Classification: UNCLASSIFIED
Caveats: FOUO
OK, where were we? Ah yes, you were there and I was here. Sit down will ya?
Let's see now, okay, so a few weeks ago my dad and I took Josh on his first
big game hunt as a bona fide carrier of a rifle for the elusive and ever
(less than) tasty Mule Deer. This particular hunt starts on or about the 3rd
weekend in October and has been a staple in our family for generations.
Throughout the years it's been pared down from a statewide holiday, to more
of an afterthought for your more flannel clad neighbors. See, the deer hunt
used to have an element of neighborhood pride. Now, with all the changes to
the hunting proclamation and the various and sundry intricacies involved in
applying for, and drawing the various tags, it's really become a giant pain
in the ass to be honest.
Hold on, let me explain. So, when I started hunting, you could buy a tag
over the counter, for the low-low cost of $15. It was known as a, "Big Game
License." So you had to buy your big game license, and then you could
potentially buy a bow permit, or a muzzle loader permit, or any number of
other add-ons to extend your hunt. So, from there, the State of Utah in
their finite wisdom, realized that they were harvesting too many deer. So
they stopped selling the tags over the counter, and went to a draw system.
Only, they didn't really limit the number of tags per se, and just kept on
rakin' in the revenue and then depositing it into the State General Fund for
later appropriations back to the Division of Wildlife Resources. So, the
State of Utah had a vested interest in selling more tags than we could
support and really had a limited view on what the long-term results of those
policies would be.
Well, from there, the Division decided they'd start selling me tags in about
seven different regions, and only a certain number of tags would be sold in a
given region. But, alas, they over-sold those family favorites again.
Somewhere along the way, they decided I couldn't hunt all three seasons
unless I became a, "Designated Hunter" and donated a certain number of
man-hours towards trail management and other worthwhile DWR goals. Anyhow,
about that time I started pumping out children and realized I'd just have to
choose which deer hunt I'd go on and then maybe hunt for elk for a second
outing.Well, over the course of the past 25 years since I began, we've
lowered the hunting age to 14, then to 12, and incorporated every scheme
including, "three point buck or better" as well as a slew of other programs
which somehow encourage the hunting legacy, but make it harder and harder to
actually see a buck to shoot at. So, I pretty much gave up deer hunting
about four years ago and just this year decided to put in for a tag to take
my son out and give 'er a whirl.
So, we put in for our favorite top three choices for hunting, one of which
was the "19C Tintic Range" hunting unit. It's basically a little north of
Eureka, Utah, down I-15 to Nephi, over to the Sand Dunes and back up to
nowhere. Anyhow, a few years back, (10 maybe?) we saw a deer out there, so
we figured we'd try her out. So I pretty much strong-armed Josh into missing
his football game in order to attend this most auspicious of occasions.
See, today he was about to become a man. So, I preemptively took Monday off
from work and reminded my retired dad that he should do the same. I even
offered Josh a chance to turn in his one Blue Chip for the year and miss a
day of school to shoot Bambi or maybe even Bambi's dad if time and
opportunity permitted.
So, we took off toward parts known on Friday afternoon after stacking
everything we possibly could into the back of my dad's shortbed truck.
Coolers, sleeping bags, bullets, guns...MAN did we have guns. I think we
brought three 30.06's, a 45-70, a 30-30, a .45LC, two pistols, one .44 Mag
and my .45LC and most assuredly my dad's .38 Special concealed carry wheel
gun. Just in case we had to get into it with some Mexican drug lords along
the way I guess.
So, we showed up at the first place out past mile marker OMG. "The Green
Gate" (See a trend here?) and we drove and drove and drove
and....drove...like Pioneer Children I guess. Heck, we even saw a flock of
Chukar Partridges (Bunch of little Chukars anyhow). So, we had about four
hours of daylight to do a little sight-seein' and we commenced to scoutin'
for deer(s).
Well, we went over hill, then over a dale, up a steep slope, and down a
nutherin'...and uh...well, we didn't see so much as a year old rabbit turd to
make us want to stay there for the morning hunt. So, we loaded up the truck
and moved back to Eureka. About the second time we went through town we
stopped and got some dinner. The first time we went through we scared the
bejeezus out of the local clerk at the gas station on the East side of town
when I walked in with my .45LC strapped on my side like Little Joe from
Bonanza. Anyhow, they have decent hotdogs there, but their fountain drinks
can't be carried from the top because they're in those sucky-azz Pepsi
cardboard cups that don't hold their shapes. Anyhow, so the second time we
rolled through from the other direction we left the guns in the truck and
stopped at the Sinclair to test their microwave and their prepackaged dinner
burritos. I think I had one of those Little Debbie fat pills. So, we
actually saw two or three deer under the lights in the church parking lot, so
we figured it was a good omen that we should hunt ½ mile from town the next
morning.
Listen, I gotta stop here because I gotta get home to Lexi for her birthday.
So I'll see you tomorrow k?
Hold that thought.
