Elk Hunting Log
2002
By
Chris Hildebrandt
Wednesday, October 2: The day was spent dreaming about the big wapiti my hunting buddies and I would be chasing over the rugged Idaho wilderness in the ensuing days. Our hunting party would consist of myself, my two uncles John and Bob, who got me started in this addictive and dangerous love we call hunting, and Jeff Fisker, a long-time friend of Bob’s and now good pal of John and me. I started packing my Ford Ranger at noon, feeling a little more than confident in the little truck that would carry me and my full elk hunting arsenal to the rugged mountains of the Frank Church River of No Return Wilderness.
(Now, I should be honest and tell you I didn’t always have this faith in old “Uncle Jessie.” Just two years prior, driving all over Colorado and Idaho with a cracked cylinder head, put my nerves and patience to the test, not to mention the engine, trying to climb the mountain grades with a V-6 that barely qualified as a 4-banger. In fact, the only way I could reach speeds over 60 mph, even on flat ground, was by drafting behind an accommodating truck driver cruising at 70 mph with power to spare. With that lesson learned, and a fortune spent on Alumaseal (leak sealer), I decided to purchase a used 4.0 V-6 in good running shape to replace the Preston (I couldn’t resist) hemorrhaging 2.9 V-6. Although it took some doing, I learned everything a person needs to know about swapping the two engines and in turn know the engine will last).
With a full load and a good luck kiss from Malia, I hit the road at 1700 PST. My goal was to drive as far as I could until tiring and then rest for an hour or two at a roadside rest stop. At least I didn’t have to drive through Utah, a State that plagued me while driving through on other hunting trips. Thankfully, the drive went smoothly and I arrived at a rest stop in Oregon at approximately 0200 in the “early.”
Thursday, October 3: After enjoying a three-hour Power-nap, I re-entered my coordinates in the onboard computer, a Western US map in multiple pieces, and headed for Emmett, Idaho, where I would be meeting the Llama master, Jeff Fisker. If there were such a thing as reincarnation, Jeff would have likely been a mountain goat in his past life. This man can hike up any mountain like it was a walk down the street to your neighbors Bar-B-Que, with a free Keg. Jeff and I were to meet at 0900 hours on the corner of Second Street and Main Street in Emmett. I arrived at 0853 to find that the city was undergoing some nice street renovations to improve traffic efficiency. As only my luck would have it, the only street they had closed off for construction purposes was 2nd st. I stopped by a nearby quickee mart for gas and made several frantic calls to all of Jeff’s phone contacts, to no avail.
After fueling, I began to drive around in hopes of finding Jeff. As I looked ahead of me a few blocks, I noticed a trailer with Llama’s heads sticking out; I found him. When I got behind him, Jeff stopped in the middle of the road (it is Idaho you know!) and gave me an Oregonian hand shake. From there we headed toward Stanley, ID, with Jeff and the llllammmas taking the lead. I never realized my Ranger could get 30+ miles per gallon, it helps following a truck towing a big load. I also never realized how stinky a diesel engine can be, I backed off ½ mile. Jeff and I arrived in Stanley, ID around noon and stopped to fill our tanks; we got some fuel for the trucks too. We arrived at the rendezvous a short while after, looking for the uncles.
The meeting location was a quaint (can you say that in a hunting log?) store just off of highway 75 that leads into the wilderness. Jeff and I had a chance to unwind from the drive and take in the scenery. We met a nice (starving) little ditch tiger that probably had not eaten since the store closed after summer. Uncle John arrived soon, from down off the mountain, to tell us he had bombed straight up from CO last night to base camp. He had originally planned to meet Bob in Challis, ID, but got to driving and did not want to stop. Bob soon arrived after finding all the “I’m jammin’ up the mountain” letters left by John at the store in Challis.
The drive into base camp was trip back in time as we passed by some towns that had been abandoned long ago. The habitat was beautiful and diverse (we later learned just how diverse it was) and full of wildlife. Base camp was already set up by UJ and was situated near the North Fork Creek, which we would be traversing the next day. After a rousing meal and much elk hunt chatter, we prepared our packs for the next day’s jaunt and then hit the sack for much needed rest (under statement of the hunt).
