A-con
New member
Awesome randy, this will be right up there with the wolf hunt episode.
Do you think the DVD will be ready next week ?
Do you think the DVD will be ready next week ?
Tatonka!
- Thread starter Big Fin
- Start date
Gerald Martin
Well-known member
- Joined
- Jul 3, 2009
- Messages
- 8,689
Congrats Randy! I'm glad for you! I'll be happy to bring a side dish to the barbecue.
BuzzH
Well-known member
Randy,
Way to make the most of that tag...big congrats from Wyoming!
Way to make the most of that tag...big congrats from Wyoming!
Summitthunting
Well-known member
That is very cool, congratulations!
Where to start with this story. Lots of pics taken today, so this might be more of a picture story than a written story.
Guess we will start with sitting in the truck for a half hour, waiting for the sun to come up. We decided we would leave the snowmobiles on the trailers and hike into the area near the boundary where we had left the bison last night. Seemed like a good place to start.
At daylight, we loaded packs and put on some extra clothes. Temp was -4F. Just ripe bison killing temps, or butt freezing temps, depending upon what happened first.
I had a good feeling about this morning. Last night we watched the bison until dark and they were slowly grazing toward the boundary where they would be fair game. Only problem I could see was how many people liked to hang out near that boundary. Probably enough to scare them back into the Park.
Given the amount of people that seemed to hike, ski, snowshoe, and pass by, I decided it would take a special situation to get me to shoot one right there. Additionally, being that close to the boundary, I ruled out any archery shot. Just too much of a chance with a boundary. Yesterday, a Buffalo Field Campaign person was there and filming everything, so I also had no interest in them filming me arrowing a bison. So, I left the bow in the truck for this half mile morning walk, thinking I would come back and get it later when we went out searching for more bison.
We got there just as the sun was coming up. We could not see the bison where they were yesterday. Brad and I were doing some interviews when Matt and Bart offered to go around the corner and peak down in the bottom of this drainage.
We had no more than got the mics wired and Bart was running back toward us the the bison were less than 100 yards off the boundary and coming our way. So much for interviews. We trotted over where Matt was keeping vigil on a few cows in the creek and a few more moving among the trees.
Dang, 100 yards off the boundary. 100 more on our side and I would have some shooting. This could be good. But, the cows started going back further into the park, dampening my spirits.
Before long, four people showed up. All from the Buffalo Field Campaign. Polite people, keeping track of the bison movements. But, I got a sense that a couple of them were not too excited to see us there with cameras and a rifle. We were also joined by a local trapper who we had bumped into yesterday. He was a great help in telling people where he sees bison while out running his trapline. He was a great guy that I enjoyed visiting with while we stood there waiting to see what the bison would do.
Sometimes, if you hunt enough and spend enough days in the field, you will get a stroke of luck. This was one of those times. Not sure what happened, other than three mallards flushed from the creek, quacking like crazy. Evidently, bison don't like ducks, or they view duck quacks as a danger sign. Upon the eruption fowl from the creek, the lead cow bison crossed the creek and scaled a steep bank right out in front of us 150 yards, taking the entire herd with her. All cows and calves, from what I could tell.
Given how dicey this hunt was looking to be, as far as bison coming out of the park; the fact that tribal members have been hunting them hard and pressuring them back into the park; a warm weather forecast for the coming weeks; and having the cost and obligation of a camera crew, I told Brad that a good opportunity at a big old cow might suffice under these conditions.
Now, the only thing between us and a legal bison opportunity were a few hundred yards of them to clear the boundary, and four bison advocates. Please, please, come this way. They mingled and started back toward the park. Before they got 50 yards, the woods behind them rumbled with another herd of bison, this herd had about six bulls in it. They were on a mission and nothing, not even this other herd coming toward them, was going to change their mind.
This new herd changed the mind of the herd headed back to the park. That herd turned and both herds joined together, coming our way. One herd splitting to our north and one to our south, but all seeming undeterred by the the four bison advocates between us and them. Finally, seeing the determination in the demeanor of these bison, the Buffalo Field folks scurried aside and got out of harms way.
Talk about noisy. Grunting, bellowing, stomping of hooves. We were surrounded by about 60 bison, all eyeing us up and calculating out intentions. Very cool, but yet very discomforting to have other people filming us and recording our every move, as were the Buffalo Field folks.
I told Brad that I would not be shooting anything here, even though they were now on our side of the boundary, moving past us as slingshot range. I did not come here to have a hunt where I dump one on the boundary, in front of other people, with their cameras rolling. I told Matt and Bart that I would wait until they got further into the bigger country to our west, where we could follow their bulldozer-like tracks and hopefully have an encounter that was not nearly the spectacle such as this would be.
