Your First Elk

[Swede]

Just how big of an event was your first elk kill and what has it done to make you more of an elk hunter?

[saddlesore]

1966. Full pack in with two rented Percheron.Three of us killed three 5x bulls the first15 minutes of opening day.
We got back to spike camp at10:30 that night. I was elected to go back down the mountain to bring the two percherons back next day, we packed all three bulls on two horses got them back to spike camp and then packed them back down the mountain the next day.One of the party was run over by one of the horses and got injured, so two of us went back the next week end to retrieve the camp.Someone had moved in and trashed it. Me and the other guy knew nothing about packing.
I leaned how to pack a horse for an elk hunt, how to pack meat out, and if you are going to go elk hinting on a trip like that, you had better know what you are doing. Don't rent a 17 hand horse if you are only 5'-6" tall It took the other guys two years to convince me to go again , but I have not missed a season since although some were only 2-3 days hunts

[Old school]

Quite a few years ago my dad and I did what we thought would be a once in a lifetime hunt - elk in Idaho. After that experience in Northern Idaho(and both of us killing bugling bulls), I was hooked. Once in a lifetime became “how can I do this every year”

-Mitch

[7mmfan]

Bringing this back in hopes a few more participate and share a story of their first elk kill.

My first elk came at the age of 20. I'd been hunting elk with my Dad since I was 15, mainly late archery hunts. We saw a lot of elk on those hunts, and I remember them all fondly. However, we knew little about elk hunting and just had a good area that elk were migrating through. We learned which spots held elk consistently and where they would pass through. We did a lot of stand hunting, mostly from ground blinds, we would fashion, but occasionally from tree stands in likely areas.

One of the areas we tree stand hunted we called "The Plaza". It was a short distance from camp, maybe 1/2 mile as the crow flies. You climbed a couple hundred feet up an end ridge and ended up on top of this knob that was generally flat and rolly for a couple of hundred yards before it dropped off into the river canyon behind it. The Plaza was open fir and pine timber with lots of grass. It was the high point of the ridge and had a few small gulley's that left it in different directions. Lastly, a couple of ancient old logging roads turned game trails converged in it. It was a very high traffic area at the end of November, and a source of frequent sightings.

Alas, we never killed any animals during our late archery hunts. One year, a friend of mine decided he wanted to try elk hunting, but wanted to rifle hunt. I was happy to take him and see what our area was like during rifle season. We frequented all of our usual spots and found a surprising number of elk in them. I had always assumed there were few local elk in there, and most of the animals we were hunting during late archery were migrating animals. We saw a few elk killed by others, including one right behind camp in a spot my Dad loved to sit during archery season. When the hunt was over, I talked with my Dad about it and how I was interested in hunting rifle the following year. With the number of elk we had seen, and our knowledge of specific spots and travel patterns I felt we could get it done with a rifle.

Fall 2005, we arrived in camp with high expectations. We once again hunted all our usual spots, but elk were sparse. We turned up a few cows here and there, but the weather was warm, and moon was full. There didn't seem to be many guys in the woods to move animals around, and they weren't moving on their own. It was Thursday afternoon, the 6th day of the season. We were back in camp for lunch at about 1:00. I decided that I was going to head up on the hill behind camp and walk the trails through The Plaza to see if there was any sign up there. It was only a 15 minute hike up there, so I'd be back for our evening hunt plan. I walked the familiar trail around the end of the ridge, through the downfall we had cut out of the way years ago, and onto the old logging grade. It was overcast and still as could be, not a breath of wind. Walking in that timber I could hear ever pine needle crunch under my boots as I did my best to creep along quietly and glass ahead. There was little sign on the trail to this point, so I began letting my guard down and started walking to the hearth of The Plaza.

As I neared the tree where I would hang my tree stand during archery season, I cleared a small wall of brush and saplings that was screening my view and an burst out of its bed not 20' from me and charged into the timber. I knew I had caught a glimpse of antlers so I found the animal and got my scope on him, following him through the woods until I could get a clear view of him. On Que, he stopped in the only opening available, broadside, completely un-obscured, approximately 75 yards away. This unit we were hunting was Spike bull only, so the animal had to have at least 1 antler that was a smooth spike. As I stared at him in my scope I could clearly see his left antler was a smooth spike. I held the cross hairs as steadily as I could on his shoulder and let maggy roar. I lost sight of him at the shot. I stood looking for him running and couldn't see him. I knew if he was running, I'd hear him in there, and I heard nothing. I KNEW, just KNEW that he was dead right there. I took off running through the woods like a scene from Last of the Mohicans, right to the spot he'd been standing. There he lay, dead as could be, with a 2 point antler sticking up in the air. My heart dropped into my stomach and I desperately grabbed the antler and ripped the other one out of the pine needles. Smooth spike. The relief was tangible. I hooped and hollered and then felt bad about doing it. The realization of killing my first elk swept over me and I sat quietly on the log next to him for a couple minutes, staring in awe at this massive animal I'd just killed. I realized that I could not find a bullet would anywhere on the animal. I got closer and began really checking him out. I grabbed the antlers to try and move him slightly to get a different view and felt the telltale grinding of neck vertebrae that had been shot. Upon closer inspection, I had hit him right in ear. He turned his head at just the right time, or it would have been between his eyes. I felt a bit sheepish considering I was aiming behind his should when I shot, but it worked out.