OK, where were we? *sip* ahhhhh yes. So, that eventide, we set up camp in a
burned-out area about .75 miles from town. I had eyes-on this giant canyon
up over the top on the North side of Eureka (pronounced, "ur-ik-a" by the
local populous). My idea, which just may have worked, was to walk up the
ridgeline, and sit our plump and round little arses up on the ridgeline near
daylight, and have someone else push the buckbrush for a change. Well, we
weren't near as fast of hikers as once we were, and we made it up onto the
ridge about 45 minutes after daybreak. Oh, it's important to note that the
only two shots we heard the entire outing were behind us, pertent near to the
area from whence we just come. Anyhow, so Josh and I start scouting for the
perfect log (don't ask) and I set him on a big rock to watch this draw.
Well, after adjusting my beltline a little tighter than five minutes prior, I
met back up with him and we watched this draw/canyon. So, after about what
seemed like an hour, dad came up over the top of the ridge and I had him and
Josh sit while I swapped dad guns and I commenced into the buckbrush with the
lever-gun. I'd pretty much decided a month earlier that with 2.3 elk in the
freezer, the idea of shooting a deer myself was fairly unpalatable, and
downright unsupportable considering our current deep-freeze storage options,
so an open sights weekend was just fine with me.
So, anyhow, Josh and dad saw a doe and a fawn, which basically constituted ¼
of the deer we would see all weekend. In fact, we didn't hear another shot
all weekend. Well, after hunting most the morning, we went back to see the
camp site and formulate an updated operations plan for to go a killin' that
afternoon.
Well, after cracking open a dozen or so eggs, and frying up some bacon, we
realized that we had neglected to bring anything but a few paper plates and a
couple of plastic forks. What we were missing was a spatula, a ladle,
um...butter...uh....bread...yeah...uh...tortillas...pretty much the makings
of a perfect camping guys' weekend-stravaganza.
So, that afternoon, we loaded up the Arctic Cat, and Suzi-Q and headed over
to a stock pond and set to hiking up this side canyon. Well, I recall my
ninja jammies, which are really nothing more than silky lingerie type thermal
underwear, were starting to sweat the nethers, and the region, and here I was
without the aide and comfort of Desitin for-to-which to alleviate my
symptoms. Well, we hiked and sweated and hunted and came up quite
empty-handed that evening.
That evening, we went into town (aint that kinda dumb after what happened
last time???) (Obscure quote from the Eastwood movie, "Pale Rider"). While
in town, all three hundred yards of it, we settled upon this little hacienda
known as, "Nell's Diner". Or something like that. Maybe it's, "Nell's Deli"
or "Deli Nelli" or whatever, it's not germane to the story. Point is, we
strolled on in the front door, and picked out a booth to sit and contemplate
our next uncalculated move. Well, while we were there, we picked some items
off the menu and were waited on what must have been a fourteen year old girl
who sold dad and I on some day-old chili (WITH cheese?) and I think I had the
breakfast dinner burrito. Dad had a cup o' Joe and I think Josh must have
eaten a sammich with the crusts cut off. No wait, Dad had a hot-ham-n-cheese
I remember, because he commented it was neither hot, nor advertised to have
included mayonnaise. Anyhow, the chili was cold in the middle, and the hot
ham wasn't made to spec., but we enjoyed not having to fire up the $19K
generator to make dinner while we weighed and measured our austere outlook
for Bambi slayin'.
Well, we all kind of started to make fun of our predicament, and somewhere
along the line we started quoting movie lines from, "The Survivors" with
Robyn Williams, as well as Pale Rider (as alluded to before) and then we just
got plum silly and started high pitched sales ideas for, "Crazy Nelli's
Deli". I'd say we had a good time to be honest. Not to mention we got to
wa(r)sh our hands before heading back into the deep recesses of Camp
Blackout, located a half mile from the last square of sidewalk.
So that night, lying there in the straw, with a good half a handful of that
self-same straw having wiggled somehow into my underoos, we slept through a
windstorm that began to lift the sides of the tent up and pretty much pull
out 1/5 of our guy ropes. I truly thought this tent would take flight. So I
ended up rolling over onto the West flap and laying on top of it, on the
wrong side for breathing, and lay there until I had to pee so bad I finally
let go the flap, and...you know what? Different audience, different time I'd
tell ya. Anyhow, once that transaction was completed, I walked over and
picked up the five gallon propane tank, which was affixed to the Big Gass
Grill, and lay it atop the flap so I could get a couple hours more rest. If
that's what ya call it.
Well the next morning, quite without a light (we had no mantles for the
lantern, and no batteries for the other, we made some breakfast concoction
under the direct light shining forth from the Arctic Cat ( aka the $19K
generator). That morning (Sunday) we took off to the furthest reaches of
civilization, and up on top of the entire range to see if we couldn't find
Josh some lousy old two-point to shoot at. Well we ended up on this trail
that was a little two narrow (narrah) for the Arctic Cat side-by-side, and we
all three ended up on Suzi-Q locked down in four low, differential lock
climbing up this trail. I was driving, dad behind me, Josh back to back with
dad, looking like quite the posse I imagine. Well I fought this thing up the
trail for what seemed like an hour and we topped out into the flats and
hunted.
