Anyhow, so you know I'm off on Fridays right? Well, Brandon (my brother) had drawn a mature bull elk tag for the Wasatch Mountains unit and it opened on Saturday. He and my dad went up Friday night and I couldnt leave to go help them until Saturday after Josh's game which was at noon. Which pretty much means you're not getting home until around 3:00. So, after yelling myself hoarse for an hour and a half while the boys played Herriman I was about to head up and meet them at the cabin on Strawberry. It's important to note two occurances out on the field. 1) Josh carried the ball for sixty yards for a touchdown in the fourth quarter; and 2) Josh had a play as a running back in which he blocked for the other runner and just flat-out knocked this kid right on his can and then stood over him. It.WAS.AWESOME. Sort of a silent, "Stay out of my backfield." The kid was about six inches taller than Josh but it didnt seem to bother him. Anyhow, we suffered a loss by two touchdowns. The important thing being of course, it's not whether you win or lose, but whether or not you knock someone senseless and cause reason to pause everytime they think about crossing the line of scrimmage. *Imaginary tobacco spit*
So, where were we? Ah yes, so I got a dollar off my gas at Smith's and still spent 71 bucks for 29 gallons of ultra-cheap-azz gas low-octane pickup fuel. See, I can't imagine buying anything but 85 octane for Big Green. Yeah, I know I threatened to sell her last month, but I need to get through my hunt coming up next week (which is where we're ultimately headed here with this stream of conciousness). So, Big Green, a bag, and a new elk bugle and cow call set headed up through Provo and Heber and along highway 40. I love Highway 40 by the way. So many good memories along that road. Well not the road itself of course, but what it represents. Back in the eighties when there used to actually BE deer in the area worth hunting, we would hunt up Coop and Chicken Creeks with my grandpa and aunt and everyone. So when dad bought his lot about a dozen years ago it just seemed a natural fit. Anyhow, so I was listening to, and singin' along with the radio and made it up just about at dark right as Brandon and dad were coming in the gate. Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you, Soldier Creek Estates is pretty much a gated community. Albeit the gate is a giant green metal gate and not an electric opener type, but gated never-the-less. Anyhow, so I held the gate for them and Brandon looked pretty tired. I also noted there wasn't an elk in the back of dad's truck.
So that night we sat and watched satellite television and got psyched up by Jason Bourne on TNT. It's the one where he's in Morocco and saves Nicki, the little blonde gal. Also, why is it every woman he saves has to immediately dye her hair black and cut it? I rather liked it blonde to be honest, anyhow, Jason Bourne totally jacked-up this Moroccan scooter rider guy and then jumped off a building like fifteen stories and his whereabouts are unknown.
So, anyhow, I slept on the bunkbed cot with the electric blankey and closed my eyes. Next thing I know it's 0430 and dad's down making coffee and looking for boots. It's kind of funny actually whenyou watch my dad. You'll always find him sitting in a chair right next to the wood stove in the kitchen. I'll walk down the stairs and see him just about as he grabs his boots and sits down in the chair. He always sits with his back to the stove and facing the stairs. Then he bangs pans around and starts cooking bacon so you are pretty much guilted into getting up. Course, the joke's on him, because now that I'm close to forty, I'm pretty much up to pee anyhow as I've had to sense at least 1:30 am and can simply no longer hold it. There WILL be two bathrooms in the cabin someday, but the one upstairs is not installed yet. So, to get up and go is quite a trek to go down the stairs, around the vinyl record collection, past the bumper pool table and left into the repository. By the way, dad has an extensive collection of the latest gun magazines and I find I can keep track on the recent testing of concealed carry models by Taurus, Smith and Wesson, and others. Incidentally, there's a new little Derringer which caught my eye that is called the, "Double Tap." It's 3/4 of an inch thick, carries two barrels locked and loaded and a quick release for two other bullets. Comes in .45 ACP and 9mm. Base model retails at $599, and ported barrel and stainless model comes in at around 799.00. But who's counting.
Where were we? Ah yes, so after eggs, hashbrowns and uh...something else, the sun was starting to crest over the Wildcat Range and we piled into Green and headed over to the Deep Creek. So, I'd talked Brandon into letting me walk with him and help bugle (call in) and cow call while we walked up through the aspens and hit the ridgeline. We heard one or two distant elk bugles early on and started to encounter some pretty fresh sign the closer we got to the ridgeline. Well, after beating our faces and scratching our arms up going through the buckbrush near the top, we finally daylighted and made our way up the ridge. About seven thirty am I spotted a cow darting through the brush about 350 yards out. We stopped and I cow called and another cow appeared. Right about then, a nice six point walked up out of the buckbrush and stopped right at the edge of the aspens. Brandon crouched down and fired a shot and we never saw them again. To his credit he was really rushed, and there was a pretty stiff wind coming up the canyon. He only had a few seconds so I didnt fault him. He took it pretty hard though and he made me bird dog the whole canyon back and forth twice before he believed me that they were gone. I went across the bottom, middle and top of that canyon 1.5 times before ten thirty am when I finally convinced him and dad that we were wasting valuable time.
Well Brandon and I headed further up the canyon while dad disappeared across the canyon into the trees. It's important to note we all had walkey talkeys (did I hear a, 'Niner' in there?) but none of them worked right and dad didnt have his cell phone so we pretty much lost each other at a hundred yards apart. Well, Brandon and I made it back to the truck about noon and waited for dad another hour. We went back to the cabin by way of my trailer at the lot in Fruitland (I'd lost my muzzle loader tag) and then back to the cabin for a couple of hamburgers and we were right back out the door.
