IDAHO 2015 ELK (Big T and Greg)

[EATONANTLERS]

The road trip out! 9/16-17/2015
The plan all along was that Greg would work an early shift on Wednesday September 16th until the early afternoon and we would plan to be on the road by, or before, 4:00 p.m. I decided that I might as well work a half day as well as long as I had the lion’s share of the gear ready to go in the truck, and I did.
Around 2:00 Greg called to see where I was at. He assumed that I knew he was only working until 1:00 and I thought he would call when he was leaving work for home so I could head over to pick him up. We had met the Sunday before at his place so I could pick up the majority of his gear so it could be strategically packed in the limited space I had in my truck. I was still an hour from being fully loaded and showered, so I informed Greg I’d be there around 3:30 or 4:00. After landing at Greg’s we were on the road right at 4:00 and off to the wild, wild, west!

The truck loaded and ready.
This timing would put us in the rush hour traffic going through the Chicago area. Remarkably, we sailed through Chicago without delay as we headed down I 80 toward Iowa.
Lots of friends and family were aware of my plans and schedule, including my friend Johnathon who moved with his family from mid Michigan to eastern Iowa last year. Johnathon lives a few miles south of I 80 at exit 254 near Iowa City so I messaged him our approximate ETA which coincided with a scheduled fuel stop. He met us at the McDonalds at the exit and we visited for about a half hour before we fueled and were on our way. It was good to catch up with him.
A tall cup of McDonald’s coffee in hand and I took the next stint behind the wheel while Greg caught some zzzzz. The next fuel stop was in Lincoln NE around 2:30 or so, on what is now Thursday morning. Greg would take over behind the wheel while I grabbed some sleep. Just outside of town I was out cold and woke 4 hours later as we rolled in to Sidney, NE, world headquarters for Cabela’s. Of course Cabela’s wasn’t open at this hour of the morning but it was a scheduled fuel stop and it was time for breakfast so we fueled and headed across the road to the Subway for a breakfast sandwich.
We made short work of our required detours and were back on the road in short order. The Subway shop provided some handy single serving packs of mayo, catsup, mustard, etc. that we would use in our daily meal packs, also some creamers for Greg’s morning coffees.
I was behind the wheel now as we headed toward Wyoming and 60 miles later we entered the Cowboy State headed for our exit 300 miles away in Rock Springs. We were right on schedule and, I watched the speedometer closely to avoid another encounter with WSP’s finest. Rock Springs is where we would fuel next and exit off of our long trek across I 80, this would put us approximately 5 hrs out from my youngest sister’s home in Ririe, Idaho, our scheduled overnight.
This road takes you out across the high western desert where the wild horses (mustangs) roam. Beautiful but featureless country that is vast.

We sailed along viewing hundreds of pronghorn antelope along the way until we eventually hit Pinedale which is the gateway to the Teton region of Wyoming and just a couple of hours east of Jackson Hole. This is where the majestic mountains greet you in all their glory and the landscape begins to change drastically from what we had endured since mid Nebraska, a welcome change.
Just south of Jackson Hole we turned south and west and headed toward Swan Valley and over the pass along the mighty Snake River. Breathtaking views as we wound our way over the Continental divide and past Palisades reservoir and dam an hour from our first destination.

I texted my nephew our ETA and when we arrived my niece had a fantastic dinner of Ham, taters, and roast squash sitting on the table waiting for us. The kids were watching the house while my sister and brother-in-law were celebrating their 26th anniversary in Tybee Island, GA.
A fine dinner, hot shower, some fellowship, and we were off to bed for an early Friday morning wake up!

Being greeted by my nephew.

 

[EATONANTLERS]

Headed to the Mountain! 9/18/2015
As you can imagine we were anxious to get going in the morning. The plan was to stop in the town of Rigby, Idaho, just 15 minutes down the road, and pick up our perishables and block ice for our cooler. The grocery store opened at 7:00 a.m. so we had time for our usual Subway breakfast sandwich and were sitting in the parking lot when the grocery opened. Our list was short and our biggest decision was what flavor beer we wanted. We quickly settled on a 12 pack of Fat Tire, paid for our goods and were off like a prom dress!
Last year I had bought my license on line well in advance of leaving. This insured that the IF&G would have ample time to mail me my license before I departed. Because this unit is OTC, and they have ample quota for the area, I waited too long and decided to buy the tag when we got out there at the license vendor (truck stop) that we bought our wolf tags at last year. I had called the IF&G to insure that we would be able to still buy at that vendor and they insured me that the vendor was still on the list.
We rolled in to town at 8:30 a.m., fueled, and made our way in to the store to pick up some incidentals and our licenses. Much to our horror the kind lady behind the counter informed us that they only accepted CASH for license purchases! OH, OH! This was a problem, not because we were broke, but because we weren’t carrying that much cash ($580.00 each). The nice lady was pretty set on sticking to her guns as we squirmed nervously and discussed our options. The only bank in town was cashless so the option of waiting for them to open was quickly eliminated. Greg eyed the ATM next to the door and scratched his head to try and recall his pin number. I don’t have an ATM account so we were counting out our available cash like 2 teenagers pooling our change for a Friday night pizza. Greg then got on the phone to his wife to insure that cash would be available in the account if he miraculously remembered his pin number. She electronically transferred funds while the nice lady behind the counter conceded to selling us one tag on my card if we could pay cash for the other. Bam! That was just what it took for Greg to pull his pin number out of thin air, and (2) $200 withdraws later, we were in business. Not sure if the nice lady felt sorry for us or took pleasure in watching us sweat but we were eternally grateful she conceded, if even partially, on our behalf. Down the road we went, just another hour to our camp!
As we rolled past high desert ranches of irrigated lush green alfalfa fields surrounded by crusty old grey sagebrush. I pointed out to Greg some of the local landmarks I remembered from my youth and recent hunting trips. As the terrain turned to vertical rock walls on both sides of the road the creek beside us raced in the opposite direction. The further up the canyon we went the more frequent hunting camps became. Many of the “locals” set their camps in late August just before the season opens and then visit them on the weekends. Security at these camps isn’t an issue and it’s common to see chairs, targets, and misc. camp items sitting around the campers when the camps are vacated on Sunday afternoon for the week, a refreshing reminder of the charm of the west.
Eventually the tarvy would turn to gravel and the evidence of a recent rain shower was welcome as it settled the dust bowl that typically engulfs your truck when the pavement ends. Another mile would put us at an old school mate’s home where I had made arrangements to secure our fresh water for the week. We unpacked our water jugs from the back of the truck and proceeded to fill them at the hydrant in the yard before our final ascent to camp.
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Picking the perfect camp site!
We arrived at 6,600’ elevation and gazed up at the snow covered peaks at 10,000’+. A cold snap that accompanied the recent precipitation made for some spectacular vistas but the forecast for the area suggested that the snow would be but just a memory in a couple of days.
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The end of the road was marked by a gate that leads to BLM land that hosts seasonal sheep and cattle grazing. By now, all of the livestock had been moved off of the landscape but etiquette dictated that gates be opened and closed behind you. Greg quickly found out why I like to drive, oh…and to never challenge me in a flatulence contest.
The trail would quickly turn to a rutted up 2 track that was, with the recent rain, “snot slick”. As we inched our way up the trail we approached an imposing water obstacle that had a detour around it through the sagebrush. We exited the truck to survey our options and decided to give the water obstacle a go. At the top of the hole we would have to turn sharply to the right to climb out of the hole, this proved futile despite having the four wheel drive engaged. I backed up and attempted the detour and the slick mud on the sides of the deep ruts prevented me from navigating around the obstacle. Rather than take the chance of tearing up my truck before we even started, we decided to back up 50 yards and set camp on a nice grass covered flat spot beside the road and next to a flowing creek tucked in to some low willows. After a day or so the road would dry and we would be able to drive the rest of the way up when we hunted.
Once we decided where we would set our tent and cook canopy, we went to work unloading all of our gear. Camp came together fairly quickly and we became more enamored with our choice the more we spent time setting up our digs for the next 9 days.
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The Idaho Ritz!