About noon I decided I'd had a gut-full, and it was time to head back and see
momma and lick our wounds. We'd put in enough time, and it was threatening
to rain/sleet/hale/or snow, and I'm no postman, so I tried to talk Josh into
going home. Well, to be honest, the kid just couldn't hide his emotion and I
asked him if he thought we were giving up on him, and he nodded in the
affirmative, so we put another half a day in to hunt this austere canyon we'd
just climbed into. It's pretty much a wasteland as it was hit by a fire over
a dozen years back, and there wasn't a single tree down below, and only a
thick stand of heavy timber in the crotch of this canyon. Well, I went back
to bird-doggin' and figured as long as I was goin', I'd better git, so I got.
You know how Pioneer Children sang as they walked, and walked, and walked,
and wwwwwwwwwalked? Yeah, so did I. Otherwise I'd have froze to death when I
topped out on this windy ridge and just about blew ass over tea kettle back
with what must have been forty mile an hour wind and sixty mile an hour
gusts. But, determined not to give up on my son, I pressed on.
Well, now you've come to the end of our story and I have bad news for you.
All that foreshadowing I've been working in here, all that set-up, all that
anxiety we've built up here for the reader? Yeah, it's all for not. We
didn't see another damn deer the whole weekend. Well, not true, we saw one
saunter off when we first arrived that morning, but nothing with antlers or
any self respect.
So, we loaded up the truck and we moved back to Beverly I guess. A little
beaten, a little worse for the wear. But you know what? I had a great time.
I think Josh did too. That's a good kid that Josh. I didn't hear him gripe
not once. He's a beautiful boy and I'm so proud of him. I'm always on his
case at home I know. I hate that. But out in the sticks, bein' manly men, he
makes my chest swell with how he conducts himself. He never gives up, he
just keeps trying. He keeps the faith (wish Bon Jovi wasn't the first thing
that came to mind just now). He's an amazing son. The important thing to
me, is that we spent time with his grandpa Bill. I love that boy. I love
him with all my heart and everything I do to work towards time in the woods
is to teach him how to really be a man. When I say that, I'm not meaning
that killin' makes you a man, I mean that getting dirty a little, getting
outside your comfort zone, leaving the world behind, well, it recharges a
man's spirit. I want him to know that option exists.
Well hey listen, I've got very little to do from here, and only about an hour
to do it in. So I'll let you get back to it. If you made it this far into
the annals I'm quite proud of you, but more so, I'm worried you don't have
much to live for, because to be quite honest, this isn't my best work, and
it's anti-climatic at best...which, to be perfectly honest with you, has
never happened to me before. I must be tired. ;)
Hey seriously, have a great night/day/afternoon. Keep your head down and
your powder dry. It was great talking to you and have a lovely, if not
downright enjoyable rest of whatever.
All the best meow,
J
Classification: UNCLASSIFIED
Caveats: FOUO
Saturday, December 1, 2012
Friday, October 5, 2012
Hazy Shade of Winter...
Look around, leaves are brown, and the sky, is a hazy shade of Winter.... Yeah, you know what that means dont ya? It's hunting season. Not just ANY hunting season either! This was the big mamba jamba I've been telling you about. The mature bull elk tag I waited ten years for. So, why dont you sit back, grab a cold one, and settle in, because this one is really gonna make the eyes roll back in your head trying to pretend you really care.
So, let's see, hmm....oh yes, so there we were, 25 September, the muzzle loader bull elk hunt about to open the following morning. So dad and I went up Tuesday night to get snuggled into the cabin and prepare for the next morning's hunt. We hunt about seven minutes up the road from where my dad's cabin is by the way. That's including Green Gate time and emptying the trash and not locking the cabin door out of sheer excitement. You'll recall from our earlier conversations that I'd gone up with Brandon and helped him fill his tag the second day of his hunt with a rifle. He got a bruiser of an elk with about a 48" spread and all sorts of points and what-not. It's a nice six-by (means it has six points on either side). But he was a complete monster by the time we got him off the mountain. You'll recall I griped about having to pull the two rear quarters off the mountain myself. Yeah, 117 lb of animal on just two back legs. That's of course AFTER you cut the bottom half of the leg off and just carry down the drumstick (skinned mind you). So, anyhow, I was pretty stoked to get up there and equal Brandon's efforts. Well we did, and then some.
So dad and I got up bright and early around 0430, (that's "4:30" for you civilian types) had a nutricious breakfast of something-er-other and headed for the mountain. We piled into Big Green and headed up to the Deep Creek to have a look around. So, the road was pretty good on the way in, and we drove all the way to the gate as I recall. I honestly can't remember ever elk we saw that day, or the next, or the next. But we saw at least two excellent bulls every day. A few of which I took some pot shots way across a canyon. See, a muzzle loader has a maximum effective range (for this guy anyhow) of about (apparently) 135 yards. Now, I shoot one of the new in-line muzzle loaders. In fact it's a Thompson Center Omega "Dream Season". How apt. Anyhow, it's a far cry from my .54 caliber patch and ball side lock I've been toting around since I was 13. Anyhow, the newer in-lines claim all sorts of fantastic and whimsical accuracy claims and most of them are true. However, whatyou can't get away from, is the fact that the bullet drops like a stone the moment it comes out the barrel. For example, at 50 yards, you may be dead on, but at 100 yards, you may be 8 inches low. At 150 yards you may be 15 inches low. So, throwing a Hail Mary bullet 400 yards across a canyon does nothing more than foul your barrel, create a big white puff of smoke, and get your heart racing. Which, is why I did that around 4 more times before I actually took about an 80 yards shot. Oh, it's important to note at this point, that it rained.....CONSTANTLY....the first three days of the hunt. We were sopping wet and I even got concerned that the bottom of my gun was filling up with water and the bullet wouldnt even fire were I to get a fair and honest shot.