Now I needed help. I was sure the calvary had heard my shot and was on the way, but I needed to go check. My excitement built into near frenzy as I took off across the ridge and in 3 minutes I was on the face above camp. I let out 3 signal shots in rapid succession, and then plunged down the hill to camp. There I found my brother and dad sitting by the fire eating hot dogs. I asked if they'd heard my signal shots. My Dad laughed and said , "Yeah, but no human on earth can work a bolt action that fast, so I assumed it was some yokle shooting a semi auto!". I went on to explain my feat of hunter prowess and I could see the doubt in their eyes. Finally I convinced them that I indeed had a dead elk down on top of the ridge, and we had to go get it. At this point, the reality of the situation set in. None of us had ever broken an animal down in the woods. We had backpacks, but they felt like useless lumps of aluminum and fabric. We decided that with 3 of us, and the short distance we had to cover, that we could drag this animal out easier than breaking it down.

3 hours later, after heaving that spike 2'-3' at a time, we slid down the hill into camp, triumphant. We fashioned a meat pole and got the pulley attached to it, and quickly had him hung high and proud next to the tent. It felt good to be the camp that everyone slowed down next to to look for once, especially for a young man that had gotten his first elk.

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Thanks for reading. What I remember most from this hunt, was just being in awe of how big this animal was. We have always butchered our own animals, and I clearly remember looking at all that meat, and thinking there was no way we could eat it all. Everything was so big! My how times have changed. My little family eats as much game as I can put in the freezer now. This year that was a spike elk, mature mule deer, and a bear.

[WapitiTalk1]

Myself and two brothers spent quite a few years "assisting" my pop with elk packing chores during rifle season(s) in Montana. He'd shoot the elk, we'd help pack em' out . We enjoyed pop and grandpa's elaborate rifle camp immensely, invite our friends, learn as much as we could about this elk hunting thing, and work on our packing conditioning. I was close to dropping one a few times but never quite got the shot. During my HS years, but buddy and I were also getting into the archery and calling thing... we had some grand old times but couldn't quite seal the deal. With original Berry Game Call diaphrams and a custom made PVC grunt tube (camo'ed of course) in hand, we'd hit the remote elk spots in NW MT and talk to the elk with great success.... problem was, we were just squawking our horns and really didn't understand elk behavior very well. Fun none the less and learning all the time. Finally, I shot my first elk. I had taken my GF at the time and her sister out to the Fisher River road hunting for a nice deer (probably in early November). I parked the truck, told the gals I was gonna walk in on an old skid road and see if I could shoot a buck. Told em I'd come back and get them to help drag it out in a bit . Once I crested the hill, I stopped as I thought I'd saw an ear "twitch" on the off side bank, over a little creek. Put my scope on it and it was AN ELK! One shot in the neck from my old pump 30-06 ended the hunt. I moved to the elk and it was a HUGE calf . Went back, got the gals, and they assisted with holding legs, etc., and I dressed the beast out. They did well and helped me drag the critter out in the snow (tough Montana gals). I was very happy with that first elk (rifle elk), but, my real love for elk hunting started with and continues to be, hunting them during the rut when the bulls are vocalizing... nothing like it for me.

[Swede]

Great story 7mm. I had to laugh at parts of the account, especially where you had that bolt action operating like a semiauto rifle. That first elk or deer is memorable.
I suspect like RJ noted that out first elk is as much accident as skill.
I was not five minutes (100 yards) out of camp that was not set up yet when I shot my first elk. It was 100% luck at about 25 yards. Who cares. The elk we take from blind luck taste the same as those we work like crazy for. I was 18 and home on leave from the navy.