Friday, October 4: The alarm clocks began the hike as we finished preparing our packs for the long hike ahead. A hearty breakfast gave our bodies the fuel needed to keep our muscles heading toward the 8,500’ spike camp. Our last elk hunt with the llamas did not prepare me for what lie ahead.
UJ and I arrived (with the ranger running on 4 cylinders) to find that Jeff had walked all the way (6 miles) out from spike camp to ferry our loads on the llamas backs (He probably could have done it himself but he didn’t want to make the llamas feel bad). All we had to carry was our guns, and we hunted the whole way to camp, talk about spoiled.
For this hike, we would need to carry our entire personal and hunting needs on our backs, sans food and cookware that were carried by the llamas. When I got my pack readied and hefted on to my back, I was shocked by the weight. The last time I felt that kind of weight on my back, I was packing out an entire de-boned deer in the Trinity Alps of northwestern CA. For this trek, we were to hike gradually up 8 miles along a creek, cross it ten times, then cover 3 miles and 2,000’ of altitude to the area we chose as our spike camp. Honestly, I did not think it would be that bad, just time consuming (Overstatement of the hunt).
UB and I headed out first, ahead of the llamas, and it didn’t take long to get our feet wet in the first creek crossing. For the first 4 miles, I did O.K., I could keep up and really didn’t feel that bad. Further on, UJ and Jeff with the Llamas caught up and added some lively elk discussions to the mix. A cow moose heightened our (everybody but me saw her, I was too tired and straining to place every foot for the utmost in energy savings) awareness that we were in the habitat. I think it was the creek crossings that started to tire my body, and the altitude change from the day before (60’ to 6,700’) was not helping. Even though we were more than half way there, the full body drain I was experiencing was working in an exponential manner. Everything it took to live, breathing, eating, etc. was draining to me on that day. Prior to the trail that heads up the mountain for the steep hike, I had fallen behind the rest of the group. I just kept my nose to the ground and kept following the trail. Soon thereafter, I noticed that there were no more llama tracks, or people tracks on the trail anymore, and realized I lost the group. I started circling and back-tracking to try and find their tracks, nothing. I finally hiked almost all the way back to where I last saw them and found a little sign off the main trail that hid from me before. Feeling a little more in control of my surroundings, I started up the trail and the major elevation stretch of the hike in.
About a half mile in and thoroughly exhausted, I met Jeff, the mountain goat, who had come back down to see what was taking me so long. He offered to take my pack and let me walk without it for a while, and although I proudly refused at first, he would have none of it and strapped my pack on. We were making better time now that I had a rope tied to jeff, just kidding, although that would have helped. We stopped to eat and drink a bit about 2 miles up and took in the breathtaking scenery, or was it the altitude that took my breath? Anyway, we continued on and met with the uncles near base camp and began with the search for the flattest ground. After finding the only flat 20’ square piece of ground on the mountain, we began the tedious process of setting up the tent and unpacking paniards. With my wetland restoration and watershed background, no I am not talking about all the bathroom breaks I take, I was given the honor of making a dam in the nearby stream to pond water for a gravity feed line to the water packs. My exhaustion got worse and worse even after a hearty meal and laying down early in the evening.
Saturday October 5: I awoke the next morning feeling even worse, altitude sickness seemed to have a grip on me so strong, that I wasn’t even able to hunt opening morning. If you know me, you know I had to be feeling pretty bad. Jeff and John got back to camp about mid-day and told me of their exploits. Jeff did not see too much sign and did not get any shots and UJ saw a small raghorn elk several miles to the west. But when he bugled at the bull to see if he would move closer, the bull turned and ran. I said, “let’s go get that bull in the morning” and UJ agreed. Later in the day, after popping copious amounts of pills at Jeff’s suggestion, I started to get revived, in a really quick manner. I grabbed my gun and ventured out into the woods around camp to see if I could get lucky and site an unlucky elk, and also to test my endurance. Needless to say, I took it slow, just to make sure I didn’t have a relapse. It was one of those times when you feel one with the forest, walking so softly that it goes unnoticed, hearing all the wildlife around you and picking out various species.
