After months of eager anticipation, November 3rd finally arrived. We left Corvallis early, my dad, brother, and I, travelling to the Snake River unit to chase bulls with Del Sol Wilderness Adventures.
We selected the "drop camp, supplied" hunt that included packing in and out with horses, a fully set up camp (google Del Sol for details), and available meat runs when we put a bull on the ground.
After an uneventful drive (the best kind) and a night in Joseph, we hit the trail early Thursday. After a four-hour horse ride (my butt still hurts!) we arrived at camp. Fantastic! We saw elk on the way in and the weather was clear and cool. Camp was well set up as well, on top of the big ridge and tucked into some trees.
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Friday we cut wood and got water from the spring. The forecast called for nasty weather later in the week, so we were ready!
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The sunset that evening was spectacular.
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Opening day dawned with high winds and rain. Most of the hunting was to the west, so the wind from the west made the hunting easier. Our strategy was to hunt the big ridge north and look into the many bowls formed by finger ridges to the west.
My dad made first contact on opening day. He was about 500 yards north of me, while my brother was looking into a bowl to the south. We all have Rino GPS units with radios so we can stay in touch. When my dad did not check in at 9 am I went looking for him. Truth be told, I was freezing! I was plenty dry, but the west wind was freezing my face and hands. So I took a stroll.
About halfway there my dad checks in to say he was looking at a small herd of elk about 300 yards down the hill. All he saw were spikes, but there were a few yellow hides farther down the hill that might be bigger bulls. I snuck over to him and we made a plan. I went farther north to put a finger ridge between me and the elk, then slipped down the hill. I crab walked to the crest to get a better view. Just then the elk decided to go over the ridge to drop into the timber on the north side of the finger. I counted 12 cows and calves, then 5 spikes walked right by me at about 150 yards. You can see the ridge behind me and to my right, with the timber directly below us. We named this finger "Spike Ridge." By this time my brother joined us.
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Since we weren't shooting spikes on opening day we continued our hunt. We saw a large herd (100 or so) of elk on another finger ridge and made a stalk. There were some shooter bulls, but they were waaaaay down the hill, so we passed on making the stalk.
Did I say how steep it was? There aren't enough "e"s in "steep" to describe this country. Our maps have elevation lines at 40 feet, and some of the ridges looked black with lines. We all wanted big bulls, but we wanted to have a good time without killing ourselves. Those elk would have been in trouble if we had had horses!
Sunday we woke to more wind and fresh snow! The snow brought heavy fog that the wind did not dissipate, so our hunting was limited. No matter, we had all week.
Monday we decided to hunt together along the ridgetop trail. Same strategy of checking bowls, this time in about 6 inches of snow. My brother decided he would take the first legal bull he saw, so we let him lead the way. Midway between the second and third bowl of the day we were coming up on a low knob with a small saddle beyond it. Suddenly my brother dropped to one knee. My dad and I both stopped and knelt. Being last in line I didn't know what was going on. My brother raised his rifle. Then, just 30 yards away, a big cow stepped into the trail. She and 14 of her friends picked that small saddle to cross the ridge into the timber on the east side.
Once into the trail she stopped and looked right at us. We all wear blaze vests (over camo, go figure) so I thought we were busted. She knew something was up but she wanted to cross, so she did. I started counting cow, calf, cow, cow, calf, cow, cow, spike! The spike was one step off the trail, broadside and unaware of us, and ka-pow! Right through the lungs! He humped up, turned, and headed down the hill.
We all jumped up and chased the bull. He left the saddle, side hilling a few yards, and was standing alone when we caught up to him. He only went about 60 yards. I was standing behind my brother as he raised his rifle again. "Shoot him in the head," I whispered. I wasn't interested in packing him up hill if he decided to run. Ka-pow! Another bullet through the lungs and he dropped right there.
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He fell 0.6 miles from camp, just down the hill from the crest of the ridge. We field dressed him, skinned and quartered, bagged, and hung him in a tree.
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We contacted the outfitter and scheduled a meat run for the next afternoon. That night in camp was great. Fresh tenderloins, mashed taters, and too much beer. A guy named Jack was involved as well!
We decided to take Tuesday morning off due to the previous evening's hijinks. The elk had other plans.
My dad answered the call of nature right around first light. He had an urgency in his voice when he returned. "Hey guys," he said as he shook us awake. "There's 60 head of elk standing 50 yards from camp!"
Remember the scene from Major League, when the manager calls Tom Beringer about playing for the team that year? "Is that you Tolbert?" Of course we didn't believe him. He was serious! We all got dressed as quickly and silently as we could, despite various headaches, and left the tent. In those few minutes, however, the elk disappeared. Since they were standing pointing south, we moved about 50 yards that way. My dad stayed higher up the ridge while I moved close to the main trail.
I looked south and saw 2 yearlings coming up the trail, right at me. They were enjoying the morning. I took a knee and brought my rifle up, and the yearlings saw movement and stopped. They were only about 40 yards away. They didn't bolt, they just looked at me. I shifted my view to farther down the trail and saw more elk coming my way. Cow cow cow cow spike spike! When I first saw them they were close to 300 yards down the trail. They hung up there, but the lead cow continued coming my way. The spikes followed, but stopped at 162 yards.
I figured they weren't coming any closer so when one of the spikes turned broadside I put a bullet through his lungs. He humped up but didn't move, so I hit him again. The second bullet put him down right in the trail.
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The elk took off down the trail, right past my dad. One shot, one bull, and all our tags filled!
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We got on the line to the outfitter and told him to bring more mules!
More hilarity that night, took the next day off, and packed out Thursday.