So, sometime during that week we saw a big-(g)as(s) bull right smack across Highway 40 as we were leaving one evening a little more disheveled and none-too-disenfanchised with the whole experience. I took a pot shot at him at outside a hundred yards too by the way. Anyhow, we logged around 14 kilometers which, as it turns out is around seven or eight miles a day on the GPS, which dad and I had a pretty lengthy discussion about. See, I content that those miles are, "as the crow flies" and do not take into account the various ups (and steep ups at that) and downs (steeper downs) that we encountered. I figured real honest to goodness metrics if you figured in the rise and run would mean we were putting on in excesss of 15 miles a day. I say that, because we hiked from 6:30 am, 'till around 8:00 pm with nary an hour sit down in between to have some boiled eggs, kippered snacks, apples and even a sammich on rare occaision. Incidentally, busting out the kippered snacks is a last resort, elk seemingly LOVE the scent of them. I mean, who DOESNT love fish pickled in lemon and cracked pepper??? (smirk)
So, about Friday night, well....Friday night to be exact, we took our tenderfeet (literally) home to soak in a nice hot shower (dudes dont bath. Washing your face in butt-water is just disgusting). Anyhow, Josh had a big game against Bingham on Saturday and I had my ten and eleven year olds to teach on Sunday. I also reasoned, that if I continued to keep the Sabath holy, that He would bless me with a monster elk at exactly fifty yards broadside, with the wind blowing toward me. Or...something like that. Truth be told, I'm getting soft and three days of fifteen miles each were taking their toll.
So, Sunday night (not AS holy as Sun(DAY)) we left right after church and got up there around 3:30 in the afternoon. I placed myself high on a hillside nestled up under some aspens an watched a convergence of trails. Dad was bird-doggin' for me and went further up the mountain to push down to me. Well, sitting for me is just painful. I think I have adult A.D.D. Anyhow, so about an hour later, I heard an elk crashing through about 200 yards below me, so I got up to intercept him on the trail crossing. Well, he heard me, probably because I let out a cow mew, and he stopped dead in his tracks before he daylighted. So, I walked back up to my spot and sat down, a little sad, a little dejected, with a little, semblance of a tear at just the corner of my right eye. So, anyhow, I had no sooner sat down, and looked to my left and saw a huge bull behind a set of aspens. He was nervous and looking around for me. He couldnt smell me. I figured he was about fifty yards. The previous days I had glimpses at bulls at around eighty yards, and on at least two occaissions could only see their neck and head, and couldnt get a shot for the vitals. So, fearing he was about to bolt, I picked a spot on his neck, rested against a tree, and made a whole lot of white smoke and a loud noise. Well, it's important at this point to set the record straight. See, the week before the hunt someone told me the bullets that I was sighted in with were sucky. Barnes bullets were what I was using. They're solid copper and fly really well. Additionally, I was using 150 grains of powder, and after careful review discoved my gun is only rated for 130 grains of powder. So I did two dumb things, 1) I switched to from a 245 grain solid copper bullet, to a 348 grain bullet. The Barnes bullet is jacketed with a sabot, or plastic wad, and the other bullet...hey, I saw that, you yawned!!! Annnnnnnnnnnyways...I shot, and missed at his neck. I simply could not BELIEVE I missed. It's in-con-cievable!!! So...I apparently missed. Because the only shot I had was at his neck, and there would have been a great abundance of blood at the site were 348 grains of lead jacketed in copper come to a screaching halt in something's neck.
So, to make a long story longer (deep breath)....Monday was about the same, until that night. Monday night....was....AWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWESOME! I got down into the aspens and stalked into two bulls fighting over a bunch of cows. Then there was another huge bull up on the ridgeline bugling like Hell and a general sense of malaise down in that general vicinity. So, with about fourteen minutes of daylight left, I hauled arse over three ridges and put the stalk on them. I'm quite a stalker off the record. ;) So, anyhows...I got into these animals and let out a mew. The bull started walking toward me but then turned to the side and back down to resume talking trash with the two other bulls. I saw a glimpse of him through the thicket and new I couldnt get a clear shot. I'd already run off the bull on the ridgeline, and the second bull that was fighting with the one below me started walking across the expanse between the aspens. I'd say he was about 200 yards out and I just didnt feel I could reach him all things considered. So, I waitd for an opening in the trees below me. One came, and I had a chance at the bull. I let one of the Barnes bullets fly (I'd switched back after my "Major" miss). Smoke filled the night sky. He and a few cows started across the hill side, and I fiddle-fumbled around for my quick load. I couldnt get my cap off, and I couldnt get the bullet out of the plastic sleeve and he continued to walk majestically broadside (in slow motion) and by the time I got another shot off he was well out there. I presume I missed him, because he didnt so much as give two chits I'd even fired and just collected up his cows and walked off. I tell you what, that was the most incredible experience, and I would have ended my hunt right there quite content to know I'd experienced something very very few can ever imagine. So, also of import, is to note that the entire time we hunted, dad's communication devices always failed. One day he could hear me on the walkey talky, but couldnt reply. One day he had his phone, but mine was out of batteries, and one day they actually worked. This night for example. He asked me about every four minutes if I was close to the truck yet. I attribute that to his paternal worry for me. I have a headlamp, but I guess he was worried I couldnt figure out one ridgeline and a beeline for the truck with a halogen lamp. But, as a father, I understand the worry.
