smalls
Well-known member
My first days afield this year were chasing the wily antelope, although those days were merely a warmup to the archery season I was most looking forward to, elk season. Keep in mind I am a lost flatlander, migrating from eastern ND to the more dramatic topography of Montana.
My first day out was promising, as a couple of buddies had located a low herd including a pair of branch antlered bulls. As we drove through the dark the herd was described to be "well over a hundred animals". After a very non-strenuous hike (Buzz would NOT have been impressed), we did find elk. We failed however to get within any kind of range of them and they wandered into the dark timber as the morning progressed, not to be seen or heard from again. My expectations of a "day" of hunting were dashed when the friends declared after the morning that it was time to go home. With days off of work few and far between, I knew that I would immediately be jumping in my own truck and finding my own elk.
That evening I drove to an area where I'd hiked and watched elk all summer. The hike is a challenging one and I knew that daylight was not on my side. It took a good hour and a half of jogging/resting/sidehilling/walking to get to a nice open spot from where I could glass no less than a half dozen meadows on the hillsides around me. My senses were supertuned into nature waiting to hear mr. wapiti scream through the silence of chipmunks chipping or poke his head out into one of the grassy open areas I was so intently focused on. I waited for something...anything to happen. And something did happen, it got darker...and quieter as the squirrels turned in for the night. No elk, not one bugle, not even a measly muley doe to recharge the adrenaline. So I hiked back to the truck in the dark, guided by the fine people at Garmin and my trust LED headlamp having not even taken an arrow out my quiver.
The cycle of what happened that night repeated itself several times, in different places, over the next 10 days. I hiked, I listened, I glassed...I woke up with sore calves the next morning. Other than a couple (million) ground squirrels and a grouse, I really posed no threat to nature.
Fast forward to Tuesday of this week. I left my house just after 4:30 in the am. I again exit the vehicle and start my routine of putting some distance between my self and the road. This hike was a difficult not because of the terrain, but because much of the mountain side was like a bog. With terra firma best described as "squishy" that would commonly give way causing me to sink into mud nearly to my knee. Just as the sky was turning steely gray before the morning's east gave way to the colors of day, I encountered my first "wild" situation that nearly caused me to soil myself. In the middle of BFE in rural montana I could hear several dogs vicously snarling, growling and fighting. I have heard coyotes vocalize, and these sounded unlike any coyote I have ever heard. I can only guess as to what was making the sound, likely either a band of wild dogs (at 8,000 feet elevation 10 miles from any civilization) or wolves. They had to have been within a hundred yards from the sounds of it and my sidearm's consisted of a Buck 110 (yeah, its a folder) and a sagan saw. For the next half hour I had that terrible feeling in my stomach, similar to the one you get when you may have had one to many beers and a policeman does a uturn and follows you for awhile, as I hiked around whatever was making those sounds wishing I had a mirror so that I could see behind me as I hiked. Enough of my being scared though.
This morning I actually found elk...well an elk. With my expert calling from a borrowed hoochie mama, I got a bull to bugle at me (once) from the timber below. It was a very quiet, high pitched wussy bugle, but I ain't picky at this point, any legal animal is going DOWN! Long story short I can't coax this guy out of an ocean of blowdowns. I try to ease into the timber to find mr. right and he fails to respond to any of my offerings. I can't hear him, I can't find him...he disappears.
I hang out all day, glassing and eating...eating and glassing. I hike around a bit to get more familiar with the area. Several clearcuts with thick regrowth in the area, good water down below. Afternoon comes. I anticipate elk crawling through this area like ants at a campground, I wait...and wait...and just like every other F*ING time I have been out the only thing I can count on happening is that the sun sets in a timely fashion in the west. Another long, disappointing hike out of the woods and back to the truck in the dark. The highlight of my day is having a cow cross on the road in front of me on my drive out. I haven't seen an actual elk in the flesh during legal hunting hours since that first morning with daryl and daryl. Everyone keeps telling me they are out there, but I am starting to have my doubts. Either that or I am an extremely poor elk hunter...
