It's Just Nice to Be Out in Nature

This is what people say when they get skunked, "Well, it's just nice to be out in nature." That's crap. I mean yes, I definitely appreciate getting out in nature and hiking around and being present...blah, blah, blah. But I'm out here to hunt and at least feel like I've got a chance, and the last couple years; the elk hunting during rifle season, has been rough. I spent 18 days during this year's rifle season getting out in nature and would estimate I hiked about 75 miles, and trust me, those 75 miles weren't like walking on a track. Much of it was brutal up and down and side-hilling and crawling over dead-falls. I also put around 2,000 miles on my truck and I literally only saw one elk while I was hunting and that was a huge bull in an area where I could only shoot spikes or cows. I saw plenty of elk on private land, however, while driving to and from the public land. 

In the area I hunt, objectives for elk, meaning the number of elk FWP would like to have in that area, have been over the projections for a number of years now. However, the success rates for harvesting elk have been way down. The solution was to open up the final two weeks of the gun season to antlerless elk on a general license. FWP also issued a ton of B-tags for the area, which is only good for antlerless elk. The problem is, regardless of how many tags are issued, if you can't get to the elk, there's no point. 

I feel three major factors have contributed to the lack of elk in accessible areas. And listen, I'm not a road hunter. I get out and I hike and up until recently, I've been pretty damn successful. But I feel the deck is stacked against the public land hunter and it's just getting worse. Here's the problem the way I see it; it comes down to climate, pressure, and elk sanctuaries. And you'll notice, I didn't mention predators on purpose because it ain't the damn wolves. We have plenty of elk as I noted during the archery season and the FWP surveys also support this. Regardless of how skeptical you are, FWP numbers don't lie. We just either can't find them or can't access them.

If you look at the picture above, it was taken right after one of the few snow falls, we saw during the rifle season this year. It wasn't "good" snow, however. It was a sheet of ice. It rained first and then snowed on top of it, which is virtually impossible to hunt. Your best bet is to find a spot to sit and hopefully, someone pushes elk past you. You're not going to sneak up on anything though.

The last time we had good snow during the hunting season on my side of the Divide was two years ago. The snow drove the elk down from the high country and I wound up shooting a bull that was bedded down with about 30 other elk in a park (out here, a park is a big open meadow on the side of the mountain.) I still had to work for it. I hiked about 2 miles into the park before spotting them and then had to pack the bull out. But it was doable. All the other elk I've taken with a rifle were in similar circumstances where a cold front would bring snow, and the elk would move down. We're not getting the snow, and the elk are free to roam wherever they want. 

The traffic in the mountains has also changed. I wouldn't be surprised to see stop signs and lights popping up soon. Some days it feels like I'm back in the Twin Cities waiting for the light to change so that I can merge into traffic on I-94. At the trailhead I have been hunting for years, a Forest Service lease just opened up for the cabin at the access point to National Forest. Reservations for the cabin have been booked up for months. Every day I walked past the cabin, 2 or 3 trucks were parked there with at least 4 to 6 hunters staying at the cabin. A hunter I talked to later in the season, said there were 20 rigs at the parking area on opening day. That wasn't even including the trucks parked at the cabin. That's insane! There's no room for all those hunters and as soon as elk start seeing the traffic, they disappear. Where do they go? Well, anywhere hunters can't.

Elk aren't dumb. They have figured out where the safe places are and as soon as traffic ramps up, they head for the safe zones if they aren't there already. Some elk go up high, miles from any access until the snow flies, but even that is becoming less and less the issue. More people are moving out buying up more property from ranchers that used to allow access. What's happening is those ranches are becoming elk sanctuaries. Some of that is on purpose as the landowners feel like it's their duty to protect the animals. Some of it is landowners securing property for their own access, to which they only let friends and family hunt or paying customers. Either way, there isn't enough pressure to push the elk onto public lands where the pressure has gotten ridiculous. 

This is a big problem out here. Landowners bitch about too many elk busting down fences and eating up profits but then they don't let folks hunt. Or for the ones that do, elk just cross their fences and hang out 20 yards off on the neighbor's property where they are safe. Once the traffic goes down, the elk move back to where the better food and water is. And opening up more tags for more antlerless elk just means more pressure on public lands but doesn't do anything for pushing elk off the sanctuaries. 

A lot of competing groups are coming together to complicate the problem and to make solutions for FWP impossible. Objectives for elk numbers are tricky, which is where we start. Those objectives aren't created by scientific methods of determining healthy elk populations given the food resources alone. Elk compete with ranchers for food and space. Many ranchers I've talked to would rather we didn't have any elk because it costs them time and money. Hunters would love to have more elk and newcomers to the state love to see the wildlife and have no idea the damage they are doing by "saving" those animals. Then you add into the equation the millions of dollars of revenue the state makes off of giant bulls harvested be millionaires and now, billionaires and you can see how complicated it can get. FWP gets caught in the middle and the objectives are really just a sort of balance they try to achieve taking all the competing parties into account. 

But it's not the numbers of elk that's the problem. In fact, we have so many elk, we have to have damage hunts out here that often start in mid-August and go through February. But again, those damage hunts only knock down a small percentage of the elk herd because you still have to find access and again, the elk know where they are safe. And every year we still are over the objectives and landowner still bitch that there are too many elk, and I still see more and more rigs driving up and down the mountains. 

What will make the problem even worse is when our public lands get sold to the billionaires moving out here and everything goes to a model of private stewardship/management. I understand that might sound hyperbolic, but the reality is, that our elected officials have expressed the policy objectives to make this happen. Our governor, Greg Gianforte, and newly elected senator, Tim Sheehy, have both expressed the desire to sell off public lands, which easily could create huge ranches that only the rich can access. As long as there's money to be made, right? And you know they ain't going to share with us common folk.

 And I know, you might point out that I'm a fishing outfitter, who also makes money off of an increasingly scarcer resource. The difference is, is us fishing guides put the fish back and we do a lot to bring resources to help preserve our fisheries and we are more than happy to share. Hunting outfitters and landowners aren't usually so generous until it's January and they feel like they can sell off a few of the cows on their property via the damage hunt. (By the way, our State Constitution is in complete opposition to this idea of ownership over the animals. Landowners do not own the animals.) And that seems like an incredible abuse of the system in the form of double dipping by charging thousands to shoot a trophy during the general season, not letting resident hunters to access, and then making a few hundred dollars on every cow after the general season concludes. It's a mess and the next thing coming to Montana, given the fact that it seems everything is greed driven now, is high fences. Wouldn't that be fun? 

Sorry about the rant but I'm sure I'm not alone. Thanks for listening.

Keep 'em where they live...

Good Luck Charm

The 2024-gun season in Montana is about half over. We had a little bit of snow a week ago, which helped to bring a few elk down but then it got warm, the snow melted, and the elk disappeared. I've been spending my time chasing whitetails in the bottoms, which means driving a ton, checking out block management areas, and trying to figure out places to hunt that aren't crawling with other hunters. I did manage to fill a B-tag yesterday with a whitie doe, so I'll have some meat for sausage, which is really what I was after. I have the general deer tag left, which will be in my pocket just in case something big steps out in the high country. The focus for the rest of the season will be to fill my elk tag. Honestly, a cow elk would be just fine as I also have a B-tag for elk. (B-tags are generally, supplemental, antlerless only tags.)

