elk hunt story

We must be elk hunting
With lightning flashing and thunder rolling we rode our horses out of camp. My friend and guide, Todd, looked back after the first half mile and grinned as the rain poured down. “We must be nuts” he said, “Nope, just hunters” I said with a grin. After another mile, the pouring rain mixed with a good dose of hail. Oh that was just soooo much better. Any exposed skin got a good pelting. After the second mile, the rain and hail stopped. The storm moved past and as we topped the first ridge we could see out into the drainage below. Very little is more pleasing to the eye than a whole valley spread below after a good rain. No elk could be seen so we continued our ride down the ridge and into the forest.
Oh the joy of riding atop a horse through the forest after a good cold rain! Nothing is better than wet conifers pouring water down the back of your neck! We slipped and slid from one opening to another as we vainly searched for elk. Alas as the sun set below a dismal, sullen, horizon, all we saw was a group of mule deer does. The last ten foot, near vertical drop into the river bottom was both welcomed and viewed with apprehension by this inexperienced rider.
The ride in the dark back to camp came to it’s conclusion with that heartwarming sight of wall tents lit from within and the smell of the corral and the woodstoves that promised dry warmth.

A hearty dinner and talk around the table has a way of making one forget the previous couple of hours of discomfort. It chases away the cares of the rest of the world. Work doesn’t matter anymore. Politics will take care of themselves. Elk camp is all that matters here.

Somewhere in the middle of the night the rain quits, and all that can be heard around the camp is the shuffling of horses, the rush of the creek and the occasional snore from an adjoining tent. At 0400 the generator gets started and the lights come on. I dress and go to the cook tent to find I am the first hunter up and moving. The coffee is just getting done. I pour a cup and talk to the rest of the “staff”. We talk of the plans for the day. We’re going to ride a long ways today. We’re going high where they have been killing elk all the previous week. I step out to hit the outhouse and it’s snowing. We’ve only been talking for about 30 minutes and the ground is already white. I stick my head in the tent and say “Hey, it’s snowing like crazy out here.” Three heads poke out the tent flap. It was comical. “Well, there go those plans” says Scott, the owner. “There’s no sense riding all the way up there just to not be able to see your hand in front of your face”.

As hunters straggled into the tent, they were informed that plans had just changed. We wouldn’t be riding out for a couple of hours. And the snow kept falling. And falling. And falling.

At 0630, Todd gave me a questioning look, and I shrugged and said, ”why not?” Bobbie, one of the other hunters, noticing the exchange, said “I’ll go.” So we went out and started to saddle horses that had been standing in the tack area since 0400.

We rode out into the snow storm, the wind and snow in our faces, bundled up against the storm. The sun got far enough over the horizon to provide some light shortly after we left camp and the snow quit at just about the same time. We were left with a couple of inches of good tracking snow.
We rode up the creek and then up the ridge, stopping to glass from horse back as we went. The world was a blanket of white with the hushed silence that can only be found in the woods far from roads and houses after a new fallen snow. We rode around in our black and white world spotting only squirrels and few herds of mule deer. Suddenly, way off in the distance to the south we heard a wolf howl. The long mournful, quavering howl made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. We looked at each other and grinned. Then, very nearby, an answering howl rose from the aspens and pines around us. We had some wolf tags among us so we rode closer to the nearby howl and heard another. We howled back after hiding near some fir trees, and were answered in turn, closer now than before and by more than one wolf. The wolf in the distance howled again, and was answered once more, closer still. And then……Silence! After waiting and watching, and howling once more, we had to concede that we would not be seeing any wolves this morning. We rode around the mountain for another couple of hours but all we saw was another couple of deer and wolf tracks.

The mid day was spent in the cook tent, the center of all camp activity, playing cards and talking hunting. We attempted some repairs on the one camp generator, but were thwarted by a lack of tools. The tool bag had been left four miles down the two track at the truck. We’d pick it up later. We still had a working generator so there was no rush. Soon it was time to saddle up to hunt the evening.

We rode out following the creek. The idea was to ride up to a certain area that had been holding elk lately and get in amongst the timber and try to root them out. For a non-rider, it was going to be a demanding evening. We rode through timber that had been burned sometime in the last decade, around and up and down and over and through. We followed tracks and pushed timber and glassed openings. We worked our butts off! Riding down one particularly steep hill, my horse slipped and fell out from under me. It wasn’t fun for either of us I’m sure. Shortly after, we caught up to the group of elk we had been seeking, but they bolted through the timber before I ever even saw them much less got off the horse. We tried to catch up to them again, but to no avail. They were moving too fast, and it was beginning to get dark.

We started for home, in the gathering darkness, with snow beginning to fall once again. Luckily most of the ride was on two tracks, so we didn’t have to deal with snow falling down the backs of our necks as we had for the entire evening.
Back at camp, a great supper of grilled steaks and salad and beans awaited. It was with some wonder that I noticed that as I sat at the supper table, my body still felt as though I was riding the horse. It happens much like when I spend a day on a boat.

Unfortunately, I needed to head back home that evening. I’d be flying out two days from now and there were chores that needed doing before that could happen. We rode the four wheeler out to the trucks. Trying to drive home, I had that same strange feeling that I had while sitting at the supper table. Somehow, I just couldn’t get the “feel” of driving the truck. The roads were wet, and the temps were below freezing and I just couldn’t be sure if the truck was sliding or if it was my messed up inner ears. I drove home slowly. Once I was at home, I found that I had stiffened up considerably. Yep, I’d been elk hunting all right.



Edited by Snake River Marksman (11/09/12 03:00 PM)
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Stupidity is expensive