All agreed. Even though the shots would have been easy and the retrieval being nothing more than a short snowmobile ride, this was not what I wanted. This was all the things in these migratory bison hunts that I really struggle with.
The Buffalo Field folks watched me with peculiar looks. I am sure they expected me to end the hunt right there. As we turned to follow the bison through the trees, the four of these BFC folks followed along behind, distant enough to not disturb our hunt, yet close enough to film all that we were doing. Most times, being less than 100 yards behind us, following on cross country skis. Easy for them, as we were in boots and gaiters, with heavy packs.
A beautiful, yet crisp morning, from the location where Brad and I had set up.
This same sign is posted about every 50 yards along the boundary. If you miss that warning, you were asleep, or flat out stupid.
What we saw when Bart lead us over to where he and Matt had found the bison. We were standing about ten yards off the boundary, looking down in the creek.
A group being lead cow who hates the sound of mallards. And thank God for that.
Another herd coming out of the timber to join the others and turning them our way in the process.
Discretion finally ruled the day, as the Buffalo Field Campaign folks scattered out of harms way.
Herded up and coming our way. That post is the boundary. We hid in the bushy limbs of one really big tree as bison passed by at less than ten yards.
Guess we will start with sitting in the truck for a half hour, waiting for the sun to come up. We decided we would leave the snowmobiles on the trailers and hike into the area near the boundary where we had left the bison last night. Seemed like a good place to start.
At daylight, we loaded packs and put on some extra clothes. Temp was -4F. Just ripe bison killing temps, or butt freezing temps, depending upon what happened first.
I had a good feeling about this morning. Last night we watched the bison until dark and they were slowly grazing toward the boundary where they would be fair game. Only problem I could see was how many people liked to hang out near that boundary. Probably enough to scare them back into the Park.
Given the amount of people that seemed to hike, ski, snowshoe, and pass by, I decided it would take a special situation to get me to shoot one right there. Additionally, being that close to the boundary, I ruled out any archery shot. Just too much of a chance with a boundary. Yesterday, a Buffalo Field Campaign person was there and filming everything, so I also had no interest in them filming me arrowing a bison. So, I left the bow in the truck for this half mile morning walk, thinking I would come back and get it later when we went out searching for more bison.
We got there just as the sun was coming up. We could not see the bison where they were yesterday. Brad and I were doing some interviews when Matt and Bart offered to go around the corner and peak down in the bottom of this drainage.
We had no more than got the mics wired and Bart was running back toward us the the bison were less than 100 yards off the boundary and coming our way. So much for interviews. We trotted over where Matt was keeping vigil on a few cows in the creek and a few more moving among the trees.
Dang, 100 yards off the boundary. 100 more on our side and I would have some shooting. This could be good. But, the cows started going back further into the park, dampening my spirits.
Before long, four people showed up. All from the Buffalo Field Campaign. Polite people, keeping track of the bison movements. But, I got a sense that a couple of them were not too excited to see us there with cameras and a rifle. We were also joined by a local trapper who we had bumped into yesterday. He was a great help in telling people where he sees bison while out running his trapline. He was a great guy that I enjoyed visiting with while we stood there waiting to see what the bison would do.
Sometimes, if you hunt enough and spend enough days in the field, you will get a stroke of luck. This was one of those times. Not sure what happened, other than three mallards flushed from the creek, quacking like crazy. Evidently, bison don't like ducks, or they view duck quacks as a danger sign. Upon the eruption fowl from the creek, the lead cow bison crossed the creek and scaled a steep bank right out in front of us 150 yards, taking the entire herd with her. All cows and calves, from what I could tell.
Given how dicey this hunt was looking to be, as far as bison coming out of the park; the fact that tribal members have been hunting them hard and pressuring them back into the park; a warm weather forecast for the coming weeks; and having the cost and obligation of a camera crew, I told Brad that a good opportunity at a big old cow might suffice under these conditions.
Now, the only thing between us and a legal bison opportunity were a few hundred yards of them to clear the boundary, and four bison advocates. Please, please, come this way. They mingled and started back toward the park. Before they got 50 yards, the woods behind them rumbled with another herd of bison, this herd had about six bulls in it. They were on a mission and nothing, not even this other herd coming toward them, was going to change their mind.