The elk above is the last elk I shot with my bow. I want to share this story and dedicate it to a great friend, who I now refer to as my "Good Luck Charm." At the time, we were dating. She had moved to Montana from California to be closer to her family. While living in California, she decided to go quasi-Vegan for reasons I actually understand and fully support. She's not a big fan of the beef/swine/poultry processing industry and would rather not support the way in which the animals are treated. That sounds fair to me and actually, once she was introduced to wild game, she jumped all in. Now, she's never going to kill anything, but she respects the process and enjoys the consumption. She also enjoys the process and loves to get out and tag along on hunts. This particular hunt was pretty epic.

As I usually do, I took over a week off from the guide season to chase these critters around the mountains. I spent the first day solo and then made plans with Kim for a few days over the weekend. I have never shot an elk while with someone else on the hunt, but she was fired up and ready to go and I figured it would be good for both of us. If nothing else, we could get out and find some elk and have some fun together and I could go after them a little harder after she went back to work. 

The first morning, we hiked about 6 miles, making the loop I normally make, stopping every once in a while, to throw a bugle out and try to locate something. At some point around 9:30 in the morning, a bull answered from across the drainage. We hoofed it down the ridge and tried to get into position, but by the time we got close, they had bedded down in the bottom of the drainage and weren't going to move. Going after them was futile so we decided to back out and try to catch them the next morning before they headed for water and napping. 

We were on the road the next morning at least an hour and a half before shooting light. It was a half hour to the parking area, then a half hour hike to where these elk were feeding the morning before. We should be perfectly set up to cut these elk off as they fed off the parks and into their bedding area. Unfortunately, as we layered up after parking my rig, the gusting wind brought me back to when I was a kid, waiting for my dad to come home thinking we would get out on the lake in the 17-foot Grumman canoe. I would sit there waiting for him, looking to the trees and praying for silence, telling me there was no wind giving the "all clear" sign meaning it was safe to venture out on the lake. Too often, however, the disappointing sound of fluttering aspen leaves and waving limbs indicated too much wind for us to get out and another missed opportunity to spend time with him. 

"Damn wind," I murmured as we headed up the trail. 

What happens when the wind comes up early, is elk go to bed early. It's harder for them to hear predators coming so the wind makes them nervous. They would rather take cover and wait it out than to put themselves in a situation of vulnerability. They get down into the dark timber and hollows and the chance of pulling them out of those areas is nil. Not to mention, it's harder for them to hear a call and it's even harder for the hunter to hear them call back and pinpoint their location. And swirling wind makes putting a stalk on them tough as inevitably, a change in the wind's direction will bring scent to the elk and once they catch a whiff of you, they are gone. It really just all around, sucks. 

When we got to the ridgeline where we spotted the elk the day before, we still had a few minutes before shooting light. I didn't want to call until we were in the right position for fear of pushing them off the ridge before we got there. Once in place, in a spot where we could see for several hundred yards after the rising sun dusted off the greyness of the dawn, I ripped a bugle through the deafening 20 mile an hour wind. Immediately, a bull answered with a much more magnificent, bugle of his own. Along with it came the undeniable chirps of nervous cow elk. Unfortunately, they had already gotten below us and were headed towards their resting hollow. 

"Damnit," I whispered to Kim. "They're already in the bottom." 

I called again and again, they called back. The wind was blowing our sent directly down to them so there was no way we were going to call them back. 

"We're screwed," I told her. "There's no way we're going to get in on them with this wind and they aren't going to come back up." 

"Well," always finding the silver, Kim says, "At least we got to talk to them..." 

"We didn't come here to share pleasantries." 

I called again. They called back as if to say, "nice try." 

"Well, let's try to get a look at them anyway to see what's down there. Why don't you sit right here and look out over the ravine," I told her. "And I'll sneak over to the edge of the timber and call a few more times just to see if we can spot them. Just make sure you look out over the park on the other side. They might come out. I want to see if it's that big bull that's been in here." 

 We were set up in a clear-cut that had been harvested just a couple years prior. Old logging roads zig-zagged through the cut. Kim sat down on a slight berm cut into the side of the ridge from one of those old roads and I walked over to the edge of the uncut timber that drifted off down into the ravine. I called again from this new position hoping to see who I was chatting with and again, the bull talked back but eventually he got tired of playing and went silent. He obviously wasn't impressed with what I was offering. 

"Russ," I hear as Kim was half whispering from 30 yards away. "I think I hear something." And she points up the ridge behind us. 

Disgusted with the conditions and the failed plan I just shook my head, affirming it's hopeless. These elk aren't coming back and our chances of seeing anything the rest of the morning was about as good as drawing an ace sitting on 20 while the dealer is showing an ace of his own. 

We held our positions for about 10 minutes, waiting for these elk to show themselves, which they didn't. I was standing with my bow lying on the ground next to my feet. Kim was sitting on the ground along the road, facing down the ravine. I was in full camo. Kim had a camo shirt and a light blue Patagonia hat, which is why I chose to leave her on the road while I peered down the timberline. Not hearing the elk for a while now, I decided we had given it as much time as was needed and bent down to grab my bow and head back towards the logging road to where Kim was sitting. As I straightened up, I caught some movement from above us in the cut. 

"Kim!" I whisper-shouted. "Don't move!" 

"What?" she mouthed.

"Don't move and don't make a sound," I mouthed hoping her lip-reading skills were better than my mouthing of the words. 

At that, Kim pulled her arms into her lap, turned her head back down-hill and dropped her chin to her chest as an attempt to get as small and inconspicuous as a human sitting on a clump of dirt out in the middle of the open can get. I directed my focus back up the ridge to a bull trotting towards us. Apparently, he had heard all the calling from me and the bull with the cows and this straggler wanted to join the party. He was up-wind, lonely, not very smart, and was coming in hard. 

I knocked an arrow and ranged a tree that he was going to pass. It was 65 yards up the ridge from me and as the bull reached the tree, he must have caught my movement and slammed on the breaks, skidding to a stop, right behind the tree.

I looked back at Kim. She was still sitting perfectly still, head down but now I could see her nose dripping. It was pretty cold and again, quite windy. I could only imagine how annoying that must have felt wanting desperately to resolve the tickling sensation of the nose drip but not wanting to move and spook, what she still had yet to see, but must have known from my reaction, was a bull elk coming from behind us. 

The bull stretched his head out from behind the tree and we engaged in the most intense staring contest I've ever played. My heart raced. I couldn't move. For a good ten minutes, the bull and I tested each other's patience. Who would move first? Even crazier, though, was thinking about Kim sitting there, not moving, not even enough to wipe the snot off her nose and having no clue of what was going on. She didn't even move enough to look over at me to see what I was doing. You want to talk about being an absolute rock star? 

Eventually, the bull relaxed and looked back over his shoulder, which gave me enough time to give out a little cow call. I didn't want to necessarily bring his attention back to me, I just wanted him to relax a bit and give him a sign that he was safe to keep coming. 