So, Tuesday morning, with two more days to hunt, we took a drive over to the South side of the lake and drove around seeing if we could spot any and the stalk on them. To no avail. So we headed back over to Deep Creek and picked up right where we left off. During this particular hunt, we'd seen animals, particularly big bulls for the first 30 minutes in the morning, and the last 45 minutes of daylight in the evening. Everything in between seemed to be futile pursuit of sign and the hope of walking into them bedded down in either the thick pines or in a stand of aspen. OK, let me stop right there, the colors out there, the scenery where just...incredible. There is no way I can put into words the beauty of what the mountains are to me. During the first week, when the cloud layer would move in, it was like a sea of clouds with just the very peaks jutting out of the swirling thick clouds. We made it to the very reaches of each of the peaks on multiple times. Up one canyon there is a stand of red maple with leaves so vibrant so brilliant that it looked almost celestial. I'm serious. With each stiff wind, thousands of golden aspen leaves let go and fluttered down to the ground and littered the already molding and wet leaves from weeks of accumulation. You can see that each little leaf was holding on to the very last moment and finally relented to the coming change in season. Please, someone tell me, what season can bring more appreciation to the cycles of life as does September and the Autumnal change? With each storm that rolls through the temperature shifts lower and lower and the continual reminder of a coming blanket of white is less than weeks away consumes the mind. I found that I hurried my step subconciously, hoping to outpace the inevitable nature of dormancy in the mountains.
So, that night, a cayon across from us, a bunch of bulls commenced bugling. Great screams of bugling. At least three we could hear. So dad and I met up, with around 20minutes of daylight left. I asked him if we should pursue them, to which he replied we couldnt possibly get over to them in time. To which, I reminded him, that i haven't been hitting the heavy bag for an hour on Tuesday mornings, or completing the three hundred on Wednesday mornings, or running 5.5 miles on Fridays and conducting weight training for three other days a week for nothing now. It was time to deliver. So I ran down the mountain, crossed the stream, started up the ridgeline and got into the action. As I caught my breath as I walked in I could hear two distinct pockets of ranting bugling. One on my left, and one on my right. Then I could hear a third bull, right in front of me as I moved closer and closer, trying to calm my heartbeat so they wouldnt hear my Tell Tale Heart. If you haven't read up on your Poe, get some. Anyhow, with seemingly every single step magnified in my ears, snapping twigs as I crept, wincing as I did, I moved step by step closer. The light was fading exponentially toward the negative, and I just wanted to see what bulls we had been listening to. I got down deep into the draw and as I stood there contemplating my next move, a spike bull ran up on my right flank and came to almost a cartoon skidding halt. Him lookin' at me, and me a lookin' at him. I pulled the gun up, cocked the hammer back, and very seriously considered dumping him. Then I realized I'd have to go back to work and explain to everyone how I'd waited ten years to draw a tag, wasn't able to put in for five more years, and it would be another ten or more before I'd draw this tag again, and why I felt it was a good idea to dump an idiot spike with two days left. So we came to an understanding, and he took off right in front of me and toward the bugling insanity above us.
Well, I took about another two hundred yards of trail, sneaking, and hearing the elk on my left stop bugling. So I began looking up toward my right. Then, I saw him. A big bull, right smack in front of me feeding on the trail. He wasn't bugling and seemed oblivious to the chest thumping going on all around us. So I stalked up another twenty yards and he looked right at me. I froze, and he went back to feeding. I pulled up my binoculars, because it was getting so dark I couldnt see which part was head, and which part was a....not. When I figured out which way he was pointing, I ranged him mentally at about eighty yards. Leaned against the tree, and made a bunch of white smoke like we've talked about. Well, he stood there! So, I pounded another charge down the barrel, fiddled with a cap, pulled up and saw him about fifteen feet laterally to the right, I pulled up again, fired, and made a bunch more black powder (Pyrodex actually) stink in the draw. He moved about another five feet, looked around, and so I pounded a third charge in. As I was frantically putting a cap on, he sorta stumbled drunk-like, and started to lay down. So I ran up and closed the gap by about fifty yards, and started to prepare to shoot him again. As I pulled up, he kicked and groaned and grumbled and tried to stand up, to no avail. So I walked up even closer, and thought about putting one in his neck, but realized my second shot had already done so. He expired right there before me, and I called dad on the radio. Dad was above me in the tree line (I think you underestimate his sneeegy-ness) and I walked him in on the radio to where we were. The elk and I of course.
So, the next day we got up, hit the trail head with the two wheeled cart, and cut our way down from the kill sight to the main trail. With a head, cape, four boned-out quarters, me wearing a backpack full of 40 lbs of backstrap, it was...uh....no easy task, to say the least. I'd say an elk laying there on the ground is as big as a standard size horse, so I'd put him around 1200-1400 lbs on the hoof. Once boned out, with the head and the quarters, I'd say we had about 300 lbs of animal on the cart. In fact, when I dropped the quarters at Meyers Meats that night, the scaled the meat out at 170 lb. That's with no bones, and no skin, no head, just...meat.
