Idaho Elk Hunting Adventure 2015.... Continued

This is the second half so don't start here, start here http://forums.bowhunting.com/showthread.php/75338-Idaho-Elk-Hunting-Adventure-2015


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.


To be continued......

 

“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!

 

Very Cool, congrats!

Thanks for the photos and story.

 

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.

 

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.

 

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!

 

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 ***” 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.

 

I cant wait for the rest of the story

 

You may have started in the middle oldcamp. It took 2 threads for me to be able to include all of the pictures.
There's another thread with the beginning here http://forums.bowhunting.com/showthread.php/75338-Idaho-Elk-Hunting-Adventure-2015

 

That was great Tony, enjoyed ever bit of it. Some of the pics on the first thread I was unable to view. These trips are the memories you'll reflect back upon the rest of your life. Congrats to both of you on such a successful trip, thank for sharing the ride!!

 

Cool, cool story. Loved every minute of it. God bless.

 

Thanks Eatonantlers, I just finished the first half of the story. Thanks for sharing.

 

Good work. Looks like you went through the grinder getting that elk out. Congrats on the bull and the excellent meat.

 

You learn what your made of when you pack an elk of the mountain. I'm 54 years old and and that old mountain gets steeper every year. But I love every minute of it.

 

Amen brother, I'm 54 as well.
If I learned anything last year, when I killed my first elk, is that pack "fit" isn't a suggestion. It ended up being a lot more work than it needed to be.
The second trip down this year, although approaching 100#, was ALMOST effortless, in comparison, with the new pack that I took time to adjust ahead of time.

This wasn't fun.

 

That was a good read! Nice work and congrats on the bull!

 

Wow, great story Tony.. thanks for sharing.! I personally just learned a lot through your experience.
Congratulations to the both of you.! Good luck in your future adventures..

 

Great Story, Really enjoyed reading it. I'm hoping I get to try that one day.

 

Fantastic story. Thank you for sharing.