This new herd changed the mind of the herd headed back to the park. That herd turned and both herds joined together, coming our way. One herd splitting to our north and one to our south, but all seeming undeterred by the the four bison advocates between us and them. Finally, seeing the determination in the demeanor of these bison, the Buffalo Field folks scurried aside and got out of harms way.
Talk about noisy. Grunting, bellowing, stomping of hooves. We were surrounded by about 60 bison, all eyeing us up and calculating out intentions. Very cool, but yet very discomforting to have other people filming us and recording our every move, as were the Buffalo Field folks.
I told Brad that I would not be shooting anything here, even though they were now on our side of the boundary, moving past us as slingshot range. I did not come here to have a hunt where I dump one on the boundary, in front of other people, with their cameras rolling. I told Matt and Bart that I would wait until they got further into the bigger country to our west, where we could follow their bulldozer-like tracks and hopefully have an encounter that was not nearly the spectacle such as this would be.
All agreed. Even though the shots would have been easy and the retrieval being nothing more than a short snowmobile ride, this was not what I wanted. This was all the things in these migratory bison hunts that I really struggle with.
The Buffalo Field folks watched me with peculiar looks. I am sure they expected me to end the hunt right there. As we turned to follow the bison through the trees, the four of these BFC folks followed along behind, distant enough to not disturb our hunt, yet close enough to film all that we were doing. Most times, being less than 100 yards behind us, following on cross country skis. Easy for them, as we were in boots and gaiters, with heavy packs.
A beautiful, yet crisp morning, from the location where Brad and I had set up.
This same sign is posted about every 50 yards along the boundary. If you miss that warning, you were asleep, or flat out stupid.
What we saw when Bart lead us over to where he and Matt had found the bison. We were standing about ten yards off the boundary, looking down in the creek.
A group being lead cow who hates the sound of mallards. And thank God for that.
Another herd coming out of the timber to join the others and turning them our way in the process.
Discretion finally ruled the day, as the Buffalo Field Campaign folks scattered out of harms way.
Herded up and coming our way. That post is the boundary. We hid in the bushy limbs of one really big tree as bison passed by at less than ten yards.
AH64DMatt
Member
What an unbelievable experience just looking at the pics! I can't fathom what it must have felt like to hunt them.
And now, this is where things got fun.
The bison were wasting no time headed to wherever it was they wanted to go. We were trying to keep up, but they are adept and moving through deep sugar snow, far better than humans. They quickly crossed the main highway, creating a traffic jam in the process. We let them cross the highway and all traffic clear before we crossed and followed their trail.
Following the trail of 60 bison is pretty easy. Steaming dung piles, and snow plowed from their path in deep troughs. The hard part was trying to keep track of the where the band went that contained the bulls. From our count, we estimated there were six decent bulls in this group. No super whoppers, but some nice ones. Our mission was to sneak/run/stumble along behind until they gave us a good view that we could use to fixate on a mature bull.
After crossing the highway, we scaled up the hill and were now on flat thick ground. You could smell them. Their steps were silenced by the deep powder snow, the quiet only interrupted only by the occasional grunt or breaking of limbs. This was now getting fun. We were actually putting some distance between us and the observers who were still following.
The bison had crossed the boundary a little after 8 am. It was now 9:30 and we were not gaining much ground. I was hoping they would not get out near the snowmobile trails and roads, as that would surely put them in the crosshairs of other hunters and make our pursuit on foot nearly impossible in this snow.
Fortunately, and with good reason, they bison turned and headed down a steep bank onto a big timbered flat that parallels that Madison River. This area is off limits to snowmobiles, a fact I think they have come to learn. I suspect it is the safest place in the unit, as not many fools want to try skid 1,000+ pounds of meat, hide, and head out of that timber and up that steep bank of soft snow.
Not being blessed with great wisdom, I suspect my ignorance of the trouble I am getting myself into and the persistence it allows me to have without second thought, probably was not something the bison were expecting. As soon as they got down into that timber, their pace slowed. That was good for us, as we were all sweating profusely, in spite of the single digit temps.
It was now past 10 am when we dropped down the steep bank and into the timber where the bison had melted. Once down in there, it was hard to see very far. I made a big loop in hopes of getting ahead and cutting them off, only to be spooked by a cow bison that stepped from some thick brush about five yards away. How I did not see her before then amazes me, but once she bolted, there was not ignoring her presence. She lead us right to the rest of the herd, now grazing along a small spring with intermittent tree cover that allowed for inspection of each bison that passed by.
We plopped down and started examining every animal. Some were moving through an opening 100 yards out. Some closer, but in thick trees. One group stepped out of some trees about 100 yards to our right and commenced to feeding in a a small five acre opening. Four very nice bulls in the group. Jackpot!
