Colorado OTC Bull Elk Hunt

To say the least, I was disappointed this spring when I didn't draw a single tag here in New Mexico. I was down to the last of my deer meat from the buck I took last fall, and more than anything I just didn't want to have to go a full year without big game hunting. The meat is important, and a trophy is nice, but what I really crave from hunting deer and elk is the experience of spending a week in the woods with razor sharp focus on a single goal and the happiness that I feel only from sitting around the campfire recounting old hunting stories and creating new ones with friends as the hunt unfolds. Fishing is my first love and the memory of a big fish inevitably will grow to legend over time, but the allure of fishing is in putting a line blindly into the water to satisfy a great curiosity about what might be lurking in an area into which we cannot tread. Fish, however, are very different from us mammals, almost alien in their coldness and indifference despite their great beauty. With big game hunting there is something special about knowing your quarry exactly, about that sameness we share. The encounter with a big mammal; hearing its calls and seeing its breath steam out in the cold pre-dawn hours, getting close enough to smell its hide, looking it directly in the eye and seeing something familiar-something distinctly warm and emotion filled, creates an intimate connection that simply can't be replicated in an encounter with a fish or bird. That connection feels ancient to me, a bond between old adversaries that might be diminished by all of our development as a society, but is simply too deeply rooted to be completely eradicated by progress. It is this old connection that I desire and I search out each fall.

With that need unfulfilled I knew that I couldn't sit back and wait, and I decided to look into other states for OTC tags for elk or deer. Success rates were really unimportant to me; the most important thing was to find an adventure and get away from the roads into some sort of high country. I also refuse to use a guide or pay to hunt on private land. It's not that I don't have respect for guides (several of my friends are guides and I have great respect for their skill and work ethic) or that I have a problem with buying a hunt on private land, it's just that personally I have a strong belief that hunting is about exploration and learning from personal experience and failures. Similarly, I believe that public land is our greatest resource in this country and that it should be used for fear that it may be lost. So I talked with some friends, scouted around with the backpack this summer, and finally decided to head out with some buddies to chase bull elk in the Gunnison area of Colorado. I have been on numerous elk hunts, but always as a companion and meat carrier, this would be my first chance to be the one with the tag.

The 3rd rifle season in Colorado is 9 days long, and I geared up and planned for months to be ready for a long hunt. I arrived on Halloween and met up with my friend from the area. It took everything I had not to stop on one of the numerous majestic rivers and streams in the region and test out the new Sage 5wt fly rod I won a few weeks before, but I focused and pulled it together and made it to elk camp Friday afternoon. The scenery was breathtaking, and camp sat at the confluence of two trails with no motorized access anywhere in our hunting area; just the way we wanted it. We set up camp, ate a light dinner and went to sleep early with thoughts of bull elk playing in our dreams.

Following the pack out on Saturday we spent the afternoon getting ready to break down camp and by sitting around a big campfire drinking beer, telling stories and eating fresh meat. The mood was high, the stories exaggerated and the laughs abundant. There are numerous stories that I left out of this account that were recounted on that last night: losing a mule for days and finding him again an hour after we finished packing the last of the meat down the mountain, coming 10 yards from being run down by a cow elk, and an incredible flame dancing performance when one of us, totally sober, lit himself on fire with some poorly placed gas. But those stories are reserved for our little band, the boys who were out there on the mountain. Some stories are best savored within the group, only shared on those special evenings around a campfire on hunts yet to come.

Sunday morning signaled the end of the hunt and we spent the morning breaking down camp. Everyone was ready to go home and rest and get a much needed shower, but we all still felt that somber feeling that comes at the end of every hunt You've spent months obsessing over every detail; pouring over maps, reading every internet forum, shooting, packing and repacking. The anticipation is almost as fun as the hunt itself. Every crappy day at work is a little better with the knowledge that the hunt is coming. Now it's all over and it will be a long year before the next hunt. Until then I will content myself with my first love and see what I can pull through the ice, and watch for the first stoneflies, mayflies and caddis flies that will hatch off my favorite streams. Ideas for next year are already swirling though, and the next hunt, the next chance to rekindle that old connection with one of the big mammals, will be coming around the corner sooner than I think.