Mountain Mule

As I rounded the corner coming into camp, I could see headlights bopping around our primitive camp table.  At first, I panicked because I thought they might have been up waiting for me but turns out the fellas were up getting their morning coffee ready.   As they saw me walking up, they said “holy-$hiT are you just getting back” it was 4:30 a.m…

Rewind to the previous day… I was working my way up the drainage and heard a bugle from further up.  More like WAY up.  Thankfully I had a small creek in the middle of the drainage that helped me ascend quickly and quietly.  I ended up sneaking into about 200 yards of the bull before deciding to hold tight and assess the situation.  The wind was horrible, and I thought I was already too close but figured I’d sit tight and try to put a game plan together.  After watching for a bit I saw a cow, then another.  It turned out he had 10-12 cows with him.   While I was excited knowing I had a shot at the herd bull, I would have been just as happy volunteering one of his cows for the freezer.

I started up the drainage in a t-shirt knowing I’d be sweating my ass off as I picked up vertical elevation, but just sitting there I started to shiver.  I had another layer in my pack but didn’t want to risk pulling it out.  Both because I didn’t want the extra noise and movement but also because I’d been wearing it all week and it had enough funk to clear out the whole hillside.  I ended up sitting about two-hours waiting for the wind to settle down.  While I was keeping tabs on the herd deciding when would be the best time to make my move, I noticed they were somewhat feeding in my direction.  I had two cows drift past at 90 yards but there was a slight ridge and the others were on the other side and out of sight.

After the cows had fed past I decided I needed to make a move and get up to the ridge, although when I got to the top I couldn’t see any elk.  The hill I just climbed was covered with ferns and skunk cabbage (false hellebore) which had already died on the vine and was super crunchy.  I was worried they heard me and bolted.  Moving slowly across the top, I spotted a cow and satellite bull about 200 yards out.  Right then I heard the herd bull bugle from further up the hill (he sounded much further away which confirmed my fears) and the satellite ripped back while tearing a tree to pieces.  I kept making my way up the hill making a ton of noise, trying to navigate through the scrub oak.  The bulls either thought it was Big Bertha or the fat hunter that had been pursuing them.  I put them at ease with a few cow calls and my patent-pending – pulling up leaves and grass to simulate a feeding elk.

In all honesty, I think it was that last tactic that really sealed the deal and totally put them at ease.  I had even noticed that I could hear the cow that had drifted past earlier grazing at 90 yards.  The herd bull screamed again although sounding much closer this time.  I pushed through one last thick patch of scrub oak “grazing” as I went.  As I cleared the thick stuff I looked up and could see him at about 50-yards, he screamed again.  I really didn’t know what to do and in desperation threw out a cow call.  He immediately screamed again, did a 180 and started in my direction.  He was closing fast, I drew back as he tilted his head to clear the last passage in the scrub oak he turned and was walking directly toward me!  At 12-yards I dropped the string.

I was attempting a frontal shot, but my placement was a little higher than I wanted. In full disclosure, I was a tad rattled having the “Big Dog” scream in my face and about run me over.  He spun and took off, it was minutes before last legal shooting light and getting dark.  I walked over to where I last saw him and immediately found blood.  I started following to see what I could see and I wanted to get a good feel for what I was dealing with in the daylight vs. by headlamp, but really should have given him the prescribed 30-45 minutes.

The blood trail looked like a crime scene.  But I’ve been on a lot of blood trails and I’ve imposed my own rule, never to allow myself to get excited until I recover the animal.  But I thought for sure he was dead based on the sheer volume of blood.  I had just arrived at a pool of blood the size of a bathtub when he jumped up from his bed about 50-yards ahead of me and took off running across a small ridgetop.  I couldn’t believe I’d just pushed him and cursed myself for being in too big a rush.

He had already covered maybe 400-yards, all uphill, which was also making me nervous, so I decided to give him some more time and to go back and get my pack (which was still sitting where I had waited them out for two hours down below).   By this time it was dark, I took a few bearings of distant peaks and trees I could see illuminated by the moon-filled night sky and went to get my pack.

I made it back to where I had jumped the bull and spent the next 2-hours sorting out the trail by the light of my headlamp.  I told myself I wasn’t leaving until I’d exhausted all my options.  At some point, there was blood everywhere and others I would find a drop 25-yards past the last speck, it was nerve-racking.   At 11:45 pm, I was super relieved to have found my bull.

I used my satellite texting device (InReach Mini) to let the camp know all was well but it would either be a super late night or maybe an all-nighter.  But as I was texting, I noticed my phone had 6% battery life and it just so happens to function as my GPS.  By the time I got my texts out the phone was dead.  I prayed my headlamp would get me through butchering and back to camp before it puttered out.  The bull had a huge body and was laying on a super steep hillside, making for horrible working conditions.

I’m normally pretty good with my knife and can make pretty quick work of an elk.  But working solo on the side of the hill, exhausted in the middle of the night it took almost 2-hours.  I remember at one point having a leg over my shoulder and working inside out and upside down, totally covered in blood.  I finished up right at 2 am.  Now came the predicament of navigating back to camp in an area I’d never been before (about 3-miles) crossing multiple drainages, ridges and basins navigating solely by headlamp.  Even though I was exhausted I don’t think I’ve ever navigated so flawlessly; I don’t think I made a single misstep the entire way back.  I could never claim that hiking around during the daytime it always seems like I should know where I’m at, but there are so many folds and wrinkles where we hunt I’m always scratching my head.  And although I could discern distant ridges, I was never 100% sure that what I was seeing was truly what I thought it was.  I told myself that if at any time I started to question where I was, I’d call it and hole-up for the night.  Thankfully when I reached the rim of “Elk Valley” I finally knew where I was, about 1-mile from camp and had some pretty decent game trails to walk the rest of the way back.

Upon arriving back in camp, since the fellas were already up, I had some dinner while they ate breakfast.  I finally went to bed about 5:30 am, just over 24 hrs. of being on my feet.  After catching a couple of hours of sleep I made my way back over to pack quarters to where they’d be accessible by our horse packer.  Drew met me over there to give me a hand.  Between the two of us, we had them to a horse trail and were back in camp later that evening.  Sometimes I wonder if I should take up golf?

I should mention Drew will be receiving an honorable mention for the hunt after dropping a bull with a heart shot minutes into our second day of hunting and making it look oh-so-easy and for helping me pack quarters!

Other than the usual forced marches, missed shots, close calls, swirling winds, heart & tongue stew, it was just another week at elk camp.

I LOVE going into October with a full freezer!