It was 84 degrees when I headed out hunting a few days ago. Now, low thirties with wet, bone-chilling snow. Putting the new rain gear to the test. Should have bought some new gloves.
I'm not sure how other hunters keep score, but I like to keep track of how many times I nock an arrow and then actually get a shot. So far, I've nocked 5 arrows and other than shooting a couple grouse, I haven't sent a single shot towards an elk. The first couple of near misses, I've documented on this blog. There was the big six I saw while reclaiming the fire-pit. Unfortunately, I got cocky with him and got busted by the cows. Then there was the five by five just a few minutes later that I screwed up while taking a video of a pine squirrel. Since then, I've managed to jack up a few more opportunities.
I went back up to where I had been seeing these elk, knowing there would probably be a fair amount of traffic. Sure enough, I ran into two young guys hunkered down on the edge of pond a half-mile up the trail from the truck. One of the things I take pride in, is being able to walk up to other hunters, undetected, and say, "Hey, any luck?" It scares the bejeezus out of them. I know, it's not nice but it's kind of fun.
Anyway, I also like to check in with other hunters to gain a little insight on where they have been and where they plan to go. I'll go the other way because there could be elk just about anywhere and it wouldn't do any of us any good if we're stepping all over each other. They were heading west so I head east singing, "Raise a little hell, raise a little hell, raise a little hell..."
Five miles, I hiked up and down steep gullies, side-hilling over deadfalls, and pushing through thick patches of spruce saplings to check out some waterholes and wallows that haven't been used in weeks. I obviously didn't learn my lesson from the other day because my attention, at some point, went back to recording some B-roll on the GoPro. I actually walked right up to a little Northern Saw Whet-Owl.
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| Look closely. He's in there. |
Frustrated, my legs burning making each step resemble the confidence of a 12-month-old toddler, I decided to find my way back to the trail and out to the truck. Head down, inner dialog in full defeatist mode, my mission was to beat the dark back to the parking area and to the cooler that awaits my arrival.
I take the switchbacks into the last drainage, my gate picking up speed like a horse trotting back to a barn full of oats. No matter what the rider does, this horse ain't changing course and ain't slowing down...but for one exception; a hundred yards from the parking area and well within sight of the truck, I hear the subtle sound of a calf elk calling to mom.
"Eee'eww," she calls back.
"Are you f'n kidding me," I think as I grab my cow call and join in the conversation just to confirm I'm not losing my mind.
The bull, who's been courting this cow/calf combo rips a, "huff, huff, huff, whoo-eeeez," from only about 30 yards away but behind a group of junipers.
I look at my watch. There's no way this could be happening. I've got about 3 minutes before FWP says it's too dark to shoot. The first thing I think of is someone has to be punking me, right? That, or it's a sting and a game warden is testing my integrity. There's no way, after hiking the hellish 5 miles I hiked, that I come right back to my truck and there's a shooter standing up-hill, less than 100 yards from loading it into the truck bed whole and driving home.
I nock an arrow, just in case my skepticism is unfounded. (Number three.)
All the bull has to do is take a few steps to my right and, "thwack."
He snorts/grunts again but doesn't move. I look at my watch again.
For about five minutes, I wait for him to step out but he's not confident I'm the cow he thought he smelled as I have doused a sent wick with estrous cow urine, which is what I think triggered the conversation in the first place.
Confident the legal shooting hours have expired, I decide to sneak down to my truck and get out of there. My frustration and feelings of defeat have shifted to hope as I know I haven't busted these elk out of there. I theorize where they will be in the morning and how I'll put myself in a better position to intercept them.
Four-thirty in the morning comes quickly. I'm already awake as I hear the coffee maker gurgling and dripping, true to its word for auto-starting at the time I asked it to the night before. I never trust those things, partly because I don't believe that something so cheap could be reliable, but mostly because I don't trust I've successfully figured out how to set it. But it did its job so now I can start mine.
I park at the parking area and head up-hill. I get to the exact spot where I busted the big six while reclaiming the fire-pit and once again, get busted by three elk as I turn my gaze into the small opening they were feeding in just a second too late. I watch and listen as they crash their way through saplings and over dead falls, disappearing into the dark timber.
