My 06 elk story

Snapset · 11-23-2006, 11:09 PM

Elk season started for me as I like it. Lots of rain, hard wind and every other hunter I saw stopped hiking less than a quarter mile from the road. Perfect. I hunted Saturday pretty hard,. Most days I hunt 10-12 miles when I am after Rosies, and this day was no exception. I hunt an area in a wide high bowl in the coast range. It takes a mile to get into the hills that surround the bowl, and another 3 miles to get to the timber I like to roam in search for the big bulls. Monday was a nice hike as I went up from the east end of the bowl and hunted the high timber. I crossed west to a separate creek drainage and dropped down it through a 15 year old reprod unit. I could spot from the ridges of this unit, but there were no elk to be seen. Towards the end of the day I dropped off a landing into a high basin where I had seen elk last year. I didn�t see any elk here but I saw the only fresh sign of the trip. The herd I saw last year had a bull in it but due to a wet scope I hadn�t been able to get a clear shot at him. Saturday ended with me returning to the Justy about 3:00 p.m., and going for a little drive around.
I don�t hunt Sundays, and Monday I had other things to do so I didn�t hunt again until Tuesday morning. I was ready to do another big loop through the timber. The weather was perfect again. Lots of rain and lots of wind. This time I started out on the West end of the bowl, and I wanted to drop through the same creek basin I had seen sign in Saturday. I climbed up through another 7 year old unit and near the top I spotted a pile of deer bones laying in the mouth of a spring. As I came in closer to investigate I saw there was a 3x4 buck skull in the middle of the pile. Tall and cagey, with nice eye guards, massive bases and a crown point on the left rear like you see on elk, this deer had died this fall. It was a great find but I had a good 10 miles of hunting ahead of me so I stashed it near a closed road that will be open this weekend. I hunted my way along the edge of the big timber. I know there are big bulls in the timber at the top, but they are few and far between. As I was crossing some burned off claystone cliffs at the base of the timber, another squall blew in and I weathered it behind a stump, eating lunch as the hailstones piled up around me on the ferns.
Soon I heard thunder. I began to think the weather was a little too perfect, as here I am a 45 year old man standing high on a slippery cliff face, a rifle with a 26� steel barrel sticking into the ozone laden air, just begging fate to render me. With some urgency I began to make my way down the cliffs, but the crumbly clay was not holding and I fell, slid and rolled more than I climbed my way down. More than once I began to wonder if it was just possibly time to leave this type of hunting to the younger legs. If I break my leg up here, I am flat out dead. I doubt my bones would ever be found. I never feel more alive than in this type of circumstance, but I wonder if it might be better to feel a little less alive for another 30 or 40 years than to feel very alive until I push it just a little too hard. I will have grandkids in the next few years, God willing, and I would like to get to know them.
I slipped into a 20 year old unit and walking under the trees, I find a fawn skeleton, an empty Dasani bottle and a 3 point shed arranged in a perfect triangle. Odd. I hope I didn�t disrupt ritual but the shed antler fit in my pack so I carry it on down the hill. Once again I see fresh sign where I had seen it Saturday, the only fresh sign of the trip.
Wednesday I decide to hunt my way up where I had been exiting from. That would put me in the area I had seen the sign at sunrise, and I am thinking maybe the elk like to be in there only in the morning. The weather once again is perfect. A little less wind but the rain is coming in buckets. The creek I like to follow in tumbles off the steep walls of the bowl and settles into a meander of marshes and beaver ponds as it wends between 2 steep foothills covered in old growth. I have shot elk in this old growth before. I didn�t see any fresh sign Saturday and Monday though, so I am starting to lose faith in the location, the elk and a little bit, myself. This is a common pattern as I hunt and I have been through it enough to know that when I get to this point, the only solution is to keep hunting.