I got back to camp just before sunset, drawn by the great smells coming out of the tent. UB was working on dinner and we all discussed our excursions of the day and planned hunts for tomorrow. I was really excited to be able to go hunting the next morning, and UJ and I did decide to go after the small bull he had seen that day. UB’s knees were bothering him and he would be hunting close to camp. Jeff would go and watch a draw that he had seen that day for any elk activity. Dinner did us all some good and Jeff made brownies for dessert, this guy really knows how to camp! I popped a few hundred more pills and went off to la-la land.
Sunday, October 6: The next morning woke me with a newfound exuberance for the hunt, and after a hearty bowl of hot oatmeal and soothing coffee, UJ and I wished our comrades good luck and set out after the bull. The first part of the hike was up the trail, 1,000’ in elevation to the ridge, as our camp was below the ridge. Once at the top, I had to perform my daily rectum router, a process heaped in the lore of elk hunts of prior years and not without misfortune. Like the bull I just missed because I was 10 minutes late after my daily duty. UJ and I started walking the ridge and almost immediately came across some elk tracks, a group of cows by the look of their sign, little chocolate maltos and tracks sans dew claws. We began tracking our obviously wary query along the ridge but they managed to stay ahead of us. Although we hit very fresh sign on many occasions, we were never able to get a glimpse of the cows. A few miles of this hide and seek and their tracks finally veered of the ridge to the north, but we were headed to the southwest, so we ventured onward toward the bull.
Having known where the bull would be down the ridge, we thought it would be a good idea to drop down on the backside of the ridge we were on to avoid being seen by the bull. The terrain was quite steep and rocky and not for the clumsy footed, we even had to hold onto brush to keep from sliding down the hill on occasion. This is when I started to think that this was not elk hunting habitat, but rather elk hiding habitat. My theory was further etched when I looked off to the north, further on the talus slope, and saw a mountain goat (no it was not Jeff, but a real honest to goodness goat). Soon UJ and I worked our way around the ridge and crossed over where we would not be seen, always keeping mountain or vegetation between us and the presumed location of the bull. Standing in a draw with UJ glassing I noticed a higher vantage up the ridge that I could spy and still be hid from the bull. Once I got to the top only about 70 yards from UJ, I heard the greatest sound ever, a bull bugle from down the mountain, where UJ said it would be. As my eyes instinctively searched the source of the wapiti cry, I glimpsed the huge ass of an elk disappearing into the trees from a 20’ wide opening on one of the finger-like ridges some 800 yards down the mountain. That had to be the animal I heard bugle, a bull!
UJ soon joined me and said pointing down to the area I had just seen the bull “that is where I saw the bull yesterday,” and I told him I just saw him. He looked at me in astonishment and before he could say anything, the bull let off another eerie bugle, slighted because of the elevation difference and distance. UJ and I began making a game plan for this bull. From on top of the ridge, we could see that most of the finger ridges that ran off our main ridge, went down to the same place, a heavily treed area with flatter slope (less than 45%) than surrounding habitat, the home of the bull. I had suggested hiking further down the ridge to drop down on one of the finger ridges away from the bull and then pop back over when we neared the bull. UJ’s approach was to take the nearest finger ridge heading down to the bull, talus slope or not, and bomb down after the bull, head on. As wisdom gives into experience, we took UJ’s course, straight down the almost vertical talus slope, toward our goal. It must have taken us a half hour to get within hunting range of the bull, all the while making more noise than a train wreck as we stumbled and feel our way down the shale and slate covered slope. Even though I made my objections known, we traveled on, finally reaching the end of the steep shale and more open vegetation. We both found some trees to hide behind so we could listen, look and not be seen. The bull bugled again, and the closeness made the hairs on my neck stand on end. I responded with a cow call to let the bull know who it was that just came tromping down the slope. A few seconds later the bull roared back, and decidedly closer, just down in front of me and to the left, but still remaining hidden in the trees and behind the ridge. I tried more suggestive hyper hot cow calls and the bull responded but would not come out of the cover. I started making my way from tree to bush to rock, inching my way closer to a better vantage where I might see the bull. Still answering the bull’s bugles with cow calls, I am amazed at the different sounds the bull is emitting from his buglers. From low bugles to roars, to grunts, I really felt privileged to be taking part in his choir. However, I started to get the feeling that I need to make something happen. The bull is now running back and forth in the trees, on either side of my ridge so I decide to traverse down the left side of the ridge toward the trees, only now, the bugles come from the ridge to the right on mine. Now I am on the back side of the ridge and still can’t see the bull, and he jumped one ridge over. I looked to see where UJ was, but he must have stayed up higher.
