Posted: Sun Oct 04, 2009 7:43 pm Post subject: I killed an Elk with my catty!!
haha just kidding on the catty part, but i knew it would get you guys here
anyway i just got back from my cow elk hunt and I thought I would share the story and a few pics with everybody.
Opening day, (Oct 1st) was a brisk 22 degrees at the 8,000 foot above sea level canyon me and my father placed our base camp in. we awoke to the deathly silence of the first freeze of the season and a fresh couple of inches of snow. All good signs for a prosperous hunt.
We decided to check our old standby a very large canyon at the end of a flat known as buckhorn ridge. we have taken several elk out of this canyon and our spirits were high as we peeked our heads over the edge of the 800ish foot cliff that gave a glimpse of the large and long canyon. Nothing! ...we glassed every stand of frozen quaking aspen, manzanita, and juniper trees, and not an elk to be had. Furthermore there was no sign of tracks in the newly fallen snow. Our spirits fell as me and my father realized this would not be the easy elk hunt we had experienced in the past.
We decided to drive to the outer edge of an area known as "the pockets" a vast series of canyons and holes that are only accessible by horse or the criminally insane! Upon reaching the edge of the pockets we gaze in, and even though i have looked upon them before I am always struck with awe at the sheer depth and ruggedness of the mishmash of canyons. This place is surely the entrance to heaven if there is one. (at least in the eyes of this outdoorsman)
Still, no elk to be had, as a matter of fact there was no elk, no tracks, no deer, no rabbits, nothing it was as if the whole animal kingdom had packed up and moved south for the winter. my father and i discussed, as we plodded through the snow back to our truck how lucky we were that we did not see elk in the depths of those pockets, because getting one out once it was dead, is more than an undertaking for an old man with emphazima and a his slightly overweight son... I know how hard it would be because we had done it before with my dads bull elk. It was nine hours of gutting skinning and packing up a 70 degree slope with the aid of my brother. A feat I didn't care to repeat for a cow on this sub-arctic morning.
Then just as we arrived back at the truck my father spotted tracks..surely these tracks could not have been that old, the snow had only fallen that night. We started our tracking, now late in the morning the sun getting high and warm, and melting away our only life line to our quarry. Two hours of tracking through high mountain pines and and shale rock slopes slipping and sliding the whole way ended abruptly when the melting tracks led me to the edge of a cliff and into a gorge that I was not willing to dive off of in pursuit.
Clearly disappointed I climbed back up the hill where my father waited for me, smiling as he watched me fall in the snow three times before I reached him only a hundred or so yards away. When I finally got to him all I could do was let out an exasperated wheeze. He looked up into the sky as the sun reached a noonish position, pat me on the shoulder, smiled and started the hike back to the truck, reminding me to take the live cartridge out of my rifle.
After an all too short lunch break we decided to go for a drive to an area high in the mountains that we usually did not venture to, because of the truck destroying, tire popping rocky roads that lead to it. No sign of elk could be found but as we headed for camp, defeated we spotted a couple of trucks heading our way on a two track road up the mountain. As our trucks met and passed we rolled down our window and greeted the hunters noticing the bdooly hands of the passenger. We mentioned that they must have gotten elk this morning. The hunters explained that they had killed an elk up above the ranger station but mentioned that as they where headed back towards camp that they had seen some elk on the flat above cherry creek feeding amongst the free range beef cows. My father and I were quite familiar with the area and we graciously thanked the successful hunters for their tidbit of information, and in a less than poetic hunting moment we drove 50 yards down the road so they couldn't see us and pulled over to the side of the road, scrambling to find our spotting scope tossing hunting jackets and jerky bags all over the cab of the truck, knowing that the flat they spoke of was a mere mile or two away and could easily be seen from the edge of the mountain we had parked on. Dad got to the scope first and put it up to his shoulder on the highest magnification it had.
"I can see the cows but all they look like is black dots, I cant tell if there is elk with them or not!"
knowing that my father's 62 year old eyes are not what they used to be, but unwilling to tell him that for fear of the biggest whooping I have ever received (my father, being a very fit man, due to a strict jogging and weight lifting regimen that he would not break for anything less than a visit from the almighty himself, CAN, and at his whim.. whoop me! ) I graciously "borrowed" the spotting scope from him and scanned the flat. I could see the black spots of beef cows that he spoke of but then I saw something he didn't ...NECKS! Beef cows don't have necks! At least they don't look like they do at this distance. Surely these "long necked" cows were the elk that we were told about by the hunters.
