Thanks to Big Wonderful Wyoming I leave on a 22 hour drive in 15 hrs to chase cow elk.

Have fun.

Good Hunting!

For the love of all that is holy...please post a detailed hunt report.

I just booked the same hunt, but in Raton, NM. It's my retirement gift to myself...so my father, my son, and my best buddy will be the shooters. I'm in charge of sippin' whiskey and taking pictures.

Ladies and Gentlemen:

Full report to follow in due time. I am setting in Cheyenne, not Casper, with 171 pounds quartered out of elk parts being processed. I will be here for two days.

Thank you Big Beautiful Wyoming.

In the mean time if you want pictures, please pm me iPhone or email. I ask you specify if you want just elk pictures or elk and scenery.

I am taking the first shower I have had in 12 days.

I am glad you got it done.

Everyone: This has been a tough trip.
I am home and will start writing a report this weekend.

Thank you to Big Wonderful Wyoming, M. Dettore, and Bugle Them In for being great human beings. I need a few days to process and structure.

Looking forward to the report. The tough ones make for long lasting memories!

Congratulations!

You'll love those Elk cheeseburgers...

The report is done. I am going to take a break, do a quick edit that will not be sufficient, and get it posted this evening or tonight.

Please if you want pictures, PM me an email or phone number I can send pictures to.

Joshua sent me the photos in four batches; here's the first set.

Second set:

Third set:

Fourth set:

I had not seen all of those, like I said before I am glad you got it done.

I wish I could have been there to help you pack it out.

Not sure if it is Apalachian luck or what, but killing an elk within 200 yards of the truck is about as good as a guy can do.

Game Taken: Cow Elk

Game Saw: Bull Elk, Cow Elk, Pronghorn Antelope,
Wild Horses, Cattle, and a Coyote.

Outfitter: Unguided/Do It Yourself

Area: Southcentral Wyoming outside of Laramie (I was able to draw this tag thanks to Big Wonderful Wyoming. I know he invested a lot of time and money on resources to draw tags. Therefore, out of respect for him, I am withholding the individual unit as I do not have his permission to state the unit. If I had been the driving force in getting this tag, I would tell you where and how many points.)

Rifle: USRA’s Winchester Model 70 Custom Shop 35 Whelen set in a powder blue classic McMillan, which is bedded and free floated. I named her Devan.

Load: 225 Accubond loaded to 2,700 feet per second for 3,642-foot pounds. This load is a wee bit slower than the Nosler factory load, but as I was working to duplicate that load, I stopped because the accuracy was so good.

Scope: Leupold VX 6 2X12 with fire dot.

Binos: Cabela’s brand 12X50. They are made in Eastern Europe. I forgot the specific country.

Pack: Jagdhund the large pack. I love this pack. It is large enough to get a back quarter in and weighs less than 5 pounds.

Boots: My old Georgia Trail boots. I do not think these boots are made anymore. They are heavy canvas like outside with 1,200 grams of insulation and gortex. The first year I went deer hunting, I hunted in rubber boots with about 6 pairs of cotton socks. I froze for those five days. My pa (adopted father who died when I was 17 years of age) took me a good deal away to a boot store. We found these boots there. I was 14 years of age. I have worn them ever since. I get and stay cold, so the 1,200 grams is very comfortable to me. My feet did not sweat even as temperatures on this hunt got into the high 70s. I have killed all my whitetail, my American feral pigs, now two American elk cows, and a few Eastern turkeys in these boots. I cannot look at them without thinking of him. They are finally starting to show their age. One the canvas at the toe is starting to separate. The outside heel is starting to separate on the other. The camo from the canvas and leather upper trim has long dissolved. I have been saying I will replace them every year. However, no one makes boots of this quality anymore. At least, no one at the big hunting outlets. Every time I look at them, I see my pa. I do not know if anyone has heard the old Guy Clark song, “Old Friends.” These boots are “Old Friends.” I cannot part with them.

Camp: Camp was a rented Dodge Ram 1500. I will tell you now that a Dodge does not sleep as well as a GMC, but that Ram earned its name on this trip.

Special Thank You: Big Wonderful Wyoming, Mike Dettorre, Bugle’em In, and Shannon at Home on the Range Meat Processing.

CHAPTER ONE:
Getting There is Always an Adventure

The BLM Office in Lander assured me that easements were available to access areas of the Unit that appeared blocked by the few tracts of Private Land seen on the Map and OnX that I purchased. I had no issues with access on this trip. There was one town at the North side of the Unit that appeared to be abandoned. The town at the South side of the Unit that I used to get onto the Unit also looked abandoned. However, it does appear the town at the south end of the unit is still being “worked’ by private oil enterprises.

The trip was 1,506 miles from Corbin, Kentucky to the last town on the map. This meant I had 3,012 miles of driving before I got back to my jurisdiction. The trip took me North on I-75 to I-64 to Louisville. I stayed on I-64 through Indiana and Illinois. I drove across Illinois until I crossed the Mississippi River at St. Louis, Missouri. I drove on some Interstate to Kansas City. I had set a new driving record for myself at this marker being 12 hours in one set drive. I found a La Quinta Inn. I immediately upon entering the room wished I had kept driving. I slept in the chair instead of in the bed. I was on the road before six. The next state on the drive was Iowa. I would reach Nebraska from Iowa and would drive across and up Nebraska. The last town on the map for Nebraska was Sydney.

The terrain from outside Louisville through most of Nebraska was one big corn field interrupted by the two large cities of St. Louis and Kanas City. Apparently, my presence in Kanas City upset someone, because that evening, I got a call wanting to know what I had done to start a riot in Kansas City. I guess elk lives really do matter. The terrain becomes river bottom and then starts to rise in elevation in Nebraska. The rise is steady until when one reaches Sydney you are driving uphill as you cross into Wyoming.

Wyoming was weird to me from the beginning. I have seen wide open. I have seen straight, uphill drives. However, I have never seen the two together. The sky looked as if it touched the ground. I was very nervous when driving up a grade, and the view looked like I was about to drive straight off into the sky. I remember thinking to myself, “I do not like this sky touching the ground.”