[saddlesore]

Great story 7mm. I had to laugh at parts of the account, especially where you had that bolt action operating like a semiauto rifle. That first elk or deer is memorable.
I suspect like RJ noted that out first elk is as much accident as skill.
I was not five minutes (100 yards) out of camp that was not set up yet when I shot my first elk. It was 100% luck at about 25 yards. Who cares. The elk we take from blind luck taste the same as those we work like crazy for. I was 18 and home on leave from the navy.

I always take any easy ones. I have worked too darn hard too many times for the hard ones

[Swede]

I have worked too darn hard too many times for the hard ones

Isn't that the truth? I have worked hard and been skunked too. That really hurts. I was out one time with a good friend when he said to me, "if they wanted us to work this hard on the job we would surely complain." No doubt that was true also.

[Lefty]

My wife and I had just moved to Washington State. My Father in Law put us in for an area he had hunted for a dozen years in SW Montana. We drew, My wife paid for the tag as my Birthday present. My first big game hunt in thirteen years. Third mourning . I was exhausted from the previous two days hunts. A fellow in the neighboring camp had hunted this area for nearly 40 years. Him Knowing my legs needed recovery he sent me to a location over -looking a huge meadow.
I had broken off limbs of a cedar tree wishing I had my saw and leaned into the branch void of the tree. Over time alternating; standing and sitting. Dreaming how I need to build a “tree-stand as the tree grew”.
I could hear constant hollow sounding beat. Then realized it was closer.900 yards out I could see antlers, a bull trotting my way. 400 yards the bull angled my direction. I squatted down while following the bull in my scope, watching the tips of his antlers, turning down the scope as the bull got closer. I slowly stood, I was seeing too much elk hair, Squeezed the trigger, the bull side stepped , and likely within the second I had another round in the bull and his throat hit the snow.39 yards . I gutted the elk and slid him to the shade filled his cavity with snow . While resting a Dentist from Billings showed up ponying a young mare. He offered to drag the elk up the hill to the ATV trail. At the trail my brother in law showed up. The 3 of us loaded the elk on the ATV.
My brother in law warned the helpful dentist about the impending rodeo. And a rodeo there was. The Dentist flying through the air,.. his gun left the scabbard landing in the brush and away the horse went. Tracking for nearly an hour my BIL caught the one horse , mounted the horse and off he went. Some time later he came back trailing the young horse.
While he didn’t tell the owner. The horse had been caught by the neck in the crotch of a smaller tree and surly would have killed itself to free its self.
In reality the shot and kill was somewhat uneventful. The previous days I spotted cows and calves,.. eventually following the biggest track through downed lodgpole ( my 2nd experience with lodgepole pic-up-sticks.) A bear spooked the bull elk and busted past me about 40 yards but never a reasonable shot.
A mile later following another track I could see antlers in a thicket. The elk knew something was there (me) , a bit of leg, a bit of horn,.. Eventfully the bull busted out the far side and was gone. I also had a deer tag and spent the rest of the week looking for a buck,

[Lefty]

everyone slowed down next to to look for once, especially for a young man that had gotten his first elk..

Just brought back a great memory.!!
I was too tired to even function,.. hard work and adrenaline rush of my daughters moose. I suggested she drive and I would sleep.
I had maybe slept through a dozen horn honks. Opening my eye as another truck passed honking at the little girl with the moose on a trailer . They werent seeing me .

And oh what a smile she had!!!

[Tigger]

My first archery elk. about 2 hours prior, 3 of us had a close encounter with a nice bull. I was caller and he saw my buddy draw. Bummer. But riding that high, we hear a bugle. We cow call and he chuckles. In we go. the whole mountainside erupts in bugles. We have bulls coming in from multiple directions. My buddy the caller is literally calling 2 bulls in at the same time...one for each of the shooters. My bull bugles and has a backdrop of tall aspens behind him....it echoed sooo much. It was surreal; the acoustics. If you didn't know that was an elk, you would have ran out of the woods like a crazy man. My buddy ups the calling and my bull slips down to the downslope side of a meadow. I had ranged a dead tree....he walked by that tree and stopped. I can still remember that arrow in flight....the explosion of hooves.....the crashing down the mountain....the silence.

My buddy immediately turned to the other bull but he had lost interest. I wonder if he heard my bull crashing away and knew something was wrong. The packout was epic. Got back at 3 am.

