Part I

Hunting in Idaho is just like most other places in the States these days. Busy lives and work schedules keep most of us close to road access and hunting season can be a bit crowded. I have lived in Idaho for 15 years and until recently have not had a chance to hunt in the deep wilderness areas this state has to offer. I have been harassing a fellow work professional for a while now about why I have not been included in his friend's (aka hunting partners) excursions. Recently the invitation to go with him finally came. I thought maybe my harassment had finally worked but I soon learned that this trip was not one to be taken lightly...

My first sign that I was in for quite the adventure was when I got to the trailhead and asked my friend Jeff, "Do you think we'll see many hunters in this area?" He smiled casually and said, "No Chris, not too many people ride this trail..."

The hunt began at one in the morning with a drive to the horse corral. I met up with Jeff and helped rig the bags and pack saddles. We saddled 5 horses and loaded them in the horse trailer. The drive took almost 7 hours with 4 to 6 inches of snow falling on the passes. Once we reached the trailhead, preparing the packs only took 20 minutes and we were ready to move out. This was my first chance to get a good look at the horses that would be a big part of our lives the next few days. Jeff had been a pro bareback (bucking) horse rider and had guided professional horse packing hunt trips in his youth, so these incredible animals were second nature to him. He had raised the 5 horses we had with us, who were all brothers and sisters and in the prime of their days. They all had the same father, a strong, stout, full-bred Norwegian Fjord.

I had not spent time on horseback in almost 15 years. The mount Jeff selected for me to ride was named Cowboy, who must have sensed my rusty skills and made a point to try and buck me right out of the gate.
Before I had time to wonder if this was going to be good idea, we were off. There was a gate across the road, so we had to ride along for about three miles before reaching the trailhead. On this first few miles of flat roads, Jeff told stories of dead horses at the bottom of the ravine with their saddles still on, and he mentioned I might want to walk a few miles of the trail ahead. I discounted most of his stories as a good guide, setting the tone for an epic trip. I myself had worked and guided professionally on the rivers and mountains of the Rockies and I was enjoying being in my home environment. And after surviving Cowboy's tirade, I was confident I could handle whatever the trail had in store for us.

I thought Cowboy must have had a little racehorse in him as he set a pace that was much faster than my comfort level. Before I realized what was happening, I was in front of Jeff and the pack string and steep cliffs ranging from 30-100 feet or more were looming right below my right stirrup. For the next few miles, the river raged wildly far below and I did my best to slow Cowboy to a reasonable speed, fearing for my own life. I had trouble keeping my saddle from shifting to the upstream side of Cowboy's back as I leaned away from the void below. I struggled to keep my hat from getting knocked off by low cliff overhangs and branches, and strong gusts of wind blowing through the ravine. Jeff told me later that he gave up trying to talk to me as I got pretty quiet for a few miles there. All I could think about was returning home alive to my wife and kids.

Finally, the tight canyon opened up into rolling mountain ranges characteristic of Idaho. We passed some old, desolate ranches and worked our way down to the river to cross. The water was low, so the bellies of the horses were barely submerged as they stumbled through the big, round river rocks. We began to gain elevation quickly on the other side of the river, and for the first time I started to settle into my saddle and appreciate the strong power beneath me. I'm getting old enough that climbing a few thousand feet isn't as enjoyable on foot as it was in my 20's.

I was just getting comfortable and enjoying the ride when Jeff shouts, "elk!" He spots 6 cows and 3 bulls a thousand yards above us making their way along the ridge. Our excitement builds into anticipation. They are out of our hunt zone, but amazingly enough they are heading straight toward the valley we intend to set up camp, and the line where our permit begins.

As the daylight fades, we lose sight of the elk in the distance as we cross over the same ridge. We set up camp about 10 miles from the trailhead with about 600 pounds of gear, courtesy of a well-planned pack string of strong horses. Before the sun sets, the wood stove in the tent is warming up and the snow is beginning to fall.

