Pony Soldier
WKR
I'm not going to count or talk about the few elk we have killed off the front porch or out the front window. I count those as gift elk. Payback for suffering enough hence earning a freebe.
In Northwest Montana, the civilian Conservation Corp (CCC) built miles and miles of trails following the 1910 fire through western Montana and Idaho. In many places there was a trail down every ridge and every creek. At the top of the main divide ridge was usualy a connecting trail to link them together. That trail might be 30-50 miles or more long. It was very common to choose loop trails to hunt that could be 14-20 miles long. A number of loops with snow, you could determine what elevation the elk were hanging, migration paths and even what drainages they had holed up in. Sadly the USFS have abandoned most of that trail system.
I had chosen a loop for the day that went near one of my old camps. I looked forward to a pleasant 5-6 hr ride in the northside jungles. Cool, quiet and in general a nice day. No snow or rain and about 60 degrees.
I left the truck, went up the access trail and hit the main trail. It was in old growth fir and larch and was comforting to the soul.
As I came into a side drainage which happened to be a bivouac site where the trail maintenance crews pulled into camp for the night. My father had even camped there in the 1930s.
There was a spring on the side of the trail and I pulled up my horse for a drink. Sitting there listening to him slurp, I looked up the hill and there was nice little 5 pt bull watching my horse. I dismounted, pulled my rifle out of the boot and push my horse out of the spring and stepped into the water for the shot. A nice 50 yd shot. I pulled the trigger and the bull twitched and ran at me collapsing about 15 ft from the spring.
I cleaned him and started down the trail to go back to town to pick up another horse. As I rode into a dense thicket, I saw a spike bull laying on the side of the trail- with his legs uphill. He was only 50 ft away but with the legs uphill I'm sure my mouth was open in astonishment as I starred at the bull. Without warning he bounced off the ground like he was shot and I just starred. So did my horse.
I got to town, loaded up my horse and went back to my bull. I got him quartered, loaded and went back to the trailer. I didn't even unload. I just walked them into the stock trailer and drove them home. I was home by 3:00 and never broke a sweat. I was depressed that it was so easy and I was denied a good ride in a fun place.
In Northwest Montana, the civilian Conservation Corp (CCC) built miles and miles of trails following the 1910 fire through western Montana and Idaho. In many places there was a trail down every ridge and every creek. At the top of the main divide ridge was usualy a connecting trail to link them together. That trail might be 30-50 miles or more long. It was very common to choose loop trails to hunt that could be 14-20 miles long. A number of loops with snow, you could determine what elevation the elk were hanging, migration paths and even what drainages they had holed up in. Sadly the USFS have abandoned most of that trail system.
I had chosen a loop for the day that went near one of my old camps. I looked forward to a pleasant 5-6 hr ride in the northside jungles. Cool, quiet and in general a nice day. No snow or rain and about 60 degrees.
I left the truck, went up the access trail and hit the main trail. It was in old growth fir and larch and was comforting to the soul.
As I came into a side drainage which happened to be a bivouac site where the trail maintenance crews pulled into camp for the night. My father had even camped there in the 1930s.
There was a spring on the side of the trail and I pulled up my horse for a drink. Sitting there listening to him slurp, I looked up the hill and there was nice little 5 pt bull watching my horse. I dismounted, pulled my rifle out of the boot and push my horse out of the spring and stepped into the water for the shot. A nice 50 yd shot. I pulled the trigger and the bull twitched and ran at me collapsing about 15 ft from the spring.
I cleaned him and started down the trail to go back to town to pick up another horse. As I rode into a dense thicket, I saw a spike bull laying on the side of the trail- with his legs uphill. He was only 50 ft away but with the legs uphill I'm sure my mouth was open in astonishment as I starred at the bull. Without warning he bounced off the ground like he was shot and I just starred. So did my horse.
I got to town, loaded up my horse and went back to my bull. I got him quartered, loaded and went back to the trailer. I didn't even unload. I just walked them into the stock trailer and drove them home. I was home by 3:00 and never broke a sweat. I was depressed that it was so easy and I was denied a good ride in a fun place.