Anyhow, I hope you enjoyed the rant, I gotta go now. All the best to you and your's of course.
J
So, let's see, hmm....oh yes, so there we were, 25 September, the muzzle loader bull elk hunt about to open the following morning. So dad and I went up Tuesday night to get snuggled into the cabin and prepare for the next morning's hunt. We hunt about seven minutes up the road from where my dad's cabin is by the way. That's including Green Gate time and emptying the trash and not locking the cabin door out of sheer excitement. You'll recall from our earlier conversations that I'd gone up with Brandon and helped him fill his tag the second day of his hunt with a rifle. He got a bruiser of an elk with about a 48" spread and all sorts of points and what-not. It's a nice six-by (means it has six points on either side). But he was a complete monster by the time we got him off the mountain. You'll recall I griped about having to pull the two rear quarters off the mountain myself. Yeah, 117 lb of animal on just two back legs. That's of course AFTER you cut the bottom half of the leg off and just carry down the drumstick (skinned mind you). So, anyhow, I was pretty stoked to get up there and equal Brandon's efforts. Well we did, and then some.
So dad and I got up bright and early around 0430, (that's "4:30" for you civilian types) had a nutricious breakfast of something-er-other and headed for the mountain. We piled into Big Green and headed up to the Deep Creek to have a look around. So, the road was pretty good on the way in, and we drove all the way to the gate as I recall. I honestly can't remember ever elk we saw that day, or the next, or the next. But we saw at least two excellent bulls every day. A few of which I took some pot shots way across a canyon. See, a muzzle loader has a maximum effective range (for this guy anyhow) of about (apparently) 135 yards. Now, I shoot one of the new in-line muzzle loaders. In fact it's a Thompson Center Omega "Dream Season". How apt. Anyhow, it's a far cry from my .54 caliber patch and ball side lock I've been toting around since I was 13. Anyhow, the newer in-lines claim all sorts of fantastic and whimsical accuracy claims and most of them are true. However, whatyou can't get away from, is the fact that the bullet drops like a stone the moment it comes out the barrel. For example, at 50 yards, you may be dead on, but at 100 yards, you may be 8 inches low. At 150 yards you may be 15 inches low. So, throwing a Hail Mary bullet 400 yards across a canyon does nothing more than foul your barrel, create a big white puff of smoke, and get your heart racing. Which, is why I did that around 4 more times before I actually took about an 80 yards shot. Oh, it's important to note at this point, that it rained.....CONSTANTLY....the first three days of the hunt. We were sopping wet and I even got concerned that the bottom of my gun was filling up with water and the bullet wouldnt even fire were I to get a fair and honest shot.
So, sometime during that week we saw a big-(g)as(s) bull right smack across Highway 40 as we were leaving one evening a little more disheveled and none-too-disenfanchised with the whole experience. I took a pot shot at him at outside a hundred yards too by the way. Anyhow, we logged around 14 kilometers which, as it turns out is around seven or eight miles a day on the GPS, which dad and I had a pretty lengthy discussion about. See, I content that those miles are, "as the crow flies" and do not take into account the various ups (and steep ups at that) and downs (steeper downs) that we encountered. I figured real honest to goodness metrics if you figured in the rise and run would mean we were putting on in excesss of 15 miles a day. I say that, because we hiked from 6:30 am, 'till around 8:00 pm with nary an hour sit down in between to have some boiled eggs, kippered snacks, apples and even a sammich on rare occaision. Incidentally, busting out the kippered snacks is a last resort, elk seemingly LOVE the scent of them. I mean, who DOESNT love fish pickled in lemon and cracked pepper??? (smirk)
So, about Friday night, well....Friday night to be exact, we took our tenderfeet (literally) home to soak in a nice hot shower (dudes dont bath. Washing your face in butt-water is just disgusting). Anyhow, Josh had a big game against Bingham on Saturday and I had my ten and eleven year olds to teach on Sunday. I also reasoned, that if I continued to keep the Sabath holy, that He would bless me with a monster elk at exactly fifty yards broadside, with the wind blowing toward me. Or...something like that. Truth be told, I'm getting soft and three days of fifteen miles each were taking their toll.