A few hours before dawn, we crawl out of our cots and stoke the fire. We agree that a hunt on foot up the next ridge to the north is our best bet to close in on the 9 elk bedded down somewhere above us. Ham, eggs and hot coffee for breakfast, then the familiar click-click of ammo as we load our rifles and head out into the morning twilight. The ridge is steep and long, but shortly before sunrise, we get into deeper snow and cross a fresh set of tracks.

Part II

I was telling a story about my travels through Mayan ruins in Peru when we crossed the elk tracks in the snow. From then on we were in a different mind set. The hunt begins!

We started the difficult task of climbing and traversing through wet snow to get into position above the elk. We figured they were only an hour or two ahead of us. Suddenly we spot them 700 yards out, 2 bulls small to medium size. I catch sight of one bulging through my scope as he crosses a ridge. We need to get closer.

Jeff is looking for a trophy elk. His last year's bull from this zone was a 6 X 6 that scored 310 points. I was just glad to be invited as back up and was only trying to get a small or medium bull to add to the deep freezer. I have a newly rebuilt WWII German Mauser, only 25-06, so I need to be close for a shot. My new Mauser was a trade with an experienced gunsmith over at Custom Gun Shop in Geneva, Idaho who had been rebuilding Mausers for 55 years and could still cut beautiful checkering patterns. He had upgraded the Mauser with a new safety, Timney trigger and a Winchester bolt handle. The rest is a simple working man's gun, set into Black Walnut wood with checkerboard figure I had carved myself.




We continue traversing through steep, log-choked ridge terrain trying not to attract attention or scare off the elk. They should be bedding down soon. We summit another new ridge and spot elk right below us. We chamber a round and discuss the feasibility of getting 2 elk out of our location. Jeff wants to shoot only one, but we decide to take two if we can. We slide up over a rock 150-200 yards above them with our hearts racing. We peer over the rock, and to our disappointment the elk had vanished.

We re-group and climb back down the ridge, searching. From where I was, I spot a few cows off to the north about 300 yards out. I watch for a while, but no bulls. Then from somewhere close I hear Jeff exclaim, "That's a big bull!" and before I can turn around, he is braced on a stump, firing. I settle into position as he fires 3 rounds out of his old Howa. His rifle is chambered for 300 Winchester Mag, and he is about 300 yards away from a good sized, 6 x 6 bull. I scan the hillside through my scope and see a few cows and the big bull casually walking for the ridge as the shots are fired. Jeff at this point is scrambling back up the hill for his pack and more ammo. If that bull crosses the ridge, it's going to be a long day in this steep country. I ask if he wants back up. "Shoot! Shoot!" was his response.

The bull turns broad side and I start firing. Three rounds later he is still moving at the same pace towards the edge of our view. I start to wonder if my scope had gotten out of alignment somehow on the way in. Jeff shows up again, fires one more and the bull falls. He slowly rolls out of sight and we peer through our scopes staring at the tip of an antler, and no movement. The bull is down for good. We find him with four rounds in him, all in key locations. We cape, gut and remove the antlers, then roll him off the ridge.

At the bottom, the bull came to a rest and we get to work quartering him. Over the next couple of hours, we pack the quarters to the edge of the log-choked ravine and then begin the 10 mile walk back to camp down through the valley. On the way back, we search for the best trail to bring the horses. It starts to snow and the fog moves in. We lose sight of the overgrown trail once, and I begin eyeing big pieces of bark from large pine trees from which I could sleep (or suffer) under in the event we had to spend the night on the mountain. With much determination and perseverance, we make it back to base camp, soaked from head to water-logged boot and with numb toes. A wall tent with a wood stove never looked better as darkness sets in.

The next day was a bright world with a fresh blanket of pristine, white snow. The ride in and out to the elk was rugged and exhilarating, with views and memories I will never forget.


The eventful point of the day though, was still to come. Jeff was leading a horse though a steep log-choked creek. The bank suddenly gives way and his horse begins rolling and writhing down through the steep creek. It comes to rest on its back amongst the logs 30 feet from where it slipped and fell. Jeff was still hanging onto the lead rope, attempting to hold the animal and to keep it from rolling further. He is hollering at me to help. My first instinct is to pull out my camera as I normally do in memorable moments, but he probably would have shot me on the spot. Instead, I quickly jump down and we are able to roll out the horse with only a few minor scratches. For the next few hours, we pack quarters back and forth to the horses, and thankfully without incident.

