wet clothes. Even my socks and underwear were drenched. I warm my skin with a blanket and my belly with some soup. "I picked a good night to stay in camp!" my Dad jokes. I finally stop shaking enough to text Justin and Scott. We agree to meet at his camp the following morning. With light rain still in the forecast, my Dad decides to take the morning hunt off as well. He was worried about the muddy, slick ground, and the likelihood of losing his footing and injuring himself. Again I was bummed, but he seemed excited to go back to the lake and catch some fish.
"How was that!!" Scott yells as I pull into camp early on the 9th morning of the hunt. He was obviously referring to my adventurous quad ride back to camp the night before. "Eventful." I tell him as I grip my coffee mug still warming up my cold hands. "I'd adopt you if you ever decide to move out here to Wyoming" Justin says. I took that as quite the compliment, especially considering I am one of those dirty Californians. "Ok, I got a spot that I want to take you today. I have a good feeling about it." Justin says with confidence. "And you're not shooting at a cow or dink in there either! I'm not packing anything smaller than a 5x5 out of there". He knew that I was at the point in my hunt where I was definitely ready to shoot anything. I didn't know if he was kidding or not. I didn't know how to tell him I was getting tired of the grind, and I was hungry for success.
My wife fully supports me taking several weeks off a year to chase elk and deer. She just wants the meat. It puts a lot of pressure on me, but also supplies me with ample motivation. Our goal in the Long household is to eat meat harvested by me, veggies grown by her, and try to live simply with our daughter. We aren't quite there yet. I have a lot to learn to become consistently successful in the elk woods. It's so funny to me that in todays world life has become so darn advanced, but many of us want to reverse "progress". Many of us want simple living.
Anyways, we pull up at the trailhead in the dark. The 3 of us start making our way down to the creek bottom. We cross it, and ascend to opposite side. We get situated with our optics just as the sun is coming up. "There we go" we all say at the same time as a bull lets off a lazy bugle. We fix our glass upon a herd of elk across the canyon. We could see a really nice 5x5 with at least 6 cows. "Will you guys pack that thing out?" I question. "Ya, man. Go get em" Justin says. We decided that calling this bull to us would be a low odds game, so stalking in silently was to be the preferred tactic. They remained on the hillside to watch the show while I initiated the long stalk. I gave myself a wide birth, and approached with a large cut in the hillside between us. After 45 minutes of creeping, I place myself on what I believed to be the same elevation as the elk. I sat for a minute to observe my surroundings. The wind was already starting its morning shift, so I decide to come in from above. This approach gave me good cover in some aspens, and the wet ground lended itself to a silent stalk. As I get into position I could hear the bull making soft, low-volume sounds. He's panting, and whining, and letting out the occasional chuckle. I see antler tips 60 yards out, and there isn't a single cow in between him and I. It's perfect. My luck is finally going to change. I'm going to get this guy. I check my wind before closing the final distance, and it's textbook perfect. Suddenly, the elk start moving anxiously. They appeared distressed. Before I could think, they up and run towards the trees I was in, and descend into the drainage behind me. The bull brings up the rear, and passes me at 40-50 yards. He was moving too quick and would not stop at my cow calls to offer an ethical shot. "What the hell just happened!!" I yell out loud. I start making my way back to Scott and Justin to see if they could offer some insight. "What are the odds of that." Says Justin. "That damned moose and her calf really F---ed you." Turns out a moose and her calf were feeding up the hillside towards my elk. Justin and Scott watched as I approached from the east, and the moose from the West. To them it was kind of funny, watching and waiting to see who would scatter the elk first. I'm sure they took bets and found the situation to be a lot more humorous than me. As for me, I couldn't believe it. I was getting tired. Exhausted. I was approaching that point in the hunt where you are kind of over it. Where you lose sight of your motives and principles. When the lows start to outweigh the highs, and you find yourself staring at a seemingly impossible task. "Well buddy, what do you want to do?" The guys ask me. I felt bad for dragging these two fellas along. They were spending time away from their families, and the hunting was just not going my way. I thanked them both for giving me the time, and assured them that I would be fine. I told them I'd give it a few more days with my Dad. I really wanted them to stay. They were much more successful hunters than I, and maybe some of that would rub off on me. But I also didn't want to abuse their generosity. So we parted ways and promised to stay in touch. I made my way back to camp, and took a 3 hour nap...