[ishy]

I can't remember how many years I had sat out of the game, but at least two for a church mission, two as a guide, and what little I was able to hunt in high school was little more than a Saturday morning on wobbly legs from playing both ways in football most of HS. So I was hungry, I had been as bit as anyone I know at 14 so now I finally had multiple days in the woods I was beside myself. It had been a long quiet season and I only had one day left (two but my new wife had made an apt for our wedding pictures last day of the season-yes we are still married 23 yrs later). I was with a wonderful father figure I had worked with. He had hunted lots, never killed an elk and I would find out later he was deathly afraid of getting lost. This was all new area to me and he was showing me some of his bear spots. We had walked around a south facing slope on an 80 degree afternoon. I knew this was burning my last bits of the hunt. I told him we needed to get somewhere cooler before prime time. He said to throw out a bugle first. I got an instant response below. I slipped down the face and would get answered each bugle. My buddy would budge...I kept running up, " he's hot, but we need to get closer!". At one point I thought I he was close enough I should be seeing tines any second when I heard a car drive between me and the elk! Again I had never been here and my buddy wouldn't come off the hill. He is 60 and I really wanted to get him a shot at this bull. But he was too afraid to drop below where we where. I found out on another hunt he had been really lost in Alaska for a few days and had serious PTSD anytime he left a ridge and vision gets restricted. Finally I knew we needed to do something to press him. I didn't know if we had enough time, but we took off running around the mountain back to the truck and drove around to where we thought he was. We set up 200 yards from the road, and I bugled after a minute a golden symmetrical rack glowing in the evening sun appeared. The set up was perfect if he would have read the script. I had him coming on a rope that would have given my recurve toting buddy a 12 yard broadside shot. The bull started perfect , but then he circled around where he had 3 cows waiting in a thicket. I had his cows convinced I was the better bull, so for the next 30 minutes the bull put on a quartering clinic. We had one of those special bugle fests that could convert the most staunch tree stand hunter to bugle once in a while (we love you SWEDE). The bull would run from cow to cow dropping his antlers keeping them at bay and roaring his would be dominance. It all happened 50=75 yards from me, never giving me a shot. After about 30 minutes of magic the cows busted out the back of the thicket they were in. My buddy and I stood up walked towards each other about to say "Wow that was the best night ever" both completely satisfied with what we had just been a part of the whole season of pain sweat and tears was completely worth what we had witnessed...when the bull appeared again 45 yards quartering away. I drew and released before my adrenaline had a chance to reach anything. It felt good, but I didn't see the arrow, couldn't find any blood, and decided to drive home and look the next morning. We were back at first light, and instantly had a bull bugling. My heart sunk as all evening we had only heard one bull. We still needed to give it a chance we scoured the area to no avail. My buddy was ready to give up. After a couple hours nothing, no blood, no arrow I was floored and without sleeping I was at that point after so much build up. I couldn't believe it. As the morning heat started to take over realizing if he was dead the meat would soon be gone anyway. I remember standing about the last place I saw him thinking his cows went towards the road and he was headed the other way! Call it what you want but I had a moment of enlightenment-he would have followed his cows! I turned 180 degrees walked twenty yards and there he was. We were in a river bottom with waist high grass and he had fallen under a deadfall in a bog. You had to be standing on him to see him. Commence celebration! Other than the call to my wife informing her wedding pictures would have to wait. She tried to make it a big deal, but the photographer was a hunter and would have nothing of it!

[ishy]

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[Swede]

We had one of those special bugle fests that could convert the most staunch tree stand hunter to bugle once in a while

I really enjoy these stories. I suppose they are a large part of the joy of hunting. I am glad we do not have to experience them alone or only once.
Your comment above reminds me of a time when I was siting in my stand when an elk breeding fest started going on about 100 yards below me just above the draw bottom. I thought about getting out of my stand, but decided the wind was all wrong. I determined that as soon as I hit the ground the wind would take my scent their way, so I stayed put. I never saw that bull, but did get another about an hour later.

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[Lefty]

Some great stories guys!!

[7mmfan]

Dad's first elk. Sorry this is a long one.

My Dad is the hardest working, most dedicated elk hunter I know, that had never killed an elk. He hunted for over a decade before killing his first animal. It wasn’t that he couldn’t find them, he was quite good at finding elk, just never the elk that he had a tag for. In Washington State, our eastern WA general elk season is Spike bull only. At times it was like finding the metaphoric needle in a haystack.

The first few years that we elk hunted, we primarily hunted late archery seasons, which allowed us the opportunity to kill cows as well. Dad being Dad, would not take a shot that he wasn’t absolutely 100% confident in the results. As all of you archery hunters know, archery hunting elk is filled with “almosts”, and rarely does the perfect shot present itself. Because of that, in 5 years of late archery hunts, he never loosed an arrow.

