After two years of lurking on here, reading everything I can find, and saving, planning, and saving some more - I finally made it out to Colorado for my first Elk hunt. Here's the story:
Due to my work schedule, the only chance I had this year was the first week of the season. After working a 10 hour shift, we left Ohio at about midnight on the 24th and started driving west. 26 hours, and several fast food stops later, we ended up in Walden, Colorado at about midnight Colorado time. We still needed to buy my tag, so we slept in the truck on some BLM land and waited for the gas station to open up. We had planned on being there at 5:30AM, as soon as the doors opened, but the lack of sleep caused us to rest our eyes just a little bit longer. By 7:30 we had a tag in hand, and headed into the wilderness.
I had done some google earth and OnX scouting, and decided to head into the Mt. Zirkle Wilderness, specifically the Red Canyon area. OnX showed a summer concentration of elk on the South side of the Canyon, and I figured that was as good a place as any for two white-tail guys to start. (For this part of the story, I'm totally fine talking about where we were - because, frankly, if anyone can get back in there - even with coordinates- and get an elk, and then get it out, then they deserve it.)
Everything I read said the Mt. Zirkle area was steep, and rugged, and plagued with beetle-kill and blowdown. But come on - how bad could it really be?? Famous last words.
Heading off into the wilderness.
We hiked up the Lost Ranger trail for a couple hours, and then decided to break off and head down into the Canyon to cross to the timber on the South Side. Unfortunately we were WAY higher up than we realized, and the "hike" down was more of a rock-climbing expedition. I would have felt much more comfortable if we were on ropes with a belayer at the bottom. Crawling through the blow-down with a 50lb pack (I brought WAY too much stuff), was pretty sketchy.
We spotted an unnamed lake way below us, and decided to make camp there. 2 hours later, and a boulder field of rocks the size of a Volkswagen, we were on the shore.
Unfortunately we were so exhausted from the hike in, and it was so late, that we didn't even hunt that evening. Instead we made some dinner and just sat around camp. At one point I looked up on the canyon wall and saw a bear cub heading our way. Being from Ohio, neither of us had ever seen a bear in the wild, so we started making noise and shouting "hey bear!". After about a minute of that we saw Momma, a beautiful Cinnamon, heading away from us, up the canyon wall. She paused on a rock, maybe 75 yards away, and stood like she was in a beer commercial before sauntering on. It was magical. I thought we would be terrified if we actually saw a bear - but I was really surprised with how well we handled it.
After that we peed all around camp to mark our territory (again - we're from Ohio. No idea if that does anything, but it made us feel better), and went to sleep. Pepper spray in reach.
The next morning we were up before dark and headed up the south side of the canyon. It was steep. I mean - seriously steep. I don't know the exact grade, but I've put shingles on roofs that had a much easier pitch. Also - bark beetles suck, and blowdown is hard to walk through. Very hard.
It didn't look this rough on Google Earth.
We bumped a doe mule deer early on - and then saw absolutely nothing. We crawled through drainages, and over rocks and blowdown, and through dense and dark timber. We cow called, bugled, and did everything we could think of - but the elk just weren't there. I think we were too low, and needed to get higher - but higher meant a solid 1,000 or more feet straight up the mountain, and it just didn't seem doable. At lunch we decided that if we didn't see any fresh sign in the afternoon we would pack up and head out first thing in the morning. After several more hours of bushwacking up Mt. Everest we decided to cut our losses and get ready to move on.
Funniest looking elk shed I've ever seen. I wasn't sure on the rules, so I left it up there. When I got home I realized I could have kept it - my wife is not happy. If anyone wants to risk their life to go pick it up for me, I'll send you the coordinates and pay for shipping
I've read over and over that first-time hunters should stick close to the roads so they can be mobile. And I fully support that idea now. We were WAY back in there - probably 6 miles or so, and it took us several hours to hike out the next morning (Monday). However - I don't regret heading in there at all. Part of the reason I wanted to head out west was to have that wilderness experience. To challenge myself and see if I could handle being that far away from support. And we did it. We stayed two nights by that lake, and could have easily stayed several more - but there just weren't any elk, or fresh sign. Also, thank God we didn't kill an elk back there. That would have been an INTENSE pack out.
After following the creek out, we headed into Walden grabbed some BBQ and worked on our next plan of attack.
Really put the "streeeetch" in the Prana Stretch Zions. Also pictured: My Kuiu Ultra/LL Bean Hunter Carryall FrankenPack. It worked WAY better than I expected. I'll post a detailed review of it sometime soon.