The terrain in Wyoming that I saw was very uniform. The elevation was approximately 7,000 feet above sea level to 9,400 feet at the highest point in the Unit I was in. It was flat, sage country. The trees were 8,000 feet above sea level as a general rule. I have no idea where those ranchers found enough trees to post out the continuance fence that runs across Wyoming. I over-nighted in Laramie after driving eleven hours. I found a strange hybrid of steak house and sports bar as Laramie is a college town. The food was overpriced. I will say this for Wyoming. Wyoming appears to have all the bourbon one wants so long as said person wants either Maker’s Mark, Buffalo Trace, or Woodford Reserve in that order. I think of these as house or airport bourbons. Yet, when you order a pour those Wyoming Bartenders give indulge the order with no less than four-ounce pours. I had one in Laramie. I was back on the road at seven in the morning and arrived at the Unit before ten in the morning. I started seeing Pronghorn antelope as soon as I left Laramie from the view of the rear-view mirror. The reader has to remember I had never seen one of these critters in real life anywhere. I called my adopted mom, my wife, my father-in-law, and my friends every time I passed a buck. The bucks were either alone or with a small group of females. I never saw a buck under 15 inches. I saw antelope all the way to and through the Unit. I parked low and walked the Unit, which was not the most efficient use of time. Yet, I was kicking Pronghorn bucks up like squirrels. I did not stop stepping on Pronghorn until I got above 7,000 feet above sea level. I told my father-in-law on the drive in, “I do not know where they can hide an elk in this country.”

I had predetermined where I wanted to hunt in the months leading up to the hunt. I looked over the two tracks. The track was awash with small to medium-sized boulders. I did not see how I could get that rented Dodge up those particular two tracts. I studied the lay of the land and my maps before disembarking on foot when I noticed two mule deer does staring at me. They had come out of a small gully to my right. This gully was not filled with “trees” as I know them that I would see at above 8,000 feet above sea level, but some kind of mid-high thick, but split trunked bushes. I watched them until they crossed and disappeared. I then started the climb. My first day in Wyoming.

The basic terrain of the unit was just dirt. Think you went outside and pulled the grass straight up by the root for miles, and the dirt that was left was dry grey with more and larger rocks coming up than I saw the last time I tilled a potato patch. The dominant trees were cedars above 8,000 feet above sea level with a few aspens here and there where there was, or had been, moisture. Sage is almost as common as rocks. I do not know what an animal the size of elk is living off let alone those BLM grazing cattle. There is no grass other than a few handfuls of tough, dry, yellow stuff and sage. Somewhere not too far from me was 114,000 acres of Wyoming on fire. I did not have any issues with smoke until after the hunt when I got back to Cheyenne.

CHAPTER TWO:
Someone Once Said, “They Shoot Horses, Don’t They?”

The timbered areas, drainages, and gullies were tight but not near as thick as the saw briar and reclaim thickets back home. I started trekking my way up this two tract. I reached just over 8,000 feet above sea level with minor, but extending difficulty. I knew there was an Ox-bow like depression back down at the bottom with some timber, a good creek, and water hidden in it. So, I laid back against my pack and started to glass. One animal, bigger than anything I Hs seen hunting in Kentucky, came trotting out into the wide place in the creek. This animal laid down and started to wallow. This big animal was followed by five more. I glassed as they started to fight for place on the creek. These animals were tall, long, and powerful. “Elk! This is going to be easier than I thought.” I called one of my friends. I was telling him what I saw when I noticed those elk had really long necks and long tails. I stared at them. “Horses!”

“You should not need horses if they are down in that bow. You should be able to get a truck down there,” he responded.

“No, not I need horses. I mean those are horses. I have found Wild Horses!” I was speaking in a full voice. This was the first of three groups of wild horses I found in this Unit. I would find another group on this day.

Wild horses are a nuisance in the Unit. The horses appear to compete with the elk. I saw a lot of horse sign lying over old elk sign at 8,500 feet and below. The horses do appear satisfied to stay on the far south end of the Unit more or less. I climbed to over 9,000 feet. I heard and glassed a bull two ridges away bugling. A few guys on ATVs passed me trekking into and up the ridge. One group was sliding and sticking, trying to get up the ridge.

I made it up to over 9,000 feet above sea level. I was cutting across a clear cut to the timber line of cedars coming up from a draw. I noticed a dark, lean shadow mid-way across this open. “That is not a cow or horse. What is that?” I put my glasses on it. It was a coyote. I thought for half a second, he was a wolf. I got across the open to the edge of the timber where I got behind a dead fall to watch him. The ATV folks were at the far end at the very top of the open crest. I think this coyote saw them, because he trotted across the open until he got behind a mid-sized boulder sticking out of the ground. He bedded down behind this rock caught between myself and the ATV folks. The ATV folks came back to the ATV and started down toward him. He broke across the open.

I found my first elk sign on this edge being droppings. I was sure cows were stagging and then coming out into the clear late in the evening at night. I trekked my way around, gaining a couple hundred feet of elevation.

The bull in my glasses looked like a heavy 5X5, but short. I did not see any cows with him. He finally dropped off the other side of the ridge. I decided to go over there and see if I could not see where he went and what was below him. The last ATV unit left right before he started bugling at least to my ears. I made it over to where I could see where he disappeared to. I heard a bugle a long way away and below me to my left. I could not find the 5X5, but I found four more wild horses in the bottom. The term bottom is a relative term as there is not a spot under 7,000 feet above sea level.

I started the march back to the truck. I found four cow elk heading away from me on a small ridge two ridges away. I watched them go over the top. I continued to walk out. A local in an ATV side by side came by me. He offered me a ride back down to my truck. I obliged. His name was Miles. He said, “We are not seeing a lot of cows. Most of the action is on the back side of this.”

He tried to tell me how to get to the back side. He half succeeded in making me understand. I would arrive at a place called Wild Horse Point which was on the other side of the unit over 9,000 feet high. OnX Maps is a wonderful thing. However, the application only works about half the time due to signal issues. So, I was unable to reach the back side of the unit where I had seen those cows and that bull. I made it to Wild Horse Point after dark. I pulled out my old fashion map. Wild Horse Point has no ATV access and drops straight down into timber until it rises on the other side. I ate some vacuumed sealed salmon, and decided to hunt it down.