So, Sunday night (not AS holy as Sun(DAY)) we left right after church and got up there around 3:30 in the afternoon. I placed myself high on a hillside nestled up under some aspens an watched a convergence of trails. Dad was bird-doggin' for me and went further up the mountain to push down to me. Well, sitting for me is just painful. I think I have adult A.D.D. Anyhow, so about an hour later, I heard an elk crashing through about 200 yards below me, so I got up to intercept him on the trail crossing. Well, he heard me, probably because I let out a cow mew, and he stopped dead in his tracks before he daylighted. So, I walked back up to my spot and sat down, a little sad, a little dejected, with a little, semblance of a tear at just the corner of my right eye. So, anyhow, I had no sooner sat down, and looked to my left and saw a huge bull behind a set of aspens. He was nervous and looking around for me. He couldnt smell me. I figured he was about fifty yards. The previous days I had glimpses at bulls at around eighty yards, and on at least two occaissions could only see their neck and head, and couldnt get a shot for the vitals. So, fearing he was about to bolt, I picked a spot on his neck, rested against a tree, and made a whole lot of white smoke and a loud noise. Well, it's important at this point to set the record straight. See, the week before the hunt someone told me the bullets that I was sighted in with were sucky. Barnes bullets were what I was using. They're solid copper and fly really well. Additionally, I was using 150 grains of powder, and after careful review discoved my gun is only rated for 130 grains of powder. So I did two dumb things, 1) I switched to from a 245 grain solid copper bullet, to a 348 grain bullet. The Barnes bullet is jacketed with a sabot, or plastic wad, and the other bullet...hey, I saw that, you yawned!!! Annnnnnnnnnnyways...I shot, and missed at his neck. I simply could not BELIEVE I missed. It's in-con-cievable!!! So...I apparently missed. Because the only shot I had was at his neck, and there would have been a great abundance of blood at the site were 348 grains of lead jacketed in copper come to a screaching halt in something's neck.
So, to make a long story longer (deep breath)....Monday was about the same, until that night. Monday night....was....AWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWESOME! I got down into the aspens and stalked into two bulls fighting over a bunch of cows. Then there was another huge bull up on the ridgeline bugling like Hell and a general sense of malaise down in that general vicinity. So, with about fourteen minutes of daylight left, I hauled arse over three ridges and put the stalk on them. I'm quite a stalker off the record. ;) So, anyhows...I got into these animals and let out a mew. The bull started walking toward me but then turned to the side and back down to resume talking trash with the two other bulls. I saw a glimpse of him through the thicket and new I couldnt get a clear shot. I'd already run off the bull on the ridgeline, and the second bull that was fighting with the one below me started walking across the expanse between the aspens. I'd say he was about 200 yards out and I just didnt feel I could reach him all things considered. So, I waitd for an opening in the trees below me. One came, and I had a chance at the bull. I let one of the Barnes bullets fly (I'd switched back after my "Major" miss). Smoke filled the night sky. He and a few cows started across the hill side, and I fiddle-fumbled around for my quick load. I couldnt get my cap off, and I couldnt get the bullet out of the plastic sleeve and he continued to walk majestically broadside (in slow motion) and by the time I got another shot off he was well out there. I presume I missed him, because he didnt so much as give two chits I'd even fired and just collected up his cows and walked off. I tell you what, that was the most incredible experience, and I would have ended my hunt right there quite content to know I'd experienced something very very few can ever imagine. So, also of import, is to note that the entire time we hunted, dad's communication devices always failed. One day he could hear me on the walkey talky, but couldnt reply. One day he had his phone, but mine was out of batteries, and one day they actually worked. This night for example. He asked me about every four minutes if I was close to the truck yet. I attribute that to his paternal worry for me. I have a headlamp, but I guess he was worried I couldnt figure out one ridgeline and a beeline for the truck with a halogen lamp. But, as a father, I understand the worry.
So, Tuesday morning, with two more days to hunt, we took a drive over to the South side of the lake and drove around seeing if we could spot any and the stalk on them. To no avail. So we headed back over to Deep Creek and picked up right where we left off. During this particular hunt, we'd seen animals, particularly big bulls for the first 30 minutes in the morning, and the last 45 minutes of daylight in the evening. Everything in between seemed to be futile pursuit of sign and the hope of walking into them bedded down in either the thick pines or in a stand of aspen. OK, let me stop right there, the colors out there, the scenery where just...incredible. There is no way I can put into words the beauty of what the mountains are to me. During the first week, when the cloud layer would move in, it was like a sea of clouds with just the very peaks jutting out of the swirling thick clouds. We made it to the very reaches of each of the peaks on multiple times. Up one canyon there is a stand of red maple with leaves so vibrant so brilliant that it looked almost celestial. I'm serious. With each stiff wind, thousands of golden aspen leaves let go and fluttered down to the ground and littered the already molding and wet leaves from weeks of accumulation. You can see that each little leaf was holding on to the very last moment and finally relented to the coming change in season. Please, someone tell me, what season can bring more appreciation to the cycles of life as does September and the Autumnal change? With each storm that rolls through the temperature shifts lower and lower and the continual reminder of a coming blanket of white is less than weeks away consumes the mind. I found that I hurried my step subconciously, hoping to outpace the inevitable nature of dormancy in the mountains.
So, that night, a cayon across from us, a bunch of bulls commenced bugling. Great screams of bugling. At least three we could hear. So dad and I met up, with around 20minutes of daylight left. I asked him if we should pursue them, to which he replied we couldnt possibly get over to them in time. To which, I reminded him, that i haven't been hitting the heavy bag for an hour on Tuesday mornings, or completing the three hundred on Wednesday mornings, or running 5.5 miles on Fridays and conducting weight training for three other days a week for nothing now. It was time to deliver. So I ran down the mountain, crossed the stream, started up the ridgeline and got into the action. As I caught my breath as I walked in I could hear two distinct pockets of ranting bugling. One on my left, and one on my right. Then I could hear a third bull, right in front of me as I moved closer and closer, trying to calm my heartbeat so they wouldnt hear my Tell Tale Heart. If you haven't read up on your Poe, get some. Anyhow, with seemingly every single step magnified in my ears, snapping twigs as I crept, wincing as I did, I moved step by step closer. The light was fading exponentially toward the negative, and I just wanted to see what bulls we had been listening to. I got down deep into the draw and as I stood there contemplating my next move, a spike bull ran up on my right flank and came to almost a cartoon skidding halt. Him lookin' at me, and me a lookin' at him. I pulled the gun up, cocked the hammer back, and very seriously considered dumping him. Then I realized I'd have to go back to work and explain to everyone how I'd waited ten years to draw a tag, wasn't able to put in for five more years, and it would be another ten or more before I'd draw this tag again, and why I felt it was a good idea to dump an idiot spike with two days left. So we came to an understanding, and he took off right in front of me and toward the bugling insanity above us.
