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Old 06-26-2008, 04:55 PM   #1
Chunky
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Default Elk Hunt Humor, very long read.

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.
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Old 06-26-2008, 04:56 PM   #2
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When day four produced nothing I decided it was time to change tactics. Calling had produced no results. I figured that with the bad weather and all the pressure the elk would be laid up in the thickest, safest, cover. I felt the only way to get close would be to quietly still hunt the thick areas. The ground was soft and quiet from the recent snow. Mitch did not embrace this idea. I spent half a day trying to slow him down and shut him up. Each time I said something he would cooperate for about ten minutes. He would then slowly increase his pace until he was way ahead of me. He bugled loudly but poorly about every fifty steps. At lunch time I gave up of seeing anything with Mitch. That evening Kevin, Fred, and I went to the absolute highest place on the mountain. It was snowing heavily again and with the wind blowing was about as miserable as a place can be. Fred was wearing so many cloths that he could not have possibly drawn a bow. He looked like a fleece Michelin Man. He sat down and leaned against a tree. Within a few minutes he was completely covered with snow, good camo I thought. I would have given half my kingdom for a bowl of chili at that moment. This type of situation does take your mind off of your normal everyday problems though. It really makes you appreciate your own couch, toilet, warm bed.

I was not having fun so the next day I decided to change that and play a little game. I tried to slow Mitch down a couple of times, but it was no good. As soon as Mitch would get out of sight, I would race around to get in front of him and set up an ambush. I was hunting my guide.

It was pretty realistic because he bulged often, made about as much noise as a medium size herd of elk, and smelled like a big herd! I did this with no arrow on the string of course. When Mitch would step into my shooting lane I would draw to anchor say “Got ya”. He would jump and I would laugh. This system was working very well, I was having a great time and I had taken several “elk”. The “elk” did not appear to enjoying the game as much as I was. I thought he might slow down and stay with me, giving me a chance to hunt for real again. Instead he got mad and threatened to attack me. I had size and age on my side and felt pretty sure I could take him, but the thought of wrestling the stinky, harry, old coot was not appealing. He took off at a fast walk so I changed the rules a little. I would move into position as before, but instead of startling him from a yard or two I would be out at about thirty yards. I would always make sure I had an escape route. When Mitch came close I would cow call or whistle. He would charge my position. I would slip away and watch. This game was really annoying him. He soon picked up a stick and would thrash the bushes where I had called from. My laughter almost gave me away a few times. If he caught sight of me at a distance I would put my hands up to my head like antlers and dance a little. I could almost hear his teeth grinding. I had a lot of fun that day.

That night when he cooled off I tried to explain to him that I was not interested in any more forced marches. If he wanted to do it my way fine, if not I was going off on my own. I wanted to go somewhere where I had a better chance of seeing more elk than hunters. He agreed, but something in his manner left me uneasy. I could see he was planning some sort of revenge. I was on a roll, so I suggested that he wash. The rest of the camp cheered my idea. He grudgingly agreed. I could not believe my eyes when he put the same tee shirt back on after the briefest of sponge baths out of a pot. Figuring that he would be less likely to kill me if there were witnesses I persuaded Fred to come hunt with me on the next day’s hunt. He had been having similar experiences. His guide had shot at the only elk they were in range of. They had also turned over the four-wheeler and Fred was thinking that he would be safer in the truck. He was wrong.

The next morning we loaded up in the Toyota and headed out.
I could tell Mitch was up to something, but being bored, I risked the trap for the adventure. When we came to a clear-cut, Mitch stopped. In the errie glow of the headlights I could see the vehicle tracks. It appeared to me that we were about to cross a very, very, steep piece of wet, snowy, and slick terrain. It was not quite vertical, but I believe that you could stand in one rut and put your hands in the other one without bending at the waste. Mitch put on his safety belt and explained that it was necessary, because if he slid all the way over to our side he would not be able to steer. He told us not to worry and smiled. He was enjoying this little pay back for the day before. I was relieved that this was the worst he had planned for us, until we started across. Mitch gave a maniacal laugh which was so convincing I wondered if he practiced.