A few years into our elk hunting careers, we made the switch to rifle seasons. It fit our schedules better, and felt that our odds of success would go up. The Spike only restriction was a bummer, but we would persevere. There were special permits to be drawn however, and that increased your odds substantially. The first permit that Dad drew was an antlerless tag. He drew it in an area that we were quite familiar with from archery hunting and felt that we would be able to easily fill his tag. My brother and I consistently found ourselves surrounded by cows, while Dad could only seem to find the only animals he couldn’t shoot, branch antlered bulls. I specifically remember one day of that hunt spotting a big herd of elk at the head of the canyon Dad was still hunting up. They were about to cross through the saddle and leave, but I was able to head them off and push them back into the canyon where Dad would be coming. I figured it was as good as done and started confidently marching down the trail waiting for the shot. Which never came. When I met up with Dad an hour or so later, he had seen elk. He had had 5 mature bulls walk within 20 yards of him in the timber. He had heard the other elk, but they were up the hillside further in the timber, and out of sight.

I believe the year was 2014 when Dad drew his one and only Washington bull tag. It was, again, in the same area we knew well. Confidence was tempered from past failures of sure things, but with more knowledge under our hats, we spent the summer preparing. Scouting several times in the few closed road sections of the unit we found a couple areas that had lots of past rut sign, and were consistently holding numbers of cows currently. The hunt came, starting mid October, 5 days before the general rifle season would open. The chance of actively rutting bulls was low, but we hoped they would be with cows still.

Dad started the hunt by himself, and I joined him on Day 2. He had seen a few cows day 1, but nothing to write home about. That morning we left the gate with stars twinkling high overhead, and the ground covered in crisp frost. We walked nearly 4 miles to the end of closed road system which paralleled a big bench about halfway between the creek bottom and the ridge line. This area had been selectively logged in the past so there was a good mix of open ground, mature timber, and thick reprod. Seeps and springs were spread throughout. It was prime elk country. It was evident the elk had been rutting hard in here recently, and elk sign was abundant. It felt like it was just a matter of time.

Late morning found us separated, with Dad down on the bench, and me up in the timber on the hillside seeing if I could bump a bedded herd past him. The plan worked almost flawlessly. I caught movement ahead me in the timber about 50 yards, and pulled up my binos. The eyes and ears of 10 cows were pointed directly at me. Behind them, I could see an antler of a bull sticking out from behind a tree. The cows bolted straight downhill, and past in front of Dad at no more than 40 yards. The bull, and a handful of other cows, left straight away through the timber on a well used trail.
I decided to follow the elk and see where they were headed. Multiple trails joined the one I was on, turning it into a veritable elk highway. It was now quartering steeply up hill and entered an area of rock outcroppings and dense scrub timber. It finally broke into the open on a ridgeline and before me lay a small canyon that I’d never been in before. I had hunted all around this area, but had never actually stepped foot into this ground. It was beautiful open pine and fir, with dense thickets here and there. The other side of the canyon was about 350 yards away, and I could easily see elk tracks and trails from where I was. It was obvious that this is where they were living. I quietly backed out and met back up with Dad.

After discussing what I had found, we reviewed the map and found a more direct route into the area, and planned an evening hunt. We parked the truck that afternoon at another locked gate, and took off down the old logging grade. We hit the end of the road at the 2 mile mark, and started up and around the steep end ridge in front of us. It became immediately clear why we had always avoided this area during our late archery hunts. The mouth of the canyon was guarded by steep rockslides and outcroppings, not safe to traverse in snow and ice. We slowly picked our way through them and then picked up an elk trail on the other side that allowed us to quietly still hunt up the canyon. We were immediately in sign, and the anticipation was rising.

Only a couple hundred yards later, Dad screeched to a halt in front of me, looking across the canyon. I followed his gaze and immediately picked up the tan form of an elk working out of the timber. We sat and got ready as one cow after another single filed out of the timber, 200 yards from us. A spike then stepped out, and I heard Dad say, I’m going to take him. He had told me before this hunt, he would kill any legal bull he saw, and there he was. A minute past though, and he pulled his head away from the scope. He had decided to wait. It was day 2, and with all the elk we were seeing, he wanted to give finding a bull a better shot. The rest of the evening was uneventful, but we planned to be back here at daybreak.

