Durfee Hills Diary - MT elk hunt
- Thread starter Big Fin
- Start date
drahthaar
Active member
Congrats on your bull Randy!!!
And yes I agree with shoots, it stressed me out just reading. I can see where having such incredible habitat and piles of elk are a draw to both the Wilkes and hunters alike.
But I will just stick to R1, keep on NOT seeing any other hunters and worrying about fences and private land.
And yes I agree with shoots, it stressed me out just reading. I can see where having such incredible habitat and piles of elk are a draw to both the Wilkes and hunters alike.
But I will just stick to R1, keep on NOT seeing any other hunters and worrying about fences and private land.
MNHunter
Well-known member
Congrats Randy!
MinnesotaHunter
Well-known member
Congrats, you guys definately earned that one!
noharleyyet
Well-known member
Quite the foosball hunt... Looking fwd to better pics.
Great story! There are indeed some real idiots out there and it is scary when they have a gun in hand. I had a similar experience this year with some hunters just opening fire on a herd that was way too far out. Later in the day I found a dead elk laying in the field. It was next to another gut pile, so I assume they accidently shot too many and just left it. So sad.
Congrats on your bull! Best of luck to Matt!
Congrats on your bull! Best of luck to Matt!
stillkickin
Well-known member
Congrats to all involved, pretty bull!
elk_hunter
Active member
Super cool! Congrats to you guys making it happen again!
sra61
Member
What he said. Congrats on the bull! I've always said any elk is a good elk, especially on public land. I have come to believe after this fall spending so much time in the woods that maybe there are some big bulls left out there on public ground. Way to go, and thanks for the write up.
jvanderlinde
Member
Nice Elk Randy! Nothing wrong with that bull.
FishN4Eyes
Well-known member
Outstanding read, I enjoyed that and can't wait to read the rest of the adventure.
Good stuff, BF.
Good stuff, BF.
double_a85
Member
Great write up and way to persevere through the fencing changes and succeed. --- Can't wait to hear the rest of the story.
Mica Man
Well-known member
Great story thanks for sharing and congrats on your bull!
teamhoyt
Well-known member
great story so far! once I started reading my office could've been on fire and I don't think I could have quit!
Lv2hnt
Well-known member
Another challenging FT public land hunt --- congrats! Good on you for remembering the Arizona windage factor 
Looking forward to the video (as always) ...
Looking forward to the video (as always) ...
Topgun 30-06
Active member
Excellent, as always, and looking forward to reading about the rest of the hunt!!!
Sorry for the break. Here is the remainder of the hunt. (CONTINUED)
Carrying a heavy load of elk makes one sleep much better, even in a 35+ mph wind beating your tent. Yet, when the alarm rang, I rolled out of the tent, knowing a plan was needed for Matt to find his own bull before liftoff in two-and-a-half days.
We hatched a strategy that went something like this. Matt and Nolan would hike the far northern ridges, moving mostly west, hoping to intercept any elk moving from their night feeding grounds to the public bedding grounds. With any luck, maybe glassing an elk still wandering the hills where we surprised them last night.
I would make a big loop to the south, adding an extra mile or two on my trip back to the bags of elk meat stashed for my shuttle trips. By doing so, I would make a sweep to the south, hopefully moving some elk out of the timber and pushing them to the northern ridges where Matt and Nolan would be set up. Given Matt deferred his shots to me, a couple miles of bushwhacking was the least I could do.
Before the sun appeared, Matt and Nolan donned their headlamps and headed to the northern ridges. It was resolved my efforts would be best used if I were to leave camp at daylight. No senses in moving elk in the darkness of pre-shooting light. My back enjoyed the extra forty minutes of shut eye.
In four prior trips, I’ve hiked most every bit of this BLM ground. Much of it many times; often by headlamp. I know the best trails and the most used bedding cover. Those trails would be my path. I would purposefully positions my four-day sweaty body and clothes in some manner that the fowl aroma would waft through the areas elk most like to bed. Usually some really thick pines; almost too thick for a human to walk through.