I finally get back to the trailer, and my Dad signals for me to hurry up and get inside. He has dinner waiting, and the heater running. I strip out of my soaking wet clothes. Even my socks and underwear were drenched. I warm my skin with a blanket and my belly with some soup. "I picked a good night to stay in camp!" my Dad jokes. I finally stop shaking enough to text Justin and Scott. We agree to meet at his camp the following morning. With light rain still in the forecast, my Dad decides to take the morning hunt off as well. He was worried about the muddy, slick ground, and the likelihood of losing his footing and injuring himself. Again I was bummed, but he seemed excited to go back to the lake and catch some fish.
"How was that!!" Scott yells as I pull into camp early on the 9th morning of the hunt. He was obviously referring to my adventurous quad ride back to camp the night before. "Eventful." I tell him as I grip my coffee mug still warming up my cold hands. "I'd adopt you if you ever decide to move out here to Wyoming" Justin says. I took that as quite the compliment, especially considering I am one of those dirty Californians. "Ok, I got a spot that I want to take you today. I have a good feeling about it." Justin says with confidence. "And you're not shooting at a cow or dink in there either! I'm not packing anything smaller than a 5x5 out of there". He knew that I was at the point in my hunt where I was definitely ready to shoot anything. I didn't know if he was kidding or not. I didn't know how to tell him I was getting tired of the grind, and I was hungry for success.
My wife fully supports me taking several weeks off a year to chase elk and deer. She just wants the meat. It puts a lot of pressure on me, but also supplies me with ample motivation. Our goal in the Long household is to eat meat harvested by me, veggies grown by her, and try to live simply with our daughter. We aren't quite there yet. I have a lot to learn to become consistently successful in the elk woods. It's so funny to me that in todays world life has become so darn advanced, but many of us want to reverse "progress". Many of us want simple living.
Anyways, we pull up at the trailhead in the dark. The 3 of us start making our way down to the creek bottom. We cross it, and ascend to opposite side. We get situated with our optics just as the sun is coming up. "There we go" we all say at the same time as a bull lets off a lazy bugle. We fix our glass upon a herd of elk across the canyon. We could see a really nice 5x5 with at least 6 cows. "Will you guys pack that thing out?" I question. "Ya, man. Go get em" Justin says. We decided that calling this bull to us would be a low odds game, so stalking in silently was to be the preferred tactic. They remained on the hillside to watch the show while I initiated the long stalk. I gave myself a wide birth, and approached with a large cut in the hillside between us. After 45 minutes of creeping, I place myself on what I believed to be the same elevation as the elk. I sat for a minute to observe my surroundings. The wind was already starting its morning shift, so I decide to come in from above. This approach gave me good cover in some aspens, and the wet ground lended itself to a silent stalk. As I get into position I could hear the bull making soft, low-volume sounds. He's panting, and whining, and letting out the occasional chuckle. I see antler tips 60 yards out, and there isn't a single cow in between him and I. It's perfect. My luck is finally going to change. I'm going to get this guy. I check my wind before closing the final distance, and it's textbook perfect. Suddenly, the elk start moving anxiously. They appeared distressed. Before I could think, they up and run towards the trees I was in, and descend into the drainage behind me. The bull brings up the rear, and passes me at 40-50 yards. He was moving too quick and would not stop at my cow calls to offer an ethical shot. "What the hell just happened!!" I yell out loud. I start making my way back to Scott and Justin to see if they could offer some insight. "What are the odds of that." Says Justin. "That damned moose and her calf really F---ed you." Turns out a moose and her calf were feeding up the hillside towards my elk. Justin and Scott watched as I approached from the east, and the moose from the West. To them it was kind of funny, watching and waiting to see who would scatter the elk first. I'm sure they took bets and found the situation to be a lot more humorous than me. As for me, I couldn't believe it. I was getting tired. Exhausted. I was approaching that point in the hunt where you are kind of over it. Where you lose sight of your motives and principles. When the lows start to outweigh the highs, and you find yourself staring at a seemingly impossible task. "Well buddy, what do you want to do?" The guys ask me. I felt bad for dragging these two fellas along. They were spending time away from their families, and the hunting was just not going my way. I thanked them both for giving me the time, and assured them that I would be fine. I told them I'd give it a few more days with my Dad. I really wanted them to stay. They were much more successful hunters than I, and maybe some of that would rub off on me. But I also didn't want to abuse their generosity. So we parted ways and promised to stay in touch. I made my way back to camp, and took a 3 hour nap...