We woke the following morning to wind and rain. We dawned our packs, and left the truck hours before daylight, with ran drops falling, often sideways through the beams of our headlamps. Daylight found us sitting behind a rock outcropping shielding ourselves from the sideways rain that was blasting over the ridge. One front after another was blowing through, bringing heavy rain and wind, and socking us in for 10-20 minutes. That one would blow through and clear up for a period of time before the next front showed. We still hunted up the same trail from the day before, taking cover when a front would blow in on us. During one these, I swore I heard a bugle. It was impossible to tell where it came from, or if it even really happened, but I was on edge. 10 minutes later, the wind died and the rain stopped, and immediately, a bugle rang out from other side of the canyon. We both heard it clearly this time. We were in a thick patch of timber, so we hustled up the trail to an opening where we could see across the bottom and all the way up to the ridge line on the other side of the canyon. We set up and waited.

A minute went by, then two, then five. We were about ready to stand up and move further up the canyon when the bull bugled again, this time much closer. He was obviously on the other side of the canyon, and higher elevation than we were. We anticipated the elk moving this direction, so Dad got his rifle ready. Again, we waited.

A bugle, a flash of tan, dark legs, and a branch snap. Here they come. Cows began filtering through the opening across from us. Some relatively close, some all the way at the top of the ridge. None were stopping, just walking through. I told Dad I would have my cow call ready to try and stop the bull when he came into the opening. I didn’t have a chance though. Across and about ¾ of the way up the hill, the bull stepped into the opening and stopped on a small rise. He was quartering to us, his head held high, surveying his territory. He was stately, royal almost. Cows continued on, as he stood statuesque. I ranged him and whispered, “322 yards”. I heard a rumbling from Dad about it being to far, and he couldn’t get steady. I continued watching through my binos, expecting Dad to move or adjust, when suddenly his 40 year old Ruger MKII 7mag barked. I watched through the binos as the bull’s legs folded under him and his chin hit the dirt. He slid downhill a few yards and came to rest. I yelled, “You drilled him Dad, he’s dead right there!” Dad worked another shell into the chamber and sat staring at his bull through his scope, anticipating him to stand up and stagger off. A few moments past, and he sat up, and looked at me. His mouth hanging slightly open, like he had just seen a ghost. Then he grabbed me and gave me a big bear hug, and said, “Let’s go check him out!”.

I wanted to get good photos of Dad walking up on his first elk, so I hustled out ahead of him and set up, huffing and puffing, a few yards uphill of the bull. I started snapping pictures as Dad walked into view. He stopped a ways down from the elk to soak in the view, and I could see him wiping his head with his ever present handkerchief. He may have looked down and wiped under his eyes too. As he got closer he looked at me again and exclaimed, “God D@&% Rory we did it!”. We shared another big Father/son hug, took a few pictures, and then got down to the business of figuring out what the heck we were going to do now. The bull was an average 5x5 bull with a small 6th point on one side. This was the first bull either of us had ever seen up close, and we were in shear awe of his size.

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This was the first elk we had killed that we would need to pack out on our backs. We were amateurs, no getting around it. We had pack frames, but they were in the truck, 4 miles away. We had game bags and knives with us so we could get him cut and bagged. The decision was made that Dad would stay and cut, and I would head back to the truck to get the packs. We also had our game cart in there that we could use for the 2 miles of closed road to wheel him out. I left Dad with a pile of game bags, and hit the trail, just as the clouds socked us in again, and the rain started.

2.5 hours later, and an 8 mile round trip, I was back with Dad. The weather had really set in. We had approximately 75 yards of visibility, and the temperature had dropped significantly. Dad did not own rain gear, he just toughed it out in his denim and cotton tee with various sweaters and jackets over it. I had recently purchased a set of high quality Gore-Tex raingear, and over my merino wool base layers, I was pleased as punch with how comfortable I was. I could tell Dad was cold when I arrived, but he was finishing up cutting and we soon had our first load of meat in our packs and were heading back down the trail. We made quick work of the 2 mile trip to where I’d left the cart. Back up, to the kill, and we were able to load up the rest of the meat. As we started back down the canyon, the rain really began to fall.

We got to the cart and began loading all the meat on. We had hauled elk on this cart before, but a mature bull was a totally different animal. Every joint creaked and groaned, and the cart was struggling too. Everything seemed to be holding though, and the first mile was easy going with a slight downhill grade. At the halfway point, we had to navigate around a set of tank traps. We briefly discussed unloading the cart, but decided we would be fine. As the cart got halfway around the first tank trap, and got on some slightly sloped ground, both wheels simultaneously snapped in half, fully extinguishing any hope we had of carting this animal all the way to the truck. With aching legs and backs, we dawned our packs again and carried our first load the remaining mile to the truck. We left the truck as darkness fell and headed back from the 2nd load. We finally dropped our packs on the tailgate sometime around 8:00, with an audible sigh of relief. Total mileage for the day: Dad – 14, Rory – 22.