We sat still as they fed. Some crossed the spring to the other herd. One even laid down. The best bull, at least by body size, was under a big tree, rubbing and grunting. The other bulls mingled among the cows, making their presence known, as though they were trying to prove something. The big bodied boy, content with his position in life, laid down under the tree.
That was our chance to move forward. We moved to 70 yards. I had many shots when he was clear of bison in front, but always had bison behind him. Or, vice-versa.
One other good bull walked up as if to tell him to get off his fat arse. He stood and followed that bull around the trees, over to another small opening to our right. Their they fed for over a half hour, never giving me and open shot that would not have endangered other bison in front or behind. Frustrating. The BFC folks had now caught up and were filming us. I worried they might mess up our stalk, but they were very careful to not get too close. As much as I don't like being filmed by others, not knowing their purpose of using the footage, I do commend them for not interfering with our stalks.
I am not sure how many times I planned to shoot, only to be foiled at the last second by the bull changing position, or others covering his vitals. I could have taken many head shots, given FWP recommends either a brain shot or a heart shot. With so many people watching, I had ruled out a head shot. All it would take is a small movement of the head, a flinch on my part, and it would be a hit on the face, the eye, the jaw, or whatever. Not something I want for myself, and surely not something I want others to film and post as a representation of hunting.
While these two bulls grazed, my mind was wishing for my bow. A string of trees would take me to ten yards. An easy shot. But, with my bow now over a mile away at the truck, that was not an option.
Eventually, the herd tired of our presence and moved away again. We cut through some trees to get in front of them. It was now hard to tell which bull was which. Just too many bison moving around, and mostly rear views as they walked away.
Finally, they crossed a dry creek bed. I could see the frozen "X" that marked the face of this biggest bull. He turned broadside. Brad told me he was ready.
I dropped by pack, readied my aim, and thought about all I had read of heart shots on bison. SHOOT LOW! Knowing the .300 Win Mag is sighted 2.5 inches high at 100 yards, I held low in the chest, focusing on a big patch of frozen fur dragging behind the front leg. Hold. Hold. Now!
Boom! The bull jumped. Fur flew. Matt was tracking him and telling me to get another round in him. I was following him in the scope, but too many other bison to have a clear shot. As quickly as he had turned and offered a great shot, he disappeared and the entire herd vanished back into the dark timber.
I hustled over to the spot where he stood. A big mass of long frozen bison fur lay in the snow. No blood. Had I really held THAT low? I followed his trail toward the rest of his herd. Not a single drop of blood. Man, talk about embarrassing. I had held too low, out of fear of making a lung shot, rather than a heart shot. Damn it!
No time for pouting. I needed to get back on them. It was now past noon and I had just messed a golden opportunity. On I went, with Brad and Matt in tow. Bart stayed back and occupied the BFC folks. They wanted to keep filming, so they tried to balance Bart's distractions with their need to follow close behind.
The bison were wasting no time headed to wherever it was they wanted to go. We were trying to keep up, but they are adept and moving through deep sugar snow, far better than humans. They quickly crossed the main highway, creating a traffic jam in the process. We let them cross the highway and all traffic clear before we crossed and followed their trail.
Following the trail of 60 bison is pretty easy. Steaming dung piles, and snow plowed from their path in deep troughs. The hard part was trying to keep track of the where the band went that contained the bulls. From our count, we estimated there were six decent bulls in this group. No super whoppers, but some nice ones. Our mission was to sneak/run/stumble along behind until they gave us a good view that we could use to fixate on a mature bull.
After crossing the highway, we scaled up the hill and were now on flat thick ground. You could smell them. Their steps were silenced by the deep powder snow, the quiet only interrupted only by the occasional grunt or breaking of limbs. This was now getting fun. We were actually putting some distance between us and the observers who were still following.
The bison had crossed the boundary a little after 8 am. It was now 9:30 and we were not gaining much ground. I was hoping they would not get out near the snowmobile trails and roads, as that would surely put them in the crosshairs of other hunters and make our pursuit on foot nearly impossible in this snow.
Fortunately, and with good reason, they bison turned and headed down a steep bank onto a big timbered flat that parallels that Madison River. This area is off limits to snowmobiles, a fact I think they have come to learn. I suspect it is the safest place in the unit, as not many fools want to try skid 1,000+ pounds of meat, hide, and head out of that timber and up that steep bank of soft snow.
