Hatchie Dawg
Well-known member
2011
"It was very cold that night and for the first time I really suffered. I'm not sure if the bag was getting some condensation problems or if it was just the temp but I hardly slept at all. I know it was 8 deg in town and I was well above that. Anyway I was miserable. I got up a little late but hustled on over to a spot near a small saddle. I was freezing and prayed for the sun. About 30 minutes into the legal day the first bull elk I had ever seen walked into a bit of light. He was way out but coming right at me. He eased into some oak brush at about 400yds but came out on my side at 300. He appeared to be a nice 5x5 and had gotten snow on his back coming through the brush. His antlers rocked back and forth and his mane swung as he shook the snow off. The wind was howling and it was still very cold as I tried to steady the crosshairs over his back. All the work, expense, blisters, numbness, burning, aching, and homesickness coming down to that one moment, right there.
I couldn't take the shot. I was too cold and too excited. The wind was too hard and the animal was too big and beautiful. I pulled off and hoped for the better shot that never came.
I finished the day on the mountain but knew I wouldn't spend another. I had been away from home more than a week, up one steep hill or another seven days in a row and been in the tent 5 days. I was homesick and spent. I made it down to the car threw the pack in the back and made it to the interstate before too late. I was on my way home. I was happy and almost in tears at the same time. In the end, for at least a time, the image of that bull rocking his antlers and shaking his mane will have to be enough. I learned a lot. I will be much harder to beat next year."
2012 a cow this year....first elk
"In the end I didn't get that big bull of course. But the relief and satisfaction that ran through me when I saw "my elk" was down still has not fully receded these several days later. My obsession with this hunt took on almost unhealthy levels. At any moment the past year I would be likely to look up at my wife and say"if we go in this way" or "if we get to this place, I think...." or "I talked to the biologist today and he said....". Nightly sessions of staring at maps and the computer were all to common, replacing the things I should have been doing.
I guess I was not the big bull hunter that I thought I might be, but I am an elk hunter now. From a long way off, my friend and I went west and got it done. We hunted rough country and didn't see another soul the entire time. We found the animals, killed them and got the meat and gear out on our own and I take pride in that, a lot of pride really.
As I sit here organizing my thoughts over a Deep South and Mountain West combination of muscadine wine and elk steak I don't think I would change a thing about the hunt. Would I have preferred the big bull to have stepped out of the aspen, well heck yeah, who wouldn't, But would I change anything I did? Hell no. For the first time in about two years I am at peace with this elk thing."
2014
"I will admit that I go to Colorado to kill elk and it is hard for me to look at the trip as anything but a failure. The mindset is a weakness of mine but I can't help being me. It is what it is. Time had to pass before I could write about the hunt. I have to force myself to look at the good side and the things we learned and accomplished and they are there for sure, but the bottom line still gnaws at me. Elk hunting is the hardest thing that I do physically and mentally. I don't use a guide. I hunt on foot in a part of a designated wilderness that most avoid and my success rate believe it or not is actually higher than average for CO, even including the ranch and guided hunts. But, I am not as sure of myself as I once was. I can try as hard as I can try and still come up empty. Again it is what it is and I have to accept that or move on to something else.
On the way down that last evening my mind was running and I was mulling the thought that maybe this was too tough for me and I needed to find another way. Maybe a guide was needed or maybe someplace flatter or not quite so backcountry. Now I am a bit sentimental. One only has to look at the drivel I've put on this board over the years to realize that. I am a little superstitious and even believe in signs regarding the outdoors. I would be better served just looking at the cold hard facts, then analyze and calculate, but I can't seem to do that. As we reached the trailhead and the truck, my mind was made up. I was not going to take this trip again. I needed something easier, something with better odds. Maybe I could take a guided hunt every few years instead of the hunt on my own just about every year. Maybe I could find some ranch hunt that I could afford. As we dumped loads and unsaddled the stock, I opened the truck door, stuck in the key and turned on the radio. At that moment an 80s song was getting to the chorus line. " In a big country.... dreams stay with you... Like a lover's voice... fires the mountainside... Stay alive" It was hokey, but I sat and listened as Big Country hammered out the lyrics to their only big hit, fate or chance as you will have it, hitting me in my soft spot.
Right then and there deep down I decided to go back. I will take my "sign" and all my weaknesses and return to the those mountains and my little spot in the rugged Rockies. I will chase those bulls in my own way and do the best that I can do in the hopes it will be enough. I will take the failure or the success made of my own effort, the good and the bad. It is elk hunting. It is what it is and I am what I am.
Those are the cold hard facts."
