Epic Elk Trip!

If you could dream up the dream elk trip, what would it look like? Back country? Remote? Horses? Lots of elk? Warm wood stoves? Good Friends and stories? 

This hunt had it all. 4 friends, 4 horses, a whole lot of gear, and four bull tags. Earl, Brady, and I hiked in while Tyler hauled all of our gear up with the pack train. We had Earl, from Michigan with us. Earl is a seasoned hunter and wonderful person. He has the proper equipment for such hunt, but unfortunately the one aspect you can't train for is elevation and steepness when you live in Michigan. 

Earl was a bit worn out from the initial hike in and a first-day "death-hike" that Brady took him on. For Brady (The Goat), it was merely a walk in the park I'm sure. For Tyler and I, the first couple days were a bit rough without too much for elk sightings around us...but then it snowed...

A Daily chore, hanging food bags near camp

The snow told a story, and the story was we were hunting too high ofelevation. Earl hunted above camp and was the first to kill on day three of the hunt. He had a nice 6-point walk by but the snow kept him from getting a proper range for a shot. Of course, minutes later, the snow stopped and a 5-point came through. Earl killed his biggest bull just 1/2 mile from camp. 

At that point, the flood gates opened and the rest of us took advantage of the snow and quickly dialed in on bulls. The bull I killed I had spotted the evening before. I had set-off on my own and planned on glassing a ridgeline back towards camp for the evening.  I had found multiple smaller bulls through the afternoon but was only interested in a mature bull. that afternoon I lost my Nalgene bottle from my pack on a glassing point. Trust me, that small tidbit is important later on in the hunt....

It was an hour before dark and I was enjoying the evening, glassing and hiking, repeat. I scanned a small opening tucked in a steep timbered slope 1000 yards away across the canyon. There in the middle of the opening stood a dark-antlered bull. His antlers appeared heavy beamed, thick points, great lengths, and even at that range through the 10x bins, I could see some "funk" on his fifth points. This was a bull I would shoot. 

The 5 mph wind made such a shot a little risky so I chose to close the distance! I ran to the 550 yard mark as the light was fading. I got set-up and scanned the meadow...no bull. I pulled out the tripod and disected the timber and found him standing just inside the treelike. He tucked his hind legs in and settled into a bed, of course with no chance at a shot with all the tree limbs blocking his body.

I laid there till dark hoping he would come back out. He never did and I hiked 1.5 miles back to camp with plans on being set-up in the same spot at first light. My theory is this bull has found this small meadow and has limited his movements from this meadow to the timber that surrounded it. He would never be seen except for from where I was perched. At first light I had to sneak past a solid 300" bull and all of his cows to get into position. 

I was deflated to find my bull was MIA. I sat in the freezing winds scanning and scanning. I questioned my theory. I questioned my sanity. I did find a couple other solid bulls fairly close to the meadow in the timber in the 4 hours I stayed there. I decided the best move might be to drop in the canyon and climb the timbered slope into the meadow, find the bed he used last night, and then trail him slowly. It was going to be "in-your-face" kinda hunting. Sounded fun so off I went. 

I dropped off my perch and before starting through the timber patch up to the meadow, I took the .300 win mag from the pack and chambered a round and slung it over my shoulder. The slope was steep with 5" of snow. Finally, I could see the edge of the meadow up ahead, I put the rifle in my hands. What if he had stepped into the meadow while it was out of my sight for the past 30 minutes? Nah, that sort of luck never happens to me. I pop my head up into the meadow and almost drop my rifle when on the end of the meadow is a huge dark-antlered bull with an over-sized blonde body quietly feeding in the meadow!

The bull lifts his head almost as if he detected my presence. Thats him! He then went back to feeding. I remember telling myself to settle down and that I've got time. yea right! I never ranged, but assumed he was around 160 yards. I lifted the rifle and bull fever got the best of me. The angle of the slope, the tall sage brush, me shaking uncontrollably, made my Atlas prone bipod almost useless. I laid against the slope and pulled a basketball-sized rock from under the snow and rested one leg of the bipod on it. It reduced the shaking 50%. Now I think I could hold the crosshairs and at least keep it within the vitals. Here goes nothing, I'd like to think I squeezed the trigger carefully, but truth is I bet I pulled it in panic. The bull jumped but the closeness and the muzzle brake made hearing impact impossible. 

At this point, I'll use the term "spill lead". I ripped the empty brass from the action, wracked another in, got on my knees and let another fly off hand...and then another! At that point, I knew the bull was immobilized. I stood up praying he would tip over. He took couple fast steps and fell on his side...right in the meadow! The first bullets hit his vitals, the other two bullets hit him two but we won't discuss where. I like killing elk in open areas when I'm in grizzly country, especially when I'm alone.

The bull was a warrior of a bull. I couldn't help but wonder how old he was, how he lived his life, where he summered and wintered, the cows he defended from other monarch bulls during September, the hunters he had eluded. It wore me out pretty good, but I got the bull all broke-down and the meat hanging high in a tree 500 yards down the mountain from the carcass. I couldn't help but pack the head all the way back to camp to show the boys and celebrate. I was definitely proud of this bull.

The night before, I had told Tyler about a good lookout point that might be worth checking out. The day I killed my bull, Tyler headed to the lookout point. Later that night when he arrived to the tipi after the rest of us had already enjoyed supper around the blazing hot stove, he told us the story...

He had spent the evening glassing and seeing a few good 300" bulls. He was just getting ready to leave the point when he noticed something green below him. He recognized it as my Nalgene water bottle. Being the good friend he is, he dropped down to get the bottle. As he is reaching for it he noticed a blonde body below him. He pulled up the glasses and saw a solid bull below him. He killed that bull pushing 330". It will be forever known as the Nalgene bull. 

The following day, Tyler and Earl hauled two bulls off the mountain with the horses, while I went long with Brady. We found some bulls, but Brady was still looking for a 300"+ bull even though we were beginning to run short on time. His late morning plan was to still-hunt a ridge below our lookout. I told him I'd stay put and glass from the point. I also told him to look my way when he makes it onto a distant mountain. If I'm waving like a crazy monkey, it means I've got a shooter bull. Of course, minutes after he leaves, I find two solid bull right below me 150 yards!

It was a long hour before Brady finally appeared on the mountain-top a mile away. He pulled up his binos my direction and I began jumping, waving, and showing the sign of a large-antlered animal! Brady, ripped off a couple layers of jackets, pulled up the binos once more to confirm. I reacted again but a bit more dramatic. He threw his pack back on and came a running. Have I mentioned Brady is part goat, part road-runner? He is one of the toughest men I know.

Long story short, we laid a couple hundred yards from these two bulls and Brady made a great shot on the bigger of the two. We hung quarters till dark and retreated as we knew there was a sow and a couple cub grizz working this area hard. 

What a camp. What a trip. I couldn't have spent it with better guys. Everybody brought their a-game and  because of that, we were all successful. The final trip to the truck was bittersweet. We were leaving the back country, we were leaving a daily and nightly routine we had all grown to love. Of course the grizzlies took their mountain tax and we lost 3 of the 16 quarters to the bear. A small price to pay for sharing their mountains with us, I guess. We had plenty of grizzly sightings including a big boar that loved to walk right through camp in the middle of the night although he never caused problems. I can't wait to be back. Thanks Tyler for the work you put in with the horses.