The bull turned from the path he was initially taking that would have brought him directly to me, and walked out to the road that Kim was sitting on. Once he got to the road, he turned to follow it down the ridge. He was walking on a path that would eventually bring him to within a couple feet of Kim, who was still looking the opposite direction and as motionless as a sleeping opossum. 

Sporadic trees, too small to harvest, were left standing in the cut, that offered brief moments of cover for me as the bull slipped in and out from behind them. I picked an opening where the bull would pass that I guessed was roughly 35 yards out. At the point the bull would clear the trees and offer a shot, he was only going to be about 20 yards from Kim and still heading right to her. 

I had to make a choice. In hindsight, the safest thing would have probably been to step out and wave the bull off, sending it bolting away from us. There would always be more elk. If I waited to see what the bull would do, it might step right over Kim. If I shot when it was still 20 yards from her, it might take off on the same path it was on and run right over her. At twenty yards to travel however, what are chances? 

I drew my bow back and as the bull cleared the trees, I placed the 40-yard pin just behind his front shoulder and pulled the trigger. 

The arrow met the bull with a crack. I was a little low and in front of the shoulder as the bull was a little further than I thought. Because he was slightly quartering to me, the arrow entered at an angle that slid behind the shoulder into his chest cavity, piercing right through his heart. 

He dropped to the ground, stood back up and stumbled straight away from me and perpendicular from Kim cresting a small rise and then dropping out of site. With the commotion, Kim had enough and whipped her head around to see what the hell just happened. She turned just in time to see the bull disappear. The bull only went 25 yards before dropping for good and since he was out of site at that point, Kim only heard him kick a few times and then all was silent again with the exception of the wind whipping through the pines left standing in the cut. That damn wind...

I couldn't believe what just happened. Kim looked at me with eyes wide open, shaking her head. I sank to the ground and sat for a couple minutes, replaying the last 10 or 12 minutes in my head. Still questioning whether or not it was all real, I stood back up and walked over to where Kim was still sitting on the ground. She had wiped her nose at that point. 

"I can't believe that just happened." I told her while shaking my head.

"What the fuck happened?!" she asked. 

"Come here," I said as I helped her up. "I'll show you." 

We walked over the small rise to where the bull was piled up. As it came into view, we both just stood there looking at it in disbelief. Fortunately, it had long been dead before we walked up on it, which is partly why I took a few minutes before walking out to Kim. I didn't want her to watch it die. With the arrow passing right through its heart, that wasn't a problem. 

This is what elk hunting is to me; a roller coaster of emotions and when you least expect an opportunity to present itself, a bull decides to walk out in front of you and your day completely changes. I've read a few books describing what Native Americans suggest is the animal's spirit allowing you the opportunity only when you are ready, and I can't argue against that. There have been so many times I thought I did everything right and an elk I thought I would get a shot at either winds me or something happens, and I'm outflanked and then there are times that just dumb luck creates these moments If I had to choose, I think I'd take luck over skill any day. Or maybe I should start praying to the God's more, that a spirit shows itself. Or maybe it's just keeping your head in the game a little longer and good things happen. 

Every time I stand over an elk I shoot, I'm still a little dumbfounded with how big they are. This wasn't a very large bull but when you compare them to the deer I'm used to seeing in the Midwest, they are monstrous. With the temps forecasted to reach 80 degrees on this day, my focus quickly shifted from "how cool was that," to "we gotta get to work." 

The first thing I did was to start texting anyone I thought might be able to help with the pack-out. One buddy came up from Bozeman and another, although he was hunting a couple hundred miles away, got on the phone with the adject landowner to where I shot this bull, to find a faster way out through his property. Kim and I started boning and bagging. Getting the meat off the bones would help cool it down and since the sun had barely come up, it was still in the 40's and would definitely help. 

Once we boned it out and spread the meat out on rocks and logs, I grabbed one of the front shoulders and we hiked back to the truck at the trailhead. By the time we had gotten back to the truck, my buddy was on his way from Bozeman and the landowner not only let us back through his property but also offered up his Gator for hauling out the meat.

I dropped Kim off at the house and by that time my buddy was there. We went back up to the elk with the Gator while Kim cleared out my fridge. From the time we got back to the elk and loaded into the machine, it took us 14 minutes to get back to the truck. Another 45 minutes and the elk was in the fridge already cooled off from the morning temps and the wind passing through the bags of meat. All done by 1 O'clock. Kim even made breakfast burritos for us. 

 Kim and I have remained friends. She is an incredibly kind and compassionate person who shares an interest in helping cognitively and developmentally delayed children. She will always be a friend and hopefully, will continue to be a good luck charm for me. Still not much for snow in the forecast but with a couple days off from her job working with the school in Standford, she might just be the kind of luck I need.

Keep 'em where the live...

Malta 2024

 

As you can see from the picture, the Malta trip this year was a success. As with every trip to Malta, unforeseen circumstances and opportunities made for another epic experience. Hard work led to this nice goat. Hard drinking led to making new friends and coming home with a plethora of new art for the Fort. 

I had so much fun last year hunting deer and birds in Northeastern Montana, I decided to put in for antelope tags out there. With a 21% draw rate, I wasn't too hopeful but hey, the gods were shining down and bingo, I was drawn and was excited to make the drive. The goal was to overlap a little speed goat hunting with the opening weekend of deer and hopefully double up on big game and then shoot some birds. Ambitious, for sure, but doable. 

I arrived in the area my tag was good for late afternoon on the Wednesday before the opener of the deer and elk rifle season on the weekend. The gun season for antelope starts a couple weeks sooner because antelope lose their horns earlier than other antlered species of deer. Without horns, you can't tell a buck from a doe at the distances a hunter is often shooting at. Besides, most people hunting antelope bucks, want the horns. (As a side note, antelope have horns. Deer have antlers. Even though antelope lose their horns and regrow them every year, they are made from keratin that grows like a sheath around a core, much like a bison. Therefore, even though they shed every year, they are horns.)

As soon as I reached my hunting district, my radar went up and I started scanning the vastness of the area for white asses across the prairie. Even before getting to Malta and checking into a hotel, I was technically hunting. Just to give you an idea of the terrain, here's a photo to illustrate the expansiveness of this country. 

The unfortunate thing for antelope, is with their white asses, bellies, and chest, along with their black faces and horns, the contrast makes them easy to spot from a mile away. They stick out like a sore thumb in the burnt grasses, wheat, and sage. They are also incredibly curious, which makes them suspectable to decoys. However, they have amazing eyesight, and they figure shit out pretty damn quick. They know where they are safe after the first gunshots go off and they don't call them speed goats for nothing. A couple weeks into the season, even slowing the truck down will send them scampering across the prairie like a flock of sparrows, zigzagging in unison at speeds that would challenge a Ferrari. As you can imagine, getting close enough to get a shot is pretty tough.

So, here's the strategy; one drives around the miles and miles of prairie and sage flats with the hopes of finding a group of goats far enough from the road that they don't spook but not so far that you waste all day trying to sneak up on them only to have them bust out and your day is shot. Then you pull out your phone with your onX Hunt app and see if your targets are on accessible land, meaning land that is either public or block management. If they are on block management, you also need to make sure you've signed into that particular block management property before you hunt it. In places like Eastern Montana, there could be five or six ranches with adjacent boundaries. It does get confusing, so your best bet is to just go around to all the sign-in boxes before you even start your hunt.