![Image]()
Sure, we were after bigger bulls, but we wouldn't have been any happier. We had a great hunt, one for the ages, with memories to last a lifetime.
Pharmseller
We selected the "drop camp, supplied" hunt that included packing in and out with horses, a fully set up camp (google Del Sol for details), and available meat runs when we put a bull on the ground.
After an uneventful drive (the best kind) and a night in Joseph, we hit the trail early Thursday. After a four-hour horse ride (my butt still hurts!) we arrived at camp. Fantastic! We saw elk on the way in and the weather was clear and cool. Camp was well set up as well, on top of the big ridge and tucked into some trees.
Friday we cut wood and got water from the spring. The forecast called for nasty weather later in the week, so we were ready!
The sunset that evening was spectacular.
Opening day dawned with high winds and rain. Most of the hunting was to the west, so the wind from the west made the hunting easier. Our strategy was to hunt the big ridge north and look into the many bowls formed by finger ridges to the west.
My dad made first contact on opening day. He was about 500 yards north of me, while my brother was looking into a bowl to the south. We all have Rino GPS units with radios so we can stay in touch. When my dad did not check in at 9 am I went looking for him. Truth be told, I was freezing! I was plenty dry, but the west wind was freezing my face and hands. So I took a stroll.
About halfway there my dad checks in to say he was looking at a small herd of elk about 300 yards down the hill. All he saw were spikes, but there were a few yellow hides farther down the hill that might be bigger bulls. I snuck over to him and we made a plan. I went farther north to put a finger ridge between me and the elk, then slipped down the hill. I crab walked to the crest to get a better view. Just then the elk decided to go over the ridge to drop into the timber on the north side of the finger. I counted 12 cows and calves, then 5 spikes walked right by me at about 150 yards. You can see the ridge behind me and to my right, with the timber directly below us. We named this finger "Spike Ridge." By this time my brother joined us.
Since we weren't shooting spikes on opening day we continued our hunt. We saw a large herd (100 or so) of elk on another finger ridge and made a stalk. There were some shooter bulls, but they were waaaaay down the hill, so we passed on making the stalk.
Did I say how steep it was? There aren't enough "e"s in "steep" to describe this country. Our maps have elevation lines at 40 feet, and some of the ridges looked black with lines. We all wanted big bulls, but we wanted to have a good time without killing ourselves. Those elk would have been in trouble if we had had horses!
Sunday we woke to more wind and fresh snow! The snow brought heavy fog that the wind did not dissipate, so our hunting was limited. No matter, we had all week.
Monday we decided to hunt together along the ridgetop trail. Same strategy of checking bowls, this time in about 6 inches of snow. My brother decided he would take the first legal bull he saw, so we let him lead the way. Midway between the second and third bowl of the day we were coming up on a low knob with a small saddle beyond it. Suddenly my brother dropped to one knee. My dad and I both stopped and knelt. Being last in line I didn't know what was going on. My brother raised his rifle. Then, just 30 yards away, a big cow stepped into the trail. She and 14 of her friends picked that small saddle to cross the ridge into the timber on the east side.
Once into the trail she stopped and looked right at us. We all wear blaze vests (over camo, go figure) so I thought we were busted. She knew something was up but she wanted to cross, so she did. I started counting cow, calf, cow, cow, calf, cow, cow, spike! The spike was one step off the trail, broadside and unaware of us, and ka-pow! Right through the lungs! He humped up, turned, and headed down the hill.
We all jumped up and chased the bull. He left the saddle, side hilling a few yards, and was standing alone when we caught up to him. He only went about 60 yards. I was standing behind my brother as he raised his rifle again. "Shoot him in the head," I whispered. I wasn't interested in packing him up hill if he decided to run. Ka-pow! Another bullet through the lungs and he dropped right there.
He fell 0.6 miles from camp, just down the hill from the crest of the ridge. We field dressed him, skinned and quartered, bagged, and hung him in a tree.
We contacted the outfitter and scheduled a meat run for the next afternoon. That night in camp was great. Fresh tenderloins, mashed taters, and too much beer. A guy named Jack was involved as well!
We decided to take Tuesday morning off due to the previous evening's hijinks. The elk had other plans.
My dad answered the call of nature right around first light. He had an urgency in his voice when he returned. "Hey guys," he said as he shook us awake. "There's 60 head of elk standing 50 yards from camp!"
Remember the scene from Major League, when the manager calls Tom Beringer about playing for the team that year? "Is that you Tolbert?" Of course we didn't believe him. He was serious! We all got dressed as quickly and silently as we could, despite various headaches, and left the tent. In those few minutes, however, the elk disappeared. Since they were standing pointing south, we moved about 50 yards that way. My dad stayed higher up the ridge while I moved close to the main trail.
I looked south and saw 2 yearlings coming up the trail, right at me. They were enjoying the morning. I took a knee and brought my rifle up, and the yearlings saw movement and stopped. They were only about 40 yards away. They didn't bolt, they just looked at me. I shifted my view to farther down the trail and saw more elk coming my way. Cow cow cow cow spike spike! When I first saw them they were close to 300 yards down the trail. They hung up there, but the lead cow continued coming my way. The spikes followed, but stopped at 162 yards.
I figured they weren't coming any closer so when one of the spikes turned broadside I put a bullet through his lungs. He humped up but didn't move, so I hit him again. The second bullet put him down right in the trail.
The elk took off down the trail, right past my dad. One shot, one bull, and all our tags filled!
We got on the line to the outfitter and told him to bring more mules!
More hilarity that night, took the next day off, and packed out Thursday.
Sure, we were after bigger bulls, but we wouldn't have been any happier. We had a great hunt, one for the ages, with memories to last a lifetime.
Pharmseller