CHAPTER THREE:
The First Time I Thought I Would Die.

The sun started to come up at about 6:30 in the morning. It was still hazy dark. This would be the coldest morning of the hunt. The Ram’s thermostat read 35 degrees Fahrenheit. I put on my bibs and started down Wild Horse Point into the timber. The reader is going to think I am being boastful, but it is not hard to follow an elk. I had just gotten below the round top when I cut a game trail of no more than four elk in the dark. They are a big animal. The trail was, at times, running and wandering back and forth. The problem with following elk is that they may not stop. I heard a bugle not close, but not impossibly far either down and to my left. I continued more or less down, left and sideways. The bull’s bugle grew closer every few minutes.

The trail crossed a heavy used trail with many trails coming off of it. Some went down into some beautiful, still, dark timber. The main trail skirted the timber on a little semi-open slope. I could not see more than ten feet in front of me, not because it was thick, but the little slope just had that much of land before it dropped or turned. The main trail was worn to dust. The main trail looked like a small version of the bench I saw in Bulgaria that was worn to dust from rutting Fallow Deer. “Instead of spending half a day climbing out of here, I am going to come back to where these trails intersect going back into the timber and see what comes out between midday and night.”

I came around a little point. The bull was close now. I could hear the gruntle, snotty, lower sounds of his throat rise up before the bugle sounded. I could hear him breaking. I caught a few glimpses of him. I tried to get him in camera, but only recorded the bugle. I texted a friend what was happening. His advice was to move in on him. I heard a shot more than close. I thought about that time heard a cow squeak. Then I heard it again. The reader will have to remember I have never heard a cow squeak. I texted the friend that I was hearing cow. “Go to her.” I heard two more shots from the area of the cow squeaking.

The call was coming from below the bull. I thought maybe a cow was coming to the bull’s bugling. I dropped to the right and circled in on the cow squeak. I came to an overgrown cut. The cow squeaked close to my right on a little lip. I saw a brown flank moving. I reached for Devon on my right shoulder. I held her there until I was sure. The flank stepped on to the right. This was a man using a cow call. I tried to whistle at him, but my mouth was as dry as the Kentucky Baptist Association. So, I started waiving my wide brim orange hat.

He saw me and dropped down to me. I do not remember his name. He was polite; even nice. He was about 28 years old if I remember correct. We had a chat about what we needed to. He told me, “I like out of staters. Some folks bitch about them. But you travel thousands of miles, spend thousands of dollars to kill a cow. More power to you. I saw two bulls and missed with two shots. I jumped them up. One day I have to come to Kentucky and kill those big whitetails.”

I encouraged him to do so.
“How did you get down here?"

“I was trying to get to the other side of when I deadened at Wild Horse Point. So, I hunted down to here from the top of Wild Horse Point.”

“I came up from the bottom off a four-wheeler trail. You have a long, steep hike in front of you to get out.”

He went on his way down. I started to climb back to the point I left the bull to kill the cow that turned into a man. I came around the little point where I tried to film the bull. I looked to the right to look through the timber. There outside the timber were two older men. They were bent over with gloves on.

“You killed one?”

"Yes, we did. We have been hunting him for five days during bow season.” I could not see the elk over the slide. They and the bull were on a flat.

“Can I come over and see him?

“Sure.” One responded with a wave.

I walked over to them. The bull was on his back with his antlers down picking his head up. He was a big 6X6. I cannot even guess judge elk. I was told a long time ago to look at the back two points. If those were thick and deeply-forked, shoot him and do not worry about it. These were thick, long, and deep-forked. I did not ask how big he was, nor did I ask to take a picture of him. They did not offer me to. I thought asking was presumptuous. One of the men told me to take hold of the closest antler. He had perfect, ivory tips.

We formally introduced ourselves. I regrettably forgot their names to preserve in this record. They were two 65-year-old twins from Colorado. One had drawn an archery tag for the week prior. The other had a firearm tag. One rose up pointing a knife at his brother, “He had him at bow range right down here last week, but never could get him to stop. All week long he was bugling and kicking some other bull’s butt.”

“I shot him in the neck with a .44 magnum.” He had a Smith and Wesson 629 on his hip and bear spray. I escorted them up the mountain. They had dropped off Wild Horse Point about 200 yards below me.

I more or less collapsed when one of them slowed down, “You two have to be the toughest men I have met.” We were not even close to being out.

“I am getting too old for this.”

The other gentlemen replied, “We have done it since we were fourteen packing meat out.”

I was holding on by my toenails and fingernails. I remember saying to myself, “I may die trying to get up here. I know I can’t kill one down there by myself.”

“God looks after fools.” I did not mean to speak out loud, but I did.

One of the gentlemen looked back at me, “I know. I was thanking most of the morning, but now I am hoping he is still here.”

We got back to the top at 3:30 in the afternoon. They still had meat, two trips worth of meat, to go down and up for. They took pity on me, and insisted I get to hunting. I did not demurrer.

I headed for the Ram and left them to their work. I walked to the far end of Wild Horse Point. I could see all the way down and across. The far side rose to open more or less grass. I found four elk cows about 1,000 feet down and 1,200 yards across in a hidden aspen zone holding moisture. I watched them. They mingled and then disappeared. The reader may think of me as weak, but I saw no way of getting to them. I certainly saw no way of getting back with one.

CHAPTER FOUR: The Second Time I Almost Died.

I ate some dried mango and vacuumed sealed yellow tail tuna, and tried to make myself sip on my water. If I held the phone just right, I could get enough signal to use OnX maps. I had my big old fashioned, vinyl map on the ground. I found a couple of two tracts that would take me behind the area I glassed the day before. I downloaded the off line map with wave points, so when I lost signal, I could still see where I was going. The drive was a little rough, but I stayed in 2-wheel drive. I was on top of a razor back. The two tracts raised sharp above me. There was a BLM sign that read,

“ATV trail only. Road not suitable for full-sized 4x4s.”

