hunt_and_fish
09-27-2010, 04:00 PM
Here are the details of the elk hunt we returned from last week. I wrote this one up more like a novel than a short story. If you don’t have the time or don’t feel like reading it, you can scroll to the bottom and read the extra short version. Take your pick.
LONG VERSION
As I rushed to get into position, re-check the wind (which of course was now headed in the worst possible direction) and setup my shooting tripod, the bull screamed out another bugle; a sequel to the first one that had rang out just 30 seconds earlier. This one was much closer. I looked up and saw him at the edge of the field, 270 yards away. This was it. I was finally getting my chance; a chance that I had been dreaming of for a very long time.
You see every hunter has a special connection with a certain species. Whether it’s the one they grew up hunting every year, the one with which they’ve had the grandest adventures chasing, or maybe it’s the one that, despite their best efforts, they just can’t seem to put on the ground. My relationship with elk has been built on elements of all of the above but what my elk obsession really stems from is the passion that both my father and my grandfather displayed for that same species.
Although they both hunted for the better part of their lives, they got a late start at chasing elk. My father would have been in his 40s and my grandfather in his late 60s when they decided one year to travel down to the Kootenays and try their hand at elk hunting. It was a long drive from the central interior of BC to the Rockies in the southeast corner of the province. Once their though, they immediately fell in love with the entire package that elk hunting has to offer. They started going every 2 or 3 years and it soon after became and annual tradition. The camp gradually grew with gear and people. As young members of our extended family matured, they were invited to elk camp.
So it was shortly after I turned 15 that there were whisperings around the house that I may be able to get away from school for a week in September to join the camp I had heard so much about throughout my young life. I had been asking to go for as long as I could remember but now it was actually going to happen. My foray into elk hunting was everything I had dreamed it would be and more. The country they inhabited was beautiful. The animals themselves were majestic. The bugle of a bull elk quickly became my favorite sound in the whole world. Camping in a wall tent with friends and family was perfect. At elk camp, the food tasted better, the water was clearer and colder, the sky was bluer and the stars were brighter. You get the point.
http://i225.photobucket.com/albums/dd64/1979ryan/IMG_3433.jpg
http://i225.photobucket.com/albums/dd64/1979ryan/photo13.jpg
Although my father and grandfather were around to see a few elk hung at our camp and although they both had some close calls over the years, neither of them took a shot at an elk.
Like his life, my dad’s elk hunting career was cut far too short. Despite quitting smoking 7 years earlier, he passed away at the age of 53 (11 years ago now), taken by emphysema, a disease that can make a flight of stairs seem more like a mountain, and one that obviously inhibited his ability to be a successful elk hunter. He never complained though. Even when his lungs were on their last legs, he was just as excited as anyone else for an upcoming elk hunt. As his disease progressed, his contributions to the hunt just came more in the form of scouting from the truck, looking for elk sign, and many hours of glassing slides with the hopes of spotting a bull for the younger guys to chase.
My grandfather passed away about 5 years after my dad. His last elk hunt was at the age of 87 when he joined me and a good friend of mine on a 5 day hunt north of Elkford. It was a trip that was full of adventures and stories, including having our camp invaded by a grizzly and our truck charged by an incredible bull moose, only to avoid it by a mere inches, much to the surprise of the bull. I think Grandpa told everyone in the family those stories 10 times in the months after we returned. He even told them to me a couple times as though I hadn’t been there to experience them myself. Like usual the stories were even better when he was telling them so I didn’t mind listening. Throughout his time at elk camp, he was always the head story teller. It was a talent that never faded.
Over the years, university, work and life in general got in the way but I still managed to go on 7 more elk hunts over the 16 years following my first. I remember every one of them like it was yesterday. The elk just seemed to have my number but that didn’t keep me from going back – it was always great whether somebody in camp killed an elk or not. My passion for hunting elk only grew after losing my mentors but 2010 would be only the second elk hunting trip without either of them there. Over the past few years I had been reading everything about elk hunting that I could get my hands on and soaking up every bit of elk knowledge that anyone was willing to pass along. One huge resource that my father and grandfather weren’t around to fully benefit from is the internet. They didn’t have an Alberta Outdoormen forum, filled with other hunters to learn from and they didn’t have access to great sites like elk101.com to watch and learn from guys that kill elk every fall. So although I’d only chased the elusive elk once in the past 5 years, I was confident that besides maturing into a better hunter in general, I was also now better prepared than ever to put an elk on the ground.
