Elk Hunting in Colorado

[Coyote Hunter]

Not long ago VTDW asked me to post some of my hunting stories on Marlin Talk, which went off line shortly after I posted the first couple of stories.  Now that he is moderator of this forum, he has asked me to post them here.

While these stories pale in comparison to Vince Lupo's taking of the Afric Big Six with a Marlin, hopefully they will answer a lot of questions I get asked on a regular basis - like "Do I need a guide?", "What do I need to bring?", "Where should I go?", etc.

I just finished up my write-up for the "Year 2003 Elk Hunt", but it is much too long to post in one piece -- 33 pages -- and since I've been elk hunting for 20+ years it might be better to start near the beginning.

My first write-up was in 1999, even though I have been hunting elk in Colorado since 1981.  Rather than start with the 1999 wite-up, however, I think I'll skip ahead an pull a section out of my write-up on the Year 2000 Elk Hunt as it contained a section reflecting on hunts from years past...

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Y2K Elk Hunt

In spite of numerous fiascoes, including poor planning, equipment failures and bad weather, this year’s elk hunt was a great hunting trip. Several other trips fall into the “great” category, some were just good fun and a couple fall into the “never again” category. Good friends and hunting partners make all the difference.

Good hunts, bad hunts

The “great” category includes my first elk hunt back in 1981. Roger Howard, our State Farm insurance agent when Sherry and I first moved to Colorado, had offices in the same building where I worked. He offered to take me elk hunting with him that fall, and I accepted. (He passed away a year or so ago and I think Sherry has forgiven him.) Prior to the trip I went to a “going-out-of-business” sale at a sporting goods store. While looking around I met and talked to a man who bought a Browning rifle, scope and ammo at a cost of over $500. When Roger Howard and I got to elk camp, there was the man from the store. It turned out he and Roger were good friends and constant hunting companions. Early in the trip he was standing under a big pine by a creek. Three elk cows came down a ridge and walked under the other side of the pine tree, followed by a legal bull. He brought his new Browning rifle up to his shoulder but could only see “brown” through the scope. He dropped the rifle and shot it like a shotgun. Later we razzed him for wasting a bullet when he could have used a knife. I helped pack out the elk to the vehicles, about a mile and a half away, mostly downhill. It was torture for the knees and I was thankful when the job was done.

One of the group members that year was Newt, a Principal or Superintendent in the Brighton school district, and someone I hunted with again on future trips. He and I were hunting one morning and sat on a huge log to rest. He was telling me that it was “just a matter of being in the right place at the right time”, when three elk ran down a hill and crossed in front of us. Both of us got a shot off at the bull and one of us hit it. (We never did agree as to whom.) It disappeared over a small ridge a few yards away and was killed by a third hunter.

A couple of years later I got my first bull in the same general area. Tom Riebschlager and I had taken the Bronco and our old 14 ½ foot trailer as far up the mountain as we could go. We didn’t have tire chains and had to turn around at Sawmill Campground in a foot of fresh snow. We got stuck and had to unhitch the trailer to get turned around. We literally parked on the side of the road with the trailer facing downhill. Every day we drove 10 miles up to Bears Ears Peaks and hunted down toward Baldy Peak, about 2 miles in, rather than hunting up from the bottom of Baldy as we did that first hunt in 1981. Opening morning there was about a foot of fresh snow on the ground and visibility was limited to about 100 feet. Tom and I were working our way toward Baldy when we decided to sit on a small ridge. After about half an hour I was freezing and ready to go when I saw hooves in the distance through the aspens. I got a bull out of the four elk in the group, but it was hardly a trophy. One antler was broken off about eight inches above the base and the other was a spike about 20 inches long. Tom wanted to skin the elk and assured me he knew how. I said “OK” and, to my horror, he immediately buried his knife blade in its gut. I made him stop and showed him how to slide the knife blade under the hide, sharp edge out, so as not to cut the flesh. We got the elk gutted and skinned, sawed right down the middle of the backbone with a hand saw, then cut the halves into quarters. Packing that elk out took us two days. Tom was carrying a Marlin .30-30 lever-action rifle and kept swinging the muzzle from side to side as he walked, crossing my knees. When I stopped to make him aware of the problem he brought the muzzle up across my chest and head — and then denied it had ever happened. Although I got my elk that year, I never hunted with him again.

Then there was the year I hunted with the guys from Intel Corporation. I had tire chains that year and needed them. Our group was the first to go up the 4x4 road to Sleepy Cat Mountain. One of the guys broke a trail in his F250 and the rest of us followed. We had to shovel two feet of fresh snow to set up the tents, then started unpacking. When the three coolers came out I thought we were going to eat well. Later that evening I found out two of the coolers were filled with bottles of hard liquor, and the guys from Intel seemed to be intent on consuming it all as quickly as possible. One of the guys decided the restroom was between two of the tents, right in the middle of the trail everyone else was using. Someone else kept throwing wet paper towels on top of the wood stove we had set up between the tents. The towels would smolder and stink until someone else threw them inside. Repeated complaints didn’t seem to have any effect on this behavior. I ended up leaving early and never hunted with anyone from that group again.

For at least two years we rented horses from Sombrero Ranch. For $150 they would deliver a horse to your campsite, provide food and tack, and pick it up a week later. Our only responsibility was to keep the horse watered and return it in good shape. One of the guys was originally from Los Angeles. We had an agreement that we would take turns dragging the horse by the halter rope and that whoever had the horse would not get to shoot. The idiot from Los Angeles saw a deer, dropped the rope and took a shot. Everyone else, who should have been shooting, scrambled for the rope. We gave him heck and thought it wouldn’t happen again. Then near the end of the trip he did it again. This time the horse took off over a ridge. We hunted around for an hour, then decided we had to go back to camp before dark. We figured our hunt was over early and that we would have to go to Sombrero Ranch and pay for the horse and tack. We walked a mile and a half back to camp feeling pretty down. As we walked by a neighboring camp someone called out “Did you guys lose a horse?” They had found it walking down the middle of the road, 100 yards from our camp, and had tied it up. I never hunted with that group again either.