We got our gear stowed in the canopy, and got in the truck to head for camp. I could hear dad shivering, but didn't think much of it. We got to camp, and set about doing camp chores. Dad was trying to start a fire, but literally couldn't hold a match he was shaking so bad. He was going into the early stages of hypothermia. The vast physical toll of the day in the rain, wind, and cold had finally caught up to him as he sat in wet clothes in the drivers seat of the truck driving the 30 minutes back to camp. We got him stripped down and into dry clothes in his sleeping bag while I got a roaring fire started and heated up some dinner and leftover coffee from that morning. An hour or so later, Dad was coming back to normal, and feeling much better. It was a scary moment and realization though of what could have happened had things gone just a little differently.

The following morning, Thursday, trucks began driving up the FS road we were camped on, heading for their general season camp spots. Everyone stopped to look at the 5x5 elk head leaning against the wood pile, and the meat hung high on the pole. I had drawn a cow tag for a different unit that would start in 4 or 5 days, and I had made plans to go hunt with some buddies in that area for the general opener, so Dad and I shook hands, hugged, and I wished him well. I was grateful to have been able to share that hunt with him, and load.

Lessons learned. I feel that I learn something every time I go in the woods. I definitely learn something every time I kill an animal and pack it out. This trip was like being thrown into the deep end for both of us and having to struggle to the shallow end. We made it and learned a ton of valuable lessons. The two main ones for us were to wear packs that we could pack meat in, and for Dad, to ditch the cotton, get some wool, and a good set of raingear.

[7mmfan]

A few more. Stump circled in red is where we shot from.

[Swede]

You are an elk hunter alright 7mm. Great story. It reminds me of some experiences I have had hunting the western Oregon Cascades in the rifle elk season. I have had a few in eastern Oregon that was wet and colt also. I do not think many folks understand how dangerous 35 degrees - 40 degrees is when you are wet. A good garbage sack in your dad's pack would have made a huge difference. I would rather have a garbage sack or two than a 1st aid kit.

[7mmfan]

You are an elk hunter alright 7mm. Great story. It reminds me of some experiences I have had hunting the western Oregon Cascades in the rifle elk season. I have had a few in eastern Oregon that was wet and colt also. I do not think many folks understand how dangerous 35 degrees - 40 degrees is when you are wet. A good garbage sack in your dad's pack would have made a huge difference. I would rather have a garbage sack or two than a 1st aid kit.

Swede you're right, that just above freezing temp in the rain is probably the most dangerous conditions to be out in. Add some wind to it and it's downright deadly. In Dad's defense, he'd hunted Western WA his whole life, in pouring rain and similar conditions. He'd never experienced this before. He had also never packed a bull out of the hills in that weather and worked his body to exhaustion in that kind of weather. A lot of learning happened that day for both of us.

[Tigger]

Great story Rory! Man, I was right there with you when "we" walked up on that bull. I think I could even smell it. What a great way to start the morning by reading this. Although I have elk fever really bad right now.

[Lager11]

I was around 22 years old and had several whitetail under my belt but on first elk hunt in Colorado unit 76, (took 2 or 3 points then to draw I believe, so you know it was back a few years ago). walked back in on a old road and sat overlooking a long narrow meadow my dad had pointed me too, couldn't believe when the bull stepped out 300yds away, he looked huge... aimed, fired and down he went, hit him high and broke his back and I ran across the meadow to finish him off and like an idiot the altitude damn near killed me( I was in good shape then for a Wisconsin kid) and I had a struggle even up close with the heavy breathing to get a good finish off shot. Had some serious ground shrinkage as he was a raghorn 4x4 but I didn't care I was pretty excited. I knew I had to get him opened up as it was getting later in the evening and my dad and our other hunting partner were picking me up at the logging road at dark.
I started gutting it out and as you all know it was a bigger battle then the whitetails I was used to gutting.... when I got out to the road they both jumped out of the truck as I was covered head to toe in blood and breathing heavy from moving my tail fast to get out to meet them, they thought something bad had happened to me..
Next morning to took our pack horse into get it and a bear had ate the gut pile but left the elk alone, we ended up packing three smaller bulls out that trip and I'll always remember it like yesterday.

[Swede]

Welcome to the forum Lager11. I hope you enjoy posting, and can put up with Tigger's nonsense.