Our 2010 elk hunting trip was born in the spring when my friend John and I decided that all of our draw priorities could use another year of seasoning and elected to 999 everything. I suggested that we do a general elk hunt in mid-September (during the rut) around Spirit River. With John having a young family to tend to and me being a bit undisciplined with my vacation time we decided we’d head up on the 16th and hunt from the opening day (17th) until the morning of the 21st and then head home; a short but hopefully sweet trip. My cousin, Toby called me during the summer to see if I had any hunting plans set for the fall so I invited him along. Our hunting party was now set at 3, which was a perfect size for my old 12x14’ wall tent. The next step was to gather as much information on the area as possible. Based on a little research on hunter success we knew that the region produced decent elk numbers every year but now was the time to nail down some specific areas to hunt.
I contacted Brownbear416, one of the moderators on the forum here. He had offered me some advice about the area in the past when I expressed interest and I knew he was a quality guy (other than being a Flames fan). He had been hunting the area quite a bit over the past few years and I’d seen pictures that proved he knew what he was doing. He was very generous with his advice, suggesting several areas to try that all held elk. Equipped with a few good locations to focus on, I made some calls to local landowners to obtain permission and we were set.
We headed up after work on the 16th, set up camp in the dark on an old lease site, and got to bed at about 2:30 AM. We were back up 3 hours later and headed to the most promising looking field that we had permission on. When we slipped out of the truck we were immediately greeted by the raspy roar of a big old herd bull in the concealed back corner of the field. We eased in to the field just before legal shooting light but the elk had already vacated. We gave a few cow calls and tried a bugle but there was no response. After an hour or so we decided to get back to camp and get things more settled now that we had some light to help us.
We spent that evening and the next day hunting the field as well as some crown land a few miles away. We heard the occasional bugle nothing close and nothing that was too riled up. After a late supper on the evening of the 18th we decided that we’d drive over to that first field before hitting the sack to see if we could hear anything bugling in the back corner. We had a feeling with the moon nearly full, the elk would be feeding well into the night. Our hunch was correct. A couple minutes after arriving, I sent out a locator bugle that was met with an anger filled response from what sounded like a fairly young bull. We even managed to spot him on the other side of the field pacing back and forth in the moon light. Our plan was set for the morning. We’d sneak in early and see if we could get him riled back up. I probably would have slept (or not slept) in the field if the other guys were up for it. I was pumped to say the least.
The alarm couldn’t come soon enough. Usually I’m awoken by the chill of the wall tent as the fire in the little airtight stove has almost burned out but with all the excitement I could hardly sleep so I’d managed to keep it stocked up all night. John’s alarm finally rang at 5:00 AM and again at 5:09 and 5:18 as I had hoped to let the guys wake up on their own without me forcing the issue. After 20 minutes though, I couldn’t wait any longer. It was time to get up. Today could be the day. We ate fast...well Toby and I ate fast; there was a bit of comedy when I gave John the look of amazement as he sat down with his second bowl of cereal. I was pretty eager. He eventually finished his corn pops and we headed out. The funny thing is that our timing ended up working just right. Maybe that second bowl of corn pops was just what the doctor ordered.
We arrived at the field and slipped out of the truck into the wall of darkness and cold air and prepared to sneak into the field. We got settled just before legal light and I sent out a bugle but there was nothing sent back in return. We figured the bull must have moved off in the evening so we decided to split up and watch different parts of the field for a few hours of first light and see what it brought. John and I headed to the north and Toby headed west. John and I parted ways about 10 minutes later when we got closer to the back corner. I followed a finger of bush toward the west side of the field and John crossed an opening to the north edge of the quarter, a few hundred yards from me. I had just made it to a nice little spot where I’d sat the previous night when the familiar song echoed from the crown land west of the field. My heart instantly started thumping. He was coming and one of us was going to get a chance at him. It had probably been about 20 minutes since I last called (it was just after legal light now). He must have heard the bugle and was marching in to fight. I rushed to get my pack off, and get my shooting tripod set up. John gave a few cow calls from his position north of me, which brought the bull running, and that about brings us back to where this story started.