One year we chipped in gas money and a member of the group brought three “horses” from his dad’s farm in Iowa. The horses turned out to be one horse and two mules. That was the year I broke a rib or two when a mule decided to take off at a gallop just as I was swinging into the saddle. Rollie Linser, who I hunted with for many years, helped me back to camp. We cleaned the mud and ice out of my rifle’s muzzle, action and scope, then tried to hunt down a road closed to vehicles (an ‘easy’ hunt). Both walking and breathing were painful, so we gave up. This was another hunt where we came home early.

Another year one of the group had a problem with the safety on their rifle — it didn’t work. Instead of walking around with an empty chamber and loading a round from the magazine when needed, the idiot chose not to tell us about the problem until the last day. He had walked around with a loaded chamber the entire trip. Except for Rollie, that was my last hunt with any members of that group.

When I worked for Wyle Electronics back in the mid 80’s I was setup to hunt with a salesman from Colorado Springs and his friend. The salesman called the night before the trip to say he couldn’t make it. I stopped in Colorado Springs the next morning to pick up his friend, whom I had never met, only to find out he couldn’t go either. I ended up parking the Bronco and trailer in the forest east of Eleven Mile Reservoir. Monday morning I had fresh elk tracks on both sides of the trailer, light snow, fog and visibility of about 50 feet. I followed the tracks up the side of a hill, missing three separate opportunities to fill my cow tag because my scope had fogged up. After the first time I was checking the scope every few steps, but still couldn’t keep ahead of the fog on the scope lenses. At noon I stopped for lunch in a small saddle with the reservoir a mile to my left and my Bronco a mile to my right. The log I was sitting on was clear of snow, the sun had come out and visibility was measured in miles. After lunch I checked the topo map. It showed I was 1,000 feet above the Bronco. There was heavy, down timber in-between myself and the Bronco — the only viable route was the long way around. If I got an elk it would take at least two or three days to pack it out and I didn’t have that much time before I had to be back at work. About then I noticed the mountain lion tracks that came from straight ahead, went over the log I was on, and disappeared behind me. Spooky! I had promised Sherry I would come home if I didn’t have an elk by noon on Monday and now it was 12:30 — a good time to head home. I stood up, walked 15 feet to the edge of the saddle to relieve myself, and jumped two cow elk that had been bedded down about 50 feet down the slope. I brought the rifle up, put the nearest cow under the crosshair, then decided not to shoot. I dropped the rifle from my shoulder, yelled at the cow to get out of there, and headed home.

Some of the best hunts were when Rollie and I went by ourselves. We never did get any elk but we had a great time trying, and we did get deer. We had some very memorable evenings sitting around the campfire listening to the World Series (including the year the Twins won). Sundays were easy hunts for Rollie and me. We would find a big clearing and watch the edges of the timber while listening to a Bronco’s football game from the comfort of our vehicle.

Last year, with Dave Miller, we had ‘perfect’ weather — a light frost in the mornings and warm in the afternoons. The only ground snow was in shaded areas, and there were very few hunters in the area. Dave got his 5x4 bull elk using my 7mm Magnum and I almost got a big bull with the .44. I couldn’t verify the bull had 4 points, as required, so we let it go. As it walked away it became apparent it was very legal, but by then there were too many aspens in the way. (If only my binoculars had been around my neck instead of in my pack…!) I passed up another shot the next evening when once again I couldn’t count 4 points. Later while comparing the main beam on that elk to the one on Dave’s 5x4, I realized I had let another big bull get away. Better to let the bull get away, though, than try to explain to the DOW why I shot an undersize bull. Another outstanding hunt.

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To be continued ...

[BamBams]

Great read!  This is exactly why I don't do "group" hunts anymore.  I either go solo, or with one other person I KNOW and TRUST.  Truthfully, I prefer solo.

[VTDW]

Coyote Hunter,

Thanks for a great read and we will be looking for more from you in the future.  There is a lot of good information in those lines you wrote.  Letting that cow elk walk and sitting around the campfire with true friends is a lot of the essense of hunting.

Bams,

That is because you haven't been hunting with me YET. :-D

Dave  :-)

[BamBams]

I'm on to you Dave!  You just want me to bring "Lucy" along.

[Coyote Hunter]

OK, here's the beginning of the 1999 write-up.  All the writeups were written for family and I have done minimal editing. What editing I have done is enclosed in brackets like this: [edits are here].

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‘The 1999 Elk Hunt’
Or
'Finding the Perfect Aspen Tree'

The 1999 Elk Hunt started way back in February or March when the Division of Wildlife (DOW) made the Big Game license brochures available. These brochures list the season dates and types of licenses available in each season. Many of the season and license combinations are available only by lottery while others can be purchased over the counter until midnight before that particular season starts. All archery and muzzleloading licenses are awarded by lottery only, as are all cow elk and antelope licenses. The deadline for submitting applications keeps getting earlier and earlier – this year [1999] it was April 6. By late June the DOW had sent licenses to the winning applicants and refunds to those less successful. I got the refunds.

I had applied for Muzzleloading Deer and Rifle Antelope but didn't get either one. That left bull elk as my only big game hunting opportunity for 1999. Dave Miller, a long time hunting buddy and close personal friend, pulled an archery license for deer. Muzzleloading season is a week long and starts in the middle of the month-long archery season. When I failed to get the muzzleloading license it ended our hopes of hunting deer together and Dave ended up not deer hunting at all.

There are three rifle seasons for deer and elk. Since all deer and cow elk licenses were awarded by lottery this year, our only option was bull elk. First and second rifle seasons didn't work out for a variety of reasons, so Dave and I purchased third season elk tags. We decided to hunt the Bears Ears area northeast of Craig because I had been there before and knew the area well.