My first day out was promising, as a couple of buddies had located a low herd including a pair of branch antlered bulls. As we drove through the dark the herd was described to be "well over a hundred animals". After a very non-strenuous hike (Buzz would NOT have been impressed), we did find elk. We failed however to get within any kind of range of them and they wandered into the dark timber as the morning progressed, not to be seen or heard from again. My expectations of a "day" of hunting were dashed when the friends declared after the morning that it was time to go home. With days off of work few and far between, I knew that I would immediately be jumping in my own truck and finding my own elk.
That evening I drove to an area where I'd hiked and watched elk all summer. The hike is a challenging one and I knew that daylight was not on my side. It took a good hour and a half of jogging/resting/sidehilling/walking to get to a nice open spot from where I could glass no less than a half dozen meadows on the hillsides around me. My senses were supertuned into nature waiting to hear mr. wapiti scream through the silence of chipmunks chipping or poke his head out into one of the grassy open areas I was so intently focused on. I waited for something...anything to happen. And something did happen, it got darker...and quieter as the squirrels turned in for the night. No elk, not one bugle, not even a measly muley doe to recharge the adrenaline. So I hiked back to the truck in the dark, guided by the fine people at Garmin and my trust LED headlamp having not even taken an arrow out my quiver.
The cycle of what happened that night repeated itself several times, in different places, over the next 10 days. I hiked, I listened, I glassed...I woke up with sore calves the next morning. Other than a couple (million) ground squirrels and a grouse, I really posed no threat to nature.
Fast forward to Tuesday of this week. I left my house just after 4:30 in the am. I again exit the vehicle and start my routine of putting some distance between my self and the road. This hike was a difficult not because of the terrain, but because much of the mountain side was like a bog. With terra firma best described as "squishy" that would commonly give way causing me to sink into mud nearly to my knee. Just as the sky was turning steely gray before the morning's east gave way to the colors of day, I encountered my first "wild" situation that nearly caused me to soil myself. In the middle of BFE in rural montana I could hear several dogs vicously snarling, growling and fighting. I have heard coyotes vocalize, and these sounded unlike any coyote I have ever heard. I can only guess as to what was making the sound, likely either a band of wild dogs (at 8,000 feet elevation 10 miles from any civilization) or wolves. They had to have been within a hundred yards from the sounds of it and my sidearm's consisted of a Buck 110 (yeah, its a folder) and a sagan saw. For the next half hour I had that terrible feeling in my stomach, similar to the one you get when you may have had one to many beers and a policeman does a uturn and follows you for awhile, as I hiked around whatever was making those sounds wishing I had a mirror so that I could see behind me as I hiked. Enough of my being scared though.
This morning I actually found elk...well an elk. With my expert calling from a borrowed hoochie mama, I got a bull to bugle at me (once) from the timber below. It was a very quiet, high pitched wussy bugle, but I ain't picky at this point, any legal animal is going DOWN! Long story short I can't coax this guy out of an ocean of blowdowns. I try to ease into the timber to find mr. right and he fails to respond to any of my offerings. I can't hear him, I can't find him...he disappears.
I hang out all day, glassing and eating...eating and glassing. I hike around a bit to get more familiar with the area. Several clearcuts with thick regrowth in the area, good water down below. Afternoon comes. I anticipate elk crawling through this area like ants at a campground, I wait...and wait...and just like every other F*ING time I have been out the only thing I can count on happening is that the sun sets in a timely fashion in the west. Another long, disappointing hike out of the woods and back to the truck in the dark. The highlight of my day is having a cow cross on the road in front of me on my drive out. I haven't seen an actual elk in the flesh during legal hunting hours since that first morning with daryl and daryl. Everyone keeps telling me they are out there, but I am starting to have my doubts. Either that or I am an extremely poor elk hunter...