[Marble]

2002, Colorado. We were probably 8 miles back on a horseback spoke camp. Probably day 4 or 5 of 10. My elk hunting mentor and I climbed the hill, which is a mountain behind camp. I remember him telling me why he was taking a specific route to avoid issues with wind and noise. We had seen a huge herd there from the mountain across the valley with a bull that was 350ish.

Upon getting to the top, I spot a cow at 475 yards. I'm pretty comfortable at that distance so I get ready. I only had a cow tag and wouldnt you know it, there was rag horns and nice 5x5s all around.

So I get setup, figure my drop and then touch one off. My partner says, "You missed, reload." Calmly I might add. But before he finished the cow hit the ground and rolled dow. the hill as we heard a big slap from the bullet impact. Well animals started making circles and were confused as hell. We gathered our crap and started making our way over.

200 yards later that big bull steps out broadside. My partner throws his bag down and put two right where it counts. Now we have two down, I've never cleaned an elk, done plenty of deer, and about 30 minutes of light.

Well tow hours later, his bull is cleaned tied off. The hill was nearly vertical and my cow is quartered and hanging.

I killed a lot of animals with him. He was 63 when he died I an accident diving. He taught me so much about elk hunting and horsemanship.

[7mmfan]

Great recollections from the new guys, thanks for the stories!

[saddlesore]

In a time long ago,in a far away place this was the1st elk I shot ,mentioned in my post above.
Photo was taken with an old film camera. It is blurry because the print w as only about 3.5" x 3.5", scanned and then enlarged.
Our camp was way down in the canyon shown.I was 23 at the time.

1st elk.jpg (121.39 KiB) Viewed 8403 times

[WapitiTalk1]

Great pic Vince!

[Swede]

It is a great picture. Looking at it makes me think about how elk can often be out in very open country..

[saddlesore]

Swede.The day before season opened. We had crawled up above them and counted close to 70 head. Opening day we were above them before first light.When we could see, all there was were three bulls. We had previously decided who would shoot first,second,third. Oldest gent had iron sights on a 30-06 and he dropped the 1st. Next guy was kind of leading us and he had a pump .270.He dropped the 2nd.I was shooting a .308 in a Model 88 Winchester withe a $18 Bushnell scope on it.. By that time mine was out there a ways. I had been shooting iron sighted service rifles in competition and the first shot hit him. He was standing there dieing and I had heck of a time hitting him again.Done hill about 45 degrees, no rest at about 400yards.

This was in 1966 and it was common to find huge herds out in the open above timber line

[Lefty]

Vince Great pic

I was 32 years on my first elk hunt. I know at one time there was a pic of my elk and my nephews elk on the camps meat pole. But nothing in the field

[Swede]

Vince I had a model 88 Win in 308 W for years. It had a 4X Weaver scope on it. I liked the action, but hated the safety. It would go off at the slightest nudge. I sold it.

Lefty, your post about not having a camera for some of your hunting successes is reminiscent of my earlier hunting years. I had a gun long before I had a camera.

[saddlesore]

Never had problem with the safety Swede,but the trigger is horrible. I still have it and shoot a deer every once in awhile with it.

[Swede]

That is interesting because my trigger was fine. I just had to keep looking over the safety because it would come off with the slightest nudge.

[Magic]

Oh my, my first Elk takes me back to 1973, 30 years old, and the first time that I had hunted anything beside whitetails. I was hunting in Wyoming with a friends Dad who provided the horses. We had saddled up well before daylight and the National Forest sign said 10.2 miles, so it was quite a ride up and later quite a walk out! I was using a Winchester Model 100, .308 and shot at ~10:00. We split the backbone and loaded the halves hair down across the saddles tying the feet to the stirrups and under the horse's belly. I had the front half and antlers. My horse kept pushing me (all downhill) and tore the heels off of my boots before we made it back to camp about midnight. Although it was a successful day, I would never want to repeat it.

[saddlesore]

Oh my, my first Elk takes me back to 1973, 30 years old, and the first time that I had hunted anything beside whitetails. I was hunting in Wyoming with a friends Dad who provided the horses. We had saddled up well before daylight and the National Forest sign said 10.2 miles, so it was quite a ride up and later quite a walk out! I was using a Winchester Model 100, .308 and shot at ~10:00. We split the backbone and loaded the halves hair down across the saddles tying the feet to the stirrups and under the horse's belly. I had the front half and antlers. My horse kept pushing me (all downhill) and tore the heels off of my boots before we made it back to camp about midnight. Although it was a successful day, I would never want to repeat it.

Back in those days, any bugle that sounded remotely like an elk would bring them in. Vocal cow calls without and reed or such could be used the same.