The third rifle season is the longest rifle season by several days. Usually the highest success rates are in this season because the herds get broken up during the first two seasons and there is fresh snow on the ground for quiet stalking and easy tracking. This year the weather was warm and dry and hunting pressure was lower than average. Third season was almost half over before Dave and I got to hunt. It started on Saturday, 10/30, and ended on Sunday, 11/7. We drove up on Tuesday, hunted Tuesday evening through Saturday, and came home on Sunday.

Sherry [my wife] always teases me because I like to find a nice aspen tree and take a snooze. She wants to know how many deer and elk have walked by me while I was sleeping. The answer is, I don't know. I did have a doe run within ten feet of me once while I was under a pine tree, though. Another time I was sitting between two logs having a snack when I heard a crashing sound coming through the woods. I looked up just in time to see a doe jump over my legs. (If I had been a little quicker I could have grabbed her belly fur!) A cow elk was right behind the doe but she made a ninety-degree turn when I popped my head up. I always tell people the fun ends when you pull the trigger and that I'm happy just to find the "Perfect Aspen Tree" to take a snooze under. It's usually a couple miles off the main roads on a south-facing slope somewhere.

Preparations

Dave and I made a list of things we wanted to be sure to take and attempted a daily menu. Most important were our licenses, which had to be purchased before the season started, even though we weren't leaving until four days later. Tire chains, tool kit, tarp, rubber gloves (for putting tire chains on in the snow or mud), coveralls, emergency toolkit, chain saw and gas, tow straps and chains, a come-along, snow shovel and an extra five gallons of diesel went on the top of the list of 'garage stuff'. Then came the 'hunting stuff' – two rifles, ammo, small binoculars, a space blanket, compass, whistle, topographical maps, small flashlight and two packs of extra AA batteries, extra gloves, blaze orange vests with hat and stocking cap, pens (for signing the license immediately after a kill), water purification tablets, bottled water (2 quarts), knives and diamond knife sharpener, fire starting stuff, aspirin, plastic garbage bags (for emergency rain gear), and a backpack to carry everything (except the guns) in.

[Skipping a lot of stuff]
[Although the big game seasons always start on a Saturday, Dave and I were unable to leave to hunt until Tuesday.  Bummer!]


Tuesday – The Drive

Many years the drives to and from the Bears Ears area have been more exciting than I would like. There is always the possibility of chains being required at Eisenhower Tunnel on the Continental Divide or at Muddy or Rabbit Ears Passes near Steamboat. Then there is the Bears Ears area where many of the roads on the north-facing slopes remain snow and ice packed or axle deep in mud, even when the others are clear. This year we met in Golden and started up the hill at 07:30. We had clear roads to Dillon/Silverthorne where we stopped for groceries and diesel. The trip through Kremmling was uneventful. There were a couple of patches of ice on Muddy and Rabbit Ears Passes, but nothing to worry about. A final stop in Craig for a last minute fill-up on diesel and we were on our way!

Twelve miles north of Craig there is a sawmill and a forest access road. After turning east onto the access road there were a couple of miles of private land before we passed through a gate. The next seven miles belong to "The Craig Wild Bunch" and hunting rights are leased to various outfitters. The road immediately starts a steep climb through the scrub oak, with lots of switchbacks thrown in for added fun. This road is slippery as heck when wet but was in excellent shape as we drove higher and higher toward Routt National Forest. As we approached the National Forest boundary we drove out of the scrub oak and into the aspens. The signs pointed the way, only another 30 miles or so to go!

The radio had reported that hunting pressure was light this year and the lack of occupied campsites verified it. (Of course a lot of hunters go home by Monday and this was already Tuesday.) We drove past the Black Mountain and Sawmill Campground roads and only saw one or two camps. We continued to climb and finally hit snowy/icy patches in the road, especially on the north slopes. We stopped to lock in the hubs in case we needed 4-wheel drive and continued on. Our planned destination was the east side of Bears Ears Peaks. I was afraid the good campsites would be taken and we would have to hunt for one that would take the trailer. Much to my amazement none of the campsites in the area were taken and we got my favorite site, right across the road from where we would start hunting the next morning. The campsite was well used but clean, and came with a makeshift toilet made out of plywood. The toilet even had an aluminum frame for hanging a privacy curtain on. Other amenities included a nice fire ring, a makeshift table and a place to hang our meat in the event we actually got an elk. Pretty swank!

Trailer setup consisted of popping out the beds, turning on the gas, and lighting the hot water heater and the refrigerator – maybe 25 minutes work. We stretched it out a little by organizing the food and getting our hunting equipment in order.

Both Dave and I carried similar equipment in backpacks. He was carrying my 7MM Magnum so he carried a box of shells (it only holds 3 in the magazine with a fourth in the chamber). I was carrying the [Browning B92] .44 Magnum, which holds 10 rounds, so I didn't bother with the weight of extra rounds but did carry an extra water bottle. We hopped in the truck and I gave Dave a quick tour of the area. The road split just past our camp and dead-ended 2 miles down in Grizzly Park and 2 miles east toward California Park. The day was drawing to an end so we picked a spot in Grizzly Park and headed up into the trees. We walked back about a mile and found a nice area at the bottom of a steep slope. We sat under a pine tree until sundown without seeing any signs of life and no fresh elk tracks. It was getting chilly so, forgetting that it wasn't even an aspen, it couldn't be the "Perfect Aspen" we were looking for.

The weather was a blessing and a curse. Nice and warm meant no muddy roads or freezing cold. No snow meant crunchy ground everywhere you went. As the week progressed the weather got warmer and warmer. Nights only went to the high 30's and daytime highs were up to 65. (I had a thermometer hung outside the trailer door.)

Back at the trailer we fixed supper. Neither Dave nor I can remember what it was. We looked at the topographical maps and hit the racks. Dave had a sleeping bag with an inner and an outer shell. I used one bag to sleep on and two as blankets. Sleeping in the trailer was heaven! In recent years I have had to sleep on the ground or in the back of the Suburban, which wasn't that much better than the ground. Dave set the alarm for 05:00. We had walked nearly two miles during the evening hunt and our easiest day had come to an end.

