Been absent from Hunt Talk a lot lately. Been on a serious elk odyssey since mid-September. The trip took me to Wyoming and grizzly-ville Montana during archery season and rifle seasons in New Mexico and Montana. Got done in MT a few days early, so thought I would post a note while I washed clothes, de-junked the truck, and other necessary things you really can't get done during a month on the road.
Got to hang out with some really cool folks along the way. Corey Jacobsen came to MT and taught me a lot about what I was doing wrong in Wyoming the week prior. In the last five days of September, Corey called in seven highly pressured public land bulls into archery range. Not sure what he was telling them, but they got mad enough to come and tell him so. The guy is a lot more selective with a bow in hand than I am.
In New Mexico, we met up with our 2014 Sweepstakes winner, Tom Wagner, and had fun chasing elk in the high alpine just south of the Colorado border. I thought Tom, a Hunt Talker, would have posted the story of that hunt by now. Ingomar and his buddies also had the tag and offered that we could share their camp. Great guys made for a great camp. Met some locals who will be life-long friends. One who coaches a really special youth basketball team and for whom I might enlist some Hunt Talk help.
From there we picked up Bruce Pettet, the CEO of Leupold, and did just what he asked me last winter; "Randy, I want to go on an elk hunt with you and I want it to be a grunt." Ask and ye shall receive. When it takes you seven hours to go from your glassing location to the location of a bull only 1.25 miles across a canyon, you know you are going to earn anything you shoot. Later that night, well early the next morning, 2:30am to be precise, we emerged from the canyon mouth out at a trailhead 10 miles from where our truck was parked up the mountain. I think Bruce got all he asked for and smiled every bit of the way; well maybe just "most the way."
I got home for a day, re-packed, kissed the wife as she handed me a cooler of home cooked frozen meals and we were off to Central Montana for the opener on Saturday. Friday had us perched on a high knob where in an ugly basin far below 34 bulls were recouping from the rut and had us salivating. If not for trespassing poachers the next morning, the biggest bull was feeding up the basin to us, following the trail I had dreamed he would take. Unable to handle the temptation, the other guys saw us in position, hopped the property boundary, snuck out 600 yards north of the property boundary and at the count of three, all three guys started unloading on the big bull from a far distance. It took a couple boxes of ammo, but they finally brought him to his knees. Not sure which one had the tag or who will take credit for the kill, but I suspect it will be the guy who was not wearing any hunter orange. They proceeded to go up the hill, grab their ATV, buzz down the creek bottom and haul the bull out of there. We have it all on film and lots of Phoneskope photos. To say we were frustrated would be an understatement.
But, all was not lost for the weekend. Sunday morning had us investigating some new ground; a long (1.5 miles long) and narrow (1/4 mile narrow) strip of BLM that provided a commanding perch from which to view many surrounding areas. This was mostly a recon detail. About 10am Tyler, the cameraman with way better hearing than me, said he heard a bugle over the ridge. I doubted, but as we walked closer, even I heard a bugle, a sure sign they must be close.
A sneak down into the ugly north slope and the entire woods erupted with elk. They circled above and back east from where we had spent the morning glassing. As fast as a 50 year-old desk jockey can run up a deadfall slope for 400 yards was barely fast enough to catch a glimpse of the herd walking over a small knoll back toward our truck. Surely they would curve back north toward the timber and be out of site before we could sprint the 200 yards to the top of the knoll. Nope.
When we got there, completely out of breath, they were standing in a group, looking for direction. I hate off hand shots, especially at 190 yards after a very long sprint. I practice them a lot, out to 200 yards, but would prefer not to. But, time and tall grass allowed no other option. I drew down on one of the three bigger bulls in the back. The shot felt hurried and it was. So far over him, I didn't even scare them. They now looked at the two orange-clad objects standing on the knob they had crossed.
With a fresh round in the chamber, I drew down and did my best breathing exercise in spite of being completely out of breath. At the recoil, Tyler announced the sound of a hit. The shot had felt good, but recoil gave no chance for confirmation.
As I cycled the bolt, the entire herd took off from our left to the right with all three of the big bulls at the back. Tyler shouted they bulls were mixed up in order. I paused to look. Complete chaos and confusion. One bulls was a couple steps behind and stopped broadside to look our way. He looked like the bull I was shooting at, but I needed Tyler's confirmation, which came in a very excited tone. Knowing it was the last round in the chamber, I drew down with the best breathing pattern I could muster. The shot felt good and Tyler's statement of, "You drilled him" gave me more confidence.
The bull whirled and turned up the slope to follow the herd. He was struggling. Given this was a narrow piece of ground, I didn't want him to get off the BLM. I propped the MR pack upright and used the Load Lifter bracket for a shooting rest. At 310 yards, the first shot hit and turned him back down hill a few yards where his struggle ended.
I told Tyler I could only confirm one hit, which was the third off-hand shot. He assured me that the bull was hit before that and after that. When we got to the bull and did the post-mortem, he had three bullets in him; a high lung shot, which I suspect was the third off-hand shot; a liver shot which I suspect was the second off-hand shot, and a heart shot that was the first shot from a rest.
I am thankful for all the off-hand practice I do. I prefer not to shoot off-hand and my first shot was testimony as to why. If they had been any further away, obscured by brush, or moving, I would not have shot off-hand. For whatever reason, I felt I could make the shot and two of the three shots verified my comfort. In the course of maybe twenty seconds, the day had changed from scouting and struggle to the biggest stroke of luck I've had in many years.
We are now at mid-point of this elk odyssey, with me having a bull and cow tag in Colorado to go along with my deer tag. And from there we go to Wyoming where Schmalts and I will try out best to end the odyssey on a high note.