Salmonchaser
Well-known member
- Joined
- Nov 12, 2019
- Messages
- 3,171
I’m all caught up now……
El Jason
Well-known member
Same. Keep it coming
I woke up from my long nap feeling like a bear coming out of hibernation. Drowsy, somewhat ornery, and really hungry. The rain was steadily coming down, so we decided it best to do a hard reboot on our systems. It was only 2 in the afternoon, so we drove into town to get cell service and something to eat. My Dad and I both had an appetite for something hot and greasy, so the standard cheeseburger fulfilled that desire. We also had an appetite for home. It had been 10 days since hearing my wife and daughter, so I was eager to call home. We are used to spending at least several weeks a year apart from each other. I am a Captain with a Fire Department here in Southern California. Apart from my normal schedule and being gone 48 hours at a time, I also respond as part of mutual aid to fires all across the country. This spring I spent almost 3 weeks out near @hank4elk place in New Mexico, fighting the Calf Canyon Fire. I find that the time away from my family makes me miss the small things. I start to miss things that normally bug me. The loud noises, the messes, that sort of thing. But this trip I had gone so long without even talking on the phone to them. I hadn't heard my little girl's laugh, or seen my wife's smile. I wasn't being fed that daily encouragement that I normally get from her, and my tank was running on fumes. I called home. My wife answers with excitement. I tell her most the stories I've shared with you all up to this point. She interrupts me a few times. "Wait, you could've shot a spike! You could've taken a cow!! What are you doing!" I knew she was right, so I didn't even fight it. And honestly, I didn't know what I was doing. I wanted a big bull, but wanted a cow. I wanted success with my Dad, while also wanting the challenge of getting an elk solo. I was feeling scattered, and needed to be replanted in the soil I started in. I diverted the conversation away from me. I wanted to make sure the house was good, the dog was good, and most importantly, they were good. All seemed to be ok with them, but my wife sensed that I was off. We've been married for 11 years, and together since right after High School. I can't sneak anything by her. She tells me to essentially snap out of it and give it my best. She reminds me of how hard I work for this one month a year. She reminds me of the hours of research, thousands of dollars in tags, fuel, and food. The stupid, cold showers and the miles upon miles of hiking. She gives me the go ahead to stay at least a few more days. I hung up the phone with my family feeling refreshed. I put the failures of the last 9 days behind me, and promised myself I'd give it 100% effort for the last few days. We drive back into the unit with enough time for a little hunt close to camp.