I pulled up the road on OnX maps. I looked at the big map. I looked at the road. I got behind the wheel and headed up. The road, for the most part, was okay. A little tight, but not anything I thought worth warning about. Then, the front end of the truck when vertical like Ric Flair suplexing Black Jack Mulligan. I could not see the road. I put the emergency brake on and put the shifter in park. I opened the door and dropped down. I walked to the front of the truck. I took a mental picture of the lay of the road, and took the bet. The drive was like that until I got to the back side of the area. This is how the ATV beat me up to the high open earlier. The road split off and around back to where I saw those cows the day prior. I wanted to hunt the edge and cut I was at when I saw that 5x5. Apparently, I was not the only one with this idea. I had just stepped off when two ATVs came rumbling along. The lead pulled up to me, “Where are you from? He had three in the side by side ATV, and the one behind him had three in it.

“I am from Kentucky.”

“How did you get a tag to hunt here?” He continued before I could respond, “How many tags do they give to you out of staters?” He was visibly angry by my presence.

“I do not know. I am just here for a cow.”

“Well, we killed a bunch back in there this morning.”

I trekked back up to 9,000 feet. There were four groups of ATVs around the high ridge. I dropped off into the timber until folks started to leave. I likewise left to trek back to the truck. I came to the point where I could see around the near ridge. Two individuals were hugging around the ridge. I had found a little clearing that was surrounded by timber on three points. I drove to that location.

CHAPTER FIVE:
I Will Never be Angry When Something Lives

The little clearing was doglegged, bending back to the right. The reader can think of a bent teardrop shape. I reached the spot after 6:30 in the evening. It is dark by 7:20 in the evening. I called and told a friend who was tracking me on a map back home where I was at. I told him I was going to get off the phone and get bedded down.

When you look at the maps, the little clearing looks flat. The little clearing was not flat. The ground was mostly boulders rising up the size of my fist to the size of a car hood. One could not see all the way back into the clearing from the two tracts. The reason for this lack of sight is the first third of the clearing rises into a knoll that is over the road. A wood lot about 200 yards wide is adjacent to the little clearing on the other side of the wood lot was a large clearing that reached around and dropped to about 8,500 feet above sea level. This wood lot fell into a long stand of timber that went on until you dropped below 8,000 feet above sea level. The right side had a thin stand of timber that roped around the little clearing until it reached a belt of timber at the far side. This band of timber crawled around a ridge that overlooked the little clearing. The top of the ridge was wide open, and it stretched into a finger overlooking the back-timber belt of the little clearing. The 200-yard wood lot was all cedars. Toward the first drop off, there were a couple of aspens. The timber belt at the back was cedars in the front and a few aspens in the back. The timber line to the right was all cedars until it reached the spot before this band curved into the back-timber belt.

I got out of the truck to get my sleeping bag in position. My feet hit the ground when I heard a bull bugling hard and close to the left. I figure, “I’ll grab the binos and go see if I can see him and if he has any girlfriends with him.” I did not expect to actually see anything, so I left my rifle cased in the truck. I went straight up the knoll. The bull was sounding off like an air raid horn during the Blitz of England. The back-timber belt rose to a near bare open hill or ridge. I started to glass it. I spoke out loud to myself, “Elk, Cows.” I saw two of them crossing to drop down into the bottom timber line coming straight at me. Well, I took off running back to the truck.

I sent a quick contact, “Light bad. Found Elk as I ran.” I got the rifle in battery. I got my orange coat and had my hat on and may have made my second mistake. Instead of going around one of the timber edges, I went straight up the little knoll. The thought was to get my eyes back on the cows as quickly as possible to know what to do. The bull has not shut up.

I reached the knoll and started to glass the far ridge. What I did not know was there were more elk than I had seen. The elk I had seen were the last in line. I could find nothing. I turned to head back to the truck thinking the day was getting to me. I saw a big cow step out of the back-timber belt into the little opening. She had me bird dogged. I dropped down immediately. She was standing head on slightly quartering. I could see cows stacking up behind her. I slipped Devon from my shoulder, and the lead cow started to run to my right. The plan was to shoot her using the small car hood boulder as a rest. The lead cow breaking brought seven more in line behind her. The last third of the little clearing rises again and cuts down to the back corner of the 200-yard wood lot. The effect is you cannot see from the knoll I am on when cows get to the right. I stood up and managed to stop the running with a vocal cord mouth bleat/squeak noise. One nice cow stopped in the front, clear of the others. I swung through to her. I just knew I had her. I had the fire dot on her. I would not have shot if these things were not have let the sear release the firing pin, if I did not believe as sure as the Sun comes up, she was dead. I saw her turn in the scope. I brought the bolt up, back, and forward recharging Devon. The cows mixed and twisted like a bunch of male cats fighting in a sack. There was no second shot. The cows had wheeled to the left and hit a pinch point or funnel where the back of the little clearing joined the 200-yard wood lot. I had a shot at the last cow in the line as they crashed into one another trying to get through the pinch point. I held my fire. I was certain she was not the cow I shot at, and did not need to sling lead at a second.

The bull must have seen the cows run away from him. He came racing into the little clearing from the right. He stopped 123 yards in front of me. He held his head high, shook it, and pawed with his front left leg. I am sure he told me, “Dude, that was not cool! I was trying to hit that.” He wheeled and took off back up the ridge, and I could hear him deep in the back-timber belt. He was a thin 5X4. I think I would see this bull the next night dead.

I went to where the cows had stopped for my shot. The trail was clear. It was now officially night. There was no hair, no blood, no green gut discharge from a gut shot. I cast all the way up to the second knoll just to make sure I was not off in my mark. “Nothing.”

I took the trail to the pinch point. The only evidence was running tracks. I walked the trail all the way to the end of the wood lot. Again, no blood, no hair, not even evidence of a gut shot. I gridded out the wood lot; nothing. I returned to the truck and reported to all that cared I missed. A few gave me a hard time. I wondered if the ascent and areas of descent down the ATV trail had not moved the scope. I spoke to my adopted uncle. I told him, “I will never be angry something lives. However, missing after a day like this is trying.”

“I am sure hoping to sink a fang into some elk. Keep trying.”

I texted my father in law that I missed. My father-in-law does not speak. He tells me what and when to say when he needs to speak. When my father-in-law speaks, the words usually bring woe and double woe unto the listeners. He texted back, “Go get them.” I felt better for a second, with a smile coming to my face. That disappeared soon. I conferred with some others.