A quick squeeze of my bottle filled with corn starch showed that the wind was heading almost directly west. When the bull bugled for the second time, sounding much closer, I looked up to see him at the edge of the field, directly downwind of me. It took him all of 5 seconds to catch my scent and start trotting back towards the timber. I had other plans though. Two sharp cow calls stopped him quartering away and with a squeeze of the trigger on my dad’s old Husqvarna 30.06, the 165 gr nosler partition hit the bull in the shoulder and dropped him in his tracks. I sat back in amazement at how quickly it had happened while I listened to the thudding of my heart gradually slow down. After all those years, it had finally happened; I had killed an elk. Following a few minutes of reflection, I tipped my hat to the skies (I think there were a couple guys up there with smiles just as big as mine) and yelled out the biggest woohooo I had in me. Then, as they say, the real work started. It didn’t seem like work though. I couldn’t stop smiling for the rest of the day; in fact I don’t think I have yet.
Here he is; hopefully the first of many:
http://i225.photobucket.com/albums/dd64/1979ryan/photo12.jpg
Here he is with my hunting partners:
http://i225.photobucket.com/albums/dd64/1979ryan/photo4.jpg
He's not a monster but it turns out he wasn’t quite as young as he sounded.
To top off an already incredible trip, I ended up calling in a nice little 3x3 bull to about 70 yards for my cousin on the evening of the 20th, the last night of our trip. Toby showed great patience waiting for the bull to step out from some bush and expose his vitals and then he drilled him. This was the first elk hunt he’d ever been on. Not too shabby. We never got any field shots of his bull but the memories of calling that bull in on the last night and then staring him down for a couple minute before Toby could get a clean shot will be ingrained in my mind until the day I die. So too will the rest of the trip – just like every elk hunting trip I’ve been on.
I can’t wait for next September.
EXTRA SHORT VERSION
I killed an elk...woooooooohoooooooo. See above for details and pics.
LONG VERSION
As I rushed to get into position, re-check the wind (which of course was now headed in the worst possible direction) and setup my shooting tripod, the bull screamed out another bugle; a sequel to the first one that had rang out just 30 seconds earlier. This one was much closer. I looked up and saw him at the edge of the field, 270 yards away. This was it. I was finally getting my chance; a chance that I had been dreaming of for a very long time.
You see every hunter has a special connection with a certain species. Whether it’s the one they grew up hunting every year, the one with which they’ve had the grandest adventures chasing, or maybe it’s the one that, despite their best efforts, they just can’t seem to put on the ground. My relationship with elk has been built on elements of all of the above but what my elk obsession really stems from is the passion that both my father and my grandfather displayed for that same species.
Although they both hunted for the better part of their lives, they got a late start at chasing elk. My father would have been in his 40s and my grandfather in his late 60s when they decided one year to travel down to the Kootenays and try their hand at elk hunting. It was a long drive from the central interior of BC to the Rockies in the southeast corner of the province. Once their though, they immediately fell in love with the entire package that elk hunting has to offer. They started going every 2 or 3 years and it soon after became and annual tradition. The camp gradually grew with gear and people. As young members of our extended family matured, they were invited to elk camp.
So it was shortly after I turned 15 that there were whisperings around the house that I may be able to get away from school for a week in September to join the camp I had heard so much about throughout my young life. I had been asking to go for as long as I could remember but now it was actually going to happen. My foray into elk hunting was everything I had dreamed it would be and more. The country they inhabited was beautiful. The animals themselves were majestic. The bugle of a bull elk quickly became my favorite sound in the whole world. Camping in a wall tent with friends and family was perfect. At elk camp, the food tasted better, the water was clearer and colder, the sky was bluer and the stars were brighter. You get the point.
http://i225.photobucket.com/albums/dd64/1979ryan/IMG_3433.jpg
http://i225.photobucket.com/albums/dd64/1979ryan/photo13.jpg
Although my father and grandfather were around to see a few elk hung at our camp and although they both had some close calls over the years, neither of them took a shot at an elk.
