Lessons Learned--Tales Of A Wannabe Elk Hunter

Work, work, work. Elk hunting is just plain hard work, any way you slice it. Some critters come fairly easy. Antelope are lots of fun to chase, and it hardly takes more than a day or two to get a decent speed goat. Finding an average mulie or whitetail buck isn`t usually a huge struggle. Hunting caribou is a virtual guarantee, as long as the weather and migration patterns hold up. And, speaking from experience, the relative ease, species variety and shooting opportunities presented on a typical African plains game safari make most North American hunts seem like an awful lot of effort sometimes.

But when it comes to elk hunting, well, that`s a horse of a different color. I think I`ve watched too many hunting videos, where huge snorting bulls come stampeding out from every aspen copse, falling to mostly well-placed arrows. I don`t bow-hunt myself, as I`m unwilling to spend the time I think it takes to become responsible and proficient, and so far I just prefer rifle hunting. This does make elk hunting harder, I know.

And I`ll admit, my lifelong pursuit of elk has been a bit half-hearted at times; I haven`t exactly committed weeks on end to elk hunting every year. I tend to do a few days here and there, a week on occasion, spent in various western states over the last 15 years. So I`m not what anyone would call a rabid, slathering wapiti-crazy elkaholic...yet. But after numerous successful hunts around the globe, and living in a house crammed to the rafters with beautiful mounts from the nether regions of the world, I do have to answer a common question quite frequently: "OK, nice stuff, but where`s your elk?" Where, indeed. Living in Montana, it`s expected that any decent, proper outdoors person would have 2 or 3 elk mounts on the wall. Me, I`ve shot 7 kudu in Africa, and only one small elk many years ago. In this state, that`s probably a crime.

After some of these fruitless elk forays, I`ve often ventured the opinion that elk are ethereal, mystical beasts that magically evaporate from the earth`s surface after daylight, perhaps going underground until darkness falls. It amazes me that I can see their tracks and scat, yet not stumble into them more often...or at all. I`ll visit Yellowstone in September and watch all the elk running through town, just to make sure I remember what they look like. I have them come into my yard in the winter and stare in my windows, seemingly to mock me. Guess they feel pretty safe, as there aren`t any elk heads on my wall to scare them. And yes, I do believe that a hunter has to EARN an elk, put the time and work in; heck, I know several guys who`ve been hunting them hard for over a dozen years and have yet to notch a tag. And those tags don`t make good eating. What could make these big deer worth so much effort?

Well, this year I was determined to find out. I booked two elk hunts, one in Wyoming and one in my home state of Montana. I set off for Dubois, Wyoming in early October for a week in the backcountry of the Teton-Bridger wilderness, hunting with Cameron Garnick, owner of the Triangle C Ranch. There were 5 of us hunting , with lots of gear, horses, and guides. My guide Rocky, a strapping lad of 23, was eager to help me dispel with my preconceived notions about elk hunting. I wasn`t too encouraged when we set out for the 15 mile ride to hunting camp, as it was gorgeous, sunny and 75 degrees, not exactly textbook elk hunting weather. But it was hard to complain, as the scenery was breathtaking and the ride fairly pleasant on old Chunk the dude horse. Camp was well-established, with spacious heated wall tents and a nice warm cook tent and fire circle for evening chats and libations.

I soon discovered how real elk hunters outsmart those wily nocturnal elk; they spend a lot of time waiting. We would rise well before daylight and set off on our horses (whom I nervously presumed could see better in pitch-dark than I could) to be in position at a likely meadow at daybreak. If nothing was visible after an hour or so, we would adjourn to a "comfy" resting spot under a tree on a hill and wait. Or, to be more precise, nap, a lovely habit I`ve never been able to acquire. I`ve talked to elk hunters who consider this the high point of their day, snoozing away in the sun, waiting for the late afternoon attempt. The wranglers and guides have taken it to an art form, curling up under a tree and snoring within minutes. It did make me grateful for the relatively warm weather, that`s a fact, and once I started packing a book along, it made the time go a bit quicker.

