[Chunky]

Here is the true story of an elk hunt I went on a few years ago. Sadly it is not my worst elk hunt.

With a bunch of us going elk hunting this year, I thought some might like to read it. I was oringally going to submit it to the magazine, but realized it was going to be way to large.

I know it is long, but I hope it is funny. Let me know what you think. I have skin as thick as an alligator so I can take it....be honest. I will try and find some pics to go with to post later.

Mark

Just Another Elk Hunt



The adventure started when my close friend and hunt’in buddy Fred asked if I was interested in a guided elk hunt at a great price. I know the story should end right here, but I had previously been on the worst elk hunt in the world and so knew this would have to be an improvement. Fred and I had gone a mooseless moose hunt in Alaska and he knew my standards and funds for a hunting trip were quit low.

Fred explained that we were going with a cousin of a cousin who was not really a “guide”, but was an excellent elk hunter and would “take care of us”. Kevin was going to provide all the camping equipment, food, and one on one guide service for a week or so of hunting for five hundred dollars. These brother-in-law type deals almost never work out well, but I figured a week in the mountains with a good friend would be worth the money regardless of the hunting.

We spent the night a Kevin’s house and he did have some nice mounts. However he informed us that they were all taken with firearms. He was a bowhunter but had not actually killed an elk with his bow yet. He also asked me if it was true we Texan’s said things like; y’all, fix’in, and yup. I said “Yup, what time are y’all fix’in breakfast!”

We proceeded to camp. When we turned off the last paved road we started seeing hunters and camps along the road. A lot of hunters, in fact every flat spot seemed to contain a camp. It was then that I noticed that they were carrying blackpower guns. Apparently our bow elk hunt coincided with the blackpower season. When I remarked on this I was informed that Kevin himself, my friend’s guide, would be carrying a blackpower rifle. As we traveled up the road we stopped and asked a few of the many hunters walking along the road how they had done. The average reply was something like “Haven’t seen a thing, heard a story ‘bout a guy who shot a cow about 10 miles from here. Don’t know if it’s true.” When I commented that the news was not to encouraging I was reassured that we going to the very top of the mountain where others can’t or won’t go.

Upon arrival at camp we were informed that two of the other camp members, also relatives and quite young, had gone out hunting the night before and not returned. It was a very cold night on top of the mountain in the thirteen thousand food neighborhood, with some snow on the ground. I thought my hunt might start with a hunt for bodies, which can be hard to find in the mountains as they rarely bugle, but the young hunters finally staggered back into camp. They at least had the presents of mind to announce that they had not been lost at all, but were conducting a field test on their survival equipment, by the look of them the test had been only marginally successful.

Next I was introduced to my “guide” Mitch. He looked old and weathered. I guess he could have been anywhere from 50 to 70. He was wearing a black tee shirt with a vulgar remark about Christmas and a picture of the Grinch making an obscene finger gesture. As I moved closer to shake hands with him a powerful stench almost knocked me down. When I gagged he said, “Don’t worry that is just elk urine. It’s my thinkin’ that it doesn’t matter what you smell like as long as you have enough elk smell on you”. Someone whispered behind me that Mitch had been in camp three weeks and not washed once that anyone knew of or could tell.

Mitch suggested that since we had a little daylight left we should go out. We went to our hunting vehicle. A tiny Toyota truck. Mitch explained that the starter was bad and that we would have to remember to park on a hill so that we could roll to get the engine started. I decided right then that I would make that a priority since I live a sea level and am a couple of pounds over my ideal weight. The idea of pushing the truck on top of mountain did not seem very appealing. This stratagty accomplished nothing because the other guys in camp would find the truck and roll it to a flat spot preferably hidden in bushes. I found this very annoying, but they seem to get great enjoyment from it.

We drove a short distance and got out of the truck. Mitch got an ancient compound, which may have been the original Allen out. I really did not mind that my guide was carrying a bow and told him so. I really wasn’t interested in shooting cows or doe mule deer so he was welcome to shoot those.

After a short hike we came upon a lone cow elk. She was about 50 yards in front of us and unaware of our presences. There was no apparent way to get closer. Mitch looked at me like go ahead make the shot. I looked back and said “Can you make that shot?” He turned away and so did the elk. I had seen a live elk on day one. Maybe this hunt won’t be so bad after all.

We hunted hard on day two. We would move along bulging every so often and looking for fresh sign. I would have to occasionally stop and wipe my watery eyes from the smell of Mitch. About mid morning we came upon a man and his father who had just shot a spike bull with a black powder gun. I took a few minutes while they were attending to the field dressing to admire the animal. I had seen a dead elk on day two.

Late that afternoon Mitch asked me if I wanted to know where all the elk were. This seemed like a stupid question but I went along. He took me to a place where we could see the next mountain through the binoculars. In several places there were big open fields full of elk. They were just standing around eating big round bails of hay. Mitch explained that it was a private ranch and that 48 hours after the opening of the first hunting season 90% of the elk retreat to this place. We watched them until dark and went back to camp.

That night a storm of storms hit. The experience of this was worth the trip. The screaming sound the wind makes on top of the mountain is incredible. The canvas tent would groan like it was alive and flap like it was trying to take off. In fact it seemed like the trees and everything else was in pain. I lay in my sleeping bag making my plans for when the tent collapsed. There were about ten of us in camp. I felt like the survivors would be the ones who could get dressed first and make it to one of the two trucks. We could not all fit in the two trucks. If it looked like the others were making a break for the truck in their underwear or were faster at dressing, I would abandon my original plan and go in whatever state of dress I had accomplished. I stuck my head out of my sleeping bag. I was going to tell Fred to be ready to make a break for it. I noticed that he looked very large in his bag. He has a low cold tolerance and had gone to bed already dressed in all of his cloths. Advantage Fred. My math said two or maybe three of us were goners. I also decided that if at all possible I wanted in a different truck than Mitch. The tent and all the hunters miraculously survived the night, and I will never understand how.

The next day there was deep, heavy, wet snow. It made the hiking difficult, so I took a break from Mitch, whose canvas pants had frozen solid (noisy every day, unwearable frozen) and set up on a trail that had had something move through since the storm. Before to long I caught movement coming down the trail. It was not an elk but a guy. When he moved into my first shooting lane I let out a little whistle. He stopped and I thought, perfect if only he were an elk. When he could not find me and decided he was hearing things he stared moving again. When he got to my next shooting lane I whistled again. He stopped and I had him again. Then he yelled out “I know you’re in there somewhere.” I stood up and went to talk to him.

He did not have a weapon of any type and was wearing ice crusted tennis shoes. He said he had shot an elk. “Today?” I asked, “No” he said. “Yesterday?” “No, the day before.” He answered. It seems that he had found a herd of elk bedded in the perfect position by the road. He had shot a cow with a black powder gun to feed his family through the winter. He said that shot was good, but the elk had jumped up, ran fifty yards, and leaped off 200 ft a cliff. He said if he pushed hard he could make 2 trips packing meat in a day. Both pairs of his boots were frozen and unusable. I looked at his feet and told him to be careful or he would lose toes or worse. He thanked me for stating the obvious and headed down the trail. On day one, I had seen a live elk, on day two a dead elk, on day three a guy who had seen a dead elk. I could see a trend here and didn’t like it.