I spent that first afternoon/evening driving around, looking for opportunities for the next day. I was seeing a lot of animals that were close to open areas and some in the public lands. Some were on block management but in weapons restriction zones so you can't shoot rifles there either. Like I said, they figure it out quickly. I did get acquainted with the area and took mental notes of where the sign-in boxes were so I could sign in early the next morning before the sun came up. You don't necessarily need to get out there right away as goats tend to graze most of the day. They do often bed down mid-day, but you can still pick them out and put sneaks on them, but you might as well maximize your time, so my plan was to head out and get signed in before shooting hours started. 

My brain won't let me sleep past 4:30am these days so even though I set my alarm, it wasn't needed. I made my packet of coffee provided by the hotel and got dressed. With all the animals I saw the evening before, I was cautiously optimistic. A group of goats were hanging out on a slice of private with state and block management surrounding it. I was thinking I would head down there and see if anything ventured onto accessible land. Turns out, a few does had, and the hunt was on.

I parked my truck along the gravel road in a position behind a hill to where the antelope couldn't see me. Using the relief of the hill to hide behind, I was able to cut the distance without being detected. I then belly crawled to about 300 yards of them. I was in the prone position on the top of the hill and put the scope on one of them. I contemplated pulling the trigger. The debate I was having with myself was even though my tag was good for either sex, would I shoot a doe this early in the game? Inaction is action and before too long, they spotted me, and the decision was imposed. The does took off across the prairie and eventually tuned into dots that were barely discernable, even with my binoculars. 

As I watched them, something caught my eye running along the fence line to the west coming from the south. I could see it from about a mile out. The fence was on a line that passed me only a couple hundred yards away, then terminate at the road where my truck was parked. The animal was big and was on a dead run and within just a few minutes, I was able to identify it with the aid of the binocs. 

The thing about this country is its vast and you normally only see antelope, deer and upland birds. There's not a lot of cover for big animals and even though they historically inhabited the prairie, the bigger animals like moose, bears, and elk have been pushed up into the mountains or, into the Missouri Breaks. The Missouri Breaks is a unique part of the country that has been carved out by the Missouri River after thousands of years of inland seas, and ice dams from glaciers and then the erosion of receding water after the ice dams broke free. Canyons run from the prairie into the bottom of the riverbed for miles. The relief from the flat prairie to these canyons is stunning. The number of nooks and crannies for animals to hunker down in is seemingly infinite. But the breaks are a good 50 miles from where I was, and the closest mountain range is ever further. 

Running along the fence, getting closer and closer, was a massive six-point elk. He had been running for miles. As he got closer, I could see the froth coming from his mouth, the foam building and running down his mane to his chest. His coat was dark with sweat, like a horse that had been pushed to the brink. He was obviously running from something but there was nothing on his heals and as he ran past me less than a couple hundred yards away, nothing followed. The elk reached the road and finally took a brief moment to decide how to proceed, then jumped the fence, ran across the road and jumped the next fence and turned to the east to pass just 10 feet from my truck. He then turned back to the north and headed out over the prairie. He kept running until he was sky-lined against a perfectly blue sky and stood there for a moment looking back at me like the Harford Stag. He was amazing. Then he turned back to the north and disappeared over the rise. 

Walking back to the truck, my brain went to where it does, asking a dozen questions like where was this elk coming from, where he was going and what was chasing him? Archery season ended the weekend before. Gun season opened in a couple days. No hunter should have been shooting at him. I guess I'll never know. Could have been wolves? It was bizarre and just really cool to see but also a bit troubling to see animal like that being so stressed for no good reason. 

I did also see a number of antelope off in the distance from where the elk came from and, according to my onX app, could be in a spot I could reach. I ejected the shell I had in the chamber, forced it back into the magazine and closed the bolt. I laid the gun in the front seat of the truck, spun the truck around and headed around to the group of goats I had spotted. 

This time I grabbed the Montana Made decoy I had with me. The idea is to use the decoy partly for attracting the antelope and partly to hide behind. The group of antelope, about eight of them, had a good buck leading them. They tend to be the most curious this time of the year as it's just getting to the end of their rut. They let me walk up to about 400 yards before busting out, but they didn't go far--just over a rise out of site, so I kept pursuing. When these antelope came back into site, they were about 300 yards out. 

By this time of the day, the wind was howling. I felt like I was close enough for a shot but knew the wind was going to make it tough. I set up on my shooting sticks and did my best to steady a shot. It wasn't good enough. Not on the first, second or third...

As these antelope disappeared, I walked about a mile back to the truck, which gave me a lot of time to think about how I was going to have to change up strategies. These goats in Eastern Montana seemed a lot harder to get close to and the wind wasn't getting any better. 

I put the sneak on another group and wasn't able to get within a quarter mile. Another group took off before the truck even stopped. At one point, I had two does, that I was going to definitely shoot this time, cross the road 100 yards in front of me. They were heading into public land, so I slammed on the breaks, grabbed my .270, and chambered a round. I got down into the ditch and leaned on the fence to be able to shoot as they crossed the fence onto the public land. They stopped two feet from the fence, turned tail, and crossed back across the road onto private. 

My last chance of the day, I was driving along a piece of block management on the left and coming up on a piece of state land on the right. A group of antelope with a good buck were in the state land, just about to cross the fence onto private. I slammed on the breaks, crawled out of the truck, grabbed the gun and snuck up the ditch. I was about 100 yards from corner post that sectioned off the state from private. I belly crawled the last 20 yards or so and although these antelope were looking nervous, they hadn't fled. I was about 250 yards from them and right on the corner post. 

I used the post to try to steady the gun, but the wind was just too much. I thought I took a good shot but apparently not and as these goats took off across the prairie, I did a mental inventory of bullets and was seriously thinking I might run out before the odds and conditions finally tipped in my favor. 

I woke up the next morning at the exact same time as the day before. I made my coffee and headed back to the same place I had missed the last antelope later in the previous day. The goats were there, and I failed again. Instead of waiting for them to cross the road from the state land to the block management, I tried to catch them before they crossed and it just confused them and me, and goats scattered all over the prairie. I was able to get a shot off, but it wasn't a great shot, and I kicked myself for even taking it. 

I continued further into the block management to the end of the road and parked at the gate. I was going to get to a vantage point to glass further out onto the property but before I started hiking, I notice a group of antelope off in the distance across a bean field. They were on block management and heading towards the fence line I was parked on, albeit two miles out. Looking at onX, there was a small portion of private between us, but they were definitely on block management and everything behind them was either state or BLM. I was going after these goats. 

The terrain here, was favorable and the wind had not picked up yet. What little wind there was, was in my face. I knew I could get within a few hundred yards at least and if the Gods were on my side, maybe I could wait them out and they would cross in front of me. It was a long shot, but they were heading in the right direction coming off the bean field. 

I hoofed it along the fence and got to a position they were heading towards. Unfortunately, they decided not to cross the bean field in front of me but to walk off the field going away. I waited for them to drop off behind a rise and I made a move, cutting the corner of the bean field, hot in pursuit. They couldn't see me, so I was able to half sprint across the field until I got to the cross fence and use the trapped tumbleweed along the fence as cover. 