"How you feeling, Dad?" I ask him. "Oh boy, I don't know. I can give you a little bit tonight, but my dang Parkinson's and knee have been really acting up." He responds. I can see that he is definitely feeling it. He is feeling physically the way I was feeling mentally. We decide to do an easy hunt, that we both know wouldn't likely amount to anything. We walked into an area about a mile and just sat to see what would happen. The elk woods were silent. We had that feeling thats hard to describe, but tells you there was nothing there. So, we just sat and talked a bit. I went over the reasons I loved elk hunting. We talked a bit about God, Covid policies, politicians, flat earth theory, moon landing conspiracies... you know the usual stuff. It was actually a pretty enjoyable evening together. No elk, just us. We walked back to the truck and drove back to the trailer. "Hey bud, you need to give it your complete effort tomorrow." he says. "I'm holding you back." He continues. I insisted that the hunt wasn't about getting an elk down, but about enjoying time together. I had come to appreciate hunting with him. For once I was explaining the entire process to him. He wasn't the one showing me how to build something or maintain the vehicles. I was the teacher this time, and it was fun. After 20 minutes of trying to convince him, we come to an agreement. I would hunt tomorrow morning on my own, and then we would hunt 1 last day together prior to heading home.
"How you feeling, Dad?" I ask him. "Oh boy, I don't know. I can give you a little bit tonight, but my dang Parkinson's and knee have been really acting up." He responds. I can see that he is definitely feeling it. He is feeling physically the way I was feeling mentally. We decide to do an easy hunt, that we both know wouldn't likely amount to anything. We walked into an area about a mile and just sat to see what would happen. The elk woods were silent. We had that feeling thats hard to describe, but tells you there was nothing there. So, we just sat and talked a bit. I went over the reasons I loved elk hunting. We talked a bit about God, Covid policies, politicians, flat earth theory, moon landing conspiracies... you know the usual stuff. It was actually a pretty enjoyable evening together. No elk, just us. We walked back to the truck and drove back to the trailer. "Hey bud, you need to give it your complete effort tomorrow." he says. "I'm holding you back." He continues. I insisted that the hunt wasn't about getting an elk down, but about enjoying time together. I had come to appreciate hunting with him. For once I was explaining the entire process to him. He wasn't the one showing me how to build something or maintain the vehicles. I was the teacher this time, and it was fun. After 20 minutes of trying to convince him, we come to an agreement. I would hunt tomorrow morning on my own, and then we would hunt 1 last day together prior to heading home.
WNC2500
Well-known member
@jlong17 I know exactly how you feel in regards to feeling sometimes like you are half in and half out, and talking to the wife (who can reboot you) sometimes makes all the difference. You are blessed to have a wife like that. (I am equally blessed the same way). Looking forward to hear about the last two days.
My alarm goes off at 4 am for the 10th straight morning. I am now on auto pilot at that hour. I climb down from my bunk, turn on the heater, and fire up the kettle. I do all this with my eyes still closed. I get my clothes on, boots laced up, and start warming up the 4-wheeler. My morning routine is extremely refined. I don't waste a second. I don't eat anything, because I don't wasn't to sit down and experience the comforts of the trailer. "See ya in a bit Dad" I mumble. He mumbles something back. We both share the desire for minimal words in the morning. I jump on the quad and tear off into cold morning, down the frozen roads.