So the previous few paragraphs summarize my result and feeling after each of my first three elk hunts. I was pretty damn low after coming out of the mountains last year without an elk for either Pat (hunting partner) or myself. I didn't share "my sign" with Pat because he is not that kind of guy. Mechanical engineers raised on painfully practical Central Missouri farms have little time or thought for such things, but when I did finally share with Pat that I was considering a solo return to our hunt area in 2015 ( Pat was getting married and would not be able to go) my ever measured, always level friend took me off guard a bit. He looked at me and said, "I think you can do it" I told Pat that I was not not sure what kind of shape I would be in if I failed again, that would be 3 out of 4 hunts without an elk. And that's when my friend really surprised me and really set my decision. Pat said, " Well then you just go back." If 1 for 4 was good enough for my supremely practical friend who straightens and saves nails from tear downs, patches socks, and hunts in cheap military surplus boots, then it was good enough for me. I was headed back west in 2015.
I won't go into the preparation too much this time beyond saying I worked harder than ever. For the nine months prior to the trip I did multiple aerobic, HIIT and low weight high rep weight classes each week at the local Gold's Gym. My equipment was pretty well set and my rifle was shooting well. I felt very solid to 300yds and comfortable at 400yds with the right set of circumstances. Below is a pic of a few people from my last class. The pretty girl is a very strong aerobics instructor and the fellow to the left in the red shirt is a hard nosed weight trainer, with the remaining guys just participants like me. The group exercise program was good for me and these people made me better than I have been in at least the last 20 years. They welcomed me in to what was not really a comfortable situation for me at first and I owe them a debt.
My trip hit a snag in July when I got my daughter's final soccer schedule. She is a senior and a four year starter on a team favored to return to state for the third time in a row. Senior night was scheduled for Oct the 8th the day I was supposed to head into the mountains in Southwest CO.I scrambled around and got a cheap flight out of Nashville to Denver for the ninth and placed my hopes on a lot of things going right the ninth where I would need to go from Nashville to 11,600' in the San Juan all in one day. I was originally renting a car from Denver and driving down, but for my birthday my family surprised me with a hopper flight from Denver to down closer to my final destination. That flight was almost three times as much as my flight from Nashville to Denver and my wife, my in laws and parents all pitched in. My wife organized it all. It is great to have a wife that tolerates my hunts, but quite another story to have one that actually supports them. She knows how important these quests have become for me and supports me fully. It is just another reason why I love her dearly. As it came about, I escorted my daughter across the field Thursday the 8th of Oct and then watched her score a goal and get a assist on the way to a victory over a district opponent. The next day I boarded a plane and headed for the San Juan. The hopper flight was filled with hunters and excitement was running high.
Everything went off without a hitch and my ascent up the trail went well. I must admit two or three times I wanted to stop and just bivy where I was. The pack felt heavy at somewhere around 55lbs. It was all I could do to reach the top but I did it just about dark, pitched the tent, ate a couple of bars and went to bed. Tomorrow was opening day.
"It was very cold that night and for the first time I really suffered. I'm not sure if the bag was getting some condensation problems or if it was just the temp but I hardly slept at all. I know it was 8 deg in town and I was well above that. Anyway I was miserable. I got up a little late but hustled on over to a spot near a small saddle. I was freezing and prayed for the sun. About 30 minutes into the legal day the first bull elk I had ever seen walked into a bit of light. He was way out but coming right at me. He eased into some oak brush at about 400yds but came out on my side at 300. He appeared to be a nice 5x5 and had gotten snow on his back coming through the brush. His antlers rocked back and forth and his mane swung as he shook the snow off. The wind was howling and it was still very cold as I tried to steady the crosshairs over his back. All the work, expense, blisters, numbness, burning, aching, and homesickness coming down to that one moment, right there.
I couldn't take the shot. I was too cold and too excited. The wind was too hard and the animal was too big and beautiful. I pulled off and hoped for the better shot that never came.
I finished the day on the mountain but knew I wouldn't spend another. I had been away from home more than a week, up one steep hill or another seven days in a row and been in the tent 5 days. I was homesick and spent. I made it down to the car threw the pack in the back and made it to the interstate before too late. I was on my way home. I was happy and almost in tears at the same time. In the end, for at least a time, the image of that bull rocking his antlers and shaking his mane will have to be enough. I learned a lot. I will be much harder to beat next year."
2012 a cow this year....first elk
"In the end I didn't get that big bull of course. But the relief and satisfaction that ran through me when I saw "my elk" was down still has not fully receded these several days later. My obsession with this hunt took on almost unhealthy levels. At any moment the past year I would be likely to look up at my wife and say"if we go in this way" or "if we get to this place, I think...." or "I talked to the biologist today and he said....". Nightly sessions of staring at maps and the computer were all to common, replacing the things I should have been doing.
I guess I was not the big bull hunter that I thought I might be, but I am an elk hunter now. From a long way off, my friend and I went west and got it done. We hunted rough country and didn't see another soul the entire time. We found the animals, killed them and got the meat and gear out on our own and I take pride in that, a lot of pride really.
As I sit here organizing my thoughts over a Deep South and Mountain West combination of muscadine wine and elk steak I don't think I would change a thing about the hunt. Would I have preferred the big bull to have stepped out of the aspen, well heck yeah, who wouldn't, But would I change anything I did? Hell no. For the first time in about two years I am at peace with this elk thing."
