diamond hitch
Well-known member
In the late 70s, the aliens had gathered up the elk as they occasionally do - had them cleaned, refurbished them, or what ever the do when you have a year that they just disappear. No tracks! No sign! No nothing!! Every day is just an outdoor experience with your gun.
Then if you are persistant, they bring them back. The barren lands all of a sudden are filled with elk. Every place you go your cup runeth over. I had hunted dilligently for the entire season and besides tired feet had nothing to show for it. I had started inventorying pine squirrels for a task to accomplish. I think I was up to 134 for the season but I might have missed a few. Maybe I was only counting the ones that irritated me. I had tried elevation sweeps, favorite holes, known occurences and was down to - places I would prefer not to hunt! IN despiration I tried a traverse through a northside alder rat-nest steep enough to question my choice of boots or lack of crampons, and thick enough that I had been slapped with a million wet 1-2 inch branches over a mile and a half from my camp. As I rounded a stub ridge I stepped out into a patch of second growth firs on a south slope. There was a skiff of snow, just enough to make you question your birth or your judgement in the slippy slidey hang onto to trees and get doused in wet snow experience. In two steps I was suddenly into elk tracks. A miserable day just got interesting! Trying to be quiet, I struggled to follow what looked to be 3-5 head feeding across the hillside. The trees were 5-8 ft tall and assembled in clumps with narrow patches of grass in between. As I passed through a shallow basin of slash I saw a big larch stump that was about 3 ft high. I got to the upper side and mounted it like an arab prince on a camel. Finally a view of something besides trees. As I turned to my left I found myself looking into the eye of a nice 6 pt bull at about 10 ft. The look of astonishment in his eye must have have mirrored mine as for a second we just starred at each other.
I pulled up the gun and discovered my flip up scope caps were frozen solid. I had to get my fingers on each cap and pry them open. As I mounted the gun, the bull started to bolt and I shot just as he disappeared from sight. I stood there on the stump and looked up at the 6 head of cows I had never seen before who were starring at me in utter amazement before they hustled up the ridge.
It felt like minutes to get my heart under control, get off the stump and start the search. The bull had made a couple of big jumps and then lined out down an old skid trail. Instantly I was back to the alder jungle except the bull had cleaned the snow off them. We crossed the main road (closed to vehicles) and followed a game trail down a knife edged ridge top. In about a hundred yards, the bull stuck his head over a rock looked at me and then jumped off the outcrop and ran down the face of a rockslide. I ran to the edge, took site on his neck and pulled the trigger. I remember how I winced each time that bull tumbled down through the rocks and the sounds his horns made with each contact. It was very steep and he rolled and tumbled for at least a hundred yards.
I got him cleaned and prepped for retrieval the next day and started the climb to the top of the ridge for the horses. There is always a mental set I have to work on when the task at hand is a 1000-1200 ft elevation gain at hand, over a half a mile or so. You just have to make the decision and start chugging. As I approached the trail at the top a nice 4 pt mulie jumped up and took off bouncing down the path I had just come up. I really struggled with taking the shot and having to walk to the bottom again and repeating the trip up. Finally I held for the shot at about 200 yards and unfortunately, he crumbled and slid onto the bottom logging road.
I retrieved the horses and started back down to the bottom. As I walked down the hill every step was a slip or stumble on the frozen ground. The horses also slipped and slide as I led them down the skid trail. About 50 ft above the buck my gelding and mare lost their footing, fell, swept me off my feet and I rode down the hill on a hair-bound toboggan to the lower road. As we hit the lower road I jumped off and got out of the way of the horses. They got stopped at a patch of little trees and stood up. I got the buck cleaned and loaded and then rode out the lower road about 3 miles and into camp at about 10 pm. The bull came out the next day. It is a miracle I lived through my youth.
Then if you are persistant, they bring them back. The barren lands all of a sudden are filled with elk. Every place you go your cup runeth over. I had hunted dilligently for the entire season and besides tired feet had nothing to show for it. I had started inventorying pine squirrels for a task to accomplish. I think I was up to 134 for the season but I might have missed a few. Maybe I was only counting the ones that irritated me. I had tried elevation sweeps, favorite holes, known occurences and was down to - places I would prefer not to hunt! IN despiration I tried a traverse through a northside alder rat-nest steep enough to question my choice of boots or lack of crampons, and thick enough that I had been slapped with a million wet 1-2 inch branches over a mile and a half from my camp. As I rounded a stub ridge I stepped out into a patch of second growth firs on a south slope. There was a skiff of snow, just enough to make you question your birth or your judgement in the slippy slidey hang onto to trees and get doused in wet snow experience. In two steps I was suddenly into elk tracks. A miserable day just got interesting! Trying to be quiet, I struggled to follow what looked to be 3-5 head feeding across the hillside. The trees were 5-8 ft tall and assembled in clumps with narrow patches of grass in between. As I passed through a shallow basin of slash I saw a big larch stump that was about 3 ft high. I got to the upper side and mounted it like an arab prince on a camel. Finally a view of something besides trees. As I turned to my left I found myself looking into the eye of a nice 6 pt bull at about 10 ft. The look of astonishment in his eye must have have mirrored mine as for a second we just starred at each other.
I pulled up the gun and discovered my flip up scope caps were frozen solid. I had to get my fingers on each cap and pry them open. As I mounted the gun, the bull started to bolt and I shot just as he disappeared from sight. I stood there on the stump and looked up at the 6 head of cows I had never seen before who were starring at me in utter amazement before they hustled up the ridge.
It felt like minutes to get my heart under control, get off the stump and start the search. The bull had made a couple of big jumps and then lined out down an old skid trail. Instantly I was back to the alder jungle except the bull had cleaned the snow off them. We crossed the main road (closed to vehicles) and followed a game trail down a knife edged ridge top. In about a hundred yards, the bull stuck his head over a rock looked at me and then jumped off the outcrop and ran down the face of a rockslide. I ran to the edge, took site on his neck and pulled the trigger. I remember how I winced each time that bull tumbled down through the rocks and the sounds his horns made with each contact. It was very steep and he rolled and tumbled for at least a hundred yards.
I got him cleaned and prepped for retrieval the next day and started the climb to the top of the ridge for the horses. There is always a mental set I have to work on when the task at hand is a 1000-1200 ft elevation gain at hand, over a half a mile or so. You just have to make the decision and start chugging. As I approached the trail at the top a nice 4 pt mulie jumped up and took off bouncing down the path I had just come up. I really struggled with taking the shot and having to walk to the bottom again and repeating the trip up. Finally I held for the shot at about 200 yards and unfortunately, he crumbled and slid onto the bottom logging road.
I retrieved the horses and started back down to the bottom. As I walked down the hill every step was a slip or stumble on the frozen ground. The horses also slipped and slide as I led them down the skid trail. About 50 ft above the buck my gelding and mare lost their footing, fell, swept me off my feet and I rode down the hill on a hair-bound toboggan to the lower road. As we hit the lower road I jumped off and got out of the way of the horses. They got stopped at a patch of little trees and stood up. I got the buck cleaned and loaded and then rode out the lower road about 3 miles and into camp at about 10 pm. The bull came out the next day. It is a miracle I lived through my youth.