When camp was set we changed in to our hunting clothes, set up a target, and verified our zeros with our bows. With all systems go, we trekked up the trail to the ridge that Scott and I started on last year and where I found quick success on my first elk. A steep climb on an open sagebrush ridge lay ahead of us; this was a good time to break out the trekking poles from our packs to assist our efforts upward.

 

[EATONANTLERS]

ELK!
As soon as we topped the lower portion of the ridge we would eventually follow, Greg spotted elk and we took a strategic position behind some spruce trees and rocks so we could glass without being seen. A spike bull fed out on to a small open point on a sheer rock cliff straight across from us and just 300 yards away horizontally but a mile down, and then up if we were to pursue him. We quickly spotted his traveling companion, a rag horn 4x4. The pair fed along the bench they were on and down in to a grassy meadow as we decided they were safe on our first day. The two were a welcome and exciting start to our hunt as we moved up the open ridge to a more advantageous position to glass the drainages on each side of the ridge.
We hadn’t gone more than a couple of hundred yards when we sat down to glass the drainage on the other side. A long narrow opening on the side of a timber covered north facing mountain side at the top of the opening was a vertical rock wall with 2 pillars of rock that we would call the Twin Peaks Slide for future reference. This spot produced more elk, as we glassed the opening a bull bugled consistently at 4 cows that were either bedded or up feeding in the opening. A second, and obviously older, bull bugled from just inside the timber beside the others but never showed himself. We were off to a good start so I suggested to Greg that we move further up the ridge to another vantage point. As we prepared to move I glanced to our left and spotted the spike and rag horn only to see both of them standing within 5 yards of where we had been sitting watching them just 30 minutes earlier. We were pinned down on the wide open ridge so we were content to just watch them when suddenly something got their attention! Did they see or wind us? A faint rumble filled our ears that got steadily louder as the 2 young bulls decided to retreat to where they had come from. Just then a helicopter buzzed down through the canyon behind and below us. Not exactly what you would expect but I must admit I was a bit envious and fantasized about some day seeing this country by helicopter. We moved on up the ridge to find more elk.
By now we were approaching the spot where Scott and I separated the year before, he watching the timber covered drainage to the west and me moving up and over to glass the canyon to the NE on the Montana line where I would find early success. Greg and I did the same but stayed within sight of each other. The wind on top was sharp and cold so I broke out my gator, beanie, and puffy coat so I could be comfortable while I peered in to every nook and cranny of the canyon that lay out below me.
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Montana border top left

Greg and I both spotted the rag horn back on the grassy slope we had seen him earlier and from Greg’s vantage point he could see a well used trail and an active wallow. As Greg glassed the mountainside above the rag horn he spotted a much better bull feeding in to the opening above the rag horn. Because we had reached adequate elevation we were both getting cell phone reception. Greg called me to tell me about the larger bull so we rendezvoused at my location to descend in to the canyon and try to make a play in the quickly fading light.
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Line of descent, down and to the right

Time was not on our side so we decided not to take the chance of buggering the bulls out of the canyon as we made our way back up and out toward camp. The trip off the mountain proved eventful as we traversed a ragged steep rocky point not fit for man or beast.
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Results of a wrong turn!

Everything in the mountains is at such a grand scale and what SEEMS like a logical, most direct, route, is often a train wreck waiting to happen. We survived and were back in camp for a delicious meal of chicken fajitas and a cold brew before hitting the hay at 10:00 for our 4:00 a.m. wake up. A prosperous first afternoon provided us options for the next morning and we decided to go after the bulls we saw, and heard, in Twin Peaks Slide.

 

[EATONANTLERS]

Day 2, Saturday.
We woke to the alarm clock at 4:00 a.m. to crisp cold temps and a layer of thick frost that would need to be scraped from the truck window before departing. By now things had dried up enough that we would be able to navigate the road up the drainage to park and shorten our hike by a half mile or so.
This being our first wake up in camp, we had yet to establish a morning routine so we took a bit longer to get our gear around and get some coffee and breakfast in us, it was now that I realized I had neglected to pack any silverware including 2 long handled spoons specifically designed to eat oatmeal out of a quart Ziploc bag. Greg used a large serving spoon and I used a small spatula, inconvenient but effective. By 5:30 we were in the truck and headed up the trail to our parking destination.
As we prepared to depart the truck headlights made their way up the canyon in our direction. A friend, Reed Stewart and his son’s, that we had met the previous year, were camped at the end of the canyon trail near the gate. Over the last year I kept in touch with him via Face book and we each looked forward to seeing each other this year on the mountain. The group of 4 that followed us up the canyon were part of Reed’s camp and they were being trailed up by 4 others that arrived on quads behind them.
We slowly made our way up the trail to a stand of quaky aspen below where we planned to ascend to the lower end of Twin Peaks Slide.
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Although it was still dark, this is where we waited for the group following us.
It didn’t make sense to not inform the group behind us where we were leaving the trail. This mountain, as big as it was, was starting to get crowded and a little coordination would go a long way toward a somewhat enjoyable hunt for all of us. We decided to let the group directly behind us catch up; it was in fact 2 of Reed’s son’s, a grandson, and a family friend. Daniel, Reed’s oldest son, greeted us with “Welcome to the international freakin highway!” After introductions, they informed us they were going further up the trail and planned to hunt up and over to a rendezvous point with their Dad and brother before heading back to camp mid day. We had no idea where the other group planned to hunt so we parted ways, wished each other luck, and started toward the Slide.
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Twin Peaks Slide

As we approached the Slide the sight and smell of elk greeted our senses. It was obvious elk felt comfortable here and it was easy to see why. Plenty of browse, cool dark timber, and benches where they could bed. We made our way up and across the Slide and in to the dark timber on the north edge. By 7:30 we had heard a few bugles and new that elk were making their way in our direction from the opposite side of the Slide. What we weren’t sure of was at what elevation they would approach so we took a mid mountain position and prepared to move up or down as needed. The activity slowed and by 8:30 we were considering a move. We had been doing some sporadic cow calling and as we stood to put our packs on we heard a cow mew below us. Greg moved to our right to get a clear vantage point and I stayed back to call. Shortly afterward we caught movement below us as a young cow approached us solo, she would eventually stand between us at just 20 yards before she looped around and above us and approached our packs for a strong whiff before departing. At the same time we could hear elk approaching from above us as the wind swirled as they made a hasty departure. We were on the “100% shot opportunity” board and the close encounter energized us. We moved up the mountain to the top of the slide at the base of the Twin Peaks and south toward The Saddle.
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Greg and I take a minute for a couple pictures

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Looking back down the mountain from above Twin Peaks Slide.

The Saddle was a spot that Scott and I had spent several days hunting the previous year. It’s a unique spot situated between 2 timber covered points with steep dark bedding on the north slopes and lush grass in the low area (saddle) between them. The opposite side is wide open high desert where the elk feed throughout the night before watering and wallowing in the bottoms before making their way back to the top and over in to the dark timber. As we side hilled our way toward this spot elk sign was fresh and abundant just like the previous year. The morning was wearing on as we approached the spot where Scott and I had the encounter with the bull he hit and lost the year before. A flood of memories filled my senses as I relived each moment and tried to convey the feelings we experienced that morning to Greg. The scene was as vivid to me as if it was happening at that very moment. We took a position to glass the mountainside around noon to get some lunch, a nap, and get a picture.