It was crunch time, I new where the bull was, from my improvised triangulation, but the only place I could get a view of the ridge he was on was to go to the top of my ridge, that was barren of anything to hide behind. So after 45 minutes of playing music with the bull, I decided to just do it, heck, Mike would, wouldn’t he? So I hiked up to the top of the ridge, in plain site for all to see, and started straining my eyes at the tree-laden ridge side across from me. Within 5 seconds I heard a loud bark, it sounded like a mix between a dogs bark and a bird chirp. I knew exactly what it was, a cow elk that was around the bull had spotted me and let me know it. Unfortunately for her boyfriend, I knew that where there is a cow, there is a bull. So again, I let my swaro’s concentrate on the sound of the cow and almost immediately spied the bull’s head and neck in a miniscule opening in some trees standing sidehill, and looking right at me. I saw antlers and that was all I needed for verification. At this point I looked around at where I could get a shot off, but nothing presented itself. See, I could see the bull from eyesight level, but laying down or kneeling would take the bull out the puny opening in the trees. I reminded myself to remain calm and fought off elk-fever desires to unleash 8+ years of elkless hunting and shoot, shoot, shoot, shoot, for goodness sake, shoot!
I thought that if I got higher up the ridge, I would have a better chance of gleaning an open site picture free of trees on the bulls ridge and mine. I found a rock outcropping 40 yards up the ridge and again looked for the bull. I found him and instantly made a rest on the rock for the gun using my fanny pack and coat. I was not able to find good footing with this rest so I had to move further up the rock. Here I found a good rest and barely adequate footing, it was all I could do to keep from sliding off the rock. Finally, I placed the crosshairs on the animals shoulder, now quartering toward me just off center and facing downhill. Having used UB’s rangefinders earlier during the bugling concert, I estimated the bull at just over 300 yards on the opposite hillside. Having shot my Savage M16FSS short action in .300 WSM and zeroed it at 300 yards, I simply had to hold the crosshairs on my target and shoot. With the crosshairs locked on to the onside shoulder and favoring the rear, I relaxed, flipped off the safety, breathed out slowly and squeezed the trigger until the gun went off. The bull immediately ran side hill out of the opening and into more trees and it sounded like it went down with the sound of thrashing and tree limbs breaking. Then I saw him step into another opening and stop, just staring straight ahead and standing broadside on the hill. I had confidence in my first shot, but then just realized I had held on the rear of the shoulder on an elk quartering toward me. Major mistake, I should have held forward of the shoulder in hopes of catching the onside and offside lungs. So with this unfortunate realization and the fact that this may be my first elk ever, I am not about to let pride keep me from putting an animal down that is still standing. So this time I reassured my self that yes, bullet placement behind the shoulder is the right shot. I steadied the gun, calmed my breathing, relaxed, and squeezed the trigger until the gun went, all the while keeping the crosshairs trained on the animals lungs.
With this shot, probably not more than 10 seconds from the first, I again lost site of the animal but heard it crashing down the hill, breaking trees, mowing over brush, etc. Still the hillside is too dense to see the animal, but I am certain that shot connected for a lethal kill. The first thing I remember doing is radioing the rest of the guys, “Elk down.” Jeff answered back from camp, “Are you sure it’s down?” and replied that I can’t see it but I believe it is. We later found out that when my first shot rang out across the mountains, my uncle Bob was about 50 yards from camp heading down the trail back to base camp due to aching knees. Once he heard the shot, he knew it was UJ or myself and rushed back up to join Jeff and see what the commotion was all about.
I figured John would either try to shoot the cow or make his way down to my vantage so I waited for UJ to touch bases with him, and also to share this experience with him. He arrived 5 minutes later and we talked a little about the stalk and kill and I told him where I thought the bull was and that I had hear some death moans, ensuring the majestic bull had expired. I suppose whenever someone kills an animal, they have a moment of reflection, out respect for the harvested animal. And this moment was no exception, I felt utterly satisfied and pleased with the happenings and yet felt remorse for the wonderful creature I had harvested.