It was slow and methodical. The wind was still howling. The temps dropped overnight, producing two inches of fresh snow. Combined, the wind and cold made my body keep moving, if not for busting a bedded elk, to keep the warm blood flowing. It was less than an hour when I was to a big opening where elk often fed at night. Even with a fresh skiff off snow, not a track crossed this old fire-scarred meadow.
Upon circling most of the burn, I caught the old rut-like elk trail that left this meadow and headed almost straight west, zipping thought some scattered pines among the thigh-high grass. Perfect late period elk ground, if ever there is any. At least in prior years. By the time I reached the southwest property line, the only mammal tracks I had seen were my own and scratches from a lost flock of turkeys fleeing my approach. No elk, no deer. Dismal, by any count.
Having followed the fence line to a small bald knob, I could see Matt and Nolan set up above one of the key trails. I made myself visible enough that they could see how far I had traveled. No shots yet, so I concluded my efforts to this point were fruitless. I turned west paralleling the new fence line as it dropped into one of the meaner pieces of ground on this BLM. Before being swallowed by this deep gorge, I glassed across to the one dead tree near where my elk was laying in edible parts. Half mile off, the burned limbs bore a heavy weight of big-gutted ravens and stuffed magpies.
By the time I arrived at my elk, my trail had covered over three miles of some of the best elk ground in all of Montana, blanketed by a couple inches of fresh now, yet completely absent any sign that elk were within a dozen miles of here. All that made me feel even more blessed for the good fortune of the elk we encountered last night.
Before starting the process of boning, I put on my Windstopper coat. The Merino was enough to keep me warm on the brisk jaunt in here, but the wind was biting. I would be shivering in no time without a good outer layer. I then put my hands in latex gloves, drug the first hind quarter on top of the carcass, rear of the blood shot ribs, opened the knife, and prepared to further disassemble these meals.
Not sure what it is about butchering, carving, guttin’ and gillin’ or whatever you want to call it, but it’s a very enjoyable part of any hunt. Can’t really explain it. I suspect it comes from my family focusing so much on their meat care and taking great pride in doing so. Getting a lot of practice at a young age and seeking new ideas to refine my processes, I find great interest in converting moving venison to table fare.
Having the proper tools sure adds to the satisfaction. If I was still using the same utensils as I did when I was low on my learning curve, I doubt I would find it nearly as enjoyable. Latex gloves, pants with built in knee pads, and good game bags are high on the list of things I would never go without when doing this solo while on a slope of hard rocks mixed among prickly pear cactus.
It took me an hour and a half to bone the hinds, salvage a front quarter from a bullet path, and remove the head from a very stiff carcass. I suspect the crowing of scavengers was a complaint to the small parcels Matt and I left on the skeleton the night before. Before taking the first load, I busted a couple ribs on the top side and further opened the cavity for the birds. Hopefully the appreciated my gesture.
Heavy with a boned hind and a front quarter, I started toward the rock knob Matt and Nolan were glassing from. One deep cut was descended, then ascended, in the route needed to get there. Nolan said he timed me. Twenty-three minutes. About a mile of walking, some of it climbing, with a heavy load, was covered in good order. The last uphill grade made me grateful that Matt not also dropped a cow last night. This one bull seemed to be a sufficient endeavor for the rest of my day.
Carrying a heavy load of elk makes one sleep much better, even in a 35+ mph wind beating your tent. Yet, when the alarm rang, I rolled out of the tent, knowing a plan was needed for Matt to find his own bull before liftoff in two-and-a-half days.
We hatched a strategy that went something like this. Matt and Nolan would hike the far northern ridges, moving mostly west, hoping to intercept any elk moving from their night feeding grounds to the public bedding grounds. With any luck, maybe glassing an elk still wandering the hills where we surprised them last night.
I would make a big loop to the south, adding an extra mile or two on my trip back to the bags of elk meat stashed for my shuttle trips. By doing so, I would make a sweep to the south, hopefully moving some elk out of the timber and pushing them to the northern ridges where Matt and Nolan would be set up. Given Matt deferred his shots to me, a couple miles of bushwhacking was the least I could do.