 

[EATONANTLERS]

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Standing near where Scott shot a bull in 2013

Around 4:00 we decided to make our way back down the mountain slowly working our way back across the mountainside toward the Slide. As we methodically descended we were stopped in our tracks by an eerie rumble in the thick cover below us that sounded like 2 bears growling and fighting. Reed’s crew runs an active bear bait in this general vicinity and although they hadn’t captured any bears on camera in over 3 weeks, the bait was traditionally utilized. We weren’t interested in any close encounters with a bruin but we were admittedly curious to get a closer look. We slowed to a snail’s pace as we peered through the timber for any sign of movement coming from the direction of the rumbling. Soon we would spot a black patch of hair through the timber as the rumbling continued; it was a huge bull moose tending an even bigger cow moose. Although we were within 100 yards of the courting duo we could really only make out parts and pieces of their bodies as we moved past them continuing on toward the slide.
The evening near the slide would prove uneventful and as we descended to the bottom of the drainage back to the truck we encountered a second, single antlered, bull moose that we walked within easy bow range of, we also encountered 4 mule deer on the mountain this day. Today’s hunt had concluded and we still had time to drive down for a visit with Reed before dinner.
Reed was “tagged out” for the season after taking a cow elk and a doe mule deer earlier in the season with his self made recurve.
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Reed Stewart and a cow with his self made recurve.

Reed makes the most incredible handcrafted bows you’ve ever seen with elk antler tips and antler inlay on the grips, he’ll also embellish the handle with elk “ivory” teeth, true works of art that he blesses each of his family members with.
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Some of Reed’s handy work

As we caught up on how things were going I inquired if he had any plastic silverware after sharing my misfortune. He dug through the cabinets of his camper to find a tub full of utensils and told us to help ourselves.
We continued to visit as Reed prepared dinner for his camp as his son’s started to trickle back in from their evening hunts. We were blessed to meet each of them, talk hunting, and gear before departing for our camp where the steak and potato dinner we had on the menu waited for us.
With full bellies we were sacked out by 10:00 and great anticipation for the coming day, Sunday, where we planned to hunt up in to the top of the canyon on the Montana border where we spotted the 3 bulls and where I had killed my bull the year before.

 

[EATONANTLERS]

Day 3, Sunday.
The usual 4:00 a.m. alarm sounded as Greg bounded out of his sleeping bag to get water boiling for our breakfast and coffee. By now we’re starting to get a bit of a routine down and we’re working in unison around camp.
Breakfast burritos are on this morning’s menu to go along with our Starbucks instant coffee. I had prepared and dehydrated the burrito filling at home and tested it with pleasant results, however, this morning we apparently rushed the reconstitution process and the sausage was a bit crunchy, still tasted okay and filled us up, but not what I had anticipated.
We were back in the truck around 5:30 headed up to last year’s camping spot for our hike up the red canyon. This is a fairly easy hike as the trail is well defined and a gradual climb until you get in the upper reaches where it begins to widen out and the grassy openings appear. We pecked our way along listening and glassing for elk from the shadows of the tall spruce we were following. The rushing creek made hearing bugles difficult so we angled away and up from the creek so we could see and hear better heading toward the lush oasis that my bull, from last year, was first spotted.
This spot has everything that elk could possibly want. High elevation just below the Montana border, dark thick pockets of timber lots of water including a large pond, and lush green grasses from the abundant seeps that spring from the mountain side. We would take a strategic position to call and glass from as we got close to this spot, but it quickly became evident that no elk inhabited this canyon on this day. We encountered several mule deer as we made our way through this oasis and also saw another bull moose drop in the top of the canyon from the Montana side. We climbed toward the top and the border to a vantage point on the other side of the mountain that allowed us to glass and call in to several small deep, dark holes. We also had cell service on top and took a few minutes to call our wives and check some messages before finding a spot to rest eat lunch and listen.
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Greg and I at ID/MT border.

We would hang here until about 3:30 before moving back down through the drainage in hopes of intercepting the 3 bulls we had spotted on the first day. Perhaps they were dropping in from the other side and we just missed them earlier in the morning. Wind was our biggest concern and we felt we needed to take our time and wait for the thermals to start dropping as we made our approach toward the wallow Greg had pinpointed the first day. We slipped along slowly and patiently toward the location we anticipated the bulls using until we came upon an active wallow that we decided to watch until dark. Our evening was uneventful and while sitting there Greg noticed a camera monitoring one of the 3 mud holes at this location. At dusk we packed up and headed back down the canyon toward the truck. We would have zero elk encounters today.
On the menu tonight was pasties with gravy, canned pears, and a cold brew after which we prepped our gear for the next morning before hitting the hay around 10:00. The next morning we would drive an hour plus to another area where I hunted in 2012 and where Scott and I hunted last year on the day we got 3 flat tires. Hopefully, I made preparations to avoid that situation this year.

 

[EATONANTLERS]

Day 4, Monday.
A delicious breakfast of California oatmeal (contained fruit and nuts) and Starbucks was on the menu this morning as we scurried around packing our lunches and filling our water bladders. We had a road trip ahead of us and we hadn’t planned any extra time for the 35 mile trip. When we arrived in this drainage darkness still enveloped us but it was clear that we would not be gaining any elevation before daylight. I parked next to the creek at the bottom of a timber filled canyon where I had encountered 2 herd bulls with cows on an afternoon hunt in 2012. By the time we were ready to head up the trail, light was encroaching in to the darkness as we were greeted by the sweet sound of a bugling bull. As we stood still trying to determine the direction of the bugles that ricocheted off the steep slopes of this canyon, Greg said it sounded like they were coming from behind us, the direction we had just come. As he watched in that direction he spotted elk on the far side of the drainage, sky lined on the open mountain top opposite of where we parked. We glassed intently at this magnificent herd bull as he kept close tabs on his harem of 4-5 cows. The cows would eventually move up and over the top taking the bull with them.
I checked my GPS and realized that the group was dropping in to the left fork of this drainage. There’s a well established trail that runs off the main road heading up in to this spot and although I had never hunted up that drainage, I knew how to get to it so we scurried back down to the truck and headed back down the road to the left fork. A local has been parked at the base of this canyon every year I have hunted there and his vacant camp was there again this year. This drainage is relatively void of any substantial timber and most every one wonders why the guy hunts it almost exclusively. We would soon discover why.
As we pulled up to park Greg spotted a pair of shooter bulls standing on a ridge above us. As they stared down on us they eventually decided to move on and dropped in to a small draw that had a strip of dark timber for cover and plenty of water. We were content to let the duo settle in to that location as we hunted past them in search of the herd bull and his harem that had dropped in to the top of this drainage from the opposite side. Where they were was wide open as we discovered where they were as the great bull continued to pierce the morning air with growly deep bugles. He would follow his harem in to a pocket of trees less than an 1/8 of an acre in size where we watched them get up and down the rest of the morning to take advantage of a very limited amount of shade. There was no approaching this group, at least at this time, so we moved up into some quakies and up the steep side hill in anticipation of the 2 earlier bulls possibly moving through and past, the drainage we had last seen them. We would climb and call as we worked our way back toward them.
By now the morning sun was heating things up and the lack of cover in this spot caused the thermals to shift quickly. As we back tracked across the top of the mountain to where we last left the duo we checked another small drainage with some limited timber and good water between where we were and where we left them, there was no guarantee they stopped where we last saw them so we approached each patch of cover as if they were in it. This spot produced a couple of mule deer as we passed up and through it moving toward the last patch of cover.
As we crested the ridge we were totally exposed. Any elk bedded facing our direction could likely spot us and bolt without giving us an honest chance at a stalk. We assessed the situation and decided we needed to drop back and over the ridge, move to the top of the draw and circle in from the top, hunting down in to the wind. As we covered the open hill side we watched diligently for the elk to bust from the cover in the event they saw us but it never happened. As we snuck our way in to the top of the strip of timber the stout aroma of rutting elk greeted our nostrils and tracks, trails, rubs, and droppings littered the edge of the timber and the shimmer of water in the bottom and the black mud of active wallows provided all the ingredients to heighten our anticipation.
We decided that we would use hand signals and leap frog our way down through this spot. There was certainly no reason for us to hurry, the sun was high and hot and we were confident that we were going to have an encounter if we took our time and were diligent in our approach. We agreed that Greg would take the first stretch and move 35-40 yards moving slowly and glassing every inch of cover for parts and pieces of bedded bulls on this hill side. This was a narrow draw and there was zero cover on the opposite slope. We were hunting along the top edge just below the edge of the timber to avoid being sky lined but there was still anywhere from 50 to 75 yards of timber between us and the bottom with plenty of humps and dips for bulls to lay and difficult to spot. The hunt down was tedious and Greg’s confidence began to wane as we got closer to the bottom of the canyon and the end of the timber. I’ve learned that you never give up as long as there’s at least one piece of cover to hide an elk, but I hadn’t conveyed that to Greg to keep him sharp and confident, it’s just something you learn through experience.
We each had taken about 3-4 stretches of this stalk when my last stretch ended at a grassy opening littered with smaller spruce trees that dropped off steeply in front of us. My instinct told me to drop another level and stay in the shadow of the taller timber but I yielded to the ease and relative quiet of the trail we were on. Greg moved forward as I watched and second guessed myself about this spot and how we weren’t giving ourselves the predator’s advantage. Greg stopped 40 yards ahead and glassed the timber below before waving me up. I took a final look at the cover below me before heading his way and he decided to move a couple more yards up for a better vantage point. As I began to move toward him he quickly turned to look at me with eyes the size of dinner platters, ELK, and he was right on top of the bigger of the 2 bulls and I could see past him and see the bull clearly bedded facing up hill with his rump toward us. The only portion of his antlers I could see was his eye guards but the 2 bulls were distinctly different colors and the bigger, this one, was lighter in color. The bull was oblivious to us yet was awake and alert.
Panic struck as I searched feverishly for the second bull so that he wouldn’t spoil the party before Greg could move in to position for a shot. A couple of dead spruce trees blocked his 35 yard chip shot so moving was required, not an easy proposition at this close of a distance with the bull facing Greg. Within moments the bull’s demeanor started to change as his ears pricked and his eyes widened and then an explosion of hooves below us as both bulls exited out the bottom of the timber leaving us dejected but with a shot of adrenaline.