About half way across the truck almost went over. I am positive that if I had thrown my weight against the passenger door it would have. My hand was numb from the death grip I had on the door handle. I was on the downhill side but I figured that if I could get the door open after my side cleared the ground the first time, I would take my chances on the outside. I tried not to look out at the inky darkness and wonder how far we would fall. The look on Fred’s face didn’t exactly relax me either. I think the close call scared Mitch also, because he started trying to convince the three of us that he had the situation in hand. He explained to us that he was an expert on not rolling trucks because he had rolled six of them. He went on to say that only five counted for mountain driving though because he had rolled the last one on the highway. I asked how did you roll going down the highway. He said he was trying to get the last little swallow in a bottle of Jack Daniel’s. The roof of the truck prevent him from tipping
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Buff's so deadly...filming him killed my camera!
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Old 06-26-2008, 04:57 PM   #3
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tipping the bottle high enough so he sort of leaned down in the seat and the next thing you know, the truck is rolling over. This story made me feel much better, that and the fact that we made it across. The hunting was no better that day with no game sighted.

That night Mitch felt like he had evened the score and we had even bonded. He came over and sat beside me and started to open up to me. He was down wind so I stayed and tried to be polite. He told me that he had been up in the mountains since the first of August. He said he strongly suspected that he was wanted by the law, but was not a hundred percent sure. He was vague about the actual charges. He intended to stay until hunting season was over, and then if he had to do some time, well that would be okay. He said that he had a terrible year two years before when he “got in a little scrape” at the wrong time and spent all fall in the pokey. He said that involved his no-good brother and the worst part was there was a little window in his cell and he could look out. One late afternoon he heard honking and peered out. It was his brother who had killed a deer. The brother was driving Mitch’s truck, with Mitch’s new rifle, in the company of Mitch’s old woman! The brother was apparently using all these items without permission. It was then he decided to spend all of each fall hunting in the mountains.

The next day was the last in the bargain elk hunt. I was basically going with the flow. Mitch was in front doing his best to go at a slow pace. I was about thirty yards behind him where I could breathe, when I saw him drop to his knees and try to draw his bow. I got low and started forward as fast as I could. He was unable to get his bow to full draw. He let down and tried again. This time the arrow fell off the rest and the broadhead hung on the front of the shelf. I arrived and saw a few mule deer does staring at us from about thirty yards. I pulled back my longbow, but did not shoot. I felt like I could have hit the deer, but my heart said don’t take it. Mitch’s inability to shoot or even get his bow back to full draw sparked my curiosity. I asked him about last year. He said he had hunted every legal day. He had gotten two shots, but had not killed anything. I tried to look surprised.

They say you remember the bad times more vividly than the good. I don’t know about that, but I remember the elk hunt pretty well. I am not sorry I went, it was an adventure. That does not mean I want to do it again.
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Buff's so deadly...filming him killed my camera!
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Old 06-26-2008, 05:31 PM   #4
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Here are a few pics from the trip, unfortunately they like the trip leave something to be desired. LOL.
Attached Images
File Type: jpg elkhunt1pic.jpg (207.8 KB, 14 views)
File Type: jpg elkhunt2pic.jpg (109.8 KB, 14 views)
File Type: jpg elkhunt3pic.jpg (286.7 KB, 14 views)
File Type: jpg elkhunt4pic.jpg (118.9 KB, 14 views)
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Buff's so deadly...filming him killed my camera!
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Old 06-26-2008, 09:35 PM   #5
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That was a great story Mark. Just don't say anything about the dove hunt.
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Old 06-27-2008, 06:14 AM   #6
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Oh that story is coming, and you know how my perception and yours seem to differ somewhat...LOL
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Old 06-27-2008, 11:29 AM   #7
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Mojo / Bob Mac wanted asked me who was who in the pics. I can't remember all the names, but I know Mitch is the one in the long sleeve black shirt...it's all he ever wore.

I think Kevin is on the far right in the group photo. I am making the "antlers" on one of the younger guys. A couple of other were out hunting when we snapped this.

That is Fred "monkeyboy" Velasqueze holding the grouse. He was shooting his Palmer. Then my Bob Lee with a grouse I killed. Me in front of the tent with another grouse.
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