My Dad's had a pretty good hunting career, including a pile of nice whitetail. For whatever reason though he's never been able to tag a bull. Not killing elk just runs in the family I guess.
Dad killed a buck on Thursday, so with the weekend open and no deer tags left, we headed to a part of the state that holds a lot more elk then our local spots.
Within the first fifteen minutes of light I had two bulls located feeding on a distant ridgeline some 4-5 miles off. We watched them head into a little patch of timber, then headed for the nearest trailhead and took off. We had one little knob in sight that we figured might give us a chance at locating them bedded in the timber.
Four hours later and a lot of me trying to motivate Dad got us up to the base of the knob. He had about had enough, so I crept up first to peak over and start picking apart the timber. To my surprise, the bulls didn't even make it in to the timber and were bedded in plain view in the sage above it, 340 yards from the knob I was on. With a few choice hand motions on my part, Dad suddenly found his reserve tank and was on the knob and in shooting position in a hurry. A little buck fever might've been at play, but he made good and had his first bull on the ground. Pretty sure if he had the energy he would've been doing cartwheels up there.
The knob in the background of this one is the one mentioned above.
The other bull was smaller, and hung around for a bit after Dad's bull dropped. We thought about making it a double, but better judgment took over and we left that guy on the hill.
After a big load that night and a sled ride the next day, Dad's bull was loaded up and we were headed home. Definitely a weekend I won't be forgetting anytime soon.
Dad killed a buck on Thursday, so with the weekend open and no deer tags left, we headed to a part of the state that holds a lot more elk then our local spots.
Within the first fifteen minutes of light I had two bulls located feeding on a distant ridgeline some 4-5 miles off. We watched them head into a little patch of timber, then headed for the nearest trailhead and took off. We had one little knob in sight that we figured might give us a chance at locating them bedded in the timber.
Four hours later and a lot of me trying to motivate Dad got us up to the base of the knob. He had about had enough, so I crept up first to peak over and start picking apart the timber. To my surprise, the bulls didn't even make it in to the timber and were bedded in plain view in the sage above it, 340 yards from the knob I was on. With a few choice hand motions on my part, Dad suddenly found his reserve tank and was on the knob and in shooting position in a hurry. A little buck fever might've been at play, but he made good and had his first bull on the ground. Pretty sure if he had the energy he would've been doing cartwheels up there.
The knob in the background of this one is the one mentioned above.
The other bull was smaller, and hung around for a bit after Dad's bull dropped. We thought about making it a double, but better judgment took over and we left that guy on the hill.
After a big load that night and a sled ride the next day, Dad's bull was loaded up and we were headed home. Definitely a weekend I won't be forgetting anytime soon.