2014
"I will admit that I go to Colorado to kill elk and it is hard for me to look at the trip as anything but a failure. The mindset is a weakness of mine but I can't help being me. It is what it is. Time had to pass before I could write about the hunt. I have to force myself to look at the good side and the things we learned and accomplished and they are there for sure, but the bottom line still gnaws at me. Elk hunting is the hardest thing that I do physically and mentally. I don't use a guide. I hunt on foot in a part of a designated wilderness that most avoid and my success rate believe it or not is actually higher than average for CO, even including the ranch and guided hunts. But, I am not as sure of myself as I once was. I can try as hard as I can try and still come up empty. Again it is what it is and I have to accept that or move on to something else.
On the way down that last evening my mind was running and I was mulling the thought that maybe this was too tough for me and I needed to find another way. Maybe a guide was needed or maybe someplace flatter or not quite so backcountry. Now I am a bit sentimental. One only has to look at the drivel I've put on this board over the years to realize that. I am a little superstitious and even believe in signs regarding the outdoors. I would be better served just looking at the cold hard facts, then analyze and calculate, but I can't seem to do that. As we reached the trailhead and the truck, my mind was made up. I was not going to take this trip again. I needed something easier, something with better odds. Maybe I could take a guided hunt every few years instead of the hunt on my own just about every year. Maybe I could find some ranch hunt that I could afford. As we dumped loads and unsaddled the stock, I opened the truck door, stuck in the key and turned on the radio. At that moment an 80s song was getting to the chorus line. " In a big country.... dreams stay with you... Like a lover's voice... fires the mountainside... Stay alive" It was hokey, but I sat and listened as Big Country hammered out the lyrics to their only big hit, fate or chance as you will have it, hitting me in my soft spot.
Right then and there deep down I decided to go back. I will take my "sign" and all my weaknesses and return to the those mountains and my little spot in the rugged Rockies. I will chase those bulls in my own way and do the best that I can do in the hopes it will be enough. I will take the failure or the success made of my own effort, the good and the bad. It is elk hunting. It is what it is and I am what I am.
Those are the cold hard facts."
So the previous few paragraphs summarize my result and feeling after each of my first three elk hunts. I was pretty damn low after coming out of the mountains last year without an elk for either Pat (hunting partner) or myself. I didn't share "my sign" with Pat because he is not that kind of guy. Mechanical engineers raised on painfully practical Central Missouri farms have little time or thought for such things, but when I did finally share with Pat that I was considering a solo return to our hunt area in 2015 ( Pat was getting married and would not be able to go) my ever measured, always level friend took me off guard a bit. He looked at me and said, "I think you can do it" I told Pat that I was not not sure what kind of shape I would be in if I failed again, that would be 3 out of 4 hunts without an elk. And that's when my friend really surprised me and really set my decision. Pat said, " Well then you just go back." If 1 for 4 was good enough for my supremely practical friend who straightens and saves nails from tear downs, patches socks, and hunts in cheap military surplus boots, then it was good enough for me. I was headed back west in 2015.
I won't go into the preparation too much this time beyond saying I worked harder than ever. For the nine months prior to the trip I did multiple aerobic, HIIT and low weight high rep weight classes each week at the local Gold's Gym. My equipment was pretty well set and my rifle was shooting well. I felt very solid to 300yds and comfortable at 400yds with the right set of circumstances. Below is a pic of a few people from my last class. The pretty girl is a very strong aerobics instructor and the fellow to the left in the red shirt is a hard nosed weight trainer, with the remaining guys just participants like me. The group exercise program was good for me and these people made me better than I have been in at least the last 20 years. They welcomed me in to what was not really a comfortable situation for me at first and I owe them a debt.
My trip hit a snag in July when I got my daughter's final soccer schedule. She is a senior and a four year starter on a team favored to return to state for the third time in a row. Senior night was scheduled for Oct the 8th the day I was supposed to head into the mountains in Southwest CO.I scrambled around and got a cheap flight out of Nashville to Denver for the ninth and placed my hopes on a lot of things going right the ninth where I would need to go from Nashville to 11,600' in the San Juan all in one day. I was originally renting a car from Denver and driving down, but for my birthday my family surprised me with a hopper flight from Denver to down closer to my final destination. That flight was almost three times as much as my flight from Nashville to Denver and my wife, my in laws and parents all pitched in. My wife organized it all. It is great to have a wife that tolerates my hunts, but quite another story to have one that actually supports them. She knows how important these quests have become for me and supports me fully. It is just another reason why I love her dearly. As it came about, I escorted my daughter across the field Thursday the 8th of Oct and then watched her score a goal and get a assist on the way to a victory over a district opponent. The next day I boarded a plane and headed for the San Juan. The hopper flight was filled with hunters and excitement was running high.
Everything went off without a hitch and my ascent up the trail went well. I must admit two or three times I wanted to stop and just bivy where I was. The pack felt heavy at somewhere around 55lbs. It was all I could do to reach the top but I did it just about dark, pitched the tent, ate a couple of bars and went to bed. Tomorrow was opening day.