UJ and I started down my ridge and up the bull’s ridge toward the point when I last shot and saw the bull. Before reaching that location, UJ cut some blood and convinced me to drop my line and just concentrate on the blood. Within seconds we found more, and then more, the amount of which growing exponentially. A few more seconds and we were in eyesight of the magnificent bull marred precariously among 3 trees that stopped his fall to the bottom of the draw. I snapped a few pictures at this “moment of first sight” and then we continued down the steep incline to the bull to marvel at his beauty. We were instantly impressed by his size, probably weighing close to 800 pounds on the hoof and sporting a 6x6 rack. I was truly blessed to be standing on that hillside in that moment of time, and finally realized just how exhausted I was from the last 5 hours of hunting. The adrenaline rush had kept me going al this time, unbeknownst to me until the final culmination of the moment. Doesn’t adrenaline know that the work starts AFTER an elk is harvested.
UJ and I began processing the animal once we pulled it down from the trees, and I radioed Jeff and UB about the good news and gave them coordinates of our location and said, “bring the llamas.” Jeff arrived an hour later with 5 llamas in toe, all the way up to the elk. We couldn’t believe he got the llamas all the way up, as evidenced by the pictures, this was some steep and dense terrain. Jeff helped us finish the animal and He and I started the long journey back toward base camp and the vehicles while UJ would go and join UB. After finally cutting the antlers off with my very inadequate saw, I started down the mountain with the antlers behind Jeff and the llamas, packed with almost 300 pounds of de-boned elk meat. We went back the same way Jeff had come up off the main trail and I was further impressed with his ability to lead the llamas through such treacherous terrain.
About a mile down the main trail, I decided he was tired and did not want to walk anymore. Knowing what he must be going through from my experiences the day before, I chose not to spit on him. Jeff said there is no use when a llama just sits, we would have to wait it out and then move when he was ready.
When we got going again 30 minutes later, we hiked out at a slower pace to keep from tiring the animals and keep them moving. It grew dark quickly and we were still 5 miles from the trucks. We kept moving stopping every now and then to rest the llamas and ourselves. After an eternity and another hike past exhaustion we arrived at the trucks, just after 1100PM. After unloading the meat into the monster cooler, Jeff tended to the llamas and I tended to two huge burgers for Jeff and I before sleep. As I was cooking the 1.5 pounders (see photos) I grabbed an ice cold Sierra Nevada from the north fork and sat wearily down next to the stove. Jeff came over and I grabbed a cold one for him as well and he took one look at the burgers and said to my surprise “I will have cheese on mine too!”
After eating what I thought were the best burgers ever, we retired to our cots and thought about the hike back up the next morning. Aahhhhh, ssslllleeeeeeepppp.
Monday, October 7: The next morning, I woke with a new found energy, I was finally getting used to the altitude. We ate some cereal and readied the llamas for the 12 mile hike back up to camp. We passed UB about halfway in and he was making like a crab and walking down the trail backwards. His knees were so inflamed that he found a shallow wetland shared by a moose and stripped down to his skivvies and soaked his knees in the water. The hike in for Jeff and the llamas and I was no problem and we arrived at camp in the early afternoon. UJ had most of camp broken down and we helped him load the paniards and pack the tent. We started back down the hill and made it to base camp in the early evening to find UB icing his knees (see photos).
Tuesday, October 8: The next day UJ went hunting on his own and started down a ridge near a pack of wolves before dawn. As the howls got louder, to him, he realized that not only are the wolves interfering with his elk hunt, but if they’re unsuccessful in their hunt, they might come give him a try. He went back. Meanwhile, Jeff and I are looking for a hotsprings to relax in and come across some nice guys hunting for sheep. They’ve seen a few but nothing worth shooting yet. After leaving them on their way, we kept searching for a hot springs (this summer I found it just 1 mile west on HWY 75 from our location) and wound up at the little store off of HWY 75, so I took this chance to call my dear Malia and tell her the good news. She was so happy for me and I couldn’t wait to see her again. After striking out with the hot springs, we joined up with U’s J and B and became frustrated with the lack of elk and they all agreed that they were done for the year.
Wednesday, October 9: The drive back to CA was smooth and uneventful, and oh so sweet to look back in the camper shell and see those huge antlers.
Chris
P.s. The meat processing debacle deserves it’s own time and will be finished soon.