Not being blessed with great wisdom, I suspect my ignorance of the trouble I am getting myself into and the persistence it allows me to have without second thought, probably was not something the bison were expecting. As soon as they got down into that timber, their pace slowed. That was good for us, as we were all sweating profusely, in spite of the single digit temps.
It was now past 10 am when we dropped down the steep bank and into the timber where the bison had melted. Once down in there, it was hard to see very far. I made a big loop in hopes of getting ahead and cutting them off, only to be spooked by a cow bison that stepped from some thick brush about five yards away. How I did not see her before then amazes me, but once she bolted, there was not ignoring her presence. She lead us right to the rest of the herd, now grazing along a small spring with intermittent tree cover that allowed for inspection of each bison that passed by.
We plopped down and started examining every animal. Some were moving through an opening 100 yards out. Some closer, but in thick trees. One group stepped out of some trees about 100 yards to our right and commenced to feeding in a a small five acre opening. Four very nice bulls in the group. Jackpot!
We sat still as they fed. Some crossed the spring to the other herd. One even laid down. The best bull, at least by body size, was under a big tree, rubbing and grunting. The other bulls mingled among the cows, making their presence known, as though they were trying to prove something. The big bodied boy, content with his position in life, laid down under the tree.
That was our chance to move forward. We moved to 70 yards. I had many shots when he was clear of bison in front, but always had bison behind him. Or, vice-versa.
One other good bull walked up as if to tell him to get off his fat arse. He stood and followed that bull around the trees, over to another small opening to our right. Their they fed for over a half hour, never giving me and open shot that would not have endangered other bison in front or behind. Frustrating. The BFC folks had now caught up and were filming us. I worried they might mess up our stalk, but they were very careful to not get too close. As much as I don't like being filmed by others, not knowing their purpose of using the footage, I do commend them for not interfering with our stalks.
I am not sure how many times I planned to shoot, only to be foiled at the last second by the bull changing position, or others covering his vitals. I could have taken many head shots, given FWP recommends either a brain shot or a heart shot. With so many people watching, I had ruled out a head shot. All it would take is a small movement of the head, a flinch on my part, and it would be a hit on the face, the eye, the jaw, or whatever. Not something I want for myself, and surely not something I want others to film and post as a representation of hunting.
While these two bulls grazed, my mind was wishing for my bow. A string of trees would take me to ten yards. An easy shot. But, with my bow now over a mile away at the truck, that was not an option.
Eventually, the herd tired of our presence and moved away again. We cut through some trees to get in front of them. It was now hard to tell which bull was which. Just too many bison moving around, and mostly rear views as they walked away.
Finally, they crossed a dry creek bed. I could see the frozen "X" that marked the face of this biggest bull. He turned broadside. Brad told me he was ready.
I dropped by pack, readied my aim, and thought about all I had read of heart shots on bison. SHOOT LOW! Knowing the .300 Win Mag is sighted 2.5 inches high at 100 yards, I held low in the chest, focusing on a big patch of frozen fur dragging behind the front leg. Hold. Hold. Now!
Boom! The bull jumped. Fur flew. Matt was tracking him and telling me to get another round in him. I was following him in the scope, but too many other bison to have a clear shot. As quickly as he had turned and offered a great shot, he disappeared and the entire herd vanished back into the dark timber.
I hustled over to the spot where he stood. A big mass of long frozen bison fur lay in the snow. No blood. Had I really held THAT low? I followed his trail toward the rest of his herd. Not a single drop of blood. Man, talk about embarrassing. I had held too low, out of fear of making a lung shot, rather than a heart shot. Damn it!
No time for pouting. I needed to get back on them. It was now past noon and I had just messed a golden opportunity. On I went, with Brad and Matt in tow. Bart stayed back and occupied the BFC folks. They wanted to keep filming, so they tried to balance Bart's distractions with their need to follow close behind.
thecrittergitter
Well-known member
Wow, what an experience! This was one of the neatest hunts I've been on. Bison are such cool animals, wish we had more opportunity to hunt them.
Thanks again Randy for the invite on the hunt, will be one I won't forget! I sure hope I can draw someday.
Look forward to seeing more of the great photos and footage from the hunt......
And its always good to have a little bit of leg burn when the reward is buffalo steaks!!
If Randy gets home and is missing a backstrap and T-loin.......I'm gonna blame it on a theiving coyote
Thanks again Randy for the invite on the hunt, will be one I won't forget! I sure hope I can draw someday.
Look forward to seeing more of the great photos and footage from the hunt......
And its always good to have a little bit of leg burn when the reward is buffalo steaks!!