We quickly hopped back in the truck and high tailed it to the nearest access road to the flat. we parked at what we thought was a mere quarter mile from the elk, and began our stalk. We walked, and walked, and walked, and walked! Our quarter mile stalk turned into a two mile death march, the whole time sneaking and sliding around the wary beef cows. (many hunts have been spoiled by a spooky free range beef cow)
Then just as we thought that surely the elk had moved on, my father peeked over the next rise and there they were...SLEEPING we had snuck to within 300 yards of a heard of bedded elk. There was about ten cows and calves and one VERY large bull. (Lord I wished I had had a bull tag)
300 yards was certainly close enough for my Kimber 338. federal rifle to reach out to, especially with the custom ammo I loaded myself that summer specifically for it, and the 180 grain solid copper Barnes bullet i picked out for it had more than enough smack to bring down one of the 700 pound beasts. But I couldn't make the shot! All the elk were laying in the tall cheat grass that grows on the flats and i couldn't see enough of their bodies to get a clean shot. So I pulled my shooting sticks out of my pack and belly crawled closer to the bedded elk. I closed the gap from 300 to 200 yards and could still not make the shot. I dared not get any closer, or stand up for fear of spooking them. My father not understanding my obstruction problem was whispering from behind me "SHOOT!" Then just as I began to think i was out of options one lone cow stood up to stretch her legs, standing perfect broadside to me.
The gun cracked and the recoil thumped against my shoulder. I knew the shot would be good as soon as I touched the trigger and my bullet found its home high in the shoulder exactly where I had my crosshairs. The large cow buckled and fell in the exact spot where she lay, it was so quick and clean that the other elk merely stood up not knowing what made the sound that disturbed their slumber. It wasn't until my father and I arose from the cheat grass that they realized they had been had and trotted off to find safer ground. As always my father laughs and slaps me on the back, "Good shot!" he says.
But all of that is drowned out as if I'm under water and for that moment after "the shot" it's just me and my quarry. Tunnel vision leads me over the the lifeless body of my real partner in this game of kings we call hunting. When I reach her my tunnel vision subsides and the world becomes real again..laughing and cheering, pictures are taken and plans are made for the real work.
Dad treks back to retrieve the truck, luckily the flat is easily accessible saving us countless hours of back breaking packing of meat. before I begin the gutting process I pull some grass and stuff it in the mouth of the cow elk admiring her ivories (my only trophy from this female, besides the meat) and I thank her for her meat. My Dad taught me that. He says its and old Indian tradition, I don't know if that's true or just made up, but i do it anyway.
Other than a mishap with my knife, where my bdooly hands slipped on my bone knife handle and I cut my thumb pretty good
(guess i will have to order a custom knife from Kimmolilja with a guard ...dang!) the gutting and the skinning went well, and in record time non the less.
Now I sit here writing the tale for others to read and share in my experience, and I often wonder to myself. why do I hunt? Its not for the trophy, a cow elk has no antlers, its not for the meat. I could easily buy meat for far less money than it costs to go hunting now a days. Is it the bonding time with my father that I enjoy? Yes, but then why would I go by myself. The adrenaline rush..Maybe..... Maybe its non of these reasons, or maybe its for all of those reasons that I hunt. I don't know but when I figure it out ya'll will be the first to know _________________ "Speak softly and carry a big stick, you will go far" Theodore Roosevelt,
That's one big beasty!! What do you do with it all must have some size of a freezer!
Well done _________________ "You run with the wolves and I'll hunt like a hound!"
heh no kids ...and actually I have 2 freezers to keep my game in. yeah its a lot of meat..it will last me all year at least.
i ate some last night ..tasted good but was a little tougher than usual..she must have been an older cow _________________ "Speak softly and carry a big stick, you will go far" Theodore Roosevelt,
Excuse me for not replying sooner but I read this at 5am this morning,just before I left for work-Brilliant read,well written,with the emotions and feelings leaking out all over the text.
I sometimes think it's a pity I don't hunt _________________
Excuse me for not replying sooner but I read this at 5am this morning,just before I left for work-Brilliant read,well written,with the emotions and feelings leaking out all over the text.
I sometimes think it's a pity I don't hunt
thanks ...I will be the first to admit that hunting is not for everyone..but I have never met anyone that tried it that didnt become a fan for life _________________ "Speak softly and carry a big stick, you will go far" Theodore Roosevelt,
brilliant post,i read every word with eagerness,envy envy envy! ive never hunted a mamal as big as that!
so given that you guts process big game in the field there must be a lot of carcasses about by spring? does this inturn cause a lot of pests like coyotes or bear?
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I know how hard it would be because we had done it before with my dads bull elk. It was nine hours of gutting skinning and packing up a 70 degree slope with the aid of my brother. A feat I didn't care to repeat for a cow on this sub-arctic morning.
...dang!) the gutting and the skinning went well, and in record time non the less.