Well, I took about another two hundred yards of trail, sneaking, and hearing the elk on my left stop bugling. So I began looking up toward my right. Then, I saw him. A big bull, right smack in front of me feeding on the trail. He wasn't bugling and seemed oblivious to the chest thumping going on all around us. So I stalked up another twenty yards and he looked right at me. I froze, and he went back to feeding. I pulled up my binoculars, because it was getting so dark I couldnt see which part was head, and which part was a....not. When I figured out which way he was pointing, I ranged him mentally at about eighty yards. Leaned against the tree, and made a bunch of white smoke like we've talked about. Well, he stood there! So, I pounded another charge down the barrel, fiddled with a cap, pulled up and saw him about fifteen feet laterally to the right, I pulled up again, fired, and made a bunch more black powder (Pyrodex actually) stink in the draw. He moved about another five feet, looked around, and so I pounded a third charge in. As I was frantically putting a cap on, he sorta stumbled drunk-like, and started to lay down. So I ran up and closed the gap by about fifty yards, and started to prepare to shoot him again. As I pulled up, he kicked and groaned and grumbled and tried to stand up, to no avail. So I walked up even closer, and thought about putting one in his neck, but realized my second shot had already done so. He expired right there before me, and I called dad on the radio. Dad was above me in the tree line (I think you underestimate his sneeegy-ness) and I walked him in on the radio to where we were. The elk and I of course.
So, laying there on the ground I assumed was a smaller than I'd wanted bull. It was almost dark as dad got up to me, and we decided to field dress him, and cape him out for the taxidermist. Caping by the way, is no easy chore, and it took us in excess of an hour to just take the skin off his upper and get the head off. Between here and there we field dressed him, which, on an elk you have to pretty much climb up inside of them to do. So, we took the two rear legs off and let him cool out for the night (quite literally) and agreed to come back and get him in the morning with the cart. We got back that night to the cabin at around eleven pm and fell asleep (after an initial washing of arms, face, legs and throwing clothes away). By the way, I ripped my pants that morning which, I'd also done on Brandon's hunt after getting his bull, so I think we're starting a trend. If I rip a pair of pants, you'd better get ready to pack elk.
So, the next day we got up, hit the trail head with the two wheeled cart, and cut our way down from the kill sight to the main trail. With a head, cape, four boned-out quarters, me wearing a backpack full of 40 lbs of backstrap, it was...uh....no easy task, to say the least. I'd say an elk laying there on the ground is as big as a standard size horse, so I'd put him around 1200-1400 lbs on the hoof. Once boned out, with the head and the quarters, I'd say we had about 300 lbs of animal on the cart. In fact, when I dropped the quarters at Meyers Meats that night, the scaled the meat out at 170 lb. That's with no bones, and no skin, no head, just...meat.
Anyhow, I gotta go get some stuff done. Cleaning out the freezer and realizing just the two quarters of meat from Brandon's have filledup my whole deep freeze. Let alone another 160 lb of meat coming. So, anyhow, people are hovering around me and talking too loud to focus anyhow, so I'll close now.
If you ever get the chance you have to hunt these incredible animals. If not for meat, for pictures, and if not for pictures, just for the experience of hearing the haunting sounds of September. As the clouds roll in and you stand at 9000 feet, looking down on the world, which was created for just me and you, you can't help but know there's a grand design in it all.
Anyhow, I hope you enjoyed the rant, I gotta go now. All the best to you and your's of course.
J
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
Green Gates and Knuckle Draggers...
Hey there. How YOU doin'? Yeah, I'm back in town. Please try to contain your enthusiasm. So, today is Tuesday and I have the day off. I was off yesterday as well. I have a bunch of days of leave to use up and I can't focus at work. See, I'm getting a new gig. Yeah, I know, you're probably almost as excited as I am to hear it. I'm moving to Camp Williams. I'm going to work at Range Control as the Range Control Officer. I've never had a desire to work at Camp so this will be a nice change of pace. I've been working as the Personnel Officer for a brigade at Draper for about a year and HRO finally found a home for me. I was pretty much on loan while they found someone a little softer (and doughier) around the edges. I am not so sure that Military Intelligence guys feel really comfortable with a dirty old Engineer Officer in their midst. It was like I had cooties. I think what the best part about it was the condescending way in which they talk down to us knuckle-dragging engineers that makes me chuckle. I think they have this idea that we all chew tobacco and cuss constantly and say irreverent things and threaten (and often deliver) on breaking things and killing people. Nothing could be further from the truth however, as I dont use smokeless tobacco.
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
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
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