Wednesday – Bears Ears

Toasty warm! We left the heater set on its lowest setting, about 50 degrees, and it only kicked in a few times during the night. I was actually sweating a little when the alarm went off at 05:00. Up and dressed in long johns, a long sleeved camo tee shirt, camo pants, camo boots. (Camo goes so well with blaze orange vests and hats!) This turned out to be the dress de jure for the rest of the week for both of us.

Breakfast was hot coffee, instant oatmeal and a Pop Tart. Like our dress, breakfast was the same every day, boring but quick. Lunches didn't vary much, either. We packed a lunchmeat and cheese sandwich, a peanut butter and strawberry jam sandwich, one or two bagels and one or two apples each. And a Snickers candy bar. (Believe it or not, I actually managed to lose weight on this trip, about 5 pounds! And I ate everything!)

We were on our way by 06:00, give or take a few minutes. The main trail started right across the road (in the Hole-in-the-Wall drainage) and went down to a beaver pond where it split. One branch continued along the side of the ridge at the junction of the pines on the ridge and aspens in the valley. The other branch climbed over the ridge and into the next valley where it split again. One leg followed the south edge of Bears Ears Peaks and the other followed a ridge south to Baldy Mountain. I suggested to Dave that we ignore the trails and head off due west through the pines and over the ridge to Bears Ears. This would put us high on the south face where we might have a better chance of seeing some animals. Dave agreed, but then he had never been there before and had no idea what awaited him. As soon as we crossed the road we entered the pines. A little trail led us to an area where a spring created a pool big enough to water horses. Someone had driven a pipe back into the spring to keep the horses from trampling it and closing it off. We continued over the spring and started up a ridge. This is where the fun began. There were patches of snow and the ridge was steep. What made it difficult was all the down timber. We were constantly climbing over logs or working our way around them. After we crossed the ridge we broke out into the aspens and had absolutely stunning views down the valley to the south. We stayed high on the slopes, about midway between the base of the upper slope and the talus above it. The Aspens turned back into pines and every step we took was a "crunch" of dead leaves and sticks. We heard something crashing through the timber and figured it was a group of elk. We never saw what it was, so it could have been deer or even a hunter. (I have never heard a hunter that noisy!) Eventually we came down to the base of the upper slope, only to find that we were a couple hundred yards shy of where I wanted to be. The ground was reasonably flat and between 50% and 100% snow covered, depending on where you were. Silent stalking was impossible. Not that it mattered – we hadn't seen anything to stalk.

We joined back up with the main trail and followed it west, then cut off down a steep drainage and out onto some grassy, aspen-covered hills. The view to the south was again stunning. Baldy Mountain was to the south about a mile. There was a creek between us and Baldy, flowing down to the west. Immediately in front of us and below us were aspen stands that afforded us with long range shooting opportunities if anything ventured into sight. Nothing did.

By now the temperature had climbed into the high 50s or low 60's, skies were clear and we were basking in the sun. We relaxed and enjoyed some snacks as we visualized elk walking into view. I wanted Dave to get a sense of the area so after perhaps half an hour we moved further south. Both of us had miniature binoculars and we stopped to glass the area below us. Dave immediately spotted eight elk running along the creek bed about one half mile to the east. Their path, if they stayed in the creek, would take them in front of and below us where we couldn't see them. Dave and I hurried to the west, dropping down hill after hill to get near the creek bed and in front of the elk. We finally arrived at a hill overlooking the creek and sat down to wait, not knowing if they had already passed by or if they had veered off in another direction. Further upstream there was heavy pine cover along the creek and I thought they had probably holed up there. Dave thought he had seen antlers on at least one of the elk, but couldn't tell if it had the required 4 points or not. We never saw the elk again, so we never found out.

It was around 12:30 or 1:00, maybe even 1:30, and we were about 2 1/2 miles from camp. We picked up or backpacks and began hunting or way back. The trailer was parked at about 9400 feet and we were now at 8200 feet. We could tell we weren't in Denver! We needed frequent stops to rest our legs and feet but we finally made it back. Along the way we spooked some more animals, type unknown, and at least one doe. Ignoring the many ups and downs, the topographical map shows we covered about 6 miles.

A truck was parked a few feet from mine and we talked to the guy in it. His buddies were still in the woods and it was getting dark. They didn't have any maps, compasses, flashlights or other survival gear, and, with the exception of one guy in his early 20's, weren't familiar with the area. Both Dave and I sensed disaster pending.

A few years ago another friend and I were starting down the trail on opening morning. We passed a trailer where someone had just come out of the woods. Seems they had gone in the evening before without a compass, maps or other basics and got caught in a snowstorm. The man had to spend the night under a tree with no fire and was suffering severe frostbite on his hands and face. In this case, the guy in the truck was in radio contact with the guys in the woods. Every now and then he would blast the horn so they could get oriented. They did eventually make it out, but not until a couple hours after dark.

We backed the truck up to the trailer and hooked up the electrical cable so we could charge the trailer battery while we made dinner. We found that it took about one and a half-hours to bring the battery charge up to acceptable levels. Dinner was great. We cut up some potatoes and onions and fried them up, then added some cut-up link sausage, Hormel chili, canned hash, a can of Mexican corn (corn and hot peppers), and some Cholula sauce. (Cholula is kind of like a good tasting Tabasco.)

After dinner we looked at the topographical maps again to decide where we were going the next day. We decided on a high ridge west of Bears Ears. We could drive to the north side, climb up to a saddle, and then work our way around to the south face of a mountain with no name. We had seen the south face earlier in the day and it was full of open park-like areas with stands of pines and a few aspens.

Thanks to the miracles of modern technology, we were both able to call our wives and make sure everything was OK on the home front. Bedtime came early and we were asleep by 8:00.

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To be continued...

[VTDW]

Thanks Coyote Hunter,

Can't wait for the next installment!!!

Dave :grin:

[Coyote Hunter]

OK, VTDW, here it is...