Before the sun appeared, Matt and Nolan donned their headlamps and headed to the northern ridges. It was resolved my efforts would be best used if I were to leave camp at daylight. No senses in moving elk in the darkness of pre-shooting light. My back enjoyed the extra forty minutes of shut eye.
In four prior trips, I’ve hiked most every bit of this BLM ground. Much of it many times; often by headlamp. I know the best trails and the most used bedding cover. Those trails would be my path. I would purposefully positions my four-day sweaty body and clothes in some manner that the fowl aroma would waft through the areas elk most like to bed. Usually some really thick pines; almost too thick for a human to walk through.
It was slow and methodical. The wind was still howling. The temps dropped overnight, producing two inches of fresh snow. Combined, the wind and cold made my body keep moving, if not for busting a bedded elk, to keep the warm blood flowing. It was less than an hour when I was to a big opening where elk often fed at night. Even with a fresh skiff off snow, not a track crossed this old fire-scarred meadow.
Upon circling most of the burn, I caught the old rut-like elk trail that left this meadow and headed almost straight west, zipping thought some scattered pines among the thigh-high grass. Perfect late period elk ground, if ever there is any. At least in prior years. By the time I reached the southwest property line, the only mammal tracks I had seen were my own and scratches from a lost flock of turkeys fleeing my approach. No elk, no deer. Dismal, by any count.
Having followed the fence line to a small bald knob, I could see Matt and Nolan set up above one of the key trails. I made myself visible enough that they could see how far I had traveled. No shots yet, so I concluded my efforts to this point were fruitless. I turned west paralleling the new fence line as it dropped into one of the meaner pieces of ground on this BLM. Before being swallowed by this deep gorge, I glassed across to the one dead tree near where my elk was laying in edible parts. Half mile off, the burned limbs bore a heavy weight of big-gutted ravens and stuffed magpies.
By the time I arrived at my elk, my trail had covered over three miles of some of the best elk ground in all of Montana, blanketed by a couple inches of fresh now, yet completely absent any sign that elk were within a dozen miles of here. All that made me feel even more blessed for the good fortune of the elk we encountered last night.
Before starting the process of boning, I put on my Windstopper coat. The Merino was enough to keep me warm on the brisk jaunt in here, but the wind was biting. I would be shivering in no time without a good outer layer. I then put my hands in latex gloves, drug the first hind quarter on top of the carcass, rear of the blood shot ribs, opened the knife, and prepared to further disassemble these meals.
Not sure what it is about butchering, carving, guttin’ and gillin’ or whatever you want to call it, but it’s a very enjoyable part of any hunt. Can’t really explain it. I suspect it comes from my family focusing so much on their meat care and taking great pride in doing so. Getting a lot of practice at a young age and seeking new ideas to refine my processes, I find great interest in converting moving venison to table fare.
Having the proper tools sure adds to the satisfaction. If I was still using the same utensils as I did when I was low on my learning curve, I doubt I would find it nearly as enjoyable. Latex gloves, pants with built in knee pads, and good game bags are high on the list of things I would never go without when doing this solo while on a slope of hard rocks mixed among prickly pear cactus.
It took me an hour and a half to bone the hinds, salvage a front quarter from a bullet path, and remove the head from a very stiff carcass. I suspect the crowing of scavengers was a complaint to the small parcels Matt and I left on the skeleton the night before. Before taking the first load, I busted a couple ribs on the top side and further opened the cavity for the birds. Hopefully the appreciated my gesture.
Heavy with a boned hind and a front quarter, I started toward the rock knob Matt and Nolan were glassing from. One deep cut was descended, then ascended, in the route needed to get there. Nolan said he timed me. Twenty-three minutes. About a mile of walking, some of it climbing, with a heavy load, was covered in good order. The last uphill grade made me grateful that Matt not also dropped a cow last night. This one bull seemed to be a sufficient endeavor for the rest of my day.
When I arrived, Matt put his finger to his lips; the universal sign hunters use for “Something is nearby.” He helped me get my pack off and smiled at the sweat and steam coming from my brow. Looking at him, he pointed north, arching the path of his hand to show that something was on the other side of this steep slope; albeit on the private side of this ridge.