I am a man of faith and it occurs to me that I haven�t prayed for help. Sometimes I think God is neutral as to whether I shoot an animal or not, so I don�t often pray for success in hunting. For my children, sure I pray constantly, but we both have a vested interest in their upbringing . Nevertheless, this morning I pray as I approach the old growth that God will guide my footsteps so I might find an elk to feed my family. About a minute later I am thinking �I don�t listen very well� so I pray instead that God will guide the footsteps of the elk. I guess a true test of faith might have been to sit down at that point and wait for the elk to come strolling in, to fulfill the measure of his creation. I don�t have that kind of faith so I started climbing up into the dark dripping hemlocks.
I also don�t have a long attention span and I soon was distracted by a nice patch of young chanterelles and I picked them. Elk trails split all along the steep face of the hill, and each fork marks an opportunity to make the wrong choice, to move away from rather than closer to the elk, how is one to know? Well I don�t have the answer to that question but I wanted to be as high as I could and still get an occasional glimpse of the creek bottom as I hunted the folds in the hills. My pockets were full of mushrooms so I quit picking them and began to regain focus. I hunted slowly around a high spot . As I looked around a big fir near a patch of vine maple, I saw black legs. Big legs. Now when I hunt in these conditions, I use a bikini scope cover with paper towels folded up to absorb any moisture that might slip through. I withdrew behind the tree and took off the scope cover and put the rifle up to make sure I could see through the scope. All was clear and it was through the scopes eye I was watching as I edged back around the tree trunk. The black legs led to a body that seemed chocolate in the dripping shadows. The elk turned his head towards me, and I could see antlers. They were not big, but they were enough and I aimed behind his shoulder and pulled the trigger. The bull took 5 steps up towards the ridge and stopped to look back at me. I jacked another shell in and as he was looking I took aim at his neck from 30 yards and fired again. His back legs dropped out from underneath him and he rolled down into the viney maples. It was 10:00 a.m. My legs got weak at that point and I had to slump behind the fir and I prayed. Thanksgiving is always on a Thursday, but I was feeling it Wednesday. I thanked God. I went up and thanked the elk.
I began to gather my wits and formulate a plan for getting my elk back to my car. I had thought about floating an elk out in the creek in the past and had never tried it but I decided this is the year I will let the creek do my work. I figured he would float better with his guts in him so I tried to drag him out of the Vine maple. It was an absolute judo match just getting him untangled from the trees, much less drag him, so I gutted and tagged him where he lay on that bench. I cut a piece of maple sapling, 1 inch thick and 1 foot long for a handle and tied a piece of rope to his antler, around the handle and back to a half hitch around his nose, to keep it out of the dirt as I dragged, It took me 3 hours to get him off that bench and 200 yards down a steep hill to the creek bottom. He fell most of the way.
It was 1:00 p.m. I rolled him into the creek and began to drag him downstream. About 50 yards down I stepped over a log crossing the stream and went in up to my hips. Didn�t matter as far as getting wet, I was just as dry coming out as I was before I went in, but my legs were getting weak. I couldn�t get him over the next log in the creek and I sure didn�t want the current to wedge him underneath so I pulled him to the shore. My legs were weak so I couldn�t even pull him up onto the bank. I tied a rope to his legs, then a tree just in case the creek rose. I cut his head off, wrapped it in orange tape and carried it over my head the � mile trip to my car. It was time to go to town for packs and help. It was 2:00 p.m.
I was hoping my son had arrived at my parents from Portland for the holiday so I called my Dad. My son wasn�t there, but my 15 year old daughter was and they both wanted to come up and help so we went back in in my Dads truck with packs, bags , tarps, knives and saws and got to work. We arrived at the elk at 4:30 p.m. I took the first ham and backstrap out as soon as it came off. My Dad and daughter continued to cut. I returned at 5:00 p.m. as the darkness settled into the canyon. My daughter put a shoulder in her pack, I put another ham, backstrap and the tenderloins in my pack. We wrapped the other shoulder and the rib cage and left them. We got back to the truck after dark. http://www.ifish.net/gallery/showphoto.php?photo=46659
http://www.ifish.net/gallery/showphoto.php/photo/46658
http://www.ifish.net/gallery/showphoto.php/photo/46657
This morning another friend and I hiked in and got the other shoulder, the rib meat and and hiked back out. As we were leaving another party shot a spike 50 yards from the road. Thanksgiving is a great holiday.