Blue line is route to The Oasis and the herd bull and cows
Red star is where Greg spotted the 2 bulls when we parked
Pink line is the route we took to stalk the 2 bulls
Yellow arrow is where the bulls were bedded when we caught up to them

We had exhausted all of the potential pieces of cover in this fork of the drainage so I climbed to edge of the timber where I could glass the oasis bull. He and his small harem were still bedded in the top of the drainage in the skinny cover they had entered earlier that morning. Between us and them were a few cow calf pairs that had yet to be moved out of this BLM open range. We decided to take a break and eat lunch where we were after evaluating where the bulls exited the cover, we found a relatively flat spot to sit down and Greg ate lunch while I update my note pad with details of the events of the morning. Afterward I ate lunch while Greg moved up a bit to get a vantage point to glass. The next thing I know Greg’s dancing a jig and dropping his draws, he had sat down on a mound of fire ants…and they didn’t appreciate it. BTW, Greg wears camo boxers.
After lunch the decision was made to make a wild arse stalk on the oasis bull, after all, we had nothing to lose and blowing him out of this drainage may put him back over the mountain where he might be more approachable another time, so up the canyon we went, cattle rippin and tearin in our wake as we approached a large stand of dead quakies which provided minimal cover for our approach to the elk which, at this point, are approximately 400 yards up the canyon above us but just over a slight rim which I hoped would give us an advantage. We moved to the top of the dead quakies when we happened to glance up toward the oasis and saw an elk moving. The old alpha cow walked out to the edge of the oasis, nose in the air, and glaring in our direction…BUSTED! The old girl made haste as she exited the drainage with the group in tow. The bull was just along for the ride as he followed behind them with his mouth open and tongue hanging out, he was at just 286 yards and we watched him through our binos, in awe of his majesty, as he followed his girls out of our sight. We had zero expectations on this stalk so it was hard to be disappointed with the result.
This was a relatively easy day physically as the afternoon was wearing on. We could find another canyon to explore OR we could drive up another drainage that I had heard, from reliable sources, held elk. The turn off for this drainage was near the bottom of where we came up so it was a 15 minute drive to that fork in the road before we could head up the new drainage. We made our way up the road and in to a gorgeous box canyon that just erupted from the flat desert floor above it. A working cattle operation was in the bottom of the box canyon and lush with grass and water as we skirted passed it along the edge of the sheer rock walls, as we rounded a corner a pair of golden eagles soared a short distance above us giving us quite a show. Only about 6 or 7 gates on the 17 mile haul up the canyon that took us over an hour, but Greg handled them flawlessly, I was so proud of him.
Because it was Monday there was very little activity along this long road in to this spot. We encountered a camp and a pair of hunters with Washington (state) plates. The area looked prime and we considered the possibilities of returning another day. We turned around at the end of the road and made our way back down, again, Greg nailed gate duty like the pro he is.
Once back down to the main road we still had some time and we were within a mile of an old high school buddy’s ranch. Kevin Small was a senior, 2 years ahead of me, when we moved to this area in my youth. He’s the epitome of a western cowboy in every sense of the definition. We spent about 30 minutes visiting with Kevin before he had to go break a horse or something, but before we left he told us about an exceptional bull that was being seen near there on the desert. We said our goodbyes and decided that being this close to town, 20 minutes, it would be a good time to take advantage of the menu I had planned for one night of the week….the greasy spoon diner and Monday Night Football, a bacon cheese burger and authentic Idaho French fries. Within a couple miles of leaving Kevin’s, we spotted a herd of 50 elk including 3 nice bulls that were feverishly chasing cows in circles. The elk were about 300 yards off the road in the sagebrush desert so we stopped and set up the spotting scope beside the road for a closer look. While drooling at the elk one of the local ranchers drove up and said that he hoped we didn’t have any plans to try and pursue them and we told him no, just enjoying the scenery. We watched for a few minutes and headed to town for dinner and fuel. We were back at camp and sawing logs by 10:00 to do it all over again the next day.

 

[EATONANTLERS]

Day 5, Tuesday.
The Saddle beckoned, or more specifically “The Layer”.

“The Saddle” Facing East

This was just too good of a spot not to hunt but it had gotten so much pressure over the weekend that we thought it best to give it a rest, but now was the time to make a move on it.
Scott and I had given this our best effort on multiple days the previous year and it provided many lessons and equally as many frustrations. My hope was that those lessons weren’t a wasted on this day.
Approaching this spot from the north facing timbered side is a steep imposing gauntlet to run and the new GPS earned it’s worth on this morning as we navigated via topo map to our summit location. This route was taking us through areas of this mountain that I had yet to encounter and we were finding prospective elk haunts as we made the climb. Cresting mountain at the Saddle about an hour in to day light, we were greeted by the bugles of a nearby bull. We closed the distance quickly and stalked to within 70 yards when we spotted him. He was at the top of mountain preparing to enter The Layer from the back side. He was bugling continuously and facing away from us as we approached. This was definitely a bull worthy of our efforts and Greg and I were both visibly excited with the encounter.
The cover where we were standing was sparse with just a few spruce trees to assist in our stalk. The bull was slightly below us and to our left and Greg thought that he could move to the left and get a clear 60+ yard shot; I was eyeing a few spruce trees directly below me that would provide the necessary cover with the bull looking the opposite direction. Our brief moment of indecision was all it took for a couple of cows to streak passed the bull taking him with them as we tried desperately to pursue in the sparse cover. He continued to bugle as he left so we were confident he wasn’t spooked, and perhaps we could catch up to him later.
Below us at the base of the mountain deep guttural bugles rang out. As we glassed down the open mountain side we spotted a herd of 18 cows and calves entering a box canyon that held water. The herd gathered in the spot and drank deeply as the impressive herd bull circled them and headed up the crease that led to the top where I anticipated he would attempt to enter The Layer. Another impressive bull with 4 cows headed in the opposite direction as we watched the action unfold.