I followed his lead as he walked to an opening on the crest and glassed down low. Sure enough, a herd of elk was bedded less than two hundred yards north of the new fence. Among the group was at least on good bull. Part of butts, legs, and backs could be seen, showing the herd to be many dozen. We retreated to the south side of the slope and whispered what he had seen and what could be the best hope for the day.
Matt told that the elk had come south toward the public, a similar elk “going to bed” pattern on past hunts here. Rather than following the trail that came through the low saddle I the ridge, 100 yards of his set up, they decided to shut it down on the private. Not surprising. To scale the fence with the imposing berm on the other side would deter even the most rutted up bull. All Matt could do was watch them and hope some hunting pressure would be placed from the private land.
We agreed it would be best for me to go and get the next, and last, load from my bull. Matt and Nolan would stay here in the event some elk came by. We would stash what meat we couldn’t carry, at this nest of pines and rocks. I was off, hoping to myself that by some miracle, the elk would cross the ridge via their old trail, a route that would put Matt in close range.
I quickly had the last load of a boned hind, a bag of trim and burger pieces, along with the always clunky head/antler load. The new Metcalf, with all its buckles and straps works very well for cinching down a cumbersome head and antlers to the top portion of the pack. Fully secured, I was now faced with the dilemma of how to get the pack on my back. I stood it up, with the ends of the antler beams digging into the dirt, the weight of the package being enough to drive them into the sand deep enough that I could stabilize the entire package while backing under it by scooting (in reverse) on my butt.
I got the shoulder straps somewhat tightened and could now roll to my hands and knees. From there, I turned to face up hill and with the aid of my trekking poles, was able to get to my feet. I wrenched the waist belt as tight as I could, then bounced the load up again, allowing the last half inch of slack to be taken from the belt. The weight was now fully focused on my hips. A quick tug on the load lifters and adjustment of the chest strap, and I felt like I was wearing a tight jacket; a really heavy jacket.
This load took a little more time. It was heavier and I was tiring. When I arrived, report was given that the elk were still bedded. It was now past noon. Nolan was needing to get more batteries charged and dump more data from his media cards. Matt suggested he carry the first load in his pack as we headed back to camp. Since he had a lot of gear with him, I protested, explaining he should leave some of it in the shade and I could take it out tonight. It was our plan to come back to this rock in a few hours in hopes the elk may meander toward this really good sniping position, so no need for him to overload himself on this trip.
Having hung the meat in a thick grove of shaded pines, I had barely finished my sandwich before I was headed for the tent. I didn’t get there. Two other hunters had seen us hauling loads and were coming down the slope toward our camp. We visited for about fifteen minutes. They had nothing to show for the first two and a half days.
This group had only left for ten minutes when two more hunters started down the ridge behind camp, looking intent on visiting with us. They reported that they had shot at a big group of elk the prior afternoon, not too far from our camp. I let them talk more. They self-identified as the hunters who shot at the elk on private, prior to the herd taking the trail right past our camp.
For a short while, it was a tense discussion as I explained to them my disappointment that they would shoot from private, at elk on private, without having permission. Something was stated about it being pretty close, one way or the other. I then asked why they cut across private when they retreated from the herd yesterday afternoon. Some debate about the boundaries was had. Unless they can fly, they did not go from where they last disappeared to where they said they emerged, without crossing private. When comment was given that, “Then the HuntingGPSmap chip is off then…” I saved him the embarrassment that one of the guys in charge of that product was standing four feet from him.
Hearing one of the two was a new hunter, relying on an experienced hunter for navigation, I decided I had made my point. I complimented the new hunter on tagging a bull yesterday; the hunter’s first. Very happy to see that. No shortage of effort had been invested to tag that bull, given where they had camped, where they had hiked, and where the bull eventually expired.
By the time this group left our camp, my afternoon nap was abbreviated. In fact, pretty much done. Time for a snickers, an apple, and some strategy with Matt. We told Nolan he had about a half hour of generator time before we employed our afternoon tactics.