If Randy gets home and is missing a backstrap and T-loin.......I'm gonna blame it on a theiving coyote
TheJason
Well-known member
- Joined
- Oct 21, 2024
- Messages
- 18,598
Great story, can't wait to hear the ending. Congrats on the bloody tailgate!
ID_deerslayer
Active member
Fin, I am so stoked for you and how this hunt cam together. While I would not have stayed as composed as you did with people filming me with out my permission, I am impressed by your integrity and waiting for a better opportunity to take the shot rather than shot and have the bison run back into the park and not be able to retrieve the animal. Wish you could have had success with the bow, perhaps another time! Really hoping that this will air on the site ASAP!
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elkantlers
Well-known member
Wow, you have alot more patience than I do. I can't imagine being that close for so long.
Now my mind is conflicted with trying to focus on the trails of splintering bison, while replaying the shot in my head. Recalling the sight picture, I am sure the long frozen chest hair dragging down was too low for my hold at that range, as the bullet would not rise much, even at the long range zero I have for it.
The tracks split into two groups. Which one holds the bulls? I go left. Within ten minutes I step into an opening and have a shot at less than 10 yards of the other bull that was with the one I had missed. Nope, not going to take it. He looks back one last time, then races ahead to catch the cows and calves who do not benefit from the same intimidating size this bull presents.
Seeing what is in this group, I get back to where the other group split off. I was now further behind. Brad and Matt staying stride by stride. Now, I am back to the same area where I had first spooked the cow. Just too many tracks to sort out at this time.
I had seen some bison legs moving through the trees at 2 O'clock, so I followed that direction. I could now see most of the herd of cows and calves we had watched earlier, prior to spotting the group with some bulls. A couple bulls had now joined them, but our boy was not with them.
At 12:45 Brad sees some bison coming out of the trees to our right. Not more than 50 yards, six bison amble toward this bigger group, pausing to examine the best place to cross this little spring creek. Seeing us move, they all look our direction. Mr. X is second to last. What a break.
I turn and get ready to shoot. I have shot deer with my bow from further distance than this. All I need is the cow in the back to clear him completely. Nope. In one big ball, they all drop down in the little creek and scramble up the other side, then stop to look at me. All but the big bull move forward. He is standing in some dead trees, offering no shot. Damn it.
Finally, he moves and starts walking almost straight away from our position. He is going to get mixed up with this other group, requiring us to do a lot of sorting to find him.
As he nears this other herd, four bulls instantly greet him with some head butts and pushing. He pushes back and eventually brushes them aside and starts filling his big stomach. At 108 yards he feeds for a long time, offering nothing but a straight on shot. One shot is finally offered, only to have some dead limbs that might mess with a shot.
I move over to my right where Matt has found a more open shooting lane. Brad follows and is set up right over my shoulder. I am now practicing my hold and breathing on every bison that gives a broadside profile. Looking at them in great detail, no doubt I held way too low on the first shot.
We have been set up for over a half hour. Will I get another chance? Not sure. I hope so, but we all know that perfect chances are hard to come by, no matter how hard you work. Maybe I am being too much of a perfectionist. I want this to be the perfect shot. No mess, no wild chase of a bleeding animals, perfect broadside, everything needs to be perfect or I am not shooting.
I look at my watch. Big Ben says 1:25 pm. Dang, this had turned into a long day and some tough miles in deep powder snow. I now realize how thirsty and hungry I am, having taken no water or nourishment all day. Why am I thinking about this stuff, when a life-long dream is standing out in front of me? Toughen up, Randy.
I tell Brad that if the bull gives a profile, we need to be on the ready. He affirms his preparedness. As if following Brad's production guidelines, the bull turns broadside, facing right.
I am on him immediately. In the scope, he looks so big. Huge. They all look big from this distance. Hold higher, Randy. When he moves his front leg forward, hold for an elevation of the elbow, no lower.
The bull takes a step. Instinctively, a shot is fired without even thinking about it. He leaps up, then rocks back. I load another round and as he changes direction, he is now mostly broadside with a slight quartering to angle. A second shot hit him before I even think about it.
Within 30 seconds, the bulls is on his side, his feet hardly even moving. The herd that has scattered now rushes to his side. All his fellow bulls are pushing him. They climb over him, then one puts his front legs on the chest of the downed bull. The fallen bull is now being hooked and horned. Big chunks of fur fly as the bulls act as though they are trying to get him on his feet.
We wait for fifteen minutes before slowly proceeding to the scene of this bison conglomeration. Bart has been keeping the BFC folks occupied, so it is just me, Brad, and Matt.
