Hunter's first elk

What a way to finish off our 2012 big-game season. This was Hunter's first ever elk hunt, a cow tag that was valid for three weekends in a unit near the house. We planned on hunting all six weekend days if needed, but after his 2 hour blacktail hunt a few weeks prior we both hoped his lucky streak would continue. Although he was excited to go after his biggest-bodied animal yet, I could sense some hesitation in my son's confidence in both hunting and killing an elk.

His hesitation came from hearing story after story of how amazingly strong the Roosevelt elk is. He looked at the small .25 caliber 110 grain bullet and wondered if such a small copper pill could administer a proper lethal dose on such a gigantic animal. "I don't know son, simply put the bullet in the right place and it'll work just fine. Oh yea, don't forget...no pressure," was my calm response which probably didn't help with his anxiety.

For those that haven't had the chance--blessing-- to be around Roosevelt elk, they are significantly larger in body-size than their Rocky Mountain cousins. Their habitat can be downright intimidating--at first--: steep, dark, wet, quiet, and a remote piece of real estate. But something happens after spending some time in those coastal mountains. You learn the elk travel routes, their bedding spots, their hang-outs, and suddenly those once-intimidating rain forests of the northwest aren't so intimidating. These vast mountains become magical, wild, unbelievably beautiful, and full of life!  

To hunt these forest giants you could spend your time glassing the clear-cuts hoping to catch them out in the open by morning and evening. I wanted to teach Hunter a different method that would bring us closer and more personal with these animals. Our strategy was we'd look for areas with promising elk sign and a certain topography. Then we'd slowly follow tracks and sign on foot.

So for three weekends we walked...

And walked...

and walked....

The first two weekends we never even saw hide nor hair of elk. We found lots of elk sign and really enjoyed our days slinking around through the heavy-canopied forests. After the second weekend, we were home eating dinner and in family conversation the question was asked, "If you could be any kind of animal, what would you be?" My typical answer is a golden eagle. They can fly, they are protected, they are on the top of their food chain, and they get to hunt all day. Laynee wanted to be a unicorn, as always. Hunter's response was a cow elk in the Tioga. "No one will ever find you in that forest". It was right then that I realized my boy had zero confidence that his dad would find him an elk.

I have my excuses but I won't share them all. The first weekend, a heavy snow storm hit with a fury shutting down the majority of the higher-elevation areas that I was familiar with so we were forced to hunt other areas. After two weekends, we always felt like we were a day or two behind the elk. Bad luck I guess. Finally, the last weekend was upon us. We pulled up on our ridge just as a slice of sunrise divided the eastern horizon from the heavy cloud cover overhead. The red glowing sun lit a fire of hope and optimism in my chest...today was the day, no matter how far we'd have to hike.

 Late morning found us in a patch of old growth timber. The amount of elk tracks and poop coming in and out of the towering firs was unbelievable. Any second now... I whispered in my head slowly scanning ahead into the openings between the millions of shades of green. I spied a blonde spot 100 yards ahead.

I knew what I was looking at, but for the first time in a reeeally long time I hoped this blonde spot was not  sporting heavy, black antlers. I hoped it was a cow elk...but I knew better; a lone elk in late winter bleached as tan as a camel, and a well-kept mane the color of a Hersheys bar. If someone would've bet me, I would have laid a thousand dollars it was a mature bull  before verifying with the binoculars.

Look closely  midway up and between the firs directly above Hunter's forearm. See the blonde spot?

Bull or cow, Hunter was just excited that we'd finally come across our first elk of the hunt! A roiling brook separated us from the the bull muffling our clumsy steps as we inched our way to 60 yards of the forest beast. We could have got even closer as the bull laid it's tired head on the soft soil. He looked exhausted as if  he was still catching up on sleep from the rut-crazed binge party he attended last September. Hunter stared in awe while I reread his elk tag hoping I'd somehow misunderstood this hunt and it was actually an "any elk" tag instead of an "antlerless" tag.

Damn Murphy and his laws! I mumbled under my breath stuffing the tag back in my wallet. I explained to Hunter that only 1 out of 15 elk are bulls on the unit. And of those bulls, 1 out of 50 are the size of this toad. He was speechless...and confused weighing out the odds wondering if we were lucky or unlucky to see such a nice bull while cow hunting. We continued on our way with a lighter step.