I followed his lead as he walked to an opening on the crest and glassed down low. Sure enough, a herd of elk was bedded less than two hundred yards north of the new fence. Among the group was at least on good bull. Part of butts, legs, and backs could be seen, showing the herd to be many dozen. We retreated to the south side of the slope and whispered what he had seen and what could be the best hope for the day.
Matt told that the elk had come south toward the public, a similar elk “going to bed” pattern on past hunts here. Rather than following the trail that came through the low saddle I the ridge, 100 yards of his set up, they decided to shut it down on the private. Not surprising. To scale the fence with the imposing berm on the other side would deter even the most rutted up bull. All Matt could do was watch them and hope some hunting pressure would be placed from the private land.
We agreed it would be best for me to go and get the next, and last, load from my bull. Matt and Nolan would stay here in the event some elk came by. We would stash what meat we couldn’t carry, at this nest of pines and rocks. I was off, hoping to myself that by some miracle, the elk would cross the ridge via their old trail, a route that would put Matt in close range.
I quickly had the last load of a boned hind, a bag of trim and burger pieces, along with the always clunky head/antler load. The new Metcalf, with all its buckles and straps works very well for cinching down a cumbersome head and antlers to the top portion of the pack. Fully secured, I was now faced with the dilemma of how to get the pack on my back. I stood it up, with the ends of the antler beams digging into the dirt, the weight of the package being enough to drive them into the sand deep enough that I could stabilize the entire package while backing under it by scooting (in reverse) on my butt.
I got the shoulder straps somewhat tightened and could now roll to my hands and knees. From there, I turned to face up hill and with the aid of my trekking poles, was able to get to my feet. I wrenched the waist belt as tight as I could, then bounced the load up again, allowing the last half inch of slack to be taken from the belt. The weight was now fully focused on my hips. A quick tug on the load lifters and adjustment of the chest strap, and I felt like I was wearing a tight jacket; a really heavy jacket.
This load took a little more time. It was heavier and I was tiring. When I arrived, report was given that the elk were still bedded. It was now past noon. Nolan was needing to get more batteries charged and dump more data from his media cards. Matt suggested he carry the first load in his pack as we headed back to camp. Since he had a lot of gear with him, I protested, explaining he should leave some of it in the shade and I could take it out tonight. It was our plan to come back to this rock in a few hours in hopes the elk may meander toward this really good sniping position, so no need for him to overload himself on this trip.
Having hung the meat in a thick grove of shaded pines, I had barely finished my sandwich before I was headed for the tent. I didn’t get there. Two other hunters had seen us hauling loads and were coming down the slope toward our camp. We visited for about fifteen minutes. They had nothing to show for the first two and a half days.
This group had only left for ten minutes when two more hunters started down the ridge behind camp, looking intent on visiting with us. They reported that they had shot at a big group of elk the prior afternoon, not too far from our camp. I let them talk more. They self-identified as the hunters who shot at the elk on private, prior to the herd taking the trail right past our camp.
For a short while, it was a tense discussion as I explained to them my disappointment that they would shoot from private, at elk on private, without having permission. Something was stated about it being pretty close, one way or the other. I then asked why they cut across private when they retreated from the herd yesterday afternoon. Some debate about the boundaries was had. Unless they can fly, they did not go from where they last disappeared to where they said they emerged, without crossing private. When comment was given that, “Then the HuntingGPSmap chip is off then…” I saved him the embarrassment that one of the guys in charge of that product was standing four feet from him.
Hearing one of the two was a new hunter, relying on an experienced hunter for navigation, I decided I had made my point. I complimented the new hunter on tagging a bull yesterday; the hunter’s first. Very happy to see that. No shortage of effort had been invested to tag that bull, given where they had camped, where they had hiked, and where the bull eventually expired.
By the time this group left our camp, my afternoon nap was abbreviated. In fact, pretty much done. Time for a snickers, an apple, and some strategy with Matt. We told Nolan he had about a half hour of generator time before we employed our afternoon tactics.