I had my eyes set on a new spot this morning. I had been holding it off for a day I could solo hunt it. It was far too physically demanding for my Dad, and one of those areas you'd feel bad having someone follow you into. It had lots of deadfall, steep drainages, river crossings, burnt timber patches, oh and lots of deadfall. I park the 4-wheeler and sat there in the dark. There wasn't a soul in sight. I pull out my coffee while closely listening for bugling bulls. In the distance I hear a bull pipe off. He was right where I was expecting, which was also where I was hoping he wouldn't be. I start making my way into the timber, with headlight turned off (a tip gleaned from Justin). I found myself pulling up the map every 100 yards or so. I wasn't quite sure how I was going to make my play. After all, I had never seen this ground in the daylight. The bull lets off another bugle just as the sun comes up. It sounded at least a couple ridges over. I kick it into high gear, and start recklessly making way up a timber littered draw. I must've looked like my toddler at gymnastics (minus the leotard) as I stumbled across one balance beam to the next. I finally crest the first ridge to an unexpected surprise. 8 bulls stood 100 yards off in the trees, staring at my direction. There were a few small 3x3's, but several decent 5x5's and a 6x6. "Are you freaking kidding me?" I whisper at them. The bull pipes off again, one more ridge over. The satellite bulls snap their neck back towards his direction, and then back at me. They weren't sure what to think, and neither did I. I couldn't see a viable plan of attack on any of those bulls. They had me pegged. My best option was to try and make a move on the herd bull, who was still bugling and moving off in the opposite direction. So I did the most unnatural thing I've ever done. I stood up and started walking towards the group of satellites. They let me get maybe 10 steps before they split off to my right, down deeper into the drainage. I continued to the left, up and over the ridge in pursuit of the herd. As I crest the next ridge I could hear him sound off again, but again, one more ridge over. "Okay Omar, I'm coming for you" I say. I decide OMaR was a good name for him: One More Ridge. I dive down into the next drainage, only to come up the other side. While in hot pursuit I kicked up several spikes and cows. I didn't care. I was on a mission. I crest the third ridge of the chase and finally get a glimpse of the herd as they make their way up yet another ridge. It was a dandy alright. I just caught a peak at one side of him, and could tell he was big. He had 15-20 cows in his harem, and he was pushing them as if he knew I was coming. Up to this point, I hadn't made a single sound. I look at my tracker and see that I'm 4 miles in from the 4-wheeler, but I didn't care. I'd be happy to spend the next 2 days getting this guy out. I drop into the next drainage, and climb the opposing side. My legs were feeling it, but my mind ignored it. I sat on top and waited for him to tell me where he was. Nothing. I finally decide to let out a series of 3 cow calls. He answers... one more ridge over. I wet my mouth with some water, and open all the vents in my clothing. I slog down into the deadfall, and climb back up. "Come on Omar, stop!!" I groan. It was 1030, and I figured he had to bed down at any moment now. As I crest the 6th or 7th ridge of the chase, I stop to listen. All I could hear was my heart pounding. I was exhausted, my legs were on fire. As my heart rate slowed and I could hear again, I waited. Nothing. Not a peep. I decide to let out a single cow call. Nothing. "Damnit!" I say under my breath. I take a second to look at my surroundings. I was exposed on a ridge top, but there was a small patch of young trees just beneath me. The wind was now steady uphill, and I was certain he had to be bedded somewhere below towards the cool, damp creek bottoms. I walk 20 yards to sit down in front of the trees. I was whooped, and needed some food and water. I sit down on my butt, set my bow across my shins, and take off my pack. Just as I go to set my pack on my lap, he appears. Omar had silently approached me, and was now standing 30 yards out and scanning my direction. I was completely unprepared. He makes it 15 yards closer while I slowly bring my bow up from my shins and into my hands. I knock an arrow, but he is now 10 yards away and walking towards my left - uphill. He is behind the patch of trees I had set up in front of. I rotate my entire torso from the sitting position and go to draw, but the inevitable happens. He walks directly up wind from me to 7 yards and bolts. As he takes off, dirt and rocks hit the trees in front of me. I stand and cow call praying it would stop him, but he had seen enough... he was gone. I sit back down. The biggest bull I had ever had the chance at shooting was just 7 yards from me. He was likely in the 310-330" range. A massive (to me) 6x6 with dark antlers and pearly white tips. I sat quietly. I was mad, happy, sad, disgusted, excited, awestruck, thirsty, hungry, and beat... defeated. I moved over to some shade on the edge of a meadow. I had no-one there with me to share the emotions and experience with, so I just closed my eyes.