As we near, one cow is mad. Not just a little mad, but really mad. She raises her tail and turns towards us. I tell the guys to back up. Matt finds a big broken tree top and starts waving it at her. The bulls want no part of Matt and his charades, so they scatter quickly , leaving this old gal to fend for herself. Finally, she retreats and allows us to inspect the bull.
We start digging in our packs for tags, knives, and cameras. We turn around and this old gal has brought a group of fellow combatants to reclaim their friend. They form a semi-circle around us, grunting, snorting, and pawing snow. Dang it, can't you just leave us to our business. Finally, Matt's big stick treatment scares all her supporters, leaving her alone. She now decides we can have our day.
Time for work and pictures. It takes us a lot of cutting and hacking. Bart has now joined us, laughing at the frustration of the BFC guys not being able to keep up with us, and in the end, not getting any footage of our shot.
With four guys, two running knives and two holding hide and legs, the process goes faster than I thought. Inspection shows a very small grazing nick to the brisket of the bull. A patch of hair is missing and the skin is opened, with nothing but fat showing, confirming my first shot was too low. Opening the chest cavity shows a heart that is nearly severed in half by the Federal Premium .300 Win Mag 180 grain Trophy Copper bullet. The second round was not needed, but took out the plumbing right at the top of the heart.
It was dark before we skidded and packed the loads up to the top of the river bench where snowmobiles are allowed. After helping Brad haul the hind quarters up the grade, Bart retrieved a snowmobile and some ice fishing sleds to take the pieces back to the parking lot.
We are now finished, completely spent and worn. Very happy that this hunt went how it did and I did not shoot a bison right near a park boundary. We got the good fortune of chasing them on foot, in deep snow, in an area where snowmobiles are not allowed. Bison are not as wiley as and elk or deer. But, in some special way, are more exciting and intriguing, than any species I have ever hunted.
I only wish we had ten times as many bison in Montana, so ten times as many guys could go and experience what we did today. The bison deserves to be treated as wildlife and not livestock. Until we as hunters make that case, the plight of the bison is relegated to the same path, rather than the path of abundance we have provided for all our other wildlife.
Thanks to some great guys who shared one of the most special hunting days of my life. And, worked their butts off in the process.
Brad and me, sharing the joy of his great filming.
Critter and I, smiling in the pleasure of a great hunt.
Lawnboy and Fin, happy to be showing our "Fudd hats" with the fruits of labors.
Ode to the Howa, which always performs better than I do.
A broken heart, courtesy of Federal Ammunition.
All that was left of the big boy, by the time dark arrived. Every other piece is now with us.
The tracks split into two groups. Which one holds the bulls? I go left. Within ten minutes I step into an opening and have a shot at less than 10 yards of the other bull that was with the one I had missed. Nope, not going to take it. He looks back one last time, then races ahead to catch the cows and calves who do not benefit from the same intimidating size this bull presents.
Seeing what is in this group, I get back to where the other group split off. I was now further behind. Brad and Matt staying stride by stride. Now, I am back to the same area where I had first spooked the cow. Just too many tracks to sort out at this time.
I had seen some bison legs moving through the trees at 2 O'clock, so I followed that direction. I could now see most of the herd of cows and calves we had watched earlier, prior to spotting the group with some bulls. A couple bulls had now joined them, but our boy was not with them.
At 12:45 Brad sees some bison coming out of the trees to our right. Not more than 50 yards, six bison amble toward this bigger group, pausing to examine the best place to cross this little spring creek. Seeing us move, they all look our direction. Mr. X is second to last. What a break.
I turn and get ready to shoot. I have shot deer with my bow from further distance than this. All I need is the cow in the back to clear him completely. Nope. In one big ball, they all drop down in the little creek and scramble up the other side, then stop to look at me. All but the big bull move forward. He is standing in some dead trees, offering no shot. Damn it.
Finally, he moves and starts walking almost straight away from our position. He is going to get mixed up with this other group, requiring us to do a lot of sorting to find him.
As he nears this other herd, four bulls instantly greet him with some head butts and pushing. He pushes back and eventually brushes them aside and starts filling his big stomach. At 108 yards he feeds for a long time, offering nothing but a straight on shot. One shot is finally offered, only to have some dead limbs that might mess with a shot.
I move over to my right where Matt has found a more open shooting lane. Brad follows and is set up right over my shoulder. I am now practicing my hold and breathing on every bison that gives a broadside profile. Looking at them in great detail, no doubt I held way too low on the first shot.