"Get me the hell out of this canyon"
I had some intel from a friend about an area nearby that was much closer to a road, so we decided to go for it. We got there about 2PM, geared up, and headed off into the woods. We decided that we would just camp by the truck that night, so our packs were much lighter for the evening hunt.
Almost immediately we found fresh sign. Droppings everywhere, and gigantic rubs. Fresh tracks covered every trail. Things were getting exciting.
This is more like it.
We climbed the ridge and found a good spot to start glassing a high meadow. We had two more days left, so we planned to just observe the first night, so as not to blow out an area by charging in. About 6:00PM we heard it - the first bugle of the trip. It came from WAY up high on the mountain, but we had a good idea of where he was. We decided to forget the "patient" plan we had, and headed after him. Thanks to some terrain breaks, and really friendly wind, we were able to sneak on the edge of the timber, near the top of the mountain without being detected.
My partner stopped in a little pocket of aspens, and started making some cow calls. I went ahead about 75 yards when I heard him bugle behind me. I realized if I went much further I would be upwind, so I quickly ran back down the hill about 20 yards and tucked into the edge of the timber. About 30 seconds later I heard a twig snap, and saw the longest legs I've ever seen on an animal appear from behind a fir tree. It was the bull. Holy $%@@#$#. I have no idea how to judge the size of a bull - much less the first one I've ever seen, and in the heat of the moment - but he was a mature 6 point. Based on pictures I've seen of other bulls since the encounter, I'd guess he was around 280-290. PLENTY big enough for me.
He was 25 yards away, and had no idea I was there. He was heading straight for my buddy's cow call. His head got behind a tree. I drew. He saw me, and paused - perfectly broadside. I couldn't believe it. On my first elk hunt, in an OTC unit, I had a mature bull standing broadside. We had done everything right - we played the wind, we called him in, we set up in the right location to have a wide open shooting lane, this was it.
What happened next is still blurry. It all happened so fast. I picked a spot, and shot. I heard the arrow hit, it sounded good. The bull turned back and sprinted away. He paused for a few moments - then crashed through the timber, headed down hill. I was in shock.
I called for my buddy and he came running. We looked around for my arrow, and couldn't find it, but then I saw blood. LOTS of blood. We decided to give him room, so we waited for a solid hour. I'd eaten way too many Cliff Bars, so I decided this would be a good time to go find a nice log and kill some time.
Looking good!
After an hour we started tracking. Splashes of blood, and big drops, were everywhere. We trailed him for about 50 yards. Then, the blood stopped.
It was just gone.
We searched and searched and searched, but by this time it was pitch black, and our headlights were starting to dim. Reluctantly we dropped off the mountain and decided to come back in the morning. I didn't sleep much that night.
We were moving at first light and headed right back up the mountain. We picked up the trail where we left off, certain we would find him just over the hill. But he was gone, and so was the blood. We searched for 10 hours, crawled 8 miles through blowdown and thick timber, and found nothing. At one point, about 150 yards away from the last blood, I found what appeared to be a tiny smear on a small aspen. It also had a scratch right below it, which was similar to scratches we had seen on other trees with blood. We figured it was either an antler, or the broadhead just barely sticking out on the opposite side. We kept looking, but that was the last blood we saw. I was devastated.
The last blood we found. Note the small fresh scratch just below it. We found that scratch on several other trees that had blood.
The timber he disappeared into. It was a very long day.
We had two days left to hunt, but I just didn't have it in me. I was fairly certain I had killed the bull, and didn't think it would be right to try after another. We headed off the hill in the evening, and started the drive home.
Now, a week later, I've had time to think about it, and I'm still upset, but I'm coming to terms with it. I'm upset that I wounded an animal, that I didn't come home with meat, and if I'm being honest, part of me is upset that I won't be able to hang his antlers on my wall. Another part of me is upset that I'm even thinking about the antlers - but I am. I've taken some solace in the Aldo Leopold story about the acorn that is eaten by the buck, who is killed by the cougar, who dies under the oak, who produces more acorns, that are eaten by more bucks. The whole experience has been the toughest thing I've felt during hunting - but it has given me a completely new outlook on death, life, and where food really comes from. Every meal that involves meat comes from death - and if an animal is going to have to die for me, I'd much rather take on that responsibility myself instead of paying someone to do my killing for me. Sometimes it's ugly, and things like this happen, but it's part of life, and I'm glad I have this new outlook.