This time we started at the green gate (not at the cabin, where we hunt) and decided to hunt this little box canyon where I've killed two elk and Brandon's killed one. It's always a good option after the initial opener when they get a little spooked and hide. Anyhow, this is one steep s.o.b. It was about three pm and I was stripped down to an orange t-shirt. Shaved head, orange shirt and sunglasses, looking like a Mexican without a concrete truck. Anyhow, so I was sweating all over myself the sun was blazing down on us. I was packing the backpack with all our water and my bugle and some other sundries like jackets and flashlights. So, we're skirting the outside edge of this box canyon, occaisionally sneaking a peek over the edge to guage our progress and see if we couldnt spot any. We were trying to stay out of the canyon until we hit the top so we could glass the entire canyon. Well, there was a little swell about a hundred yards across in the main canyon. That whole canyon side is covered in scrub oak and is 100 percent in the sun. We stopped near the first saddle and all of a sudden an elk kicked out and took off across this swell. Brandon sidestepped and was immediately twenty feet to my left while I was trying my best to peer through the buckbrush immediately in front of me. Brandon yelled out, "It's a BULL!" Well I had my cow call in my right front pocket and scrambled frantically to find it. About the time I got it into my mouth the bull had about two strides before he was over the edge of the hill and gone forever. I let out a cow chirp and he stopped dead in his tracks and looked back over his left shoulder. PERFECT quartering away shot. Brandon immediately put a 165 grain 30.06 bullet low behind his front shoulder and I saw his back leg kick and the bullet impact his chest cavity. It sounded like a wet newspaper smacking on a counter and I knew he would be dead in a few yards.
Well we both took off at a dead run as this bull took off over the hill and into the thick brush. I'd say we covered 100 yards in about 6 seconds. Quite a bit faster than a 4.4 forty, and all without breaking a leg on the steep sidehill. I put Brandon out in front of me and sent him over the edge while I stopped looking for blood where we shot him. Long story short, we searched frantically for blood to no avail.
About fifty yards down the hill I heard Brandon moving laterally back and forth across the sidehill and I went down to meet him. About thirty yards up thehill Brandon saw him in the death throws and we went up to investigate. Laying there on the ground just about to expire was this big six point bull. I'd honestly put him at over 900 lb. He hasn't been scored yet, but he's 48 1/2 inches wide and has good thick heavy beams which are a beautiful color of grey with white ivory tips. Gorgeous bull. Brandon wanted to mount him, so we started the laborious process of cutting him up. Long story short, neither Brandon nor I had a sharp enough knife to properly remove the cape and I had to beat feet to the truck and back to the cabin while I hoped my dad happened across Brandon.
At the cabin I grabbed some knives, a saw, and the game cart and ate a cookie and thumbed through a gun magazine and sprayed some air freshner and then was back on the road. At the green gate I fought the cart along the trail and hid it in the trees under where I figured we'd come out. Going straight up the sidehill I was within a hundred yards of where dad and Brandon were just finishing the cape and about to cut the neck. It was about 85 degrees and we were in the full sun and I was worried over the past hour and a half that we were going to spoil this elk. So, I gave Brandon the folding saw and he started cutting the neck and I commenced taking a back leg off. We weren't saving the hide except fromt he shoulder up, so I just carved off what I could. Brandon and dad fought with that huge head and antlers and they both started down to the trail and the cart. I cut all four legs off and grabbed the back two legs, Brandon's rifle and headed down the steep hill. Each back leg is about sixty lb and I had to throw one over my shoulder and drag the other through the brush stopping every ten feet or so to switch shoulders and hands. I could hear the two of them down at the trail below me and really wanted to bring both those back legs out by myself so they could quit griping about having to carry a head. Anyhow, I made it about a hundred yards from the trail before I stashed the second leg and hoofed it (pardon the pun) down to the cart to give them the gun and one quarter while I went back for the other.
Well we fiddle farted around with the cart putting the head on and the one quarter and a backpack and I went back for the other quarter. The front two shoulders were damaged by the bullet and but I removed them so we could go back for them in the morning. So I went back up the hill and grabbed the other back leg and came down in the dark. I had to hump it all the way back to the truck down the trail in the fading light and made it down right as everything went dark.
Well, long story short, Brandon and I left for the taxidermist in Orem and left dad to stay there overnight and let the meat cool hanging in the garage. Dad brought it down yesterday afternoon and I took it to Meyer's to have it cut. Turns out the two back legs together weighed in at only 117 lbs. I swear they weighed twice as much on the mountain. I honestly thought I had about 200 lbs of meat pushing me down the mountain as I ripped my pants from knee to crotch and tried my best not to face plant in the dimming light.
So, here we are now, all home, safe and sound. My hunt opens on next Wednesday and I am completely stoked about the possibility. I have taken the entire hunt off from the 26th through the fifth of October. I'm going to do everything possible to get my own bull. It's taken me 11 years to draw this tag, and I can't even put in for another seven years. Which effectively means you'll only draw a tag like this about every 25 years or so. Give or take five years. So, it's kind of a big deal.
Anyhow, I gotta go. I've got stuff to get to.
You have a wonderful day and sorry I went on and on and on. You keep your head down and your powder dry and I'll see you with another report soon.
All the best,
J