We have been set up for over a half hour. Will I get another chance? Not sure. I hope so, but we all know that perfect chances are hard to come by, no matter how hard you work. Maybe I am being too much of a perfectionist. I want this to be the perfect shot. No mess, no wild chase of a bleeding animals, perfect broadside, everything needs to be perfect or I am not shooting.
I look at my watch. Big Ben says 1:25 pm. Dang, this had turned into a long day and some tough miles in deep powder snow. I now realize how thirsty and hungry I am, having taken no water or nourishment all day. Why am I thinking about this stuff, when a life-long dream is standing out in front of me? Toughen up, Randy.
I tell Brad that if the bull gives a profile, we need to be on the ready. He affirms his preparedness. As if following Brad's production guidelines, the bull turns broadside, facing right.
I am on him immediately. In the scope, he looks so big. Huge. They all look big from this distance. Hold higher, Randy. When he moves his front leg forward, hold for an elevation of the elbow, no lower.
The bull takes a step. Instinctively, a shot is fired without even thinking about it. He leaps up, then rocks back. I load another round and as he changes direction, he is now mostly broadside with a slight quartering to angle. A second shot hit him before I even think about it.
Within 30 seconds, the bulls is on his side, his feet hardly even moving. The herd that has scattered now rushes to his side. All his fellow bulls are pushing him. They climb over him, then one puts his front legs on the chest of the downed bull. The fallen bull is now being hooked and horned. Big chunks of fur fly as the bulls act as though they are trying to get him on his feet.
We wait for fifteen minutes before slowly proceeding to the scene of this bison conglomeration. Bart has been keeping the BFC folks occupied, so it is just me, Brad, and Matt.
As we near, one cow is mad. Not just a little mad, but really mad. She raises her tail and turns towards us. I tell the guys to back up. Matt finds a big broken tree top and starts waving it at her. The bulls want no part of Matt and his charades, so they scatter quickly , leaving this old gal to fend for herself. Finally, she retreats and allows us to inspect the bull.
We start digging in our packs for tags, knives, and cameras. We turn around and this old gal has brought a group of fellow combatants to reclaim their friend. They form a semi-circle around us, grunting, snorting, and pawing snow. Dang it, can't you just leave us to our business. Finally, Matt's big stick treatment scares all her supporters, leaving her alone. She now decides we can have our day.
Time for work and pictures. It takes us a lot of cutting and hacking. Bart has now joined us, laughing at the frustration of the BFC guys not being able to keep up with us, and in the end, not getting any footage of our shot.
With four guys, two running knives and two holding hide and legs, the process goes faster than I thought. Inspection shows a very small grazing nick to the brisket of the bull. A patch of hair is missing and the skin is opened, with nothing but fat showing, confirming my first shot was too low. Opening the chest cavity shows a heart that is nearly severed in half by the Federal Premium .300 Win Mag 180 grain Trophy Copper bullet. The second round was not needed, but took out the plumbing right at the top of the heart.
It was dark before we skidded and packed the loads up to the top of the river bench where snowmobiles are allowed. After helping Brad haul the hind quarters up the grade, Bart retrieved a snowmobile and some ice fishing sleds to take the pieces back to the parking lot.
We are now finished, completely spent and worn. Very happy that this hunt went how it did and I did not shoot a bison right near a park boundary. We got the good fortune of chasing them on foot, in deep snow, in an area where snowmobiles are not allowed. Bison are not as wiley as and elk or deer. But, in some special way, are more exciting and intriguing, than any species I have ever hunted.
I only wish we had ten times as many bison in Montana, so ten times as many guys could go and experience what we did today. The bison deserves to be treated as wildlife and not livestock. Until we as hunters make that case, the plight of the bison is relegated to the same path, rather than the path of abundance we have provided for all our other wildlife.
Thanks to some great guys who shared one of the most special hunting days of my life. And, worked their butts off in the process.
Brad and me, sharing the joy of his great filming.
Critter and I, smiling in the pleasure of a great hunt.
Lawnboy and Fin, happy to be showing our "Fudd hats" with the fruits of labors.
Ode to the Howa, which always performs better than I do.
A broken heart, courtesy of Federal Ammunition.
All that was left of the big boy, by the time dark arrived. Every other piece is now with us.
msnyder
Member
Congrats!! sounds like an awesome hunt!!
jryoung
Well-known member
I can't imagine the hours of intensity with buffalo right there but you're just waiting for the perfect moment. What a hell of a hunt, I can't wait to see this on TV.
Blacktailbc
Well-known member
Wow. What a story. Congrats Randy. That is one special hunt.
WapitiBob
Well-known member
Very very nice. Congrats to the whole team.