I'm already planning my 2019 trip.
Due to my work schedule, the only chance I had this year was the first week of the season. After working a 10 hour shift, we left Ohio at about midnight on the 24th and started driving west. 26 hours, and several fast food stops later, we ended up in Walden, Colorado at about midnight Colorado time. We still needed to buy my tag, so we slept in the truck on some BLM land and waited for the gas station to open up. We had planned on being there at 5:30AM, as soon as the doors opened, but the lack of sleep caused us to rest our eyes just a little bit longer. By 7:30 we had a tag in hand, and headed into the wilderness.
I had done some google earth and OnX scouting, and decided to head into the Mt. Zirkle Wilderness, specifically the Red Canyon area. OnX showed a summer concentration of elk on the South side of the Canyon, and I figured that was as good a place as any for two white-tail guys to start. (For this part of the story, I'm totally fine talking about where we were - because, frankly, if anyone can get back in there - even with coordinates- and get an elk, and then get it out, then they deserve it.)
Everything I read said the Mt. Zirkle area was steep, and rugged, and plagued with beetle-kill and blowdown. But come on - how bad could it really be?? Famous last words.
Heading off into the wilderness.
We hiked up the Lost Ranger trail for a couple hours, and then decided to break off and head down into the Canyon to cross to the timber on the South Side. Unfortunately we were WAY higher up than we realized, and the "hike" down was more of a rock-climbing expedition. I would have felt much more comfortable if we were on ropes with a belayer at the bottom. Crawling through the blow-down with a 50lb pack (I brought WAY too much stuff), was pretty sketchy.
We spotted an unnamed lake way below us, and decided to make camp there. 2 hours later, and a boulder field of rocks the size of a Volkswagen, we were on the shore.
Unfortunately we were so exhausted from the hike in, and it was so late, that we didn't even hunt that evening. Instead we made some dinner and just sat around camp. At one point I looked up on the canyon wall and saw a bear cub heading our way. Being from Ohio, neither of us had ever seen a bear in the wild, so we started making noise and shouting "hey bear!". After about a minute of that we saw Momma, a beautiful Cinnamon, heading away from us, up the canyon wall. She paused on a rock, maybe 75 yards away, and stood like she was in a beer commercial before sauntering on. It was magical. I thought we would be terrified if we actually saw a bear - but I was really surprised with how well we handled it.
After that we peed all around camp to mark our territory (again - we're from Ohio. No idea if that does anything, but it made us feel better), and went to sleep. Pepper spray in reach.
The next morning we were up before dark and headed up the south side of the canyon. It was steep. I mean - seriously steep. I don't know the exact grade, but I've put shingles on roofs that had a much easier pitch. Also - bark beetles suck, and blowdown is hard to walk through. Very hard.
It didn't look this rough on Google Earth.
We bumped a doe mule deer early on - and then saw absolutely nothing. We crawled through drainages, and over rocks and blowdown, and through dense and dark timber. We cow called, bugled, and did everything we could think of - but the elk just weren't there. I think we were too low, and needed to get higher - but higher meant a solid 1,000 or more feet straight up the mountain, and it just didn't seem doable. At lunch we decided that if we didn't see any fresh sign in the afternoon we would pack up and head out first thing in the morning. After several more hours of bushwacking up Mt. Everest we decided to cut our losses and get ready to move on.
Funniest looking elk shed I've ever seen. I wasn't sure on the rules, so I left it up there. When I got home I realized I could have kept it - my wife is not happy. If anyone wants to risk their life to go pick it up for me, I'll send you the coordinates and pay for shipping
I've read over and over that first-time hunters should stick close to the roads so they can be mobile. And I fully support that idea now. We were WAY back in there - probably 6 miles or so, and it took us several hours to hike out the next morning (Monday). However - I don't regret heading in there at all. Part of the reason I wanted to head out west was to have that wilderness experience. To challenge myself and see if I could handle being that far away from support. And we did it. We stayed two nights by that lake, and could have easily stayed several more - but there just weren't any elk, or fresh sign. Also, thank God we didn't kill an elk back there. That would have been an INTENSE pack out.
After following the creek out, we headed into Walden grabbed some BBQ and worked on our next plan of attack.
Really put the "streeeetch" in the Prana Stretch Zions. Also pictured: My Kuiu Ultra/LL Bean Hunter Carryall FrankenPack. It worked WAY better than I expected. I'll post a detailed review of it sometime soon.