I told Greg where I thought the bull would want to enter The Layer and that we should make our way over there, no need to hurry, this group had a lot of ground to cover to reach the top, so we headed for our next perch and waited.
Shortly after arriving at this ambush spot the approaching bull bugled again indicating that he was in fact heading in our direction, this provided a confidence boost and kept us alert and watching for antler tips to appear on the horizon. Silence followed for the next hour and a half and I thought that he had probably detoured to another location while out of our sight. We decided to use the topography and cover to move to the other side of the Saddle where we could gain a better vantage point and possibly get eyes on the great bull. Arriving on the other side we chose a “retreat” in some tall Spruce tree to settle under and take in some hydration and a snack. It was now 10:30 and as we dropped our packs and sat down a deep raspy growl of a bugle rang out from The Layer! The rascal had slipped in on the other side near where we had encountered the other bull earlier and he was letting everything and everybody know that he was in his happy place as he continued to fill the air with the distinctive bugles of a mature monarch.
Wind conditions made re approaching our previous ambush spot a risky proposition so I had Greg move out in front of me, between me and the bull, with a lot of open grass between us and I proceeded to challenge the bull with deep challenging bugles, popping brush, and raking on the side of the tree that concealed me, “Mr. Chuckles” was going bat crap crazy for the next 30 minutes but never once broke cover to defend his harem. After he moved slightly within the Layer, and with the sun high and the thermals shifting, we made a move back to our original ambush spot hoping that the bull would think we were moving in to steal his cows. While approaching this spot the wind continued to do funny things as I offered up challenging ballz, grunts, and chuckles the bull bugled back but was content to have the fight brought to him. The wind refused to cooperate so we backed out back to our packs to give the situation a rest and re think the situation. Arriving back at the packs it was high noon and we no more than sat down again and Mr. Chuckles cut loose with a roar from the spot we had just left, as if he knew and was flipping us the bird.
Last year Scott and I were in a similar situation in this same spot and likely with this same bull. We had cell coverage and I was consulting with my good buddy Ken about what we should do. I remembered that Koz told me that you’ll never kill a herd bull being tentative and that you HAD TO get in his face if you wanted to kill him. What we were doing to this point was definitely being tentative and the wind direction was dictating our every decision. I looked at Greg and said "We’re going in after him”! If we spook him, oh well, otherwise we had no chance of killing him. We drank deeply grabbed a quick snack and headed back in after him.


As we approached Mr. Chuckles continued to bugle but he’d moved further up the hills likely reuniting with his cows. I was calling to him in an aggressive, challenging manor and he continued to get aggravated. As we inched closer to him up through the dark timber the going was rough with lots of deadfalls to traverse. By 1:30 we had covered a couple of hundred yards up the hill when we decided it was a good place to drop our boots and go in stocking footed. This spot had a familiar landmark that I remembered so I wasn’t worried that we might never find our boots again. Boots off as we moved in for the kill!

 

[EATONANTLERS]

The next hour…
Scott and I had been in this spot the year before doing exactly what Greg and I were doing at that moment. It’s absolutely a deadly tactic to stalk elk without boots on. Every twig, stone, and pine cone is perceived differently to feet without boots. We learned this trick from a couple of Northern Idaho hunters, Marcus and Marvin that camped next to Scott and I last year. These guys mentored under some of the deadliest elk killers that Idaho has ever produced and the idea seemed obvious to us.

Marvin and Marcus with a bull Marcus killed in 2014 in “The Quakies”

As Greg and I approached the tell tale bugle of a second bull was approaching from the opposite direction and around the corner of the Layer. As the bulls bugled back and forth I continued with my challenges as we inched closer. By now we had positioned our self in a narrow strip between us and where the Layer dropped off sharply down the north face getting a bull in position for a shot in this spot seemed like the perfect spot, and we were close!
I motioned to Greg to take a position above me and to the right where I thought the bull would approach us and where he had open shooting opportunities while I hunkered down behind a small pine tree. The bulls were close and a bugle rang out as he approached. My initial thought was that the bull had dropped below us and to my left while Greg indicated that the bull was still on a path to approach us from above and to the left, I was calling for him so that’s where I focused my attention.
This was “top pin” action and I also had bow in hand with an arrow knocked and my release on. We were confident that we were going to have a close encounter, and who knows, maybe a chance at a double. As we both concentrated on an approach from above I heard a twig snap to my immediate left and slightly below me. As I glanced over, the bull was approaching on a steady walk up the hill and exactly broadside at 15 yards but behind 2 small dead trees that were covering his vitals. As he emerged from behind the trees I came to full draw, this was the first indication that Greg knew we had elk in the theater; the elk immediately caught my motion when I came to full draw and wheeled to his left as my arrow was loosed and finding it’s mark. The tell tale sound of an arrow hitting pay dirt is unmistakable and I watched as the bull dug deep in his sprint away from this hopeless encounter he just experienced. My arrow had plunged in to the bull’s high flank and penetrated to the fletching insuring that my broad head was deep in his chest cavity and doing damage with every stride the bull made as he fled. I looked at Greg with a smile as he inquired about the hit, which he wasn’t able to witness do to his location, I insured him that it was deep and lethal but my concern was that it was a bit high to provide much of a blood trail.
As it would turn out, the bull I had just arrowed was the bull we had the encounter with the first thing that morning. He had circled the mountain following the cows that were intent on re joining Mr. Chuckles and they dragged him with them. Upon joining the group, this bull became a vulnerable satellite bull. Mr. Chuckles was unaffected by the events that had just taken place and continued to bugle and chuckle over the edge less than 100 yards away. We readied ourselves and went after him for the next 30 minutes as he moved down the steep North Slope and away from our position, it was now 3:00, and we abandon the chase.
After discussing the hit I had made we determined the best course of action was to give the bull time to die. We retreated to our boots and then back across the saddle to the “retreat” and our packs and to the sorely needed hydration that we had been without for the last three and one half hours, we also finally took the opportunity to eat lunch after being so rudely interrupted by Mr. Chuckles earlier. By 4:30, 2 hours after the shot, we had returned to the scene to take up the track. All we had to go on was the disturbed soil that the bull churned up upon his hasty departure but it was clear and obvious his line of flight as he followed a game trail back around the north side of the Layer. As I inched along I lost track of the running tracks and surmised that he had left the trail I was on. Mortally wounded elk seldom run up hill so I turned to look down hill to gaze upon my prize. The bull, on his death run, turned down hill crashing through and over downed timber before wedging himself under a downed tree, antlers up and facing my direction.

Where he laid

I whistled to Greg to come join the celebration as we approached the bull. Hugs and high fives were exchanged as we admired the magnificent beast, it was now 4:30 and we had work to do before day turned to night.

Greg and I with our hard earned prize


The Ultimate Beast!

Pictures followed for the next 15 or so minutes before we freed the bull from the log and rolled him down the mountain a couple yards to a spot we could go to work breaking him down. The adrenaline rush was finally wearing off as we approached the task that lay before us.

 

[EATONANTLERS]

To be continued..................

 

[EATONANTLERS]

“Breaking down” the bull.
After digging the kill kit out of my pack we worked quickly to take advantage of the day’s remaining light. While I began caping out the front shoulders Greg broke out his Father’s fillet knife and went to work on the hind quarter and in short order had it boned and ready for the first of 4 meat bags we’d fill. Greg’s experience processing his own venison came in handy on the mountain. Last year we carried out the quarters “bone in”, no need to carry any extra weight if you don’t have to!