"Shit."
I work my way out to the trail and start heading back to the truck thinking about the sausage and eggs and huckleberry pancakes from Steve's Cafe I am absolutely going to crush in about an hour and a half. Head down, my stride stretching out to a generous yard and a half, my brain has already left the back country, frantically waving to my body to catch up.
Something snaps me out of my breakfast fantasy. It could have been a sound or a flash of movement. Whatever it was, I look up to catch the ass-end of an elk as it wheels and darts off the trail 40 yards in front of me.
I cow call and a bull bugle's back a couple hundred yards up-hill from where this elk was heading. I hear another cow call below me. I somehow have walked myself between the cow and the calf. I nock arrow number four and think about waiting it out, speculating what just happened.
It's evident to me that in my haste, I was just quick enough and just quiet enough to position myself right in the middle of this group of elk, totally on accident and completely undeserving. I had already checked out. My head was at Steve's, not in elk country. And now, I have a pretty good idea that the cow and bull are above me and the calf is trying to figure out how to get re-assembled with its family. This is causing some pretty serious trepidation in me. I can't see the calf, but I can hear it. I know the bull only cares about the cow so he's not going to come the calf's rescue and the cow is too smart to show herself. My only shot will be at the calf as it crosses the trail to get back to mom...
I place my arrow back in the quiver and take two steps. I watch the calf crash out of site. On to Steve's...
Back to the fire and number arrow number five...
After drying out and warming up around the fire it took us two lighters, a half a roll of toilet paper, and over an hour to start, Nathaniel and I decided we were there to hunt, not B,S. around a fire, although it was good to catch up, so we head a little further into the series of parks where I've been seeing these elk and blow on the bugle. Nothing.
We cross the park to the east and do a series of cow calls and then some light bugling. Again, nothing. We wait a few minutes and call again and continue this pattern for about 15 minutes. Nobody wants to play. We wait a few more minutes without calling and to our surprise, a young bull chimes in.
"Huff, huff, huff, huff," is all he's willing to give us but it's enough.
We go after him, huffing back occasionally in order to get his position. A couple times we set up and cow called, trying to get him to join our party but he's not committing. But he's not busting out either and he keeps huffing back, adding a light bugle every so often. He's obviously curious but skeptical a lot like the way I felt the last time I was at the dealership and Jimmy was doing his best to talk me into a Dodge he was trying to get off his lot. I'll listen out of respect but I ain't buying. What I really wanted was the Ford I saw you had posted on-line so show me that one.
We creep further towards this bull's bedroom and as we get closer, I wonder if we shouldn't set up again and try to call him in. We haven't called to him for about 10 minutes. In that time, he has bugled--a little more like a real bugle from a bull that might be getting a little more frustrated and little more curious and maybe even a little more desperate. I wonder if he has started heading our way, looking for us.
Side hilling over slick, wet grass and snow, the prudent thing would be to let him come to us. I decide we should continue on and try to bump into him or at least, get closer before trying to call again. We go fifty yards, pass by a group of trees and I catch movement 60 yards above us. I see just enough of him to count the 5 tines on one side of his head gear. He wheels and takes a few steps getting behind some saplings. I cow call, nock arrow number five, and range the tree next to the thicket where's hold up at 63 yards.
"Come on, step out," I'm praying to myself but instead, he walks up-hill and only passes through an opening after getting out of range and just long enough to watch his ass disappear into the timber.
"Shit."
By the time we got to number five, we were a long way from the truck. Sunset was around 7:35 and it was about 6:45 when we left the bull. We got back to the truck at 9:00 and that was with a steady walk along a somewhat well-traveled trail for 80% of it. As Garth would say, some of God's greatest gifts are unanswered prayers cuz we might still be there packing him out if he had presented a shot. It was cold and miserable and sometimes the story is better than the consequences of dealing with the kill. I'm ok with that one.
Still got a few more days to hunt and my legs are less jelly this morning and more New York strip. Time to get moving.
Keep 'em where they live...
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