Like his life, my dad’s elk hunting career was cut far too short. Despite quitting smoking 7 years earlier, he passed away at the age of 53 (11 years ago now), taken by emphysema, a disease that can make a flight of stairs seem more like a mountain, and one that obviously inhibited his ability to be a successful elk hunter. He never complained though. Even when his lungs were on their last legs, he was just as excited as anyone else for an upcoming elk hunt. As his disease progressed, his contributions to the hunt just came more in the form of scouting from the truck, looking for elk sign, and many hours of glassing slides with the hopes of spotting a bull for the younger guys to chase.
My grandfather passed away about 5 years after my dad. His last elk hunt was at the age of 87 when he joined me and a good friend of mine on a 5 day hunt north of Elkford. It was a trip that was full of adventures and stories, including having our camp invaded by a grizzly and our truck charged by an incredible bull moose, only to avoid it by a mere inches, much to the surprise of the bull. I think Grandpa told everyone in the family those stories 10 times in the months after we returned. He even told them to me a couple times as though I hadn’t been there to experience them myself. Like usual the stories were even better when he was telling them so I didn’t mind listening. Throughout his time at elk camp, he was always the head story teller. It was a talent that never faded.
Over the years, university, work and life in general got in the way but I still managed to go on 7 more elk hunts over the 16 years following my first. I remember every one of them like it was yesterday. The elk just seemed to have my number but that didn’t keep me from going back – it was always great whether somebody in camp killed an elk or not. My passion for hunting elk only grew after losing my mentors but 2010 would be only the second elk hunting trip without either of them there. Over the past few years I had been reading everything about elk hunting that I could get my hands on and soaking up every bit of elk knowledge that anyone was willing to pass along. One huge resource that my father and grandfather weren’t around to fully benefit from is the internet. They didn’t have an Alberta Outdoormen forum, filled with other hunters to learn from and they didn’t have access to great sites like elk101.com to watch and learn from guys that kill elk every fall. So although I’d only chased the elusive elk once in the past 5 years, I was confident that besides maturing into a better hunter in general, I was also now better prepared than ever to put an elk on the ground.
Our 2010 elk hunting trip was born in the spring when my friend John and I decided that all of our draw priorities could use another year of seasoning and elected to 999 everything. I suggested that we do a general elk hunt in mid-September (during the rut) around Spirit River. With John having a young family to tend to and me being a bit undisciplined with my vacation time we decided we’d head up on the 16th and hunt from the opening day (17th) until the morning of the 21st and then head home; a short but hopefully sweet trip. My cousin, Toby called me during the summer to see if I had any hunting plans set for the fall so I invited him along. Our hunting party was now set at 3, which was a perfect size for my old 12x14’ wall tent. The next step was to gather as much information on the area as possible. Based on a little research on hunter success we knew that the region produced decent elk numbers every year but now was the time to nail down some specific areas to hunt.
I contacted Brownbear416, one of the moderators on the forum here. He had offered me some advice about the area in the past when I expressed interest and I knew he was a quality guy (other than being a Flames fan). He had been hunting the area quite a bit over the past few years and I’d seen pictures that proved he knew what he was doing. He was very generous with his advice, suggesting several areas to try that all held elk. Equipped with a few good locations to focus on, I made some calls to local landowners to obtain permission and we were set.
We headed up after work on the 16th, set up camp in the dark on an old lease site, and got to bed at about 2:30 AM. We were back up 3 hours later and headed to the most promising looking field that we had permission on. When we slipped out of the truck we were immediately greeted by the raspy roar of a big old herd bull in the concealed back corner of the field. We eased in to the field just before legal shooting light but the elk had already vacated. We gave a few cow calls and tried a bugle but there was no response. After an hour or so we decided to get back to camp and get things more settled now that we had some light to help us.