We did get into elk every day, usually in that first half hour of daylight. I just couldn`t put a good rack on any of them, and the shooting distances were a tad sobering at times, since most openings were quite large, and a 400+ yard shot was a normal expectation. One day it rained in the afternoon, and that got a few of them moving. I became quite good at bailing off my horse and racing around to his other side, yanking my rifle out of the scabbard, and plopping down on my rear, taking aim at the elk we spotted along forest edges from time to time. I always wondered what would happen if I fired, with old Chunk or Hangover`s head two feet from mine; a rodeo of a sort, no doubt.

We were all having similar experiences of seeing elk, just no big bulls. This was a true wilderness hunt, and the area was known for a good number of elk, but there wasn`t going to be a 350 class monster in every valley. I decided to hope for a shot at any decent average bull--after all, any bull is a trophy when you don`t have one.

The weather started to chill down, and one day Rocky and I rode up the drainage above camp, where we`d seen a nice bull on the first day of the hunt, but darkness and distance had made a shot problematic. Our horses picked their way through the sage in the valley floor, and as the light level increased, we spotted a few elk on the very top of the ridge above the valley. As we`d done many times before, we tied the horses up in a group of pines and stalked closer. Rocky had made me a pair of shooting sticks from some willow branches, so I felt a bit better about a potentially long shot. You can`t dither around when elk are ready to depart, and as soon as I saw antlers against the trees, I got my Tikka .280 rifle on the sticks, picked him out, and quickly shot into the point of his shoulder as he faced us from 300 yards away. He spun around and dove off the ridge into the black timber on the other side. After a breathless climb to the ridge top, I gingerly tiptoed into the deadfalls on the other side, and there he was, down but definitely not out. Before he could get to his feet, I shot again, and he piled up against a large pine, luckily only about 100 yards down the steep hill.

He was a lovely 5x5, with dark beams and white tips, not exactly a monster but a very respectable elk for such a rookie! With the help of a couple mules from camp, we had him quartered and hanging in no time, and I departed camp the next day via covered wagon, a nice back country touch, I thought. Two more bulls were taken before the week was over, so this hunt went pretty darn well.

Barely two weeks later I was headed to southwest Montana for opening day of elk and deer season. This hunt was with my outfitter friend Russ Smith, owner of Smith & Baker Outfitting and Russ Smith--Hunting Worldwide, Inc, and was to take place on about 25,000 acres of private land he leased just east of Anaconda. I must admit, staying in a nice condo at the Fairmont Hot Springs Resort is my new idea of the perfect elk hunt accommodations; pretty swanky! There were 5 other hunters, all from the Virginias, booked for the hunt, and we had a wonderful local girl who cooked gourmet meals every night, so we didn`t suffer much. But once again, we were cursed with anti-elk hunting weather; sunny, dry and 65 degrees.

Nevertheless, we drove up into the hills at 0-dark-thirty on opening morning and slowly walked over several ridges. The ranch featured rolling hills covered with white bark pines and lodge pole, punctuated by grassy meadows and a few draws full of aspens, all overlooking the scenic Pintler range. Although the area looked "deery", elk were in the majority. There was certainly no lack of sign; tracks and droppings were everywhere. We did hear a faint bugle that first day, and saw a couple elk drifting through the forest, but as I expected, there were to be no thundering herds of wapiti in every clearing.

My goal with this hunt was a mountable elk, now that I had my feet wet from the Wyoming hunt. He didn`t have to be gigantic, just a nice average respectable bull worthy of a spot on the wall. A HUGE and difficult task, and in accordance with my opinions on elk hunting, one I didn`t expect to accomplish easily. Our methods were similar to my first hunt, with serious hiking and still-hunting in the mornings and evenings, and lots of rest time mid-day, luckily in the cozy condo. The hiking was quite moderate and easy-going by elk hunting standards, and there was a plentitude of likely looking meadows and openings to sit on. Perhaps too many...the elk could have been in any number of them, as the grazing looked pretty good everywhere we went. The wind was a constant during this hunt, and it certainly affected where we`d choose to hike and wait. One evening I sat on a huge open meadow ringed by pines, and watched as eventually 20 elk filed out to feed, including one legal 5x5 bull. According to my new standard, he wasn`t on the menu, but it was nice to sit and watch them, the spikes sparring with each other and calves trying to nurse from impatient cows. Other than this encounter, I didn`t see too many other elk, just the odd one here and there.