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Thursday – "No Name" Mountain

The alarm went of again at 05:00 and Dave and I both got up and dressed.  We boiled water for instant coffee, ate the usual breakfast, and made our lunches.  The trip to our intended parking area took about ten minutes.  By the time we got parked and started up the slope we had shooting light.

The first climb to the saddle was pretty easy, about 200 feet vertically but up a gentle slope.  Bears Ears was just over a mile due east (our left).  Baldy was 3 miles to the southeast and "No Name" was on our immediate right.  In the far distant east we could see the Continental Divide and Steamboat Springs' ski area.  To the south was the Yampa River valley and beyond that the Flattop Wilderness Area, and to the southwest we could almost see Australia.  The view was absolutely spectacular.

We slowly worked our way up the east side of "No Name", pausing every so often to catch our breath, enjoy the view and look for animals.  A sharp ridgeline divided the north face from the eastern face.  The north face was littered with old stumps and logs from lumber operations and the trees were young, fairly small and sparsely scattered.  The east face had mature pine stands separated by meadows of knee-high grass.  Walking was easy in the grass and we followed the ridge up several hundred feet.  Dave suddenly stopped and I followed his gaze.  Three does had stepped out of the pines about 100 yards ahead of us.  We stood and watched them for several minutes, then they turned and walked back into the pines.  We continued up and saw them again a few minutes later as they skirted the edge of the pines next to an old clear-cut area on the north face, again about 100 yards away.  Neither Dave nor I had deer licenses so, while we enjoyed their brief company, we weren't really interested in them.

We sat on top of a couple of clearings where we would have shots ranging from 100 yards to 500 yards depending on if and where we spotted elk.  Off and on we would use our binoculars to scan the clearings and aspen stands below us, out to a range of two miles.  Nothing.  The lack of hunters was allowing the elk to stay back in the thick pines.  If we were going to have any luck it seemed like we were going to have to stir them up ourselves.  Searching for elk sign on the mountain had not been very rewarding, either.  A few old droppings and tracks were present, but nothing fresh.  Pretty discouraging.  

Dave and I discussed it and decided we would be better off somewhere where there was more sign.  We hunted our way to the top of the north face, about vertical 900 feet above the truck and a mile to the southwest, then picked our way through the pines as we worked our way back.  There was a lot of down timber that made walking difficult.  The "shortest route back" was a maze of ups, downs, overs and arounds.  

A great walk in the woods, to be sure.  But we wanted to spot some bull elk!

Less than a mile from the truck the road split and one leg took a circuitous route north to the edge of the forest, about 10 miles.  If you followed it far enough you ended up into Wyoming.  We had heard reports from other hunters that there was a large elk herd just outside the forest on private land.  Although we couldn't hunt the private land, we decided to drive down and take a look – hoping of course, that they would move onto public land and that there would be bulls in the herd.  The drive down was beautiful.  We quickly dropped out of the pines and into the aspens.  There were hunters at the edge of the public land but they hadn't seen any elk, or any sign either, at least not any they would admit to.

We turned around and headed back to a couple of four-wheel drive roads we had passed.  Our intent was to go back on one of them and find a clearing to sit on until sundown.  The tire chains were in the back of the truck but I really didn't want to get in a position where we needed them.  As luck would have it, the first 4x4 road wasn't too bad.  There were a few iffy spots and when it looked like it might be going down a steep, icy grade I pulled off into the grass and got turned around.  The road wasn't on my maps, which were 15 or 16 years old.  Both its length and destination were unknown.  We grabbed the guns and started walking, only to come to the end of the road and a trail head in less than a quarter mile.  The trail head sign said the creek was half a mile away so we started down.  At the bottom we found a nice clearing and sat down behind a log where we had a great view of some beaver ponds below us.  Neither Dave nor I were very happy with the spot because the clearing was pretty small.  We decided we had time to go back to Bears Ears and find a bigger clearing so we picked up our gear and hiked back up the hill.

There is a 4x4 road that runs along the west side of Bears Ears.  We took it to the point where we could look into the valley between Bears Ears, Baldy and "No Name".  We discovered an outfitter's camp there, the first time I had seen one in that area.  We followed a 4x4 trail to the top of a hill that dropped steeply into the valley.  A footpath ran down along the ridgeline to the southwest, eventually meeting the saddle we had climbed into from the other side in the morning.  We walked down the trail and found a large clearing where we had clear views up to 300 or 350 yards down the slope.  It turned out to be a gorgeous evening, a wonderful sunset, and another unproductive hunting session.

Back at camp we discovered the same guys that had been lost in the woods the evening before were at it again.  This time they had GPS's but still no flashlights.  Dumb!

Once again we hooked the trailer up to the truck to charge the batteries.  We cooked up some hamburger with chopped sausage, onions and chicken gumbo soup for supper.  Dessert was cookies for Dave and Mandarin oranges for me. We estimated total mileage for the day at about 5 miles, called the wives on the cell phone, turned the truck engine off and called it a day.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Next up, Success!!!

[Longcruise]

My CO elk hunts usually go like this one did during the September, 1993 muzzleloading season.


    The small saddle was dead quiet in the early morning light.  The sun had been up for nearly an hour but remained hidden by the small mountaintop to the East. In the heavy cover of Lodge Pole pines the cold prevailed against the warming of the day.

    With no wind currents to soar on, the three crows passing overhead made the only audible sound as the air rushed through their laboring wings.  One of the crows saw the hunter standing at the base of the pine and made a single circle just above the treetops, taking a closer look, then followed his two companions into the valley to the South.

    For the third time since settling in an hour earlier the hunter broke the silence with low cow calls. As before, there was no response.  The calls went out to unseen and unheard elk that he knew favored this place. The broken silence quickly mended itself. He pushed his hands into his pockets, hunched his shoulders against the early morning chill and leaned against the tree.

    There was the slightest movement up the slope to the East. Something flickered between the trees. Then it was gone. Then, there was more movement behind low hanging branches only a hundred feet to the East.

