Looking out over the red stone of the ridgeline, I saw a herd of mule deer, brown bodies immediately visible against the white hillside. There were roughly 40, spread out foraging on the forbs poking through the fresh snow. They were no more than 200 yards from where we stood. We had hiked in a mile and a half from the truck and reached the first high point for glassing. We had been right. Today was a good day to get out. “There’s a buck,” Brian said. Nothing too big, a 3x2.
We pulled our binoculars up and started to glass the rest of the basin. Two more groups were identified in short order. These sets were smaller: a buck, doe combo in one; a buck and two does in the other. This buck was the largest. “That’d be a solid Washington deer,” Brian said, reminding me that I came home empty handed on my hunt there this year.
The sun rose and the temperature climbed accordingly. I was thoroughly enjoying relaxing there, following the deer and scanning the wintry landscape. Neither of us were looking to harvest a deer so we were just left to savor the moment, enjoying the wild animals before us, the impressive scenery behind them, and, after hiking in, the now comfortable temperatures in the mid-20s.
The front range of Montana as a backdrop was impressive, a large conical peak to our North, the full-blown Rockies to our West, and rolling fingers, draws and occasional sawtooth points throughout. A lone coyote emerged, climbing one of the fingers near the trio of deer spotted earlier. Hundreds of snow geese covered the sky.
I started to think that I’d be okay if we didn’t see an elk today. While that was the given objective of a day starting pre-dawn, it was the last day of a successful multi-species hunting trip, so I may have been feeling grateful for my luck.
On the other hand, sitting there enjoying the sun, I could imagine us spotting a legal animal a few hours and few miles later, then adding on a long stalk, and then an even longer pack out, extending our day into the late hours of the evening or night. I then thought of the drive back to the coast the next day. I was tired just thinking about it. I took my time glassing and snapping a few photographs.
Yet, we left our post to continue the hunt. We started down to a creek bed to avoid spooking the deer, not wanting them to alert other animals something was amiss. We walked for a hundred yards or so, popped up for a quick look-see, then squirrelled back down in the ravine to continue on. Being only a few years into hunting, everything I did took a few seconds longer. Brian would stand up, mount his binoculars, scan the landscape and spot a couple more mulies. I was just setting eyes on the deer as he was already moving on.
We continued another hundred yards and stepped up again. I scanned a far ridge seeing a few deer foraging. Two shapes came into the top right frame of my binos, lighter in color and greater in stature than the deer. They moved steadily along a game trail midway up the far hillside. Elk. Brian whispered and smoothly ducked down as I did the same. The chase was on.
* * *
The alarm on the phone sounded; 4:45am. After three days of pre-dawn wake ups and a few drinks at the local tavern the night prior, the thought of muting the phone, dozing a couple more hours and grabbing pancakes at the local diner was more than tempting.
“What do you think?” came from across the room.
“I’ve never regretted an early wake-up…but I have regretted hitting the snooze button,” I said. I wasn’t sure I meant it and wouldn’t have put up a fight if it was countered.
We threw our clothes on, made a pot of coffee in the small-town inn’s kitchenette, and hit the road by 5:15am, two and half hours before sunrise. The temperature on the dash read 10°F. A fresh coat of snow hung on the road and fields. Everything was still, outside of the so-named “Dodge Tundra” driving toward the mountains.
We braved the wind and snow the day before, lying in ground blinds hunting geese in the morning capturing a limit or so for our group of four. The snow continued through the day as we switched to pheasant in the afternoon, harvesting our share.
The day before that was similar, but with nicer weather and more success, getting a limit of geese for each of us, along with a several ducks and a dozen or so upland birds, including roosters, huns, and sharptailed grouse. As a hunter and angler, I continue to tell myself that braving the rough weather is when you have the best days, despite having many counterfactuals like the above. The first day of the hunt, with a 4:30am wake-up, saw us harvest two Whitetail does.
I could already taste the venison backstrap with chimichurri. The gumbo with goose andouille. The pho with thinly sliced duck breasts, made from slow roasted venison broth. My freezer was set. My family would be eating well for the year, knowing exactly where each piece of meat that hit the table came from.
Why push forward with one more early start when odds were against us? How often do you get a chance to learn from an experienced friend? To explore new public lands? Future toddler and work responsibilities be damned, I was excited for the opportunity.
We pulled up the trailhead and readied ourselves. Gaiters pulled on with the scrape of Velcro closing. Jackets were zipped on and bino harnesses tightened. I took a last swig of warm coffee and slammed the truck door, ready to get at ‘em. “Shhhh,” I was lectured. “You want to scare away all the bulls from here to Alberta?”
We started off. The alpenglow of the coming sunrise reflected off the fresh snow. The peaks we headed to were only visible as silhouettes. Though cold, it felt good to move, and I had confidence I’d warm up soon enough. A little while later, Brian stopped to drop a layer, already sweating. I felt a little redemption in my outdoor capabilities. Backcountry skiing taught me how quickly activity can make 10-20° feel balmy.