I had my eyes set on a new spot this morning. I had been holding it off for a day I could solo hunt it. It was far too physically demanding for my Dad, and one of those areas you'd feel bad having someone follow you into. It had lots of deadfall, steep drainages, river crossings, burnt timber patches, oh and lots of deadfall. I park the 4-wheeler and sat there in the dark. There wasn't a soul in sight. I pull out my coffee while closely listening for bugling bulls. In the distance I hear a bull pipe off. He was right where I was expecting, which was also where I was hoping he wouldn't be. I start making my way into the timber, with headlight turned off (a tip gleaned from Justin). I found myself pulling up the map every 100 yards or so. I wasn't quite sure how I was going to make my play. After all, I had never seen this ground in the daylight. The bull lets off another bugle just as the sun comes up. It sounded at least a couple ridges over. I kick it into high gear, and start recklessly making way up a timber littered draw. I must've looked like my toddler at gymnastics (minus the leotard) as I stumbled across one balance beam to the next. I finally crest the first ridge to an unexpected surprise. 8 bulls stood 100 yards off in the trees, staring at my direction. There were a few small 3x3's, but several decent 5x5's and a 6x6. "Are you freaking kidding me?" I whisper at them. The bull pipes off again, one more ridge over. The satellite bulls snap their neck back towards his direction, and then back at me. They weren't sure what to think, and neither did I. I couldn't see a viable plan of attack on any of those bulls. They had me pegged. My best option was to try and make a move on the herd bull, who was still bugling and moving off in the opposite direction. So I did the most unnatural thing I've ever done. I stood up and started walking towards the group of satellites. They let me get maybe 10 steps before they split off to my right, down deeper into the drainage. I continued to the left, up and over the ridge in pursuit of the herd. As I crest the next ridge I could hear him sound off again, but again, one more ridge over. "Okay Omar, I'm coming for you" I say. I decide OMaR was a good name for him: One More Ridge. I dive down into the next drainage, only to come up the other side. While in hot pursuit I kicked up several spikes and cows. I didn't care. I was on a mission. I crest the third ridge of the chase and finally get a glimpse of the herd as they make their way up yet another ridge. It was a dandy alright. I just caught a peak at one side of him, and could tell he was big. He had 15-20 cows in his harem, and he was pushing them as if he knew I was coming. Up to this point, I hadn't made a single sound. I look at my tracker and see that I'm 4 miles in from the 4-wheeler, but I didn't care. I'd be happy to spend the next 2 days getting this guy out. I drop into the next drainage, and climb the opposing side. My legs were feeling it, but my mind ignored it. I sat on top and waited for him to tell me where he was. Nothing. I finally decide to let out a series of 3 cow calls. He answers... one more ridge over. I wet my mouth with some water, and open all the vents in my clothing. I slog down into the deadfall, and climb back up. "Come on Omar, stop!!" I groan. It was 1030, and I figured he had to bed down at any moment now. As I crest the 6th or 7th ridge of the chase, I stop to listen. All I could hear was my heart pounding. I was exhausted, my legs were on fire. As my heart rate slowed and I could hear again, I waited. Nothing. Not a peep. I decide to let out a single cow call. Nothing. "Damnit!" I say under my breath. I take a second to look at my surroundings. I was exposed on a ridge top, but there was a small patch of young trees just beneath me. The wind was now steady uphill, and I was certain he had to be bedded somewhere below towards the cool, damp creek bottoms. I walk 20 yards to sit down in front of the trees. I was whooped, and needed some food and water. I sit down on my butt, set my bow across my shins, and take off my pack. Just as I go to set my pack on my lap, he appears. Omar had silently approached me, and was now standing 30 yards out and scanning my direction. I was completely unprepared. He makes it 15 yards closer while I slowly bring my bow up from my shins and into my hands. I knock an arrow, but he is now 10 yards away and walking towards my left - uphill. He is behind the patch of trees I had set up in front of. I rotate my entire torso from the sitting position and go to draw, but the inevitable happens. He walks directly up wind from me to 7 yards and bolts. As he takes off, dirt and rocks hit the trees in front of me. I stand and cow call praying it would stop him, but he had seen enough... he was gone. I sit back down. The biggest bull I had ever had the chance at shooting was just 7 yards from me. He was likely in the 310-330" range. A massive (to me) 6x6 with dark antlers and pearly white tips. I sat quietly. I was mad, happy, sad, disgusted, excited, awestruck, thirsty, hungry, and beat... defeated. I moved over to some shade on the edge of a meadow. I had no-one there with me to share the emotions and experience with, so I just closed my eyes.
