MTLabrador
Well-known member
I moved back to Montana this year, excited to have more time to hunt. I spent much of September hiking, falling over deadfall, calling poorly, and being made a fool of by elk in a place I had always thought of but never hunted before.
I hiked and I climbed.
I passed up a few smaller bulls, which isn’t a great idea because I’m not a very good elk hunter. I decided that the elk gods needed to be appeased with suffering for me to find success, so I backpacked in and suffered.
I ended archery season without releasing an arrow. Feeling somewhat dejected, I made a plan for opening day of the general season in a place that I have hunted for years. The area I planned to hunt was the first good elk spot I found for myself, and I’ve loved that country ever since. The mountains do not love me back, and this place has a history of beating me up.
After a very tough week of work I decided to let myself sleep in on opening day, planning for an evening hunt. I got up, made coffee and breakfast, and headed for the mountains. Ironically, I told my dad that it seemed like every bull I have killed happened on a day when I thought it was a waste of time to go hunt.
On the way into my spot I saw a great 6x7 bull quartered in the back of a truck, and talked to the hunters for a bit. I left feeling discouraged and a little jealous of their success and my lack of success, but I strapped on my pack, picked up my rifle, and started trudging.
I hiked and glassed without seeing an elk. I eventually decided to call it a day and head back to the truck before dark. What happened next seemed to be a blur. I saw a herd of around 40 elk in front of me. I saw what looked like a nice bull trailing behind the herd. With the clock approaching the end of legal light I raised my .300 Win Mag and fired on autopilot.
I waited to catch my breath and went to look for blood. I initially started to panic as it got darker, following the rest of the herd without finding any blood. After a while I turned back to search in some taller brush and found a beautiful sight as darkness fell.
I was still in shock, but I didn’t waste time as I had seen fairly fresh grizzly tracks an hour earlier. I was able to break him down and pack him back to the truck before I was eaten. Unfortunately he went down in a bad spot for photos.
I made it home and had the meat hanging and a cold smoke in my hand by 2 AM. The 168 TTSX did its job.
I still feel like it’s not real, and it was such blind luck that I really don’t feel deserving of this bull. I do like that he came from a place where I have worn out several pairs of boots looking for a bull just like this. Yesterday was the day that it finally came together, and it felt like my mountains were welcoming me home.
I hiked and I climbed.
I passed up a few smaller bulls, which isn’t a great idea because I’m not a very good elk hunter. I decided that the elk gods needed to be appeased with suffering for me to find success, so I backpacked in and suffered.
I ended archery season without releasing an arrow. Feeling somewhat dejected, I made a plan for opening day of the general season in a place that I have hunted for years. The area I planned to hunt was the first good elk spot I found for myself, and I’ve loved that country ever since. The mountains do not love me back, and this place has a history of beating me up.
After a very tough week of work I decided to let myself sleep in on opening day, planning for an evening hunt. I got up, made coffee and breakfast, and headed for the mountains. Ironically, I told my dad that it seemed like every bull I have killed happened on a day when I thought it was a waste of time to go hunt.
On the way into my spot I saw a great 6x7 bull quartered in the back of a truck, and talked to the hunters for a bit. I left feeling discouraged and a little jealous of their success and my lack of success, but I strapped on my pack, picked up my rifle, and started trudging.
I hiked and glassed without seeing an elk. I eventually decided to call it a day and head back to the truck before dark. What happened next seemed to be a blur. I saw a herd of around 40 elk in front of me. I saw what looked like a nice bull trailing behind the herd. With the clock approaching the end of legal light I raised my .300 Win Mag and fired on autopilot.
I waited to catch my breath and went to look for blood. I initially started to panic as it got darker, following the rest of the herd without finding any blood. After a while I turned back to search in some taller brush and found a beautiful sight as darkness fell.
I was still in shock, but I didn’t waste time as I had seen fairly fresh grizzly tracks an hour earlier. I was able to break him down and pack him back to the truck before I was eaten. Unfortunately he went down in a bad spot for photos.
I made it home and had the meat hanging and a cold smoke in my hand by 2 AM. The 168 TTSX did its job.
I still feel like it’s not real, and it was such blind luck that I really don’t feel deserving of this bull. I do like that he came from a place where I have worn out several pairs of boots looking for a bull just like this. Yesterday was the day that it finally came together, and it felt like my mountains were welcoming me home.