It was easy to blame the weather, with it being so warm and dry. But a change was forecast, with a big front supposedly moving in overnight. The wind really picked up, and the temperature plummeted from 60 to 15 degrees in no time. We hoped for snow, but it stubbornly refused to cooperate, just spitting some tiny dry flakes that didn`t amount to anything. About this time, I was feeling that old familiar emotion, frustration fueled by irrational impatience; elk can really drive a person nuts. They seemed to have no pattern, no place to predictably find them, no favorite feeding or watering areas, nowhere you can reasonably wait for them to appear. Of course it`s not supposed to be easy, but thoughts swirl through a person`s head, trying to figure these pesky critters out. A few of the guys connected with nice 5x5 bulls, but the larger bulls were holding tight. I had jacked the same bullet in and out of my gun for countless hikes by now, and had started to feel a bit pessimistic about my chances. Yes, that`s why they call it hunting, not killing. I`ve been spoiled by the instant gratification I experienced on my trips to Texas and Africa, no doubt about it. But I really wanted to feel the elation and justification earned by finding a big wild bull elk in Montana.

On the afternoon of the fifth day we did our normal routine, starting off to sit on a likely looking spot. My lack of confidence was starting to show, and I kept telling myself that these are elk we`re talking about, and of course they`re going to make it a struggle. And who knows, the 17th time might be the charm. Russ had chosen a large long meadow for the afternoon, but the wind wasn`t working for that spot, so he took us down into a large grassy draw by a small waterhole. I resigned myself to yet another long chilly wait, and as the light faded and dusk approached, I looked about me to gather my gear, which I always seem to spread all over the ground. Russ suddenly hissed and pointed; there at the top of the ravine, a cow and calf had appeared. I immediately got my rifle on my shooting sticks, and when he whispered urgently "Shoot, big bull!", I fumbled around, not seeing a bull at all. Russ motioned for me to lower my sights, and somehow a large-bodied elk had appeared in the bottom of the gully, not 150 yards away. I didn`t even look at his antlers, just took aim at his shoulder and fired. As I listened to all the crashing and snapping of the herd running off, I hoped fervently that I`d made a good shot and that he wasn`t a rag horn. Russ found a spot of blood, walked a little ways with a flashlight, and there he was, only 20 yards from where I`d shot him, stone dead.

And WOW, was he nice! Gosh...I never really thought I`d connect with a lovely bull like this one. He was huge-bodied, with a wide heavy rack and really long back points. I`d only seen bulls like this in parks and on TV shows, and here he was, a magnificent old warrior, destined to grace my wall forever. We had to gut him and leave him for the night, but he was still gorgeous the next morning, when a couple of the boys from Virginia came and helped us haul him out. I proudly asked them to stuff him into the back of my Suburban, which they did, and I thought I`d never seen such a pretty sight. Russ measured him first, and came up with a total of 327; not too shabby!

I realize that there are folks who shoot elk like this every year, for whom elk hunting is fairly routine. But in my opinion, getting a large bull elk in the wild still ranks as one of the toughest accomplishments for a hunter. The statistics speak for themselves; guided elk hunts average about 20% success, and I know that our local area has about an 11% success rate on elk for residents, and that's including cows. I had two unique, thrilling, extremely lucky hunts, and although I don`t think I`m worthy, I`ll cherish these memories. And maybe I`ll even try it again next year.

Postscript...the week after my elk hunt, I joined Russ on a mule deer hunt in Colstrip, Montana, and this nice buck was the result. The ranch was lovely, full of game that, due to the low hunting pressure, often simply watched us go by. He only allows a handful of hunters on the ranch each year, and almost everyone takes a nice mature buck home.

AND---turkeys are also available!