As I worked up the fence line, I came to a saddle in the topography and spotted a group of about 60 antelope at the bottom of the draw, sum 7 or 800 yards from me. For me to move past the opening without them busting me was about a 1 in 100 chance. The goats I was going after were still in front of me, out of site. I had to take the chance, so I pushed. As I crossed the opening, I kept my head down and kept from looking in their direction as if as long as we didn't make eye contact, everything would be good even though my moving human frame couldn't possibly bring any alarm to them. But the eye contact, that would surely set them off...

When I got to the fence where these goats should have crossed, there was no visual sign of them but there was a spot where the fence was about 2 feet off the ground where they could easily cross under and there were tracks. Pronghorn antelope don't jump like the antelope on the Seirra. They crawl under fences and around obstacles. They go under fences so quickly; you'd swear they jumped but they don't. I pushed a little further along the fence and then looked back up the hill and there they were, just cresting the hill and going out of site again. 

I crossed the fence and was right on their heels. In fact, I just saw the tips of one of their ears as it fell off the side of the hill and out of site. They couldn't be more than a couple hundred yards, so I followed. 

As I came to the top of the hill and could look down the slope, the 60 antelope and the bottom of the draw were still there but then I noticed another couple dozen off to the right of them. That's not good. The one's I was chasing were going towards these antelope but still out of site behind rise and probably going to merge with them. I ducked down behind the hill to come around from the right side, hopefully catching them as they side-hilled towards the larger group. As I crested the hill and peered out, the bigger groups were still a few hundred yards away but the group I was chasing was only about 100 yards out and standing still just coming into site. I could only see two of them, one being the buck I wanted.

I didn't have time to range or to even get on the sticks. I brought the walnut stock of the .270 to my shoulder, settled the crosshairs just in front of the buck's haunches as it was quartering away, and squeezed. 

"Boom!" said the .270 and a 1/2 second later, "Thwap!" Which is what you should hear when you pull the trigger on a big game animal. The antelope reared back and fell to the ground. 

The bullet entered just above the hind quarter and just under the backstrap, into the vitals of the antelope, which would seem to be a bad choice of shot but actually, none of the backstraps were ruined and the bullet just barely clipped the top of the hind quarter. And with the angle, the bullet penetrated above the guts and entered the chest cavity, destroying the lungs and heart. I mention this because it's not the best angle and a couple inches either way could have destroyed a lot of meat and made for a disgustingly messy gut-job. I was a bit lucky, but it was a pretty darn good shot. What probably factored into the choice of shot was just how fleeting these opportunities are with antelope and I figured it was the best chance I was going to get. I did range the animal after the shot, at 110 yards. At that distance, there's no need for any compensation for drift or dropping of the bullet but shooting free arm standing without a rest is a little sketch. 

Once I shot and the antelope went down, I expected all the other antelope to disappear. Like I've said, those things are spooky, and it doesn't take much to send them running across the prairie like a flock of teal flying away from my decoys after dumping my shotgun on them. Instead, they all just stood there looking back at the buck that was now motionless on the ground as if nothing happened. I swear one of them even looked at the buck and shrugged its shoulders and then went back to eating. The large group at the bottom of the draw barely moved too. They all just kind of went back to doing their thing almost like they knew my tag was now punched so the rest of them were safe. Even when I went down to dress the goat out, the rest of the herd just moved on down the draw with the other group and hung out. Every once in a while, I would hear one of them snort at me, but they never really showed much concern at all. 

The antelope was about 2 miles from the truck when I shot it. They aren't all that big, maybe 120 pounds on the hoof so maybe 80 pounds dressed out. This one was a good one with horns 14 1/2 inches long and really nice cutters. The hair on the back of the neck was blown off at some point in this goat's life, which made it useless for a mount. It actually had a scar from either a bullet or another goat fight with it. I started dragging it back to the truck but after a few hundred yards, decided to cut the thing in half, taking the hind quarters off and dragging it out in two trips. Back in the day, I would have just dragged the whole thing in one trip, but I have learned over the years, smarter not harder. 

When I got back to the hotel, I skinned the antelope out and quartered it up so it would fit in my cooler. I did all of that in the parking lot and washed off the quarters in the bathtub in my room. I'm sure the hotel manager loved that. And as far as patrons of the hotel? It is Montana so I'm sure they're used to seeing stuff like that--a beer on the bed rail, and me slicing up an antelope on the tailgate. Perfect. A few even came over to take a look and congratulate me. 

I didn't put much effort into finding deer on this trip. I did run into a gentleman at the bar who owned a ranch about an hour away. He invited me up to his place and even showed me a couple good whitetails he had on his trail cam. I checked his place out the next day and didn't see much. That same night at the bar, I met a guy who was working for Ducks Unlimited. Apparently, they were having a banquet at the golf course in Malta on Saturday night so instead of staying out 'til dark to hunt, I came back early, took a shower and dropped $450 at the banquet. It's a good cause. 

I feel like I did pretty well, though. I mean, $450 got me my meal, two pretty cool prints, a two-handed crosscut saw that was die cut with a Ducks Unlimited scene and logo, and another circular sign to hang in my garage. 

After the banquet, the guys running the show invited me to the bar for some pool. I didn't get ripped like last year in Malta, but it was enough to where I didn't want to get up and hunt early on Sunday morning. Between the beer and the lactic acid that still hadn't dissipated from my muscles from all the hiking and dragging, I figured my body could use a break. I did take a few laps looking for birds with Cutter to no avail but wound up shooting a duck off a pond on the way back home. Cutter at least got retrieve that and I ate it tonight. So, all in all, a pretty darn successful trip to Malta. 

I really do like Eastern Montana. I'm not sure I could live there but it is a very cool part of the country. It has its own beauty, and the people have been wonderful. I'm not sure if I'll do it again next year, since I've been there twice now but who knows? I'm sure there are plenty of other places I should check out for hunting Montana in the years I have left. There's still a lot of hunting left for this year, however, so it's time to get back after it. I've got two deer tags, and two elk tags left. I don't really care to fill all those tags, but it gives me options. Two of the tags are strictly meat tags as one is an antlerless deer tag, and one is an antlerless elk tag. If I don't fill the general tags, which would be saved for something special, I'd be alright with that.

Keep 'em where they live...

First Date Stories

 

Mid-Summer calf elk needing a friend.

It's almost the end of archery season so I wanted to share an update and offer up a story of a particular hunt I had a several years back that may be the most unique first date stories a woman will ever tell. As far as this season's elk hunts go, I've had some pretty epic days hiking around in some crazy burned areas with thick undergrowth and deadfalls and was feeling pretty beat up. However, I got into some great bulls and had some cool encounters but just couldn't seal the deal. It wasn't for lack of effort or even screwing things up as I have in the past--just not the luck I needed but that's how archery hunting goes. With a rifle, my season would have ended quickly but that's not how it works. I'll be back out there when the rifle season starts but for the next few days, I'm working on filling my deer B-tag with a whitetail doe or a decent buck if it presents itself. Now, a first date story. 