Ready to remove the quarters!

After I had the cape off of the shoulders I cut away the front shoulder to access the front end of the back strap before removing the shoulder for Greg to debone. While he worked on the shoulder I slipped in for the inner loins and popped them out quick and clean!

Where’s the butter?

After completing the right side we needed to roll the bull over to access the other side. This wasn’t an easy task and with the steep grade, there was no telling where the bull would stop once we got him rolling. We each grabbed a remaining leg and rolled the carcass over. Several revolutions later the bull was wedged against a tree below us as we awkwardly finished our task.
While Greg boned the quarters I bagged meat and hiked the bags that contained the heavy hind quarters up the hill to a dead tree that was wedged in to another tree. This would be a great place to hang the 2 meat bags and the cape and antlers for the night, out of reach of scavengers. The 40* temps would cool the meat until we could return the following day to pack them out.

The cache for the trip out tomorrow.

The 2 remaining bags containing the front quarters, back straps, and inner loins went in to Greg and my packs for the trip off the mountain.
During the day some time the batteries on my GPS went dead. I was sure I had spares somewhere in my pack but quickly came to realize I had left them at camp. While digging for batteries that didn’t exist I was also looking for my headlamp that had been stowed after shortly after daylight during the climb in this morning, it was nowhere to be found and must have been lost during one of our rest breaks when I accessed my pack.
No GPS and no headlamp, coupled with a heavy pack down a steep mountain for the next 2+ miles was something that I wasn’t highly anticipating. Greg dug through his pack to look for batteries and found none, however he did find a small hand held flashlight I could carry. The trip down without the GPS would prove to be a challenge and in the mountains, there’s little room for mistakes. Did I mention we had both exhausted our water supply too?
There are many vertical rock formations on this landscape and navigating around rather than through them is much easier on the body and mind, we wouldn’t be so lucky. We found ourselves descending down a steep rock slide top heavy with our packs, exhausted from the events of this already extended day and in the dark, thank God for our trekking poles our we would have taken the express lane to the bottom. After a couple of slip and falls on my part, we eventually found a game trail that crossed the slide and inched our way away from this hellish mess I had gotten us into.
We made it back to the truck by 10:30, parched and exhausted but grateful we were in one piece. After a celebratory brew and some dinner we were snoozing by 11:30 dreaming of the 4:00 a.m. wake up and the pack out that we would have the next morning.

Rocks! Lots of rocks!

Two days after our Baaton March I felt some discomfort on the back side of my leg. Upon inspecting it I discovered this, a hematoma. Ouch!

My boo boo

 

[EATONANTLERS]

Day 6, Wednesday.
This morning’s 4:00 a.m. wake up was a tough one and more than a couple of moans and groans were emitted from our respective sides of the tent but we found the gumption to get around for the trip back up to The Layer, after all, Mr. Chuckles still lived and Greg wanted that sucker…bad!
We went minimalist on our packs this morning knowing that the second pack out would be heavier, nothing but the essentials today. After coffee and oatmeal we were on our way back up the same way we went the previous day. Our thought was that Mr. Chuckles would likely seek the solitude of The Layer again today; he had a track record of using it consecutive days last year so we gambled on that, we also had to go there anyway.
We topped the mountain in time to see the might stag following his harem of cows, which now numbered 28, up the other side of the saddle toward where Scott had arrowed his bull last year. Too much ground to cover with funky winds to try to get in front of them so we watched in hopes that we could pinpoint where they might bed so we could game plan a stalk later in the day.
While glassing the herd I looked to the top of the distant mountain and noticed an orange spot. Upon further inspection I realized it was a 2 man dome tent. We’d later learn that it was Jordan Burshear (sp) from Eastman’s team and they were likely already in front of this herd and formulating a play themselves, we waited and watched. Because we had cell coverage at this lofty perch I decided to move out around the edge of this point to increase my signal and made a couple of phone calls to fill in some recovery details to folks that were anxiously waiting. While I was gone Greg continued to watch and as the herd began to move up the other side something spooked them and they bolted down the mountain, up the other side, and over the top passing within 50 yards of the orange tent. The way they reacted I was sure they had got the wind of a hunter, none the less they were miles away and headed for a deep timber infested hole. We headed to the meat cache for the second pack out.
Greg’s had some experience capping out the heads of whitetails and I talked him in to giving my elk a go. While he masterfully peeled the cape off of the bull’s skull I lowered the remaining 2 bags of meat and put 1 in each of our packs securing Greg’s for the trip out. After capping we sawed the antlers off the skull, rolled the cape up and stowed it on top of the meat bag in my pack and secured the antlers to the top. We were ready to secure the loads to our backs and start our descent.

Loaded and ready to go!


Estimated weight of 90# -100#

Today’s trip down the mountain was comparatively tame to last night’s. The advantage of full daylight and the ability to see the terrain in front of us eased our burden. For whatever reason Greg and I failed to get any pictures of him on the pack out, rest assured though, he did it and with a joyful spirit. I was glad to be sharing this with him and knew I had picked the right partner for this adventure. Even though he had an ailing back, he attacked the task without complaint. It would be easy to get out of bed and hunt hard the rest of the trip for Greg; I was impressed by his grit.
We arrived back at the truck by 2:00 tired, but glad to be down. I had stowed last night’s cache in an Icy Tec cooler with some ice blocks and we added the other meat in with it and headed the 2 hours toward town and the meat processors. We had gotten pretty bloody the night before and we each had a couple of miscellaneous clothing items to wash, we would also need to wash and dry the meat bags and return them to the kill kit.
We arrived in town at 4:30 at the processor I had used last year only to be informed that they couldn’t take any wild game in at this time. Apparently they were processing hundreds of cattle a day and USDA standards prohibited wild game in the same cooler as certified beef. I now had less than a half hour to find an alternative. Luckily the next processor down the road was only 20 minutes and we got directions and assurance they’d wait for us and were on our way.
This processor didn’t have Saturday hours and our plans were to hunt until Saturday late morning. A quick phone call to my nephew and I made arrangements for him to pick up the meat on Friday afternoon. I left the cooler and tucked the cape in their walk in freezer and left instructions to bill my credit card when they were done. It all worked out sweet!
Now we were off to the laundry mat for some domestic tasks before grabbing a couple of items at the store, we’d also grab some dinner and a Dairy Queen for the 2 hour drive back to camp. We were sawing logs by 10:30.

 

[EATONANTLERS]

Day 7, Thursday
Road Trip….again
We headed back to the same drainage we hunted on Monday with hopes of a possible encounter with the Oasis bull or even the Duo. After parking we headed down through the willows and across the creek and angled out way up a steep sagebrush covered open ridge with sparse pines here and there.
About half way to the top of this 1,400’ trek Greg spotted elk to our right 2 ridges over, a medium sized bull silhouetted on the top was following 4 cows. Directly below them and just at the top of the timber line was a group of 11 cows and calves moving in the same direction. As we watched them something in the bottom of the canyon got all of their attention as all 16 elk stared intently toward the road. A pick up towing a trailer with a quad was making its way up the road stopping occasionally to glass up at the herd. Eventually the elk had enough and moved on, the cows in to the timber, and the bull and his cows skirting the top rim headed toward the top end of the basin.

The cows entered the timber on the top right while the bull and his cows rimed the top and to the left, he would end up bedding alone in the thin line of trees at the top left.