I figured I would hunt over the little clearing for about two hours in the morning, and would move to the other side of the wood lot and watch those big clearings. I did this. I saw nothing over the little clearing. I worked around the big clearing glassing ahead. I came to where it dropped down. Across the big clearing, lower was an interesting piece of terrain. It was bordered by the finger ridge created by rim rock. The private was to the left, and consisted of a large stand of aspens. I could see good grass and that the spot held water. I could see a beaver dam in my glasses. I figured in this dry, feedless country if I were a bull, then that is the motel I would take my cows to. It was far, but I felt I could get to it if need be. I noticed in my glass movement coming out of the low unto the near ridge overlooking this aspen oasis. I could tell immediately this was the orange draped head of two hunters. They set up a stand overlooking the Aspen motel. I left my spot. They were closer to the Aspens. I backed out. I made a quick plan to stalk out the 200-yard wood lot. I stopped taking pictures of rubs because every three feet were more rubs. The wood lot is all cedars I hunted it down and across more doubling up on making sure the cow from last night was not there. The cedars are easy to see through. I dropped off a little lip and cut a trail that headed to the back-timber funnel. I found a bear scat. The outside was crisp, but flies were still on it. The center was still soft. I sat on this funnel for a while. I noticed the opposite ridge reached around overlooking the behind the back-timber belt. I could see to my right three big wallows and the back-timber belt extending with water holding in small seeping streams.

I figured by 4:00 that evening I would Indian up there. I did this. I lost visibility of the little clearing. I stayed here until 6:00 in the evening and then moved back to the little clearing. This time I stayed against the tree line on the right adjacent timber. I found a tree with a greenish dry bush for a screen and set down. I could see anything that would come down the little knoll like the night before. I could see anything that came up walking adjacent to the back-timber land unless until a cow was to hit the falling cut of the last knoll on the little clearing. I could see if anything came up the wood lot. I heard three shots across from me on the other side or just in the wood lot. The shots were so close I could hear the primers ignite. I took the walk back to the truck when it got dark enough to need a flash light. I got the maps out and planned out two more areas to hunt out on up the mountain. I saw lights coming to me about 11:00 that night. I raised up. I saw a thin, 5X4 rack go past me in the back of a side by side ATV. This was the most “elky looking” spot I had seen. I promised myself to hunt it for two whole days. I figured I would hunt the little clearing in the morning and hunt out the timber behind and dropping down from the back-timber line. The bugles had stopped the day before.

CHAPTER SIX: I Ain’t That Stupid!

I went to the tree with the scan of brush against the right timber line that I had set up the day before. I looked down the funnel. I could just see the gap, but I could not see if anything came out the back-timber belt in an adjacent manner from the little clearing. I could not see if anything came out of the funnel until it got half way up and then would disappear down the cutting, falling, last knoll. I could see the little ridge the cows came off of prior. I figured, “Everything is a tradeoff. If I move to that tree and boulder out at the edge of the last knoll, I can see all the way down the funnel or pinch point. I can see if anything steps out from the back-timber belt. What I can’t see is the little ridge, but anything on that ridge is going to have to cross down and either hit the pinch point or cross into the little clearing before I can kill it.” I moved after this self-rationalization.

I started to hear elk breaking in the back-timber belt working parallel to me heading to the pinch point. I remembered the night before thinking, “When I came out here, I wanted to kill an elk. Now, I just want to see one more.” I said a prayer as I readied Devon. I got her in my shoulder as pointing down as the lead cow stepped from the timber belt into a small opening that made the pinch point. I remember as I brought Devon onto her. She is looking right at me. She knows I am here. I dotted the i of the foreleg, taking out the top of the heart. The heart exploded like a hand grenade. Her front legs went out and she started down the pinch point. She froze and collapsed over a little lip. She had gone about 25 yards. I ranged the shot on the laser range finder at 75 yards. There was good blood at the shot and where she froze, blood had poured out of her mouth. She was dead in seconds. In fact, in the time it took me to walk down to where she was standing, she was already dead.

The problem was when she fell off that little lip, she fell and slid into one of those wallows. She was on her side. I could see the slid marks. She died on the off side of the hit. I could see the bullet pressing against the off hide. I cut it out. The 225 grain Accubond was picture perfect. It had expanded past the base of the shank of the bullet. There was nothing broken or core separation. I got pictures of the expanded bullet. However, in the events to follow, I left it in Cheyenne. The exit wound with the hide off was large enough to put both my fists into.

I made all the necessary phone calls. I called Big Wonderful Wyoming. I spoke as he answered, “I am not that stupid! I did not shoot her in the wallow. She fell in the wallow.”

We discussed the hunt. Those following the game over the radio (text messages) started sending texts in response to pictures I sent. Big Wonderful Wyoming and I conferred that to take the quarters off I needed to keep the hide on, given she was laying on her back in the wallow. I had never done this before. My last and first cow elk my brother and I rolled her on her hind legs and skinned down the back on each side.

I stomped over to her and picked up the left leg. I laid it against my chest and shoulder to get it up and apply some pressure. I immediately sunk down into the muck up to my knees. I would also get on my right side when cutting. I did not cut into anything, but somehow, I opened just a small hole in the lower abdomen. The lower intestine started to shoot out of this small slit. I decided that the best way to get around this was just to gut her and get them out of the way. I accomplished this. In making a cut against the body cavity, the knife slipped. I should have a decent scar where my left thumb meets the palm. I shaved the top layer of skin down to right against the meat. I also managed to cut off half my thumbnail. That cut would be packed with mud, wallow, dirt, and blood until about 8:00 in the evening. I got the left hind quarter off with the hide on the outside. I stood back up to wrestle with the quarter and my binoculars fell out of the designated bino pocket. Mike Dettorre told me how to clean them. They landed objective lens straight down and sank. I looked up, and without looking at them, shrugged as I reached down, and tossed them to less soupy ground, landing them flat as a bag on a corn hole board.

I dead lifted it up, keeping it out of the wallow as I sloshed my way to the lip. I decided to take a small break and report my merger success to Big Wonderful Wyoming, “I got the first quarter off, but everything I touch gets covered in wallow muck. I know you are not supposed to gut them, but I made a slit that the guts started to shoot out of, so I took them on out. The heart went like a hand grenade.”

