Just a "general season" tag

My whole hunting life, a "general season" elk tag meant an opportunity to hunt elk but with fairly low odds in actually harvesting a good bull, or any bull for that matter. I know Wyoming has it's share of elk and even though I didn't draw a limited quota bull tag this season, I was happy to pick up an over-the-counter general elk tag. 

I prioritized my hunting time to hunt deer and antelope in the heat of the elk rut during September, it seems to work that way most seasons. There were several times in September, I know I could've hit some local spots and have killed a decent bull if I worked at it, but in the back of my mind I remembered my good friend, Dave Fowler, talking about hooking up in October for a bull hunt closer to his home and I looked forward to such a trip.

I know he has had regular good luck for solid bulls in the area in year's past, which is convincing...but even more importantly, it's been years since Dave and I have shared a hunt together. Dave is a native Oregonian and took me under his wing when we moved to the Green State years ago. I shot my first black-tailed deer and black bear in Oregon with Dave within yards of me

Dave  and I working up a ridge for better visibility

The trek into our main camp was long and steep, but the commanding views from on top were worth the journey. We arrived into camp at last light and somewhere to the north a bull chuckled in the frigid, still air. I knew the trip was going to be a memorable one.

The sun disappeared and that first night was definitely the coldest, I'm guessing in the single digits but the sky was littered with more stars than I ever remember seeing. The next morning was pure magic. The mountains, the temperature, the sounds of bugling elk, the remoteness created the perfect traditional elk hunt, like it was right out of a warm elk hunting story from one of David Peterson's elk hunting books.

This is region that is as free and wild as anywhere in the lower 48. Grizzly bears are still king in this ecosystem and we found plenty of their tracks within a quarter mile from camp the first morning. You must respect Mr. fuzzy or you'll definitely pay...possibly with your own life.

One of several bear tracks next to camp

"There's a 6-point Dave" I whispered to Dave as we finally broke into some open ridges with good visibility. "Would you shoot that bull?" Dave asked. I guess in my mind, any 6-point bull on a general hunt would be considered a worthy quarry. Right? "Yeah, I think so...would you?" I responded. He really didn't answer but my conjecture was he wouldn't have shot it."Go shoot it then!" he said.

We made our way closer to the bull when I found out where the bull was headed--an entire band of elk consisting of cows, calves, raghorns, and several herd bulls. "Look at the wide bull up with those 4 cows" I whispered to Dave. "Whoah, check out that heavy, dark-antlered bull raking the pine!" Dave cut me off. I scanned further down and saw the bull Dave had described. It was a beautiful bull with sweeping main beams as heavy as your forearm. There were 7 points on both sides and he looked awesome.

I ranged  the bull...830 yards. I looked for another option to get closer before the elk headed over the crest into no-man's timber for the rest of the day. "Can you shoot that far Burrell? we're not getting closer." I hesitated thinking of the last two hunts in the past two weeks  where either Emily and I hauled that 7 rem mag around with some minor "falls". I knew the rifle could do it, I knew I could do it...I just hoped it was still zeroed in as everything needs to be perfect to make such a long shot.

I laid down and dialed in my come-ups on the turret. I nestled the crosshairs on the big bulls shoulder.  My first shot was a clean miss. Dave couldn't tell where I hit. I tried again with a clean miss. then again. At that point I knew something was wrong with my zero. The bull slowly walked with the rest of the herd over the ridge. I was embarrassed. I was pissed. Suddenly another great herd bull came over the ridge to our right at 350 yards. I was too disgusted to even think about shooting. I told Dave to chase it and I would head back down a mile to camp and check my zero!

At camp, I shot a tight group at 100 yards 2 moa (2 inches) high! At 830 yards, that bullet would be around 17" high--right over a bull's back. I was happy I'd figured out the problem and now bitin' at the bit to get back out for another chance at a bull. I climbed a large ridge and scanned into multiple basins seeing a few elk. The afternoon sun pierced my layers of wool and warmed my body. I could've fallen asleep with comfort, but then I spotted Dave, perched like a mountain lion within a band of rocks overlooking a scattered band of elk that had bedded in the upper edges of a timbered slope--within his shooting range.