The advantage of moving up these open ridges, although not without peril, is that you have great visibility if you spot the elk first, you can then drop over the opposite side of the ridge away from the elk to move up without being sky lined, and I’ve done this multiple times with success. There was a ridge between us and the top of this basin which allowed the bull to drop out of our view. My thought was that he would do one of 2 things, go out over the top in to the next drainage or bed in the top where several benches and shade made for some excellent day time elk habitat. Unfortunately we had lost our angle of view. The elk were moving at a fairly good pace and the idea of “beating” them to the top was out of the question, we’d have to use the ridge for cover and climb to a better vantage point where we could glass the top where we last saw the group.
Upon approaching the spot we would glass from I peaked over the top of the ridge with the binos and saw no evidence of any elk lingering in the top of the basin so we dropped over the edge about 20’ to avoid being sky lined, dropped our packs and sat down to glass a little more thoroughly. Within minutes I spotted the bull bedded, facing away, under a large pine tree, he was directly across from us at less than 400 yards. As we watched him it never crossed my mind to get the H3ll off of that ridge and back over the other side and out of his possible view, a mistake that would end up costing both of us stiff necks and backs.
The bull stood in his bed and turned to face us, locking on to us like a frog on a fly, we froze….for the next hour and 15 minutes! Ugh! Occasionally he’d turn his head and look down hill giving us the fleeting thought that we could jump and run to the other side of the ridge, but he’d quickly look back with his evil gaze. Every rock on that ridge was sharper on our butts and backs than any other rock in the state of Idaho and the kinks in our necks form holding our heads up to glass were excruciating. Every time I’d move my leg Greg would mutter some expletives and tell me to sit still. Mercifully the bull turned up hill and walked behind a pine tree giving us our window of escape. We grabbed our packs and scurried over the ridge out of his site.
As we moaned and groaned we adjusted our backs back in to alignment and surveyed our options for a stalk on that rascal. The ridge topped out about 200’ above us and we would have to angle to the left, away from the basin the bull was in, in order to stay out of his line of site before we could drop over the top and hike back along the backside of the basin he was in, we could then strategically drop in above him with the thermals rising as the morning warmed up.
After making our way up and over undetected, we had a full signal on our phones and Greg had a message to call his wife ASAP. Upon calling home his wife informed him that her mother had had a stroke earlier in the day, Greg was beginning to think his out of state trips were some sort of bad Karma after he lost his Dad last fall within hours of landing SD last fall. Greg’s wife insured him that her mom would be okay and that her Dad was hoofing it back home from his Minnesota fishing trip. While they spoke I checked in at work and home, while 6 pronghorn antelope cruised by at less than 100 yards.
After our business was taken care of we moved on to the spot I THOUGHT was the top of the basin…I was off by a half mile. WTH? As we moved down in to the basin I wondered where all the black timber on the south side disappeared to, after all, a couple hundred acres of trees don’t just get up and move. We realized my goof and recalculated but not without me spotting a souvenir elk shed antler first. I secured it to my pack and we began the hike BACK to the basin.
As we approached our point of descent in to the basin we peaked over the edge to insure we were in the right spot. Greg and I had both watched the bull the entire hour and a half under the same tree and both were confident which EXACT tree he was under when we last saw him. We headed down in to the basin on a silent stalk; wind in our face, but with sparse cover for the first 150 yards or so. We would eventually get in to thicker timber that we could use for our approach.

At the top of the basin preparing to drop in on top of the bedded bull.

As we picked our way down the mountain we were both looking to identify the tree we had picked out as our landmark. I was sure that it was the tall “double pine” and Greg was sure it was the tall “lone pine” that was about 10 – 15 yards in front of it, Greg yielded to my insistence that it was the “double pine”. Upon identifying our landmark we decided to drop our boots. We were close and the pine boughs hung low on the trees and the grass and sage brush were relatively tall, we would be looking for “pieces” of an elk as we slipped along silently.
Within 40 yards of dropping our boots and packs I could tell Greg was struggling with my insistence on which landmark was correct, about then the bull leapt from his bed under the “lone pine”, less than 30 yards away, and ran back around the basin a mile to where the 11 cows and calves had bedded, bugling as he went to inform us he had won this round. It was evident that he wasn’t overly spooked and he never left the basin. We returned for our boots and packs and went after him.
As mid day approached the bull bugled on and off letting us know exactly where he was and that he was content in that spot. This was a good time to pick a glassing vantage spot and try to get eyes on him; we’d also get a bite to eat and a quick nap. After an hour rest we watched as the cows and calves fed out of the timber on to the side hill where they had entered. Eventually all 11 would emerge and our fear was that they were moving. The bull bugled regularly to let them know he was there and to stick around. After a half hour or so the cows filtered back in to the timber and we made our move.

Greg securing his pack after a break before stalking in on the bull.

By now we were straight across from the herd that was taking advantage of the shady North Slope. This slope also had a several dead trees interspersed throughout it which gave the elk a better view of our approach, this would require us to move lower down the mountain to take advantage of trees and topography. We moved along and closed the distance quickly to within 150 yards of the still sounding bull.
This bull was fairly immature and the idea of challenging him with deep guttural grunts and bugles wasn’t appropriate, a better plan was to cow call as we moved in so we dropped our packs and went after him. Greg was about 50 yards in front of me as we inched our way along a well used game trail moving toward the herd on their same level. I caught movement about 50 yards in front of Greg as the bull moved slowly down the trail away and directly in front of him, Greg didn’t have the angle I did and never saw him. The elk were starting to get nervous as we closed the distance and we thought that they were on to us. They made their way out of the timber and along the top edge between the trees and sage brush.
I had motioned to Greg that we were “on him” when I had seen him and when the bull moved on we dropped our guard because we thought we had buggered the herd then decided to return for our packs, dejected. Down to the truck was the direction the elk went and as we followed we were amazed at the amount of sign that this spot held. Every trail was pounded down, beds were everywhere and rubs littered the understory, I snapped a couple of pictures before we would move on.

Elk rubs like this one abound in premium bedding areas, typically at the top of basins on a bench.


Elk sign galore!

As we turned and made our way down the trail we spotted the elk…right in front of us! They had only moved a short distance and we had given up before they did. We watched as an cow, followed by a spike, made their way out the bottom and up the opposite ridge and out of sight, we assumed that the others took a similar line of exit but just out of our field of view. We learned a valuable lesson…hunt to the end! As elk left the drainage we stood motionless as 3 mulie does bounded right in our direction passing us unknowingly at less than 20 yards. The days hunt ended at 4:00 disappointingly but we were getting closer. With only one full day and half of another, time was running out. We headed down the mountain to the truck for the hour plus drive back to camp where elk tenderloin and a cold beer awaited and an early 9:00 lights out.

 

[EATONANTLERS]