As you might expect, the dating pool in Montana isn't very expansive. Put the parameters around that pool that consist of my own personality flaws along with having higher than reasonable expectations, a narrowly focused political perspective, opinions, and most of my time doing 'man' things, and my options for finding my soul mate are pretty slim. However, I have met some amazing women, even felt the love for a couple, but much like my archery hunting for the last few years, I just haven't been able to seal the deal. (Many of my long-time clients suggest that I'm more of the 'catch and release' kind of guy. We could spend hours on why I'm still single but...let's not.) So, in an attempt to broaden the pool of eligible women, at some point years ago, I decided to enter the world of on-line dating. Let me just say this; that world is often cruel and heartless and for every ortho-quinone of dopamine produced by a potential match, it's almost always offset by the norepinephrine released from being ghosted by a majority of the women I have connected with. However, I have had some fun and unique encounters, and this is one that will go down in the books as one of the most unique first dates of all time. 

I was talking with a gal from Idaho who is originally from Australia. We hit it off through text messaging and eventually talking on the phone. She suggested she should come up and visit and see where things go after meeting face-to-face. The problem was, it was September, and I was just about to start my week of time off to chase elk. Trying not to sound disinterested or rude, I danced around the importance of this time of the year to me and suggested there might be a better time like around the beginning of December... (I didn't suggest December, but I was trying to put this meeting off until at least the end of the elk rut. Funny how one time of the year gets one species crazy horny chasing the opposite sex while another species becomes totally oblivious to mates, even if said mate was half-naked sporting a lace teddy with a beer in her hand and the Packers playing on the big screen in the background.) 

The Australian, we'll call her Jenny, was quite persistent and assured me she would love to come hike with me while I chased elk, and she wouldn't screw anything up. She told me she was tough, which she was, as she was raised on a cattle ranch in the Sunburnt Country and can handle her own. 

Not wanting to hurt her feelings I agreed but was emphatic about getting here on-time so we could get up in the mountains before it got too late in the evening. 

"Ok," I said, "But we have to leave my house by 1 o'clock--no later so please get here on-time." 

"I'll be there." She responded. "I promise. Wheels up by one."

Jenny rolled into Helena around 1:40 pm. For those of you that know me, I'm super annal about being on-time--especially when it comes to hunting and/or fishing. I don't make the rules. I don't control how the sun moves across the sky or what time elk decide to wake up and do their thing. I am, however, hyper-aware of the timeframe for getting opportunities at elk and that window only comes once a year for a very brief time. 

As Jenny knocked on the door, my inner-dialog was in the middle of a sort of UFC battle where a nice guy wanting to cut her some slack for putting in the effort and making the trip was getting destroyed by a goon that had him in a headlock, punching him in the face, scolding him for ever agreeing to this. Meanwhile, elk were most likely bugling up a storm right now while I was there trying to be accommodating to some bimbo because she had a hot body and an Australian accent! (To be fair, she wasn't a bimbo. She may, however, have been aggressively pursuing companionship.)

As I opened the door, I tried hard to hide my anxiety for her being late and welcomed her in. I also tried to explain to her, in a kind way, that we needed to get going. I guess she either didn't see the furrowed brow or I was really good at hiding it, because she asked if we might take a few minutes to hang out and then she tried to kiss me. 

I side-stepped and asked her what we needed to get out of her truck before we could get going, which you'd think might be deflating for some women. Jenny, however, was as persistent as a bear on a beehive and somehow, my face must have been covered with honey. She came in for another shot and I realized the only way we were going to move past this incredibly targeted advance was to placate and move on. 

"Ok, we gotta go." I demanded. 

We threw the gear in my truck and headed up into hills. Of course, we wound up trailing another truck going 15 miles an hour. My head was reeling. I just kept cursing myself in my head for caving. I should have just said no but I didn't so I would have to just make the best of it. 

We got to my spot where I would normally park, backed the truck into a little turn-out and turned off the ignition. We both strapped on our boot Gaters, I got my pack on and bow sling, double checked my gear, making sure I had my range finder, release and anything else I might need, and we started up the mountain. Figuring we had a little ways before getting to where the elk might be, I explained the importance staying close to me so I could whisper to her if needed, and so that she always knew what was going on in front of us. If I stopped, she needed to stop. If I got down on my knees, she needed to drop down. She needed to be right on my hip. 

She did a pretty good job of hiking and was a lot quieter than I expected. We hiked straight up a ridge, and she was able to keep up. Along the top of the ridge, and only about 20 minutes into the hike, I swore I heard a cow elk calling. 

"Wait," I said as I put my hand out as a sort of stop sign. "Did you hear that?"

"I think so," she answered. 

"I think that's a cow elk right down there below us." I explained. 

 I pulled my cow call to my mouth and gave out a little, "mee-ewe."

From a couple hundred yards down to the bottom on the drainage, a bull lit up a bugle. 

"Shit," I said. "It's right down there. We gotta make a move. Stay right on my hip." 

We took off down the ridge at a little quicker pace than what we were at on the way up. I wanted to get down to where the elk were before they moved out. On the way, I caught movement and stopped.

"Fuck," I whispered as we bumped right into a spike elk, which in this area, isn't legal to shoot. "Don't move," I whispered back to Jenny. 

The young bull was fixed on us for a few seconds, trying to figure us out. It didn't take long, and he spun and lumbered down the side of the ridge back to where I was sure the rest of the herd was.

"Shit," I whispered to Jenny. "That could be all she wrote." 

I cow called again and again the bull bugled back. This time he was much closer. 

"Let's get down to the creek bottom," I whispered. "Then we'll call and see if we can't get him to come in. But stay right next to me and if I stop, you gotta stop." 

"Ok," she agreed. "This is so cool." 

We got to the bottom of the drainage and crossed the creek. There were a few junipers that lined the creek and created a bit of a curtain between us and where the woods opened up into sporadic aspens and lodge poles. I took my bow off its sling and knocked an arrow. I cow called as we peered out from the curtain of junipers. 

"Russ," I heard Jenny whisper. 

I looked back at her. She was to my left and little behind me. 

"What?" I mouthed the word without making it audible. 

"It's right there," she half whispered while nodding a gesture towards the bull.

With her vantage point being just off of mine, she could see the bull making his way towards us from our right to our left. It was behind an aspen where she could see it, but I couldn't. 

"Just don't move." I whispered. 

The bull stepped out in front of us. It wasn't huge but definitely a bull I would shoot. I quickly took inventory of his head gear and was sure I saw five tines on both sides. He hadn't seen us or winded us, but he knew something wasn't right. He turned to walk back to his harem to make sure he kept his cow group intact. 

I took up my grunt tube to my mouth, wedged the diaphragm call between my tongue and the roof of my mouth and gave a bugle that wasn't too aggressive, resembling a smaller bull trying to get in on his action. 

This either created just enough curiosity for the bull or frustration causing him to turn back to investigate. He walked right back to where he had retreated from just a few seconds before and stopped broadside, well within my bow range. 

I drew my bow back, settled the 40-yard pin right behind the bull's shoulder, and gently pulled the trigger on my release. I then watched as my arrow sailed right over the back of this bull. The bull spun as the arrow smacked a log behind him and he busted out of sight. 

It was only then that I took the time to do what I should have done before drawing the bow back. I pulled my range finder out and ranged a log the bull was standing next to. The log was only 25 yards out. With the terrain, I was sure this bull was between 35 and 45 yards away. My 40-yard pin should have been the right pin but, I was off, and the bull was gone; fortunately, unscathed. 