I watched Dave for a couple hours wondering if he was going to pull the trigger. A smaller 6-point, a 4-point, and a small group of cows fed slowly within 300 yards from Dave. I could see his rifle was still against a rock by his side, I knew shooting a younger bull wasn't an option especially where he was. It would've been a hell of a pack-out.

Dave is a patient man and I was certain he would lay on those rocks until evening to see what other size bull would come out of the timber as there were plenty of carved-out elk trails coming in and out and the snow which was only 24 hours old.

I continued along my way up the ridge. I finally made it to a ridge looking back down towards where I missed the 7-point bull earlier in the morning. Scanning along the timber edge I spied a dirty blonde color--the unmistakable color of a mature bull. The dark antlers looked wide with decent mass. I could tell it was a beautiful bull, even at 740 yards. Although I had fixed my scope problem from earlier in the morning, I hoped I chad every intention to get as close as I could. I had one chance which required me to face a fear, shimmy down a steep, steep slope.

I made my way down cautiously thinking only about the prize at the end. I made my way to a small knoll and found the bull once again feeding calmly 400 yards below. Take your time Burrell! I whispered repeatedly in my head but I was amazingly calm. The crosshairs settled right behind the shoulder like an anchor and I knew this bull was dead. The bullet impact sounded like a sledgehammer hitting a watermelon. The bullet entered behind the front shoulder and broke the opposite shoulder. The bull was dead within seconds. It's always great when a plan works.

I took some quick pictures and begun disassembling the massive bull on quarter at a time. I would unhinge a quarter, bone the meat off of the leg bones and bag all the meat. Each stroke with the knife blade was quick and thoughtful. There was no time to waste as it's only a matter of when a grizzly bear will smell elk and blood and come and claim my kill. It's a battle between top predators that have gone in since we've both been hunted this country. Sticks broke on the bench just above me. I'm sure it was a bear and I regularly studied my surrounding while working on the elk. I had bear spray on my chest and my rifle laying on the carcass--loaded and ready to kill again if needed.

The Gray Jays found me and my kill. They swooped in to get their share of meat. Their wings whooshing through the air sounded like a rushing bear regularly keeping me on my toes. I wondered how the gray jay evolved to be so tame compared to other birds. While they will land on your head, other birds deem you a serious threat and keep their distant. I was harmless to the gray jays except a snowball to one now and then as they would pick at the precious elk loins that laid cooling down in the snow beside me.

a Gray Jay thankful I was around

 I carried the quarters 100 yards from the carcass and hung them 12 feet up in a pine tree. By this time, I was exhausted. Hunting all day, and then taking care of an entire elk takes it out of you. I put a full hindquarter and all the backstrap loin and tender loins in a meat sack on my back and pointed towards camp as the sun hung low on the western horizon.

I knew quickly the pack was too heavy. I'm guessing 100 lbs. I could only carry it 75-100 yards in the knee deep snow before needing a rest. I wasn't going to risk carrying this meat sack in the dark in unfamiliar grizzly country. After a half mile, I surrendered the hindquarter high in a pine tree and marked the location with my GPS. I would come back and get this quarter later as well, I hoped.... I carried the loins and my tired self back to camp.

Meat sacks high in a tree

Dave was already back at camp and relieved to see me right at last light. After a hot dinner of fresh venison, we decided we would try and kill a bull for Dave in the morning and then tend to my quarters and get them to a safer location. The next morning we made our way to overlook the same ridge where I killed my bull. Elk must like the grassparticularly on this southern-sloped ridge because there were always elk there.  As we got closer, I noticed a decent 6-point bull working it's way across the slope. There were 3 cow elk on the western edge of the ridge, one 6 point bull and various cows on the ridgeline, and one large-bodied blonde bull with it's head in the trees.