Heavy 6x6 bull. 

Morning turned into afternoon and  I was growing tired, losing bits and pieces of hope and optimism with each footstep back towards the pickup. "We only have time for one more hike," I threatened Hunter acting as if I was ready to just go home and the only reason I was really going to do one more hike was because Hunter was begging and pleading to tromp around in the wet forest for another couple hours. It wasn't like that. I could tell Hunter was almost as discouraged as I was but he didn't dare show it because he is smart and he has learned that any sign of weakness on his part would translate into dad becoming a motivational speaker/coach followed with a lesson on hard-work. I think Hunter kind of liked observing how his dad was handling our lack of success.

It wasn't time to quit. We tightened up our boots for one more good hike. Right away we found evidence that at least one elk had moseyed down the same trail in the last day or two. We'd suddenly forgotten about our tired legs, what mom and the girls might be doing at home without us, or any other thoughts that race through your head when you aren't fully in-tune with the hunt. With the fresh sign, we were like two blue ticks on a hot trail. We zigged and zagged, we crissed and crossed every good looking spot in the basin always one step behind the elk. We finally hit the old road grade that led back to the pick-up and followed it until a downward thermal carrying the distinct sweet smell of elk rushed into our nostrils. I stopped and looked upwind with my nose in the air.

I felt more like a wolf relying on its olfactory to hunt, rather than a human who rarely uses it's nose for more than smelling what's for dinner in the stove pot. "It smells like there are elk up there, what do you think?" I asked. "I don't know" was his automatic reply. He was starting to act like a pack horse who could sense the horse trailer was nearby after a long day on the trail.

 It would have been so easy to walk the remaining 300 yard stretch to the Chevy...but then we would never know what was waiting for us upwind. We elected to follow our noses. Although I've hunted this spot many times, I'd never been up in this section of big timber. It was beautiful with large flat benches covered with elk rubs and sign. Unfortunately, we didn't see any elk so we looped back towards the old road with Hunter galloping behind me. We just walked over a small rise when two large cows jumped up from their afternoon beds. They looked just as surprised to see us and we were to see them as they bolted downhill directly away from us.

Of course I was acting like I normally do when put in such a situation, like a starving chimpanzee on crack. (cue the banjo music) Hunter pulled the .257 WBY to his shoulder and thought maybe he could thread the small bullet through layers of fir and cedar limbs with an off-hand shot. I couldn't blame him for trying being this had been our only shot opportunity in 3 weekends. I was busy trying to say calm while barking directions. He squeezed a prayer and the cow ran off. The cow didn't appear to look hit to me and Hunter said he was unsure of the shot. We ran down to where the cow was standing and found her tracks just as the rest of the herd came running right past us!

One at a time, the elk ran within 60 yards. None of them appeared injured so we quickly jumped on the tracks of the cow he had shot at. We found that the cow had circled around and joined the rest of the herd. No blood nor sign of being hit. Feeling confident that the cow was back with the herd, we followed their tracks and quickly caught up to them as they were tightly banded together looking in all directions for any incoming danger. Still, no sign of an injury from the cows. Closer, and now planted on his butt with a steady knee, Hunter picked out a lone cow and squeezed the trigger. All I could see were young bulls so I grew a little nervous. He said he was sure of the hit and he was sure it was a cow. I trust him 100%. The herd vanished and the woods quieted down to a light ringing in my ears. We listened closely. Slowly the sound of the rushing creek amplified in my ears as if on cue, followed by a large "thump" and a long exhale. The sound of lungs coming to a close.

You ready for the best part of the whole hunt? This beast was huge and from where it fell, I could see the old road grade below. That's right,with two big heaves the elk rolled down to the road where with some careful driving I was able to pull the pickup right up to the elk. Hunter removed the 100 lbs of innards and with some more tricky and painful moves, we pulled, pushed, lifted,slid, and cursed 500 pounds of cow into the back of the pickup. Yup, me and Hunter and our aching backs all by ourselves.

Am I proud? Yes. Am I glad it took three weekends to kill his cow? Yes. (Warning here comes my motivational speaker/coach side) Hunter learned that the harder you work, the luckier you get. I feel lucky to take my son out for three weekends in a row into the mountains for alone time and watch him transition from a boy to a man.