feisty's wife · 11-24-2006, 05:59 AM

Quote:

Originally Posted by Snapset

Elk season started for me as I like it. Lots of rain, hard wind and every other hunter I saw stopped hiking less than a quarter mile from the road. Perfect. I hunted Saturday pretty hard,. Most days I hunt 10-12 miles when I am after Rosies, and this day was no exception. I hunt an area in a wide high bowl in the coast range. It takes a mile to get into the hills that surround the bowl, and another 3 miles to get to the timber I like to roam in search for the big bulls. Monday was a nice hike as I went up from the east end of the bowl and hunted the high timber. I crossed west to a separate creek drainage and dropped down it through a 15 year old reprod unit. I could spot from the ridges of this unit, but there were no elk to be seen. Towards the end of the day I dropped off a landing into a high basin where I had seen elk last year. I didn�t see any elk here but I saw the only fresh sign of the trip. The herd I saw last year had a bull in it but due to a wet scope I hadn�t been able to get a clear shot at him. Saturday ended with me returning to the Justy about 3:00 p.m., and going for a little drive around.
I don�t hunt Sundays, and Monday I had other things to do so I didn�t hunt again until Tuesday morning. I was ready to do another big loop through the timber. The weather was perfect again. Lots of rain and lots of wind. This time I started out on the West end of the bowl, and I wanted to drop through the same creek basin I had seen sign in Saturday. I climbed up through another 7 year old unit and near the top I spotted a pile of deer bones laying in the mouth of a spring. As I came in closer to investigate I saw there was a 3x4 buck skull in the middle of the pile. Tall and cagey, with nice eye guards, massive bases and a crown point on the left rear like you see on elk, this deer had died this fall. It was a great find but I had a good 10 miles of hunting ahead of me so I stashed it near a closed road that will be open this weekend. I hunted my way along the edge of the big timber. I know there are big bulls in the timber at the top, but they are few and far between. As I was crossing some burned off claystone cliffs at the base of the timber, another squall blew in and I weathered it behind a stump, eating lunch as the hailstones piled up around me on the ferns.
Soon I heard thunder. I began to think the weather was a little too perfect, as here I am a 45 year old man standing high on a slippery cliff face, a rifle with a 26� steel barrel sticking into the ozone laden air, just begging fate to render me. With some urgency I began to make my way down the cliffs, but the crumbly clay was not holding and I fell, slid and rolled more than I climbed my way down. More than once I began to wonder if it was just possibly time to leave this type of hunting to the younger legs. If I break my leg up here, I am flat out dead. I doubt my bones would ever be found. I never feel more alive than in this type of circumstance, but I wonder if it might be better to feel a little less alive for another 30 or 40 years than to feel very alive until I push it just a little too hard. I will have grandkids in the next few years, God willing, and I would like to get to know them.
I slipped into a 20 year old unit and walking under the trees, I find a fawn skeleton, an empty Dasani bottle and a 3 point shed arranged in a perfect triangle. Odd. I hope I didn�t disrupt ritual but the shed antler fit in my pack so I carry it on down the hill. Once again I see fresh sign where I had seen it Saturday, the only fresh sign of the trip.
Wednesday I decide to hunt my way up where I had been exiting from. That would put me in the area I had seen the sign at sunrise, and I am thinking maybe the elk like to be in there only in the morning. The weather once again is perfect. A little less wind but the rain is coming in buckets. The creek I like to follow in tumbles off the steep walls of the bowl and settles into a meander of marshes and beaver ponds as it wends between 2 steep foothills covered in old growth. I have shot elk in this old growth before. I didn�t see any fresh sign Saturday and Monday though, so I am starting to lose faith in the location, the elk and a little bit, myself. This is a common pattern as I hunt and I have been through it enough to know that when I get to this point, the only solution is to keep hunting.