The next morning we pack up camp. We de-bone the quarters and load the horses. Late in the morning we begin the journey back out. We see three or four more groups of elk, but consider ourselves blessed with such a good hunt! We have another elk tag but, the pack animals were loaded to the max already, and more trips in and out would not work anyway with the time we have for this trip. Soon we are out of our hunting zone and could observe the elk without temptation.

We pass back through the tight, steep canyon and our nerves settle down, with a calm ride back to the truck. Even though the cold rain comes down hard during the final few miles, I hope it would never end. We head back to civilization and look forward to the comforts of home, but I know I would remember this Idaho backcountry adventure fondly. It would stay as a reminder of the true hunting experience that is still available because of our carefully managed backcountry and the rugged places that only allow humans a brief glimpse of their beauty.

Chris Schofield
www.walnutgrovegunstocks.com

Amazing photos and excellent story! A great Christmas day read

That is real hunting, mate! Excellent report!

Great hunt, great report, and really great photos!

Thanks for sharing it!!

Bob

Excellent report on a great adventure - thanks Chris!!


Phil

Dream hunt for me. Just spectacular.

Fantastic!

Nice. Thank you very much for the story, Chris. I really enjoyed it.

Thanks! Great photos!

Great report, I haven't done a horse back hunt in 20 years. I'd do more if I didn't hate horses so much.

Great story and photos of a memorable hunt. Thanks for taking the time to write it up and share it with us.

What a fantastic hunt report! Thanks for sharing!

Just nothing quite like
chasing elk on a pony.
In fact, I highly recommend it
Great tale!

Great read and great pictures! If I may ask, what unit was that? I stopped hunting ID a few years ago because of the wolves. Maybe that was premature! Did you see any wolves or bears?

Armbar.

Great report - thanks for sharing. Great photos. Congrats!

Outstanding hunt and write-up. Talk about a true wilderness adventure. Thanks for taking us along for the ride.

What everyone else said times 1000! This thread made my day!

looks like you hunt the Frank Church, I hunt he Bull creek area and Jumbo area.Gosphel hump.



Cal30

Chris,

I love the story and the photos. I talked to Darrell, my grandpa, about your gun many times over the last few months and was glad to hear of your success. I've hunted with rifles from Custom Gun Shop my whole life. They shoot great and are great to look at.

Glad everyone is enjoying the story, it was a great experience for me! In regards to wolves in Idaho... This year a lot of my friends had trouble finding the elk because of the wolves! So the hunting has become more challenging for sure. We didn't see any signs of wolves on this trip, just got lucky I guess. And I seem to be getting amnesia on the zone we were in No offense, I just want to keep the trust of my friend so I get invited again in the future!
Fjold's comment on horses made me smile. The horses we used were a bit stubborn, and they were not always helping move things along. They spend much of the year out to pasture on a big ranch and one of the first things Jeff did when we got back was to look into buying a mule for his pack string. But they sure did make the work of getting back in there a lot easier!
Touchdown88, your Grandpa is a treasure that is hard to find these days. I can hardly keep up with the stocks he wants me to make him.
Chris

Chris,
nice story and pictures!

Great report!

Thank you very much indeed. Brings back some fond and not-so-fond memories of backcountry rodeos and elk hunts.

Thanks Chris for the great story and pics. makes me miss Elk country.

Chris very well done. Your adventure is what hunting is all about. Make it a priority to go every rear while you can. Kudos

Congrats on a great hunt Chris. As others have made note, I liked all the photos of the trails and such. That makes up so much more of the hunt then the actual shooting.

So, since you shot the elk 3 times, you get some of the meat, right?

I ended up with all the meat. Jeff's boy ended up with the rack, and do believe it is a little taller than he is. We tried to figure out which shots were who's, but that might come down to an arm wrestling match. Jeff's first shot was the kill shot, it was just to the left of the spine as the bull was walking away from us. The shot went right into the lung. That's why he wasn't moving fast after that.