“Ah, no worries man. Just take your time and do the best you can. I do not see anything I would do different.”

“Someone is coming toward me.”

A gentleman in an orange hat was making his way up to me. I was still on the phone with Big Wonderful Wyoming.

“I have one hundred dollars in my wallet. It is yours if you just hold that leg while I cut it off. You do not have to cut, carry, nor lift anything.”

I got off the phone with Big Wonderful Wyoming.

“I would, but I only brought one pair of boots.”
“What size are you?”

“Ten and a half.”

“I have an extra set of ten and a half. They are yours.” I was begging at this point.

He laughed and came around the wallow to the dry side. My name is “Kenneth. Are you in the black Dodge?

“I am. My name is Joshua Lowe. I would shake your hand, but you probably would not want me to.”

“I thought you were talking to my buddy. We saw your truck when we came in this morning. It looks like we got in here too late. What and how many were there?

I responded with the blow by blow of how I got from the black Dodge to this wallow. I finished with, “I ain’t that stupid. I know you are not supposed to shoot them in the wallow. This is just where she fell off that little lip.” I pointed out the skid marks. “I also know you are not supposed to gut them, I made a slit in the abdomen on accident, and I had to get them out of the way.”

“That is no big deal. I always gut them, but I never hunt alone. Where are you from?”

I answered him, “I am from Kentucky.”

“The Dodge has Missouri license plates?

“Yeah, I know. It is a rental.”

“We parked on the large ridge across from you and had dropped down into the other side of this drainage.” I told him about the miss two days ago.

“I am serious about that offer. I would give you more, but I do not have more.”

He looked down at the mess I was in and laughed, “I tell you what, do not worry about that. Can you drag her to this spot? I can stand on this rock, and we can get her more or less out of the wallow?”

“Yes, I can.” I got her head out straight. I then got ahold of her by her right ear and right foreleg and started pulling. I could not step up out of the wallow that was up to my thighs. I just pushed my way through. I sell in on my shoulder a few times. I managed to get her to where Kenneth could get the other foreleg. We took three big heaves and had her on, more or less, dry ground. Once we got her over there, I went back on my knees as Kenneth held the leg.

“Now, if you see anything I am doing wrong, or think I should do differently, just let me know.”

“You are doing fine. There is nothing different you can do.” We got that hind quarter off. I got the two big game bags out. I let Kenneth unroll them. I pushed my way back through the wallow to the bank where I had put the other hind leg. I kept it off the ground as I sloshed back to Kenneth. “A little higher.” Kenneth instructed. I bent at my knees and stood straight up. We got the next hind leg bagged, and I placed them both across two dead falls.

“I tell you what, “Let’s go back up. We will get my side by side if you have any rope and I think we can wrench her out of here to the open.”
“That sounds like a plan to me.”

I forgot where he told me he was originally from. He did tell me he had been in Wyoming for a lot of years. He told me his son had just retired out of the military, and as a gift he gave him the 358 STA he had built and killed all his elk with.

“How many elk have you killed?”

“Nine or ten bulls. But this is the first time I have been elk hunting in six years.”

“Listen, I appreciate getting the quarter off. I can wrestle it out from here. When we get back to the truck let me pay you and let you have your hunting day back.”

“Do not worry about any of that. We are here to kill elk, and you killed one.”

When we got back to my truck, I offered him water and placed his rifle in my SKB case and put it in the back seat of the truck. I had taken mine back to where I shot the cow once I found her dead.

I always look back when I am walking. I do not know why. It is just my habit. I noticed on the other side of the ridge was another fella in orange coming up the finger. “There is your friend over there.” He looked up.

“Yeah, that is him.” We made our intentions known with hand signals and met at the side by side. The second name was Grey. He was clean shaven with a round face. He was very soft spoken.

He spoke to Kenneth, “I saw you coming up with some old fella in a hat.”

“That was me,” I said, coming out of the truck and putting on my hat. “My name is Joshua Lowe.”

“That was you, but you are not an old guy.”

“No, just kind of a dumb one.” Kenneth and I told what had happened and what was going on. Kenneth with my rope was able to wrench the cow up to the start of the little opening. I was able to get my truck within three hundred feet of her.

I started down to start skinning out and down the side. “We are going to head on now.”

I got up and took my wallet out of my pack. I was reaching bills to them. Kenneth put his hand up and shook his head, “We will just take some of your water.” I had gone back down to put my wallet back in its safe place, not looking at them.

“Take all you want.” I went to skinning. Whenever I looked back up, they were gone. I got all the major cuts off. I got back on the phone with Big Wonderful Wyoming, and he talked me through taking out the inner loins. Now, I had to get all the meat and all the gear back in the truck. The hind quarters would not fit in my cooler the hooves were just too long. I laid them across metal frame cloth chairs. I felt sorry for the cow that she was not shot by someone better than me at the knife work. I thought, “When those elk come back by, they are going to think Jack the Ripper of the Elk World is after them.”

I went back down and got all my kit and back to the stand and got my rifle. Having everything packed, I stayed on the main two tracts trying to figure how to get back off and through the abandoned town to get back to town. I reached down for a water. Kenneth and Grey had taken all the water I had. I figured they guessed I did not need it. I told them all they wanted and that must have been all they wanted. Oh well, small price to pay. I drive past their camp trying to get out. I stopped and thanked them again. I thought about asking for a bottle of water, but thought the joke would be taken poorly. They gave me basic directions on how to get out. I met a group of guys on four wheelers who were likewise lost. OnX and the big map were not of much use, because I could not tell what road was passable and what was merely just scuff marks. I got into a spot that was not a two tract and did get turned back around. I was conferring with the group of other lost boys when an old, real, rough jeep pulled up. This was a local who had killed a bull that day. He guided us back out. I found another group of five wild horses once I got down off the mountain. The fella in the jeep asked me how I got up there. I told him I came from Wild Horse Point up an ATV only road, but “I was not going to go back down it.”

His eyes got wide, his mouth dropped and without closing it, “You mean, you got this Ram down the ATV road! Good job, young man.” We shook hands.