    He reached for the rifle propped against the tree only inches away and slowly brought it to both hands. Letting it hang parallel to the ground at arms length, he swung the barrel in the direction of the oncoming animal.  Carefully, he pulled the hammer to full cock, hoping the sound would not betray him.

    First he saw the antlers as the bull emerged from the evergreen cover, sniffing the ground and looking for the cow that had been talking to him.  A large bodied five point.  The bull changed direction and continued on a path that would take him into the open and only a few yards from the hunter. The bull moved slowly with his head low and swinging from side to side, searching for the scent of the cow that had requested his presence.

    The hunter stood motionless, rifle still hanging at arms length, watching the bull move closer. Now the bull moved in a direction that would take him to the hunters scent as it fell with the cold morning air into the deep valley to the north.

    Then another bull appeared following in the tracks of the first.  A smaller four point.  He mimicked the behavior of the first bull as though taking lessons and followed ten yards behind him.

    Both of the animals slowly worked their way across a small opening in the pines not more than fifteen yards from the hunter. The first bull had not yet scented the hunter but would soon...... The rifle remained motionless.

    When his scent reached the five point, the animal stiffened and turned toward the hunter. His nose pointed  like an accusing finger and his eyes searched for the hidden liar who had lured him here.

    Now the hunter moved.  Gripping the hammer, he pulled the trigger, eased the hammer down and then brought it back up to the half cock. Then he eased the butt of the rifle to the ground at his feet.

    Seeing the movement, the five point fully believed his nose. Forgetting about amorous cows, he whirled and crashed through the trees into the valley to the North.  The four point stood confused. Not knowing for sure why, he charged back up the slope to the East.

    In a moment the saddle was quiet and without sign of life except for the hunter. He reached for his bag and powder horn hanging from the stub of a broken limb.  Shouldering his gear and cradling the rifle in his arm and walked slowly up the well worn game trail toward his camp, the cow permit still folded neatly in his wallet.

[Coyote Hunter]

Longcruise -

That's a great story!  What part of CO are you from?

[Coyote Hunter]

Finally, we get some success!

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Friday – Hole-in-the-Wall

I could have slept several more hours, but the alarm went off at 05:00 and I dutifully rolled out of bed.  Another breakfast of instant oatmeal and coffee, followed by making lunches, and we were off.  We had decided to hunt the valley directly across the road from our campsite.  The western side of the valley is formed by a ridge coming down off Bears Ears, the same one we had climbed over the first full day of hunting.  At the bottom of the valley is a creek called "Hole-in-the-Wall" because it funnels through a steep but short canyon just before it merges with Elkhead Creek.  Our plan was to follow the trail down Hole-in-the-Wall to Elkhead Creek.  Getting there would be pretty easy.  The camp was at about 9400 feet and our destination was 3 1/2 or 4 miles away at 7500 feet.  Getting back to camp would be a different story!  

We had gone about a mile and a half along the trail, skirting the edge of the pines, when we heard some animals crashing through the woods.  Even though we couldn't see them I was pretty sure they were elk.  One rise later we spotted four or five elk walking through the aspens toward a clump of pines.  Dave and I instantly froze in our tracks.  The elk stayed in the pines about 40 yards in front of me.  Try as I might, I couldn't see any antlers.  After several minutes I had to shuffle my feet to get a better balance.  The elk just stood and watched us.  Dave was behind me and having the same problem I was – he couldn't find any antlers either.  We watched the elk as they watched us for about 20 minutes.  They finally decided to wander off, crossing the trail in front of us and climbing into the pines in the ridge.  As they disappeared a mule deer doe followed them.

Dave and I stood still for a few more minutes.  We didn't want to spook the cows because we knew there might be bulls in the area that we hadn't seen.  Sure enough, Dave says "Oh, s**t, we're had!"  I looked down into the aspens on our left and saw an elk mostly hidden in the trees.  He was broadside to me but all I could see was his hind quarter and front shoulder.  His mid-section and head were hidden by aspens.  The distance was about 125 yards, just about the maximum for my .44 Mag carbine.  Like a dummy, I had left my binoculars in my backpack, so I couldn't get a good view – there were just too many aspens in the way.  After several minutes Dave whispered "He's legal!", meaning he had 4 points or a brow tine at least 5" long.  Dave and I had talked some about who would shoot what.  Since I had a very short-range rifle I was going to take the short shots.  Dave had an obstructed shot.  I had a clear shot at the front shoulder but was concerned that my marksmanship wasn't up to the job.  I would have had to shoot through a small "window" in the aspens.  The range was OK and the wind was very light or non-existent.  Still, I remembered the .44 Mag groups I was shooting off the tailgate of the truck when Dave and I had sighted in the guns.  If my bullet winged an aspen it could miss the bull entirely or, worse, just wound it.  I knew we didn't have long to decide what to do.  Dave had spotted the bull first so I whispered "Take the shot!"  He had been standing up and holding the gun to his shoulder, trying to see through the scope.  Dave had to be shaking after all this time (I certainly would have!) so I whispered for him to get down on one knee.  I don't know if he heard me or not but he dropped down.  A few seconds later the 7MM roared, causing me to blink.  When I focused on the area where the bull had been I could see that he was down.  As I watched to see if he would get up, I spotted a second elk about fifteen feet from the first.  I couldn't see its head either, so I didn't know if it was a bull or another cow.  The other elk moved a few feet and stopped, still mostly obscured by aspens.  I moved slowly in Dave's direction, thinking I might swap guns with him.  Not knowing where he hit the elk, I whispered for Dave to shoot him again if he got up.  The last thing I wanted to do was spend the day tracking a wounded elk.  Dave's elk stayed down and about the time I decided it would be safe to trade guns, the other elk started moving through the aspens.  Dave got a good look at the rack and decided it was even bigger than the one he shot.  But it was gone.