2rocky
Well-known member
On Man....that's the classic elk calling experience. We all have to learn the hard way, when they go from vocal to silent, more often than not they are sneaking in...
....Wait...Is there an arrow missing from your quiver?
....Wait...Is there an arrow missing from your quiver?
Nope, I just carry 4. Sometimes I'll carry a small game arrow, making it 5. But not on this hunt. I didn't need distractions hahah!
GrantK
Well-known member
It's taken me more times than I would like to admit to learn not to make a call without being at least semi-set up and ready to shoot...
Great story, looking forward to more!
Great story, looking forward to more!
I closed my eyes not with the intentions of taking a nap, but to attempt to comprehend what the heck just happened. I couldn't catch a break in the last 10 days of hunting. It'd be easy to blame forces outside my control, but I knew it was me making stupid mistakes or simply zigging when I should've zagged. Elk hunting with a bow seems to be like putting a Rubik's Cube back together. There might be a few people out of every hundred thousand that just start twisting the thing and magically complete it. Theres also the cheaters that remove the stickers and "solve" the riddle. Heck, some people are handed a cube only requiring a couple rotations. But the folks that are consistently successful understand the algorithm. They observe the problem, and know what steps to take to achieve success. I wasn't the lucky guy, or the cheater. I have been the guy that received an elk cube requiring only a couple moves, but I really want to be the guy that understands the game more intimately. I'm just not quite there yet.
I stood back up from my shady spot, and instantly started feeling a bit lightheaded. I also let out a few groans and moans, and laughed to myself "who's the 'old man' now!". I looked at my gps tracker, and saw that I had a long hike back to the dirt road. A long hike full of second guesses, "what if's", and coulda/shoulda/wouldas. The same thoughts crossed my mind that are likely crossing yours, the reader. "Is this guy gonna wrap things up yet?". "Is he going to shoot a bull or not?". "Why the heck did you do that!?!". I spent the next several hours marching across the landscape and talking to myself. It was a good internal debrief of the hunt to this point.
I roll into camp to find my Dad basking in the sun like a lizard. He removes the hat from across his eyes, hoping to see an elk attached to the 4-wheeler. "Nothing?!" He questions. "Nothing to show, but something to tell." I respond. I proceed to tell him the story and I experience the anger and frustration all over again. My Dad knows me. I don't dabble with anything. If I am to do something, I give it my all and I expect perfection. I've always graduated, or completed, or promoted at the top of my class. I am very competitive. I guess 3 brothers will do that to you. Elk hunting has been the one thing that continually humbles me. Elk hunting... man, it puts me into my proper place. My Dad sensed that I was bruised in more ways than 1. He must've seen that I was also wasting away, after all I was 10 pounds lighter than day 1 of the hunt (I weighed myself before and after the hunt). "Come on, let's eat" he says. We eat some elk tacos, and they remind me of last years cow elk hunt I had with my buddies in CO. It reminded me that I was capable of success. It also reminded me of how fun that hunt was because we choose too have that mindset. With a full belly and mental recalibration, we decide that our last morning hunt would be near camp. We wanted to look for that crazy bugler again. The one that kept my Dad up all night, and the one I had snuck into his harem of 5-10 cows. It was a good plan. It was a good spot to send us off. And more importantly, it was a spot we would hunt together 1 last time.