Day 8, Friday
Time to pull out all the stops!
Last night when we were returning back to camp we noticed that many of the locals had made their way back up for the long weekend. This was “prime time” to be hunting elk and we knew that we’d be sharing the mountain again, but to a lesser degree than last Saturday. We planned to head back up to Twin Peaks Slide and take a position at the bottom, with the wind in our face, and wait and listen.
We got an early and enthusiastic start and were at our destination just as the sun was lighting the shadows. This spot afforded us a view all the way to the top of the mountain where we would be able to see any elk that might cross from one side of the slide to the other. We dropped our packs and turned to sit down when a deep guttural bugle rang out to our right within a couple of hundred yards. Game on baby!
There were about 150 yards of open area between us and the bull so the decision was made to try and call him across the opening to us. We moved up to a more strategic spot to call and set Greg up in front of me on the edge of the opening as I retreated to the shadows behind him to call. When we were all set, I let him have it with a threatening bugle that included chuckles, snapping branches, and raking on a hapless pine tree, the bull came unhinged bugling back at us with a back and forth screaming match on the side of the mountain.
Mature herd bulls are predisposed to protect what they have and are reluctant to stray away from their cows to answer a challenge. This requires that you “get in their face” as Koz likes to say, and we had ground to cover before the old bull would feel threatened enough to tip his hand. As the shouting match with the old monarch wore on we could tell he was now moving up the mountain and away from us so we closed the distance, setting up and challenging him along the way. With the intense action we didn’t take the time to dress down as the temps climbed throughout the morning and sweat was pouring down our brows as the chase continued.
On three different occasions, over the next 3 hours, we were in tight on the old bull, within 30 yards, but he refused to show himself other than a leg or flash of blonde rump patch. We became very familiar with his unique “voice” and even his breathe. This old boy knew this game well and I was thrilled to be in tight on such a seasoned warrior. Greg was having the time of his life as adrenaline dominated his, and my, systems.
After the bull broke our hearts again with the latest of the top pin encounters, he moved up the mountain a short distance in to an area that screamed bedding area. This bench was a mess of down timber within thick standing timber and relatively high stem density. Downed trees laying perpendicular to the grade are spots where topsoil will gather during eroding rains creating flat spots on steep sides where elk love to bed, this spot had plenty of them and the pungent odor of rutting bulls met our senses. We were in their “bedroom” and it was about to get real.
At this point it was crucial that we get on the same level as the bull. He was with his cows that were now starting to bed within close proximity of him. The decision was made to let the herd settle, more so that we could regroup, before we would make the final stalk in for the kill. We moved to within 70 yards and watched as a big cow walked the trail in front of us before bedding. During this entire ordeal the old bull continued to own the mountain as he screamed and chuckled.
While we were resting the sound of another bull rang out further down the mountain and above us as it steadily closed the distance in our direction. Was this a group of cows coming to the old bull and being followed by a subordinate bull? As the calls got closer I was less convinced it was real elk and more convinced it was other hunters chasing the same calls that we had answered over 3 hours earlier. Greg and I prepared ourselves for the stalk in as high pitched multiple cow calls accompanied the approaching “elk”. We had hunted these mountains for 8 straight days now and only heard 2 real cows and they didn’t sound like these approaching elk, nor did the bugles, we had competition in the theater!
Greg moved below me to a well used game trail that gave him a better advantage going in after the bull. When we were in position Greg caught movement up the mountain, it was another hunter that was quickly moving in toward the bedded herd, I spotted a second hunter and I tried desperately to get their attention, waving my arms and chirping at them with a cow call. There descent in to “the bedroom” was uninterrupted and within moments elk were scattering down the mountain, I was convinced it was the guys from Easton based on the direction they came from.
The old bull bugled as he covered over a mile of mountain side to another well used bedding area we had identified on Tuesday’s hike up the mountain. He would continue to sound off for the next 2-3 hours. We headed for the saddle to regroup and lick our wounds from the uninvited interruption. Greg was visibly disappointed but still beaming from the intense action we had experienced this morning, definitely a bittersweet moment, which could easily define elk hunting public ground in an over the counter unit.
When we reached the Saddle the bull was still sounding off below us. We decided to take a rest and possibly try to find other elk to chase. We parked in the shade under a big pine tree, ate lunch, and took a nap as the wind picked up muffling any sounds we might hear. As the afternoon wore on we never heard another elk so we cinched up our packs and headed down the mountain toward the old bull’s location, hunting in to the rising thermals, before we realized he and his harem had left the building. We made our way to a wallow that we had marked on the GPS earlier in the week we reached it with little an enthusiasm or fanfare as we came to grips with the events of the day. By now we were just going through the motions as we resigned ourselves to the situation. We headed toward the truck with mixed emotions. Tomorrow morning would be our last chance and we game planned to hunt the red canyon for the bulls we first spotted on day one.
Back at camp earlier than usual, we relaxed with an adult beverage and prepared the rest of the money cut of my bull. Despite all that had taken place, with all of the close calls, we were in the mountains hunting elk and that reality couldn’t be overshadowed, we had defied the odds and knew there were many hunters that would hunt a lifetime and never experience what we had experience in the last 8 days. Reflection helped put it all in perspective and life was good.

The spoils of war on the mountain, delicious!

 

[EATONANTLERS]

Day 9, Saturday
Our last hoorah!
We were up and on our way toward the Red canyon Saturday morning. This would be a relatively close hunt with up a trail that was easy to navigate before we’d turn off and head up the steep slopes to where we anticipated intercepting a bull. Quiet filled the air as we hiked up and away from the creek that raced down the canyon, one bugle, just one bugle, is all we wanted to fill us with hope that we might leave this place 2 for 2, silence ensued.
We climbed to an opening that gave us a million dollar view of the entire canyon giving the occasional location bugle to spur a response. As the hours dragged on I had climbed above where Greg was posted and watched as he restlessly stretched his ailing back. The writing was on the wall as I motioned to him what he thought we should do next. An emphatic wave of the arms toward the bottom told me this adventure had ended and we made our final descent down the mountain, sobered by the experiences of the last 9 days. Up until now we had instinctively ignored the sore feet, hips, backs, knees but with every step along this final hike we were reminded of our efforts. It was time to break camp as we anticipated home, which was still 2 days away.
While we methodically broke camp and packed the truck, Reed and his crew stopped by on their way to check their bear bait, this is when we were informed that the hunters on the other side of the mountain in the orange tent, was the crew from Eastman’s. This information helped complete the puzzle a bit more but didn’t change the results. It was good to see Reed again and we discussed what the future might hold in store for a future reunion before we parted ways. We pulled out of camp at noon on the button for the 2 hour drive back to my sister’s.
We’d arrive early enough for a hot shower and a relaxing afternoon before she and my brother in law would return home from their anniversary trip to Tybee Island and before my Dad and stepmother, Gayle, would arrive from their home 2.5 hours away in Twin Falls. A reunion feast of “Big Ass” burgers on the grill prepared by my niece accompanied by Gayle’s spectacular baked beans was thoroughly enjoyed by all as conversation and stories took us in to the evening. Greg came to this place as a stranger but left as one of the clan with an open invitation to return.
Spending time with a good friend on a mountain gives you an opportunity to really get to know them at a deeper level. This hunt kindled memories from Greg’s past hunting the wilds of Colorado with his father. I could hear the ache in Greg’s heart as he mentioned how much he missed his Dad as the first anniversary of his passing drew near, I didn’t take lightly Greg’s sentimental moment when he broke out his Dads old fillet knife as we went to work on my bull, it was a special moment for him and I was honored to be there to share it with him.
My father turned 80 in July and over the last few years has been battling cancer, first in his prostate but more recently, in his blood. Dad has never been vulnerable to anything in my mind’s eye, he’s always stood tall and carried himself with strength and grace with a handshake like a vise grip, but the reality is that time was catching up to him. When I greeted him at my sister’s there was a decided difference in his complexion and energy level, when I asked how he was feeling, he replied that he “lacked ambition”, something I never in my life thought I’d ever see him concede. This evening, and the time spent with Dad, wouldn’t be taken for granted as I was facing the reality that moments like this were numbered and that the future held no guarantees. Greg’s reality gave me perspective and reason to pause.

Me with my youngest sister, Jami, and my Dad, Thanksgiving 2013.

We’d hit the hay for an early wake up and slipped away in the early hours of Sunday morning without waking our hosts. Greeted by the sun rising in through the windshield, a 26 hour drive lay before us as we made our way home, tired, but fulfilled, we had hunted hard and experienced what many dream of, but very few ever truly experience.

The end.

 

[fishnhunt21]

Great read! Sounds like it was a helluva of a trip. Congrats on your bull.

 

[tri2hunt]

That was a great read. Sounds like a really fun trip.

 

[Shrek]

Congratulations ! Great hunt and thanks for the story.

 

[NJDiverDan]

Great write up and great trip. FYI, you were right next door, I live in Rigby.

 

[EATONANTLERS]

Great write up and great trip. FYI, you were right next door, I live in Rigby.

Small world.
I took the meat to Jone's to be processed because that's who did it last year, but they weren't taking any wild game because they had USDA beef hanging in all their coolers. Ended up heading south to IF another 20 minutes and got there just in time!