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," I whispered with the intervals between the word becoming shorter and shorter with every utterance of it. 

"That was incredible," she whispered. 

"I missed, though," I said with absolute defeat. 

"Yah, but, oh my god....that was so intense." 

The "what-ifs" occupied every synapse of my brain for the rest of the hunt. Had I shot that bull, it would have only been a few hundred yards from the truck and downhill the whole way. How easy that would have been? And how crazy would it have been to have to pack this thing out with a woman who had never done anything like that before? A woman I had literally just met a couple hours ago.

That was Jenny and my first and only date. Turns out, she was a bit of an adrenaline junky who had different ways to find her fix that were manifested more through chemicals than experiencing life. We talked a couple times after that but we both knew we had different plans for sharing time with a partner. We both got a good story out of the deal, and I guess should be grateful for that. I also grabbed another box to check on the ever-growing inventory of characteristics I should be screening for in the dating scheme. 

Well, it's another day and the 2024 archery season is about to come to a close. I better get out there chasing another story. By the way, keep tuned in for another dating story that ends with a much better outcome.

Keep 'em where they live...

Youngster

Just a quick update as I only have a couple days left to my scheduled time off to chase elk. It's been pretty cool. I've checked out some new areas and have gotten into a lot of elk. This little spike I called in to about 20 yards and watched him for a good twenty minutes before he buggered out. I'm a meat hunter and would be happy to shoot anything legal for a freezer full of elk steaks but spikes are not legal to harvest in this area. 

I've spent a fair amount of time in the Lincoln area this archery season. The hiking has been brutal with all the dead fall in the burn areas. At times, I find myself practicing my balance beam routine on these logs as it's the only way to get through the tangled mess of dead and down, underbrush, and pecker poles. The good thing is I feel like I can safely rule out in any neurological or balance issues. 

Today I got within 50 yards of a huge bull that looked like a Clydesdale walking through the woods. He was with a couple rag horns but couldn't get a shot through the trees. I'm not sure what I would have done had I put one down in that kind of stuff. 

I did locate a bull last night in an area much easier to get to and with it being mid-week, I feel like I may have the mountain to myself. I've killed many elk in this area so let's keep our fingers crossed. Only two days to go!

Keep 'em where they live...

Day One--Happy Birthday to the Ex...

I know this is going to sound a little crass, but I usually mark the time I want to be out chasing elk by my ex's birthday. I've shot more elk on that day, or within a day or two of that day, than any other day. I told that to a client once and he asked if that's because that's when the elk are the most active or is it a coincidence, that I'm usually out hunting on that day instead of with her? And is that why she's an ex? It's a fair point. Regardless, this is go-time for me and this year, it is day one and an epic day one at that. (To be fair, I did spend a couple days last week, scouting and found some elk, which led to this opportunity.)

Last week I did locate these elk across the drainage from my neighbor's property near Lincoln, MT. He has a camper set up on 50 acres and elk often cross through there. When I went up there last week to scout it out, I spotted what I thought were about 25 elk with a couple bulls bugling. They were on private property with no way to get to them accept maybe driving around to the other side of the mountain and hiking up over the top.

So, my first day of my scheduled time off, I had to make a choice; do I go to one of my money spots or do I go to the area around Lincoln where I spotted these elk? Lincoln is about an hour away and then you have to hike. But it's an easy hour of driving. One of my favorite spots is only 30 minutes out, easy hiking and I've killed several elk up there, but is becoming increasingly busier and busier with the parking area filled with Texas, Oregon, and Minnesota license plates. Another of my favorite spots is only 26 miles but takes almost an hour and a half to drive because the road sucks. By the time I get back from that place, I feel like a pair of old tennis shoes I've tried to re-constitute in a washer and dryer. 

The weather is a factor as well. It had been raining for two days and the wind is a constant 20 miles an hour with swirling gusts. I don't want to bust anything out of one of my favorite spots with the wind so, it's recon time and Lincoln gets the call. 

The onX app is an amazing tool. It shows all the public lands and block manage areas where a hunter can access spots that normally, you wouldn't be able to see on a map. Before heading over, I was able to locate some access points to a ridge and plateau just above the area where I located this herd of elk last week. I knew it would be bit of a hike and a gamble that those elk would ever venture off private land, but if I got up there and didn't see anything, at least I eliminate it from options for the rest of the week. With such a short time to hunt, being economical in your time is always on your mind. One of the biggest factors for me is how much time do I have left to hunt and am I just wasting time in areas that aren't holding elk. A few hours in the afternoon doesn't seem like much on day one but day seven of eight? With the weather not being ideal, I felt ok with the outcome if I was scrapping day one in order to check out new country. 

The plan was set to access some block management land adjacent to the ridge I was looking at. One thing that doesn't show up on onX however, is random closures to block management. When I got there, the area was in fact, closed. Instead of seeing the green sign on the sign-in box that all hunters need to sign in as a kind of permission slip to hunt, there was the red sign signifying a closed area. Damnit. 

As we often taught our kids in Alternative Youth Adventures as a core value, "adapt, improvise and overcome." On to plan B.

I drove up the drainage to the National Forrest boundary. It would be a straight up hike through dead falls and a burn area, but I could get right up above where I had seen these elk. Again, a lot of work with no guarantees. More than likely, I would locate the herd, and they would still be on private land with no way to call them off. They ain't stupid. They know where they are safe but not a lot of options now as I have committed to the plan, so I bust out my gear and make the painful climb to the top. 

Of course, as luck would have it the wind is directly from my back, which is no good for trying to sneak into an area with elk. And it's swirling and pretty much completely screwing me. My motivation is dwindling and every step over a fallen tree is making the trek up less and less desirable. I look back down to the truck every once in a while, as I can see it the entire way up and wonder if I should just get back down and drive around for a while hoping something would cross the road. Wow, that sounds like I'm becoming a road hunter...

Pride won't let me give in. I keep hiking up. 

As I crest the ridge and keep pushing through the underbrush that grows thick as the Tom Sellek's mustache in these burn areas, I look up to the ridge to the North and low and behold, there's a fricken elk standing there. 

"Holy crap," I thought to myself. 

Just seeing an elk on public land is a win. And now, the entire day changes and there's no need to manufacture some kind of motivation through pride or the fact that "at least I'm out getting exercise experiencing nature..." It's like when a client tells you that they just enjoy getting out on the water and they don't care if they catch anything. You may say that but it's not what we're here for. It's like negotiating with yourself, justifying spending the time and energy or money and not being successful. Yeah, I know. Are you a glass half empty or a glass half full person where you try your best to make everything a positive. Those people drive me nuts. I'm a realist and as much as I'm here to enjoy the outdoors, part of that is seeing elk and actually believing I've got a chance and this sighting is telling me, "So you say I have a chance..." 

By the time I spotted this elk, I was already past her and now, slightly downwind with her being about 400 yards uphill to the north. I could circle more downwind to the east and up the ridge and either wait her out and see if she keeps feeding along the ridge or I could walk back upwind towards her and try to get close enough for a shot. The one thing I was pretty sure of, however, is that she wasn't alone. Taking my time and trying to locate the herd would most likely dictate my next moves and before long, I started spotting more and more elk along the ridge and even heard a couple bulls bugling. This was going to get interesting and because I had managed to inadvertently sneak past them, I had put myself in a really good position. 