I will load up a bunch of pics from the journey we have traveled to this point. We will take any luck you can spare on the rest of this adventure. We will surely need it.
Got to hang out with some really cool folks along the way. Corey Jacobsen came to MT and taught me a lot about what I was doing wrong in Wyoming the week prior. In the last five days of September, Corey called in seven highly pressured public land bulls into archery range. Not sure what he was telling them, but they got mad enough to come and tell him so. The guy is a lot more selective with a bow in hand than I am.
In New Mexico, we met up with our 2014 Sweepstakes winner, Tom Wagner, and had fun chasing elk in the high alpine just south of the Colorado border. I thought Tom, a Hunt Talker, would have posted the story of that hunt by now. Ingomar and his buddies also had the tag and offered that we could share their camp. Great guys made for a great camp. Met some locals who will be life-long friends. One who coaches a really special youth basketball team and for whom I might enlist some Hunt Talk help.
From there we picked up Bruce Pettet, the CEO of Leupold, and did just what he asked me last winter; "Randy, I want to go on an elk hunt with you and I want it to be a grunt." Ask and ye shall receive. When it takes you seven hours to go from your glassing location to the location of a bull only 1.25 miles across a canyon, you know you are going to earn anything you shoot. Later that night, well early the next morning, 2:30am to be precise, we emerged from the canyon mouth out at a trailhead 10 miles from where our truck was parked up the mountain. I think Bruce got all he asked for and smiled every bit of the way; well maybe just "most the way."
I got home for a day, re-packed, kissed the wife as she handed me a cooler of home cooked frozen meals and we were off to Central Montana for the opener on Saturday. Friday had us perched on a high knob where in an ugly basin far below 34 bulls were recouping from the rut and had us salivating. If not for trespassing poachers the next morning, the biggest bull was feeding up the basin to us, following the trail I had dreamed he would take. Unable to handle the temptation, the other guys saw us in position, hopped the property boundary, snuck out 600 yards north of the property boundary and at the count of three, all three guys started unloading on the big bull from a far distance. It took a couple boxes of ammo, but they finally brought him to his knees. Not sure which one had the tag or who will take credit for the kill, but I suspect it will be the guy who was not wearing any hunter orange. They proceeded to go up the hill, grab their ATV, buzz down the creek bottom and haul the bull out of there. We have it all on film and lots of Phoneskope photos. To say we were frustrated would be an understatement.
But, all was not lost for the weekend. Sunday morning had us investigating some new ground; a long (1.5 miles long) and narrow (1/4 mile narrow) strip of BLM that provided a commanding perch from which to view many surrounding areas. This was mostly a recon detail. About 10am Tyler, the cameraman with way better hearing than me, said he heard a bugle over the ridge. I doubted, but as we walked closer, even I heard a bugle, a sure sign they must be close.
A sneak down into the ugly north slope and the entire woods erupted with elk. They circled above and back east from where we had spent the morning glassing. As fast as a 50 year-old desk jockey can run up a deadfall slope for 400 yards was barely fast enough to catch a glimpse of the herd walking over a small knoll back toward our truck. Surely they would curve back north toward the timber and be out of site before we could sprint the 200 yards to the top of the knoll. Nope.
When we got there, completely out of breath, they were standing in a group, looking for direction. I hate off hand shots, especially at 190 yards after a very long sprint. I practice them a lot, out to 200 yards, but would prefer not to. But, time and tall grass allowed no other option. I drew down on one of the three bigger bulls in the back. The shot felt hurried and it was. So far over him, I didn't even scare them. They now looked at the two orange-clad objects standing on the knob they had crossed.
With a fresh round in the chamber, I drew down and did my best breathing exercise in spite of being completely out of breath. At the recoil, Tyler announced the sound of a hit. The shot had felt good, but recoil gave no chance for confirmation.
As I cycled the bolt, the entire herd took off from our left to the right with all three of the big bulls at the back. Tyler shouted they bulls were mixed up in order. I paused to look. Complete chaos and confusion. One bulls was a couple steps behind and stopped broadside to look our way. He looked like the bull I was shooting at, but I needed Tyler's confirmation, which came in a very excited tone. Knowing it was the last round in the chamber, I drew down with the best breathing pattern I could muster. The shot felt good and Tyler's statement of, "You drilled him" gave me more confidence.
The bull whirled and turned up the slope to follow the herd. He was struggling. Given this was a narrow piece of ground, I didn't want him to get off the BLM. I propped the MR pack upright and used the Load Lifter bracket for a shooting rest. At 310 yards, the first shot hit and turned him back down hill a few yards where his struggle ended.
I told Tyler I could only confirm one hit, which was the third off-hand shot. He assured me that the bull was hit before that and after that. When we got to the bull and did the post-mortem, he had three bullets in him; a high lung shot, which I suspect was the third off-hand shot; a liver shot which I suspect was the second off-hand shot, and a heart shot that was the first shot from a rest.
I am thankful for all the off-hand practice I do. I prefer not to shoot off-hand and my first shot was testimony as to why. If they had been any further away, obscured by brush, or moving, I would not have shot off-hand. For whatever reason, I felt I could make the shot and two of the three shots verified my comfort. In the course of maybe twenty seconds, the day had changed from scouting and struggle to the biggest stroke of luck I've had in many years.
We are now at mid-point of this elk odyssey, with me having a bull and cow tag in Colorado to go along with my deer tag. And from there we go to Wyoming where Schmalts and I will try out best to end the odyssey on a high note.
I will load up a bunch of pics from the journey we have traveled to this point. We will take any luck you can spare on the rest of this adventure. We will surely need it.