Dave was on pins and needles as we approached the elk.  He hadn't really counted the points on the rack but had gone with an instinctive recognition of what he saw.  I wasn't too worried but, like Dave, was praying it had the required 4 points.  It did.  I was congratulating Dave when I realized one side had 5 points.  More congratulations, hand shaking and back-slapping.  We took a few pictures and got to work.

As I inspected the elk I found a wound on its side.  At first I thought it might be a bullet entrance wound, as it was small and some blood oozed out as I pressed the hide around it.  We later decided it was a puncture wound, probably caused by crashing through the pines.  We found Dave's bullet wound in the neck, just ahead of the shoulders.  Dave had placed the bullet well – the elk went down in its tracks and stayed down.  

Now came the hard part.  (I've always told people the fun ends when you pull the trigger!)  We didn't have a pack saw to spit the breast plate and pelvis, so gutting the elk was more of a problem than we would have liked.  We finally finished, washed our hands off in snow, and dragged the elk over a log to drain the body cavity.  We left it there and headed back to camp.  

At camp we cleaned up a little and then took the truck to find an outfitter to pack the elk out for us.  I had helped pack two different elk out and knew what an awful job it was.  I figured it would take us two days to get it out (based again on experience).  Dave wasn't convinced and wanted to try hauling it out on our backs.  I had a pack frame but, fortunately, he agreed to get an outfitter.

Nakota Outfitters had been camped at the entrance to the national forest.  It took us 35-40 minutes to drive down there and the owner, Rod, was gone when we arrived.  We talked to a couple of guys in the camp who hunted around in a tent until they found his cell phone number.  (If we had turned around, we would have seen a big sign at the forest gate.  The sign had his numbers on it and they were plainly readable from where we parked.  Oh, well.)  We finally got in touch and he drove back up from Craig.  He got three horses ready, one with a riding saddle and two with packsaddles, and into his trailer.  Rod followed us back to camp.  There were some pretty steep uphill grades and a couple of icy stretches, so the trip back to camp took a bit longer than the trip down.  

Dave and I led the way down the trail to the elk.  Another gentleman from Indiana (Ohio?) had come along for the fun of it.  (I think he was helping Nakota Outfitters on a part-time basis in exchange for free or discounted hunting, as his wife was staying with Rod's wife.)  Dave had been concerned that bears, mountain lions or coyotes would find the carcass and damage the meat, but we found it as we left it, draped across a log.  Rod finished quartering the elk, making quick work of the bone cutting with a cordless Makita saw.  He dipped his finger in some blood and made a cross on Dave's forehead, then told him it was bad luck to remove it before the hunt was over.  When he was done quartering the elk, Rod put what was left of the carcass back where it had fallen after Dave first shot it.  He then laid the legs back down in their approximate position.  Supposedly this was an old Indian custom, but I really doubt that Indians would have left anything behind.  We loaded the quarters into pack panniers and threw the head and antlers on top of the lead pack horse.  Rod led the horses back to camp while Dave, the gentleman from Indiana and I followed on foot.  Everything went smoothly except for one little snafu in some pines.  The packhorses were tethered one behind the other to Rod's horse.  They decided to walk on opposite side of a small tree and it took a few minutes to untangle them.  Back at camp we unloaded the horses, took the quarters out of the panniers and put them into meat bags.  There were already two, well, I don't know what to call them other than "small tree trunks tied horizontally between two larger trees".  We hung the four quarters from one, then hung the head and antlers from the other.

By now it was dark.  We hooked the truck up to the trailer to get the nightly battery charge while we made dinner.  We started frying some potatoes and onions and had changed out of our hunting clothes into sweats.  Bed was going to be a real treat after we got a quick dinner out of the way! We estimated a total of six miles for the day.

Knock, knock, knock!  We weren't expecting any company, so Dave and I both had the same thought – Game Warden!  We should have been so lucky!

Instead of the game warden it turned out to be two men from California.  Seems they had been parked a little over two miles down the road when the younger one, in his twenties, had shot a bull elk about 200 feet from the road.  Then the older man decided to drive his truck down to get the elk but didn't bother checking out the ground first.  They got it in the truck with only minor difficulties.  When they tried to drive back up to the road they found themselves axle-deep in mud.  These guys didn't have flashlights either, but at least they were on the road – hard to get lost and there was enough starlight to help out after your eyes adjusted.  They headed down the road to our camp as they had seen it earlier in the day.  It was a gamble on their part.  If we had packed up and left, the next camp on our road was at the entrance to the forest, about 30 miles away.  We welcomed them in and offered them coffee.  I went out to the truck to get the cell phone.  

As I stepped out the door and away from the light I was attacked by a coyote!  It came right at me and I think I let out a yell in surprise.  The coyote was small, so my main concern was rabies.  Then a split second later I realized the "bared teeth" were no threat – this was just a coyote-sized (and colored!) dog waiting patiently outdoors for his master.  Took ten years off my life!

A quick call to Nakota Outfitters (the only Craig telephone number we had) got us the Sheriff's phone number.  We called the Sheriff (or maybe it was the police, I forget) who got us in touch with a tow truck operator.  The tow truck guy was not very excited about coming up in the dark, or even early the next morning.  In fact, he didn't want to be bothered until after 08:00 the next morning.  Dreams of a quick dinner and blissful sleep were rapidly shattered.  I ended up getting dressed again and the four of us drove down to Craig.  These guys must not have had a bath since they left California – they smelled bad!  We dropped them off at a bar, grabbed some McDonalds, and headed back up the hill to camp.  We finally got back to camp at 10:20, about 3 and a half-hours after the knock on the door.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

[Longcruise]

Yote Hunter,

I'm in Arvada.

[Coyote Hunter]

This will wrap up the 1999 hunt.


* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Saturday – Hole-in-the-Wall, Part Two

The alarm went off way too early.  We got up, had the usual for breakfast (instant oatmeal and coffee) and made the usual for lunch (luncheon meat sandwich, peanut butter and jelly sandwich, bagels, apples and a Snickers).  Or goal for the day was to try and find the bull that we had seen the day before.  It hadn't run after Dave's shot and we thought it might still be in the area.  Besides, we never did make it all the way down to Elkhead Creek.  

