13 April 2012, 06:35
ravenrElk hunting story, My 1st Big Bull
Some of the elk results are trickling in
and it will be awhile before we can
chase them again but, I feel the fever building.
Been trying to write some of this down.
Make a copy and tuck it in a journal.
Thought I'd share it, enjoy and safe travels
It hadn't been a lot of fun the last couple days,
temps in the -5 to -7 day time range (if you were lucky) and a hell of a lot colder
at 5am. Long before the sun.
Scattered trails led to the basins and areas I had decided to hunt and each day
at first light, the sun would find me high on a ridge, watching .
It was always worth the dark, sub-zero, horse ride.
Reaching the timber pocket, I step off and tie up.
Pulling my rifle and optics, its time for a fire and then it should be light enough to see.
Always been partial to sunrises.
Below, the light is filling the low country, chasing the shadows from their hiding places.
The proof is painted in the snow, centipede like evidence
of bands of elk, crisscross the mountain.
I guess I'd been at it 12 or so days before I saw
that "better" class of bull I'd been looking for and had
made a run on a bull even thou I was limited by terrain
and had to come in from nearly up wind.
It was a close run thing and nearly pulled it off
but in the end the bull ducked into the timber
and I got a glimpse of him at 400 yards, and packing a 270,
that wasn't good enough.
The morning wore on and I'd made trips
back and forth from the fire, warming cold hands.
and had 30 some bulls spotted, they stood out, below against
the snow. A glance at each told me they weren't what I was looking for.
From high above combined with the cold, crystal clear air
the rest of the world lay.
I didn't kill a bull that day and it would be
several more ice cold morning rides before I found the bull I would kill.
The weather finally broke and temps climbed to "in the 40s" .
I gave my pony a break when the weather warmed and walked
and hiked for a few days, searching smaller pockets where
the sage met the forest.Creek by creek and pocket by pocket
I hunted my way west.
Seeing a big group of bulls one morning i dove off the hill
to intercept them as they moved thru the foothills and scattered timber.
There were 12 or 13 in the bunch and i finally got to look at all
of them when they worked their way over a bare ridge above me.
A couple of the bulls were tempting but I hesitated and that
told me they weren't the bulls for me.
Circling back past where the bulls had come from I spotted 5 more bulls
just at the edge of the timber and before even lifting the bino's, the middle bull
leaped out of the group as his body was much bigger and his color
more pale than the yellow of the others.
The bino's told the story and here was a bull i would shoot. Trouble was, they
moved into the dark timber to bed for the day, minutes later.
But I had seen enough, so I shed my backpack and sat for the next couple hours
giving the bulls plenty of time to settle in and then went to investigate
where they had come from.
I found their tracks out in the sage and snow.The sign showed they had been in the
area for at least 3 days. The history of their wanderings told me that they came out of the timber and
went any which way down into the sage, but they liked the bedding area and used nearly the same
trail these last few mornings.
I stayed within view for the evening and thou I did see the elk again that night, by the time I spotted them
there wasn't enough daylight left to make a run on them, so I circled around downwind and climbed out.
My dreams that night were full of chocolate arching horns and running bulls and when the alarm
went off the next morning I had been chasing bulls all night and got little real sleep.
Starting the coffee and oatmeal I pulled on my boots while the coffee brewed and went out to catch
my ride for the day.
I guess i shouldn't of given him the time off cause when I tried to put my hands on him he ran off
into the dark and i knew the chase would be long enough to make me late on the mountain and
even thou I hated to let him win, I didn't want to miss my morning chance at the bull.
Going back in the house I wolfed down the oatmeal and filled my cup and thermos, built a lunch
loaded my backpack and climbed into the truck.
The light of the headlamp bounced along the trail in front of me, the crunch of the frozen snow and ground
under my feet marked my progress out to where I'd left the bulls the night before.
The main trail ran across the face of the mountain high up in the timber and reaching the ridge that led downhill
I turned off the main trail and post holed downward, the trees looming all around me.
I could see the tops of the trees now against the sky and my feet against the snow, so I shut the headlamp off
and stuffed it into a pocket. It was still too early to break out of the timber in case the elk were close. Just too dark
yet and I stalled for a few minutes allowing the light to come up.
Glassing thru the trees I scanned the sage and couldn't pick out an elk, so moving out of the timber I made my way to
a high hillside on the downwind side of the trail to the bedroom.
Sitting down, shedding my pack and digging a spare round out of my pocket I rolled the bolt on my 270 and fed the round
into the action and snapped the safety on.
I didn't have long to wait, and cresting the ridge 200 yards in front of me came the first bull.
In the next 20 minutes the rest of the elk had fed over the top and now were scattered among the
sparse trees, feeding closer and closer.
I had time to look each of them over and none stood out like the pale bull.
Thick heavy main beams and 7 points per side, his heavy chocolate rack
matching his exaggerated size and he outclassed the other bulls so that from that moment
on I never took my eyes off of him.
200, 175, 160 and now I had him in the scope and was waiting for him to go broadside.
when he did, I dumped the safety and gathered the trigger for its short trip to the rear.
It was November 22nd and I had spent 15 of those 22 days on the mountain, I had froze
and walked and rode and searched the mountain for this animal.
At that moment I reached up and pulled the safety back on and laid the rifle down across
my lap and made myself take in 5 more minutes of what was going on.
This was the end of the hunt, the end of the search,the end of the self imposed goal.
The morning sun was now coming over the horizon and offering another view, the trees lit up and
the white tips of antlers brightened,the yellow of their sides and the brown of mane and legs
shimmered and shined. Close enough now I could hear the grinding of teeth as they worked the last
of their breakfast into swallowable mast. Close enough they blinked and squinted when turning
into the direct rays of the sunlight.
The hunt for my first big bull was over,but what a grand hunt it had been. 15 days of being witness to the season
15 days of searching for something I hadn't ever seen, until 24 hours ago.The last 15 days of a lifelong crusade.
I looked upward, nodded my thanks to the "maker of the mountains" for everything wild
and lifted the rifle out of my lap.