We discussed our options and decided we better close the gap and get to the next ridge in-between us and the bull with it's head in the trees. As we topped the next ridge, the bull was beginning to move towards safety, but unaware of our presence. "600 meters" Dave said. "What?" I asked. "Meters?" I asked again. He has a pair of Swarovski bino/rangefinder that he hasn't figured out how to change to yards. The bull is slowly moving to safety. Dave wanted to use my rifle as his wasn't equipped for such ranges. I brought my rifle...for grizzlies, so I left my range finder back at camp along with my trajectory information as my thought was if I had to shoot it was point blank at a bear.

Dave was doing metric/standard conversions out loud as we put the rifle on a pack and he laid prone. I ran the dial to where I thought it might need to be for a 650 yard shot. The bull stopped and the rifle barked with a clean miss. I was fairly certain my come-up was close. I dropped 1 moa or so, and told him to try again. Dave squeezed the trigger and the bullet hit the bull through the heart of the tall, narrow-antlered bull. The bull ran downhill before piling up just 200 yards from where my bull laid.

Dave's bull lays dead on the opposite slope (left of Dave's head 100 yards)

We just did it. We killed two great 6-point bulls in two days on a general hunt. What a great moment to sit on that snowy ridge with a good friend and soak in the moment. A lone wolf track in the snow reminded me that that we are all part of a larger natural web. I love the feeling of playing an integral role within that web as a predator, rather than acting like the architect.

Before heading to his dead bull, we swung by to check the hindquarter I had packed half-way out the night before. A sow and cubs had found the hind-quarter and were able to rip the sack from the tree as I couldn't get the bag too high into the tree. The entire quarter was consumed. The hair on my neck raised and the primal instinct of anger and competition rushed through my veins. That bear stole from me and my family in order to feed her family. I didn't blame her for being a bear, just wished she could have found her own food that night.  We continued along a bear trail to check my other quarters and make quick work of Dave's bull.

My others quarters were not eaten. I think we jumped the bears off of my elk carcass. We saw a sow and three cubs racing for the ridge away from us as we closed the distance. I'm glad that momma had enough sense to pack up and run the opposite direction. We made quick work of Dave's bull and packed his meat down to where mine hung. We made one haul out that day with plans to come back the following the day.

It was a night worth celebrating with a small bottle of whiskey and more elk tenderloin. The following morning we walked in on our trail on top of fresh big boar tracks. In fact, at one moment I froze in the trail as the hair stuck up on my neck. I still don't know what sense gathered information that put me on edge, but after a quick search we found a large grizzly day nest and an elk carcass around the corner of the trail. We were lucky we weren't rushed off of the kill-site.

Grizzly day bed belonging to a big boar. Those tracks could be mistaken for bigfoot tracks

Remains of a buried elk. The area reaked of grizzly and we were lucky nobody was home while our trail was only 20 yards from the site

We were amazed that our meat sacks were left untouched although bear tracks littered the snow below; however, we stayed clear of our carcasses just over the small rise. I'm sure there were 5 bears working the carcasses and we surely would've run into some bear problems. We made two trips in to retrieve our meat sacks that day finishing just before dark.

Below our meat sacks

We only lost one hind quarter to bears from the two elk. I guess in a sense, it's kind of like paying your taxes to the king of the forest. The next morning, we packed all of our gear at first light and headed out of the 9,500 high country busting our way though heavy snow drifts, as hard as semi-dried concrete, before finally ending our trip back at our vehicles at 6,000.

There ARE general hunts that exceed my expectations. I look forward to hunting general Wyoming elk as long as my aging body will let me. And when my body finally says it's done hauling meat out of this incredible country, I hope I have enough stories like this one to look back and smile because I truly lived the way I wanted... I threw myself into the web of nature rather than being a casual observer, I chased down, and killed food for me and my family, living among and outsmarting the other apex predators in a dog-eat-dog world. It feels so natural to me and I can't wait to once again slink along the trail in search of more prey. Thanks Dave for another adventure.

sd

This bull ended up having a 49" inside main beam width

57 years old and packing out the meat just fine