When we reached the ridgeline and spotted deer, I took out my wife’s camera, stolen for the weekend. I didn’t know what I was doing but popped it into auto-mode and hoped my novice framing skills and post-shot editing could turn a couple photos into something worth printing. I snapped pics of Brian glassing the landscape and attempted to get the deer as well.
I’m not normally content in the observation position, but today I was happy to be out without a tag, trading in the rifle for the camera. I’d like to think it’s because I’d become more easy-going and just enjoyed the opportunity to learn and partake in the adventure. If I’m honest though, paraphrasing Churchill, I’d already tried everything else first before settling on the right action. I was content because past failures taught me I had a lot yet to learn. That and the previously mentioned stocked freezer.
* * *
Quickly ducking down, I verified with Brian that they were in fact bulls. My glance didn’t allow me to see their antlers though I did have a suspicion, a lone pair traveling as they were, that they were likely males.
We paused for a second and considered the play. We were in the basin formed by a large mountain to our Northeast and ridgelines extending to its West and South. The elk were on the nearside of the ridge to the mountain’s south, and they were working across the front of the mountain toward the other ridgeline where there were pockets of trees. They were travelling a path visible to us, and therefore, we would be visible to them if we slipped up. Being in the front country, timber was sparse. If we followed the drainage, we’d be sure not to spook the elk, but would add on mileage and risk losing them. If we cut toward them, or even worked a parallel path, we risked raising alarm bells.
We followed the drainage a little while, adding some distance, before making the gambit of sky-lining ourselves crossing to another creek bed. For a couple minutes, but what felt longer, we were visible in our green and brown clothes clumsily crossing the snow. We walked at an angle away from the elk, hoping that if they did look our way, they wouldn’t be concerned of two awkward predators walking in the wrong direction (one of those priceless little tricks that I picked up that day as a new hunter). Not busted yet.
After making some distance, we then started our climb up a finger toward the northern ridgeline. We were no longer visible and needed to start cutting our distance to the elks’ path. I was feeling a little out of shape but despite this, I was able to mostly keep pace as we gained elevation. I also opted to sit back and rest while Brian slowly peeked around the ridge to keep tabs on the elk. The last thing I wanted to do was spook the elk and I needed the brief periods of rest. I snapped a few photos here and there, continuing to hope something would turn out.
We reached the ridgeline, and found the tracks, easily identifiable in the snow. They led into some light patches of Douglas Fir, where a suspected bedding location might be. We slowed our pace and followed the tracks at first, pausing every ten yards or so to look and listen for motion. After a hundred yards we started moving above the tracks, ensuring we wouldn’t fall into their trick of circling back above their path.
Another 100 yards of this, Brian’s posture stiffened suddenly from our careful stalk. He ran forward. I held my breath. The elk were out of my sight, but I knew we had jumped their bed and they were off. The next few seconds would mark the culmination of the morning’s efforts starting back at the inn miles and hours away.
Brian stood upright, and fired one shot off-hand. Brian’s body language, still in predatorial focus, marked that it was a miss. The excitement of the first shot was out of the way. He slowed down. Stabilized the rifle’s bipod on the ground. Worked the bolt to chamber a second round. A breath was taken. Another shot fired.
His eyes zeroed in while his posture relaxed. It was clearly a hit. Brian formed a smile and I realized it was a good shot. I walked up to him and spotted the bull 60 yards off, laying in the snow with its head up. We had a quick exchange of excitement before moving in slowly.
The elk was still alive but not long for this world. The shot, made from a rear quartering position, had inflicted a debilitating wound, but he was still conscious at this moment. One last shot from the rifle ended his misery.
The antlers indicated a relatively young bull, but he was sizable in body, around a quarter ton. His body carried out a couple more breaths, a chest the size of a wine barrel, expanding and shrinking. His eyes still stared out, as if taking in their last sights.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t choked up. In both statue and wile, it far outmatched any quarry I’d hunted prior. He was truly wild. In this setting, a stir of emotions hit me. Exhilaration, a climactic end to a mile-long stalk where all thought was focused on the pursuit. Gratefulness, at the meat to come, and for being a part of this setting and experience. Sadness, at the life just extinguished. Fraternity, in doing all this in lockstep with a close friend.
* * *
For a first elk hunt, this had it all. Picturesque public lands, multitudes of wildlife, good exercise, and an amazing pursuit in the spot and stalk style. I learned a lot in both tactics and strategies, but also more about what a day in the field gives you. I also learned what it feels like to pack out 300lbs of meat and bone from the backcountry.
For anyone concerned about taking out a novice, I’ll provide this unsolicited thought. Brian ended up punching his tag, and even if it wasn’t a Boone & Crockett bull, I know it ranks up there for him in memorable hunts based on the camaraderie, the ability to share his knowledge, and for being encouraged to skip the snooze button when he may not have otherwise.
Better yet, he also had someone who was genuinely excited to strap 80lbs on the back, hike three miles back to the truck, and then turn right around to do it a second time. I did lay claim to a quarter though. I had already started dreaming of slowly braised Elk ragu, its aroma emanating from the dutch oven of our urban kitchen.
I know I’m ready to go for Elk again. Next time, I’ll pack my rifle.
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