We spent that evening and the next day hunting the field as well as some crown land a few miles away. We heard the occasional bugle nothing close and nothing that was too riled up. After a late supper on the evening of the 18th we decided that we’d drive over to that first field before hitting the sack to see if we could hear anything bugling in the back corner. We had a feeling with the moon nearly full, the elk would be feeding well into the night. Our hunch was correct. A couple minutes after arriving, I sent out a locator bugle that was met with an anger filled response from what sounded like a fairly young bull. We even managed to spot him on the other side of the field pacing back and forth in the moon light. Our plan was set for the morning. We’d sneak in early and see if we could get him riled back up. I probably would have slept (or not slept) in the field if the other guys were up for it. I was pumped to say the least.
The alarm couldn’t come soon enough. Usually I’m awoken by the chill of the wall tent as the fire in the little airtight stove has almost burned out but with all the excitement I could hardly sleep so I’d managed to keep it stocked up all night. John’s alarm finally rang at 5:00 AM and again at 5:09 and 5:18 as I had hoped to let the guys wake up on their own without me forcing the issue. After 20 minutes though, I couldn’t wait any longer. It was time to get up. Today could be the day. We ate fast...well Toby and I ate fast; there was a bit of comedy when I gave John the look of amazement as he sat down with his second bowl of cereal. I was pretty eager. He eventually finished his corn pops and we headed out. The funny thing is that our timing ended up working just right. Maybe that second bowl of corn pops was just what the doctor ordered.
We arrived at the field and slipped out of the truck into the wall of darkness and cold air and prepared to sneak into the field. We got settled just before legal light and I sent out a bugle but there was nothing sent back in return. We figured the bull must have moved off in the evening so we decided to split up and watch different parts of the field for a few hours of first light and see what it brought. John and I headed to the north and Toby headed west. John and I parted ways about 10 minutes later when we got closer to the back corner. I followed a finger of bush toward the west side of the field and John crossed an opening to the north edge of the quarter, a few hundred yards from me. I had just made it to a nice little spot where I’d sat the previous night when the familiar song echoed from the crown land west of the field. My heart instantly started thumping. He was coming and one of us was going to get a chance at him. It had probably been about 20 minutes since I last called (it was just after legal light now). He must have heard the bugle and was marching in to fight. I rushed to get my pack off, and get my shooting tripod set up. John gave a few cow calls from his position north of me, which brought the bull running, and that about brings us back to where this story started.
A quick squeeze of my bottle filled with corn starch showed that the wind was heading almost directly west. When the bull bugled for the second time, sounding much closer, I looked up to see him at the edge of the field, directly downwind of me. It took him all of 5 seconds to catch my scent and start trotting back towards the timber. I had other plans though. Two sharp cow calls stopped him quartering away and with a squeeze of the trigger on my dad’s old Husqvarna 30.06, the 165 gr nosler partition hit the bull in the shoulder and dropped him in his tracks. I sat back in amazement at how quickly it had happened while I listened to the thudding of my heart gradually slow down. After all those years, it had finally happened; I had killed an elk. Following a few minutes of reflection, I tipped my hat to the skies (I think there were a couple guys up there with smiles just as big as mine) and yelled out the biggest woohooo I had in me. Then, as they say, the real work started. It didn’t seem like work though. I couldn’t stop smiling for the rest of the day; in fact I don’t think I have yet.
Here he is; hopefully the first of many:
http://i225.photobucket.com/albums/dd64/1979ryan/photo12.jpg
Here he is with my hunting partners:
http://i225.photobucket.com/albums/dd64/1979ryan/photo4.jpg
He's not a monster but it turns out he wasn’t quite as young as he sounded.
To top off an already incredible trip, I ended up calling in a nice little 3x3 bull to about 70 yards for my cousin on the evening of the 20th, the last night of our trip. Toby showed great patience waiting for the bull to step out from some bush and expose his vitals and then he drilled him. This was the first elk hunt he’d ever been on. Not too shabby. We never got any field shots of his bull but the memories of calling that bull in on the last night and then staring him down for a couple minute before Toby could get a clean shot will be ingrained in my mind until the day I die. So too will the rest of the trip – just like every elk hunting trip I’ve been on.
I can’t wait for next September.
EXTRA SHORT VERSION
I killed an elk...woooooooohoooooooo. See above for details and pics.