CHAPTER SEVEN: I Hate Rawlings

The closest real town was Rawlings. I made it to Rawlings. Big Wonderful Wyoming sent me the contact information for a good meat processor in Cheyenne. It was now past 4:30 in the afternoon and 83 degrees. I stopped at the BLM Office while I spoke to them. Ms. Shannon informed me that they were not open all night. Two locals in a pickup truck pulled next to me. They wanted to make sure I was alright and not lost. I was explaining the situation to both men and Ms. Shannon separately at the same time, “I am from Kentucky. I got an elk cow in the back of the truck and need to get it in.” The guy in the pickup recommended someone in Rawlings. I let Ms. Shannon off the phone. I am sure she thought she would not hear from me again.

I got on the phone with the guy recommended by the local. There is only one bar of service in Rawlings. So, I am trying to find ice and fuel while I fought losing service talking to this gentleman. “I am not taking any work.” I did not speak. I was trying to figure out in my mind what to do.

“You hear me. I am not taking any work.”
“Sir, I heard you. I was just trying to process in my mind what I should do.” He hung up.
I found a gas station and ice. The pump was not working for autokeyed card pay. So, I had to go inside to see the attendant. She was behind a cage-like you see in an all-night pawn shop. I slid my card through the retractable box. I need fifty dollars of fuel and four bags of ice on pump one.

She stared at the computer, “You need fifty dollars of gas?”

“Yes, ma’am, and four bags of ice.” I sent more than enough cash through.

The attendant started to peck at the screen with one finger. She would stop occasionally and stare at the screen. Five minutes later, “You want fifty dollars of gas on which pump?"

“Ma’am, I want fifty dollars of gas on pump one and four bags of ice.”

She stopped initiating the pump and started processing the ice payment. She was having a difficult time figuring out the change with the help of the computer. Two other people had now gotten behind me.

“Ma’am, do not worry about the change. I have bigger problems.”

She stopped trying to make change and finished up the pump initiating sequence. I went back in to get the ice as the tank was fueling. The attendant would only produce three bags. I gave her a very large bill for four bags of ice. I did not have time to argue. I took my bags. I placed one each on the hindquarters, wedging the ice bags to where they would not slide off. I poured the other on over the meat in the cooler.
CHAPTER EIGHT: Ms. Shannon and Home on the Range Meat Processing.

I got back on the phone with Ms. Shannon. She explained that they were closing, but she took pity on me. She texted me her private number, telling me if she was not there when I got there to call her. She was there, and her cutter waited on me. The game warden was also there. I did not get the game warden’s name, but she was a young woman, younger than I. She was pulling out when I was pulling in, and her sense of duty compelled her to turn around.

She checked my papers which were proper. She took a CWD sample, with my permission, and helped unload meat. She was about five foot three inches and grabbed the other hind quarter after I took one. She had it dangling across her shoulder. I wish she had not done that. She could not have weighed one hundred and twenty pounds. She did not wear a sidearm and had on a red shirt.

I arranged with Ms. Shannon for my elk to be ready for pick up on October 7, 2020 after hotel check out. She offered me her clean up room with shower. I graciously accepted and got a change of clothes on. She called the next-door Road House and got me a table. I had a 32-ounce prime rib and baked potato waiting on me with a three fingers’ pour of Maker’s Mark. I had dessert and an after-dinner drink. The place in the bar was a little rowdy. I am pretty sure two of the patrons were working, but the food was good. The owner tried to compensate the dessert and drinks. I would only let her compensate one drink. The bill came to $37.00 dollars. I could not beat that.

CHAPTER NINE:
“When I am not There, You Cannot Die.”

I got a room at the Holiday Inn Express at one of the Cheyenne Exits. I was overall enjoying my stay. I went to a place called the Metropolitan for brunch. I ordered the Eggs Benedict with Country Ham and Prime Rib Sandwich. The place is a little hipsterish, but still cool. The building had tunnels running from it through town. I figure those tunnels may have been from Prohibition, but who in the hell was going to come all the way to Cheyenne, Wyoming to enforce Prohibition. The next day I got a pizza. I do not recommend pizza in Cheyenne. The place apparently has no real pizza parlors. The crust had an off-sand taste, the sauce was sugar sweet, and the cheese was hard and tasteless.

I did not plan on going out that evening. However, I got a call about some business. I called a friend after dealing with that. He concurred a good drink was in order. The only establishment close to a bourbon room in Cheyenne is called something Café. This place was closed on Monday. Someone recommended the bar at the Ribbon Chop House. The food is good, but not worth the premium. However, there were three of us at the bar originally from Kentucky. Another gentleman was from Nebraska now of Denver. We each took turns talking of how we got to Wyoming, bourbon, food, roads, and home. I asked the hostess how she made an Old Fashioned. She told me how one makes an Old Fashioned from the TV show Mad Men.

“That is not an Old Fashioned. Think about it, they did not have white sugar in 1873.” This conversation laid to me getting behind the bar where I made a “real” Old Fashioned as follows: chilled rock glass add Demerara sugar cube, four splashes of Angostura bitters, express a lemon peel and drop in the peel, press with muddler ever so gently to make a paste, add about a ¼ ounce of lemon juice (fresh), and top with two ounces of bourbon. This bourbon happened to be Woodford. The drink gets stirred until the sugar is more or less dissolved. I sold five of them to the patrons.

I got up the next day morning about 8:00 in the morning. I headed down for some orange juice. I was watching the news about the fires when my phone showed my sister-in-law was calling me. “Now why the hell would she be calling me? She knows I am in Wyoming.”

“Josh, they found Charlotte unresponsive in the bathroom. She had vomited on herself. She is on her way to Jellico (nearest and most useless hospital).” I do not know how I got off the phone, but I did. I called my wife. I told her what had happened. She left to get to my place.

Charlotte is my adopted mother. Her birthday is October 8th. The last time I went elk hunting my eighteen-year-old brother died in a vehicle collision. The last time I went away on a vacation, my other mother died. I knew Charlotte, that I called Mams from Mammy, had had a massive heart attack from the calls.

I went up to the desk to tell them what was happening and to check me out.

I prayed.

I called Ms. Shannon and explained what was happening. “We will be ready when you get here.”

“I am trying to get on a plane. I will let you know something when I do.”