"Get me the hell out of this canyon"
I had some intel from a friend about an area nearby that was much closer to a road, so we decided to go for it. We got there about 2PM, geared up, and headed off into the woods. We decided that we would just camp by the truck that night, so our packs were much lighter for the evening hunt.
Almost immediately we found fresh sign. Droppings everywhere, and gigantic rubs. Fresh tracks covered every trail. Things were getting exciting.
This is more like it.
We climbed the ridge and found a good spot to start glassing a high meadow. We had two more days left, so we planned to just observe the first night, so as not to blow out an area by charging in. About 6:00PM we heard it - the first bugle of the trip. It came from WAY up high on the mountain, but we had a good idea of where he was. We decided to forget the "patient" plan we had, and headed after him. Thanks to some terrain breaks, and really friendly wind, we were able to sneak on the edge of the timber, near the top of the mountain without being detected.
My partner stopped in a little pocket of aspens, and started making some cow calls. I went ahead about 75 yards when I heard him bugle behind me. I realized if I went much further I would be upwind, so I quickly ran back down the hill about 20 yards and tucked into the edge of the timber. About 30 seconds later I heard a twig snap, and saw the longest legs I've ever seen on an animal appear from behind a fir tree. It was the bull. Holy $%@@#$#. I have no idea how to judge the size of a bull - much less the first one I've ever seen, and in the heat of the moment - but he was a mature 6 point. Based on pictures I've seen of other bulls since the encounter, I'd guess he was around 280-290. PLENTY big enough for me.
He was 25 yards away, and had no idea I was there. He was heading straight for my buddy's cow call. His head got behind a tree. I drew. He saw me, and paused - perfectly broadside. I couldn't believe it. On my first elk hunt, in an OTC unit, I had a mature bull standing broadside. We had done everything right - we played the wind, we called him in, we set up in the right location to have a wide open shooting lane, this was it.
What happened next is still blurry. It all happened so fast. I picked a spot, and shot. I heard the arrow hit, it sounded good. The bull turned back and sprinted away. He paused for a few moments - then crashed through the timber, headed down hill. I was in shock.
I called for my buddy and he came running. We looked around for my arrow, and couldn't find it, but then I saw blood. LOTS of blood. We decided to give him room, so we waited for a solid hour. I'd eaten way too many Cliff Bars, so I decided this would be a good time to go find a nice log and kill some time.
Looking good!
After an hour we started tracking. Splashes of blood, and big drops, were everywhere. We trailed him for about 50 yards. Then, the blood stopped.
It was just gone.
We searched and searched and searched, but by this time it was pitch black, and our headlights were starting to dim. Reluctantly we dropped off the mountain and decided to come back in the morning. I didn't sleep much that night.
We were moving at first light and headed right back up the mountain. We picked up the trail where we left off, certain we would find him just over the hill. But he was gone, and so was the blood. We searched for 10 hours, crawled 8 miles through blowdown and thick timber, and found nothing. At one point, about 150 yards away from the last blood, I found what appeared to be a tiny smear on a small aspen. It also had a scratch right below it, which was similar to scratches we had seen on other trees with blood. We figured it was either an antler, or the broadhead just barely sticking out on the opposite side. We kept looking, but that was the last blood we saw. I was devastated.
The last blood we found. Note the small fresh scratch just below it. We found that scratch on several other trees that had blood.
The timber he disappeared into. It was a very long day.
We had two days left to hunt, but I just didn't have it in me. I was fairly certain I had killed the bull, and didn't think it would be right to try after another. We headed off the hill in the evening, and started the drive home.
Now, a week later, I've had time to think about it, and I'm still upset, but I'm coming to terms with it. I'm upset that I wounded an animal, that I didn't come home with meat, and if I'm being honest, part of me is upset that I won't be able to hang his antlers on my wall. Another part of me is upset that I'm even thinking about the antlers - but I am. I've taken some solace in the Aldo Leopold story about the acorn that is eaten by the buck, who is killed by the cougar, who dies under the oak, who produces more acorns, that are eaten by more bucks. The whole experience has been the toughest thing I've felt during hunting - but it has given me a completely new outlook on death, life, and where food really comes from. Every meal that involves meat comes from death - and if an animal is going to have to die for me, I'd much rather take on that responsibility myself instead of paying someone to do my killing for me. Sometimes it's ugly, and things like this happen, but it's part of life, and I'm glad I have this new outlook.
I'm already planning my 2019 trip.
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