I am a man of faith and it occurs to me that I haven�t prayed for help. Sometimes I think God is neutral as to whether I shoot an animal or not, so I don�t often pray for success in hunting. For my children, sure I pray constantly, but we both have a vested interest in their upbringing . Nevertheless, this morning I pray as I approach the old growth that God will guide my footsteps so I might find an elk to feed my family. About a minute later I am thinking �I don�t listen very well� so I pray instead that God will guide the footsteps of the elk. I guess a true test of faith might have been to sit down at that point and wait for the elk to come strolling in, to fulfill the measure of his creation. I don�t have that kind of faith so I started climbing up into the dark dripping hemlocks.
I also don�t have a long attention span and I soon was distracted by a nice patch of young chanterelles and I picked them. Elk trails split all along the steep face of the hill, and each fork marks an opportunity to make the wrong choice, to move away from rather than closer to the elk, how is one to know? Well I don�t have the answer to that question but I wanted to be as high as I could and still get an occasional glimpse of the creek bottom as I hunted the folds in the hills. My pockets were full of mushrooms so I quit picking them and began to regain focus. I hunted slowly around a high spot . As I looked around a big fir near a patch of vine maple, I saw black legs. Big legs. Now when I hunt in these conditions, I use a bikini scope cover with paper towels folded up to absorb any moisture that might slip through. I withdrew behind the tree and took off the scope cover and put the rifle up to make sure I could see through the scope. All was clear and it was through the scopes eye I was watching as I edged back around the tree trunk. The black legs led to a body that seemed chocolate in the dripping shadows. The elk turned his head towards me, and I could see antlers. They were not big, but they were enough and I aimed behind his shoulder and pulled the trigger. The bull took 5 steps up towards the ridge and stopped to look back at me. I jacked another shell in and as he was looking I took aim at his neck from 30 yards and fired again. His back legs dropped out from underneath him and he rolled down into the viney maples. It was 10:00 a.m. My legs got weak at that point and I had to slump behind the fir and I prayed. Thanksgiving is always on a Thursday, but I was feeling it Wednesday. I thanked God. I went up and thanked the elk.
I began to gather my wits and formulate a plan for getting my elk back to my car. I had thought about floating an elk out in the creek in the past and had never tried it but I decided this is the year I will let the creek do my work. I figured he would float better with his guts in him so I tried to drag him out of the Vine maple. It was an absolute judo match just getting him untangled from the trees, much less drag him, so I gutted and tagged him where he lay on that bench. I cut a piece of maple sapling, 1 inch thick and 1 foot long for a handle and tied a piece of rope to his antler, around the handle and back to a half hitch around his nose, to keep it out of the dirt as I dragged, It took me 3 hours to get him off that bench and 200 yards down a steep hill to the creek bottom. He fell most of the way.
It was 1:00 p.m. I rolled him into the creek and began to drag him downstream. About 50 yards down I stepped over a log crossing the stream and went in up to my hips. Didn�t matter as far as getting wet, I was just as dry coming out as I was before I went in, but my legs were getting weak. I couldn�t get him over the next log in the creek and I sure didn�t want the current to wedge him underneath so I pulled him to the shore. My legs were weak so I couldn�t even pull him up onto the bank. I tied a rope to his legs, then a tree just in case the creek rose. I cut his head off, wrapped it in orange tape and carried it over my head the � mile trip to my car. It was time to go to town for packs and help. It was 2:00 p.m.
I was hoping my son had arrived at my parents from Portland for the holiday so I called my Dad. My son wasn�t there, but my 15 year old daughter was and they both wanted to come up and help so we went back in in my Dads truck with packs, bags , tarps, knives and saws and got to work. We arrived at the elk at 4:30 p.m. I took the first ham and backstrap out as soon as it came off. My Dad and daughter continued to cut. I returned at 5:00 p.m. as the darkness settled into the canyon. My daughter put a shoulder in her pack, I put another ham, backstrap and the tenderloins in my pack. We wrapped the other shoulder and the rib cage and left them. We got back to the truck after dark. http://www.ifish.net/gallery/showphoto.php?photo=46659
http://www.ifish.net/gallery/showphoto.php/photo/46658
http://www.ifish.net/gallery/showphoto.php/photo/46657
This morning another friend and I hiked in and got the other shoulder, the rib meat and and hiked back out. As we were leaving another party shot a spike 50 yards from the road. Thanksgiving is a great holiday.

Great story, thnx a bunch.