I stood back up from my shady spot, and instantly started feeling a bit lightheaded. I also let out a few groans and moans, and laughed to myself "who's the 'old man' now!". I looked at my gps tracker, and saw that I had a long hike back to the dirt road. A long hike full of second guesses, "what if's", and coulda/shoulda/wouldas. The same thoughts crossed my mind that are likely crossing yours, the reader. "Is this guy gonna wrap things up yet?". "Is he going to shoot a bull or not?". "Why the heck did you do that!?!". I spent the next several hours marching across the landscape and talking to myself. It was a good internal debrief of the hunt to this point.
I roll into camp to find my Dad basking in the sun like a lizard. He removes the hat from across his eyes, hoping to see an elk attached to the 4-wheeler. "Nothing?!" He questions. "Nothing to show, but something to tell." I respond. I proceed to tell him the story and I experience the anger and frustration all over again. My Dad knows me. I don't dabble with anything. If I am to do something, I give it my all and I expect perfection. I've always graduated, or completed, or promoted at the top of my class. I am very competitive. I guess 3 brothers will do that to you. Elk hunting has been the one thing that continually humbles me. Elk hunting... man, it puts me into my proper place. My Dad sensed that I was bruised in more ways than 1. He must've seen that I was also wasting away, after all I was 10 pounds lighter than day 1 of the hunt (I weighed myself before and after the hunt). "Come on, let's eat" he says. We eat some elk tacos, and they remind me of last years cow elk hunt I had with my buddies in CO. It reminded me that I was capable of success. It also reminded me of how fun that hunt was because we choose too have that mindset. With a full belly and mental recalibration, we decide that our last morning hunt would be near camp. We wanted to look for that crazy bugler again. The one that kept my Dad up all night, and the one I had snuck into his harem of 5-10 cows. It was a good plan. It was a good spot to send us off. And more importantly, it was a spot we would hunt together 1 last time.
JShane
Well-known member
Thoroughly enjoying this hunt. Grateful you are sharing it in such detail. No matter the outcome you already know, there is a lot about this hunt that you can point to as successful.
Having said that, there is no way you are remotely genetically related to Paul Harvey.
Having said that, there is no way you are remotely genetically related to Paul Harvey.
Sytes
Well-known member
Epic description! The frothy-ish slobber of a bull not breaking that open lane though pissed as heck, raking the brush and branches, while we mentally define the bull!
The epic passion of elk rut archery hunting!
GREAT story! Thanks for taking the time to post.
Edit: Google changed words it thought I meant(?) My excuse for poor grammar.
Last edited:
EastTNHunter
Well-known member
- Joined
- Jun 13, 2018
- Messages
- 2,241
Impatiently waiting the surely epic finale
2rocky
Well-known member
Success being defined as when Preparation meets Opportunity is certainly right. Preparation is a sub formula itself.
In this case
Physical preparation ? Check
Mental state preparation? Check
Location Preparation? Check
Preparation to act at the time action is needed......
Sometimes, especially bowhunting you can be presented with the perfect setup, that eclipses anything you ever imagined. It is MORE perfect than you dreamed and it takes you by surprise and your mind says "this is too good to be true" and you hesitate. I've been there. On a pig at 25 yards and a bear at 33 yards. Never took the shot. You almost have to have one of those moments as an experience so you don't let the next one by.
JLong, what you have written so far is hunting...You set a primary, secondary and tertiary goal and you knocked the first 2 outta the park. Here's hoping you are giving yourself the credit you deserve...
In this case
Physical preparation ? Check
Mental state preparation? Check
Location Preparation? Check
Preparation to act at the time action is needed......
Sometimes, especially bowhunting you can be presented with the perfect setup, that eclipses anything you ever imagined. It is MORE perfect than you dreamed and it takes you by surprise and your mind says "this is too good to be true" and you hesitate. I've been there. On a pig at 25 yards and a bear at 33 yards. Never took the shot. You almost have to have one of those moments as an experience so you don't let the next one by.
JLong, what you have written so far is hunting...You set a primary, secondary and tertiary goal and you knocked the first 2 outta the park. Here's hoping you are giving yourself the credit you deserve...