We followed the same trail down to where Dave had shot his elk.  I found his empty cartridge brass frosted over and laying in the trail.  I picked it up and gave it to him as a souvenir.  A little further south we hit the south face of the mountain.  Elkhead Creek was still quite a ways away and down, so we decided to go up into the pines and follow the ridge west toward Baldy.  There were some spectacular views looking down on the valleys to the east and south but the only big game we saw was a single doe on a ridge about a mile away.  We stopped and took a few pictures along the way and ended up at Baldy.  We kept hoping that elk would walk out into the aspen below us but no such luck.  The north face of Baldy has a clearing that drops off steeply into dense pines.  The ridge runs more or less east and west and is clearly visible from the distance because the pines stand out from the aspens.  Throughout the trip I kept referring to this area as the "feedlot".  Sure enough, as we dropped down the ridge we saw lots of relatively fresh elk sign.  But no elk.  By now it was nearing noon and we were about two and a half miles from camp.  We decided to walk/hunt our way back to camp and then try to find another clearing to sit on until sundown.

We caught the main trail to Baldy and headed back to camp.  Along the way we made a lot of rest stops, one of them where I had taken my only elk, a spike bull with half an antler broken off.  (Not much of a trophy!)  Back at camp we rested for an hour and filled our water bottles before driving down to where the California guys had driven off the road to get their elk.  Their tracks were clearly visible in the mud and we both wondered why anyone would risk driving down such a steep grade when the elk was that close.  

Several areas were interesting – we could go north up and around Sugarloaf Mountain or we could walk east toward California Park.  After a while we agreed to walk south down an old logging road that was closed to vehicles.  We pulled up to the gate and parked.  The road led downhill through dense pines and was in pretty good shape.  Our progress was remarkably quiet even though we were moving at a good clip.  Only a few snowy areas gave us problems as we had no choice but to crunch through them.  Sundown was rapidly approaching and we still hadn't found an aspen meadow or clearing.  Worse, neither Dave nor I were seeing any fresh tracks or droppings.  It looked like it was going to be a nice evening walk.

Suddenly I heard animals crashing through the pines 75 yards ahead of us.  We found where they had been bedded down – elk!  – and followed their tracks for a few hundred feet.  We took a compass reading and debated about whether to follow them.  The big risk was that neither of us knew this area and darkness was approaching all too quickly, maybe 30 or 40 minutes.  We could easily get disoriented (OK, lost) and have to find our way out in the dark.  The other problem was that we were no longer making progress quietly.  Every step was crunching leaves and breaking twigs.  I decided the best bet was to backtrack to the road and to continue following it, hoping to find an open area.  With a little luck the elk would wander through.

The open area appeared about a quarter mile down the road.  There was a huge beaver pond and as Dave and I admired it I spotted an elk walking along the edge of the clearing.  I pulled up the 7MM and peered through the scope.  At first aspens obscured the elk's head and I couldn't determine if it was a cow or a bull.  Then it raised its head and the main beam of the antlers came into view.  A bull, and a big one!  Dave says he heard me slide the safety off, but I don't remember doing it.  He covered his ears and waited for the sound of the gun but it never came.  Try as I might I could not count the points to make sure he had the magic four.  A 5-inch brow tine would also make him legal but I couldn't see that either.  After a few moments he wandered into the aspens and behind a little rise.  I motioned for Dave to sit tight while I headed down the road, hoping to spot him in another clearing.  Another clearing presented itself and I sat down on the edge of the road behind some tufts of grass and waited.  And waited.  Nothing.  It finally got dark enough that I would have had a hard time counting points and I picked up my gear and headed back to Dave.  For all intents and purposes the hunt was officially over.

Now Dave and I had to get back to the truck.  We maintained a fast, steady pace with a minimum of rest stops.  Dave broke out his miner's lamp but the stars were giving off enough light that staying on the road wasn't a problem.  Forty minutes later we were at the truck.  Later we estimated we had walked 11 miles for the day.

Deciding what to have for dinner was easy – same thing we had planned for the night before.  We fried the hamburger and set it off in another pan, then fried up our last potatoes and onions.  We then mixed everything together with a little Manwich, Mexican Corn, mustard, salt, pepper and, of course, some Cholula sauce.  Delicious!

Sunday – Going Home

The alarm went off at 05:00 as usual.  Dave and I got up and dressed, but this time left our hunting clothes in our bags.  We had planned all week to have a big breakfast starring eggs and bacon.  Neither of us was particularly hungry so we opted to skip breakfast, break camp and get back to Denver before 3:00pm when Dave's preferred butcher closed.  As we loaded the truck, I took a moment to look at the antlers on Dave's elk.  The main beam was about 2/3 the size of the one I had seen the night before – it had to have been a 5 or 6 point bull at least.  

We made sure the 7MM was unloaded in the chamber and drove down toward Craig, hoping to see some elk along the way.  We didn't, and we unloaded the rifle when we reached the edge of the forest.  We stopped for diesel in Craig, Wendy's in Steamboat Springs, and in Dillon/Silverthorne to call the butcher.  Dave got a recommendation on a taxidermist and we called him.  He agreed to meet us at the butchers.  

As we got close, Dave called Kathy, his wife, and she met us at the butchers.  He had opened up especially to take deer and elk and was doing a land-office business.  We had to drop the trailer, then pull around and wait in line.  Dave met the taxidermist (he is getting a full shoulder mount) and took care of the details.  We were both surprised to learn it would take six to eight months to get it back.  Our turn finally came and the meat weighed out at 153 pounds.  Dave had another twenty pounds in his car.  We went back to the trailer and unloaded Dave's stuff, then headed our separate ways.

We never did find the "Perfect Aspen Tree", but there is always next year!

[catman]

good reads!

[lhonda]

Some very nice writing. Thanks; enjoyed it.

LNH