I worked my way through the deadfalls and brush more downwind of the group of elk and started working my way back up to them. It's a huge burn area so pretty open with new growth pines we often refer to as "pecker poles." I'm not sure why it just is what it is. They offer some cover but aren't grown up enough to obstruct the view of these elk. I find it difficult to cover ground without continually glassing the elk to make sure I haven't busted them out. The wind is offering cover from the noise of pushing through Sellek's mustache and these elk are content on feeding. I keep pushing until I'm within a couple hundred yards of the herd. 

I don't call. These elk are busy doing their thing. I hear a bull bugle and figure I'll let him do the work. Then I hear another bull that is obviously quite a bit larger than the first. I can't see him, but you just know with the growl and the depth of his voice. He's just different. 

At some point, one of the smaller bulls steps out. He's decent. Probably a small six-point. He's circling around as if to inventory the cows. He's not big enough to be the herd bull. Then another smaller bull steps out. I'm well within 200 yards of these bulls and only about 120 yards from the closest cow. It's decision time. I think there are about 20 elk in this group, and I really want to get a look at the herd bull, so I place the diaphragm call against the roof of my mouth, bring the grunt tube to my lips and belt out my own bugle just to test the waters. 

The herd bull crests the ridge in front of me, about 200 yards out. He is huge and he's coming. 

But his aggression shifts from me to the other two bulls in the herd and I watch as he lowers his head and charges them. They want nothing to do with this guy and the run off, scampering over dead falls and brush doing anything possible to create distance between them and the monarch. The two bulls drop down into a draw and then up the adjacent ridge before stopping. Game f'n on!

I bugle again and the monarch turns to look my direction. He takes a couple steps my way, tilts his head back, curls his upper lip and rips a big growl at me. All I have to do is piss him off just enough and like an enraged, half-drunken jealous boyfriend, he'll come charging and I will get my shot.

I pull my range finder out and pick a couple burnt stumps he should pass by. If he follows the path, I envision him taking, I should have him at forty yards. I range him. He's cut the distance to about 150 yards and stops. I see him licking his nostrils trying to figure me out. The wind is swirling and every once in a while, I feel the air on the back of my neck, and I know he's getting a whiff of something he's not sure of. He turns and walks back to the middle of the herd. He's not convinced I'm something he needs to confront, and I feel the anxiety of these less-than-ideal conditions, with the swirling wind in my head telling me I need to make my move. 

This is what drives elk hunters crazy and what we talk about in the off-season. It's the "what-ifs," and the, "if I had just done this..." that we lament on. The truth of the matter is, there is no right answer to what to do in this situation. Your options are to either wait it out or to make the charge. If you wait, the hope is that these elk mill around a bit and eventually, one of them gets close enough for a shot. I have a couple cows within 120 yards. I have three bulls that are messing with each other. One is a giant. But I also have a swirling wind and there is a high probability that one of these elk will get my sent, bark, and game over. 

If you charge in, or sneak in, there's a chance you could close the distance and get a shot...what's not happening is this bull is not going to come to the call and I'm just alerting the herd to the fact that something they're not all that sure about is 120 yards away and they are getting nervous. 

There is a draw between myself and the herd and I'm able to drop down so I'm out of sight. I take my chance figuring I can come up the side of the draw and be within 50 yards of a cow. I'm a meat hunter. I'll take the cow if I get the chance. 

As I drop down, I don't hear the pounding of hoofs on the shale that would indicate them busting out. I'm feeling pretty good I'll get within shooting range. But as I crest the top of the draw, the one thing I was afraid of rings out across the mountains as one of the bulls on the other side of the drainage that had just been chased out by the monarch barks and all hell breaks loose. I had no idea the number of elk that were in this draw and it's something I'll never forget. 

The sidehill from where the bark came was to my left across a draw. Ahead of me were the elk I was sneaking in on. To my right was another draw where the knob I was sneaking up on sluffed off to where I couldn't see down into it. When the elk barked on the sidehill, all the elk in front of me and to my right started filing out. Dozens and dozens of elk came up out of the draw and crossed directly in front of me. There had to have been a hundred elk in this herd. I had no idea and part of me just watched in awe. The noise they made. The dust they kicked up. It was like watching a stampede of horses in some old spaghetti western. 

I blew on my cow call just hoping to stop one of them within range and it worked. Two spike bulls stopped 40 yards out. The problem is you can't shoot spikes in this area. 

I pushed up the hill to get a better vantage point almost becoming part of the herd. It seemed to take minutes for all these elk to bust out of the draw.

One of the cows stopped 65 yards away and stood broadside. I had already knocked an arrow before making my move knowing that if it happened, it would happen quick. I drew my bow back, settled the pin behind her front shoulder and as I pulled the trigger on my release, she bolted. I watched my arrow sail right behind her flanks. I then continued to watch as this herd of at least a hundred elk disappeared over the next ridge, still hearing the clicking of hooves against the shale and snapping of branches as the they tore through the pecker poles and underbrush. 

As I immediately engaged in the "what-if's" that will occupy my mind for the next year if the rest of the season isn't successful, I turned to the ridge to the southeast and noticed another herd of at least 75, maybe 100 elk feeding about 600 yards away. 

"Jeezus!" 

One of the bulls in that group was bugling. I thought about shifting my focus, but I needed to find my arrow and confirm the miss. I also knew these elk were straight downwind and there was no way to get around them so with tail between my legs, I spent the rest of the evening climbing down the mountain, going over what I should have done or would have done had I known there were that many elk in that draw and at some point got to the realization of how fricken awesome that was. Day one was a success. In just about every measure for every bow hunter, it was a success, and it will get keep me motivated for the rest of the week. 

Keep 'em where they live...

Let's Go Hunting!!

 

It's been a pretty amazing fishing season this year. I've geared my efforts towards novices to the sport and people who really want to learn how to fish and it's been a lot of fun. Most memorable were the kids; the fourteen-year-old grandson who his grandmother paid for four days of floating and wade fishing, the fifteen-year-old champion barefoot water-skier, and all the parent/kid two-sums. I also had the pleasure of putting together a trip of newly graduated teens as an awesome graduation gift from some really cool parents. Get your kids out there. I guarantee, once they tie into a Missouri River bow, they won't miss their screens except to post about how awesome fly-fishing is. 

Now, it's on to hunting. I'll still be on the river for a few trips from the end of September through October, but for the next eight days, I'll be chasing rutted up elk. This is what I dream of for 11 months out of the year. I'm dialed in and excited to get after it. As with every year, you can follow the successes and epic fails here. 

Also, I drew an antelope tag for Northeastern Montana. If you remember from last year, I took a trip out there, hunting birds and deer. It was so much fun, I put in for a goat tag and with only a 21 percent success rate in that area, I won! I'm excited because I really like antelope meat. (Pronghorn for you flat landers.) If you've never had it, you should. Don't believe the folks that claim it's gamey. If taken care of and prepared properly, it's the most tender and least gamey of all the wild game I've eaten. 

Follow along. Today is day one!

Keep 'em where they live...