Folks started calling. I was trying to find a plane out of Wyoming to Cincinnati, Lexington, or Knoxville, but I kept taking the calls. I was at a low, base level of functioning. A call beeped in, “We will meet you at the airport.”

“I know. I am trying.” I took another call. I forgot who this call was from. The person was family. I was told, “Your Mams is awake. They know it was not cardiac. You can take your time and come on home.”

I got to speak to her. She was very weak. She did not know me or have much memory.

I told her, “When I am not there, you cannot die.”

I drove on out to get the cow. Ms. Shannon was waiting on me. She started to load the cow while I went around the building to take calls. We were still talking about me flying on in.

“Listen, the answer to all your problems is money. I figure out the truck and the elk later.”
I got a few seconds off the phone by myself. I thought about how since I was child, Mams had always greeted me, “Hellloo, Buddy!” I imagined walking up to her and she telling me, “Hello, Buddy.” I got a call from my Wife. I took it in tears. “Hello, buddy.”

“Hello, Mams. You sound a lot better.” I was crying.

“I am doing a lot better.” Her voice was strong. I did not have a heart attack. I had a stroke, but there is no bleed. I can walk and use my arms.”

“Well, you sound a lot better. I am not crying because I am sad, Mams. I am crying because I am so happy.”

“I am happy too, Josh. You take your time getting home. I am not in harm’s way now.”

I paid Ms. Shannon. She hugged me, and on the way out, I could hear her praying for us.

If a Wyoming State Trooper were going to write me a ticket between the speedometer and the tears, I could not help, he or she was going to have to write it in St. Louis. I drove eighteen hours as hard as I could drive. I overnighted in St. Louis. Ms. Shannon called me that night to check on us. I told her, “Mams had had a stroke (now confirmed) but she was not damaged by it, and was out of harm’s way. This could have been worse, but we were well.”

I was home by 1:00 in the afternoon. Mams got to come home that day. She is weak. She has some memory loss. She is unstable standing. However, if that has to happen, then it could not be better. She has to return to the hospital on Thursday. She turned seventy-three.

She once had a heart attack while weed eating her place. She refuses to let me hire it done. She went to the hospital the next day because we made her. The doctor came in, looked at her, “Ms. Lowe, you have had a heart attack.”

“Well doc, that was yesterday. Can I go home now?”

I am finishing this report while eating leftover elk backstrap that I rubbed in olive oil, sea salt, and fresh crushed black pepper. I seared it to rare in a cast iron skillet with melted butter and olive oil. I turn the skillet at an angle to get the butter off the flame and spoon it over the non-contact side. I always have to spend thirty to forty-five minutes needing to trim venison cut here at home. This is not the case with Ms. Shannon and her team’s work. I unwrapped and went straight to cooking. When one is hunting in Wyoming and Cheyenne within a two-hour drive in the direction needed to go, use them.

CHAPTER TEN: Miscellaneous

One fella and one town notwithstanding, Wyoming is a very friendly state. All the folks I met were kind. I would do this hunt again, but not in person alone; simply, because of the drive. I say in person alone, because I was by myself, but I was not alone. I spoke to my hunting buddy back in Kentucky every day. Big Wonderful Wyoming, Mike Dettorre, and Bugle’em In were of unmeasurable help.

I hear breeding wolves have reached Colorado by way of Wyoming. There appear no wolves in this unit. However, I am sure it is just a matter of time. Wolves will truly hammer this relatively small herd. The unit is not very large. I do think it is better for bull elk than cow elk. I had this idea in my mind of a herd of cow elk twenty strong out in the grass flats. That is not the case, at least not this year. The cow elk appear to be in small family units of four to eight with bull elk staking out these family groups. Anyone with more experience than my few days, is free to correct this observation.

Devon and the 225 grain Accubond did all that could be imagined. The shot being seventy-five yards on an elk heart is not an accuracy test. I will shoot her and make sure we are good for deer season. I think readers feel like I bash or great gun writers of the past. That is not the case at all. I like comparing what I read of their work to what I see when I get a chance to do it. I am here to tell the reader one cannot eat right up the whole on an elk shot with a 35 Whelen through the heart at no more than 2,700 feet per second as reported by Elmer Keith. Another miracle, the only meat I lost was the offside shoulder where the 225 grain Accubond nearly exited. The cutter told me, “We are not allowed to cut you anything from the long bone up. This is because of the blood shot and meat damage. You did not hit any major bone, but they still will not let us cut it.” I put my boots up, and started singing “Old Friends” to myself.

I will gladly provide pictures of the cow elk, of the butchering, and scenery. Please, PM an email address or phone number I can send pictures to. Anyone who wants has my thanks to post pictures.

Thank you Hannay for posting pictures.

That was a great read,an adventure well described,I am glad your mom is doing ok,all the best

Thanks for posting the report! A lot of info in it that I wasn't aware of from us talking while you were out in the field.

Next time you put in for a public land elk or if you do a Texas Nilgai/exotic hunt...I'm game!

always a unique write up from Joshua

That is a great write up and I am glad your hunt was succesful and that your
family is well.

Congrat's on a great hunt!

Great story, a good start to my week.

Dave

Congratulations on the elk, sounds like a well earned elk tenderloin.

Thank you all for taking time to read. I find typos every time I re-read it. Please look over me.

Excellent report. Wow, that was something else you went by yourself to do your hunt. Also, glad to know your mom is well after all that happened.

Well done. You had a great adventure, one to remember.

Sounds like a good time, but a bit more stressful than desired. I'm glad it all worked out in the end with your (adopted) mother and getting the elk processed and home. Congrats!

Haven't taken the time to read the story yet.

BUt: those pics sure look like our part of the
country.

Glad you got your cow.

thanks for sharing with us.

George

Congrats on your elk. You sure enough worked for it. Sounds like you made it into some great country. I enjoyed your write-up.
Bruce

Congrats on your Elk!

And taken with your Win. M70 in a great caliber...35 Whelen!

I think you have a lot to be proud of.

A do-it yourself elk is a huge win.

Thank you all for taking time to read and the well wishes for my Mams.

Great hunt - just my kind of a hunt.

Great story telling too. Thank you sir.

Quite the adventure! Congratulations. Hunting elk alone is not for the faint of heart...

Ski+3
Whitefish, MT