The Elk Perch: Day Three

Team JustNorth posted on February 23, 2009 10:12 :: 4048 Views

After my very first two days of elk hunting in Colorado, I had put on the world’s biggest hike, and had the world’s worst illness. Things could only get better for me. A couple of the guys yesterday managed to get a couple of elk right before the nasty snowstorm. They got them in the canyon down by the creek. They were busy packing out elk on the low end of the property, and I made another hike toward the perch. From the bottom side. You’d think a guy would learn….

Elk Perch Day Three I went in on the low end of the property by the creek on the south side. The fellas that got lucky enough right before the snow went in with me for a ways. They told me where they were generally going to be at, quartering a pair of cows, in the creek’s canyon. I followed the creek upstream to a ridge in front of me. They were going to be working in the southeast side of the ridge, so I ventured off into the valley on the northwest side of the ridge, hoping that anything they booted out of the county would head my direction for an escape route. My 75 year old father made his way straight up the hill toward The Perch” and was working the area of the cut road. My oldest brother, who scored on a dandy old cow on the first day, was there with him. My memory is good, but short, so I can’t remember all of the details of Dad’s hunt, but sometime during the day, Pop drilled a beautiful cow elk at about 200 yards or so with one shot from his 7mm Mag. The old boy can shoot, and the only credit I take, is that I loaded his ammo for him, and for my brother as well. We now have five cows for six hunters.

I’ve made my way to the ridge on the opposite side of “The Perch”. There is a little knob on the side of the hill that overlooks a bowl. There really isn’t much in the bowl, except for red rock and a few sage bushes. Across the bowl is some more of that lovely scrub oak that you can’t even walk into, much less see into. I had been watching the bowl for nearly an hour, when I noticed something I had not seen before. A dark spot across the small valley up in the oaks. I pulled out my binoculars, and realized the head of a cow elk was not far away. Instantly, my heart went into overdrive, and the adrenaline dump was like a mass injection of coffee, nicotine, and 3 pounds of Skittles.

As I watched the cow through the field glasses, I saw three or four more lying on the hillside. They were all bedded down, and not a one had a care in the world. I knew that me being a flatlander in the hills posed a problem of range estimation. Just for that reason, I bought myself a rangefinder before the trip. I guessed the elk were around 400 yards, and I should probably sneak a little or a lot closer. When I put up the rangefinder…225 yards. Wow. I misjudged that just a little. I ranged it several times over 10-15 minutes, and came up with the same yardage every time. I was confident with my .338 Winchester Magnum, with 225 grain handloaded Noslers to nearly 400 yards. That particular rifle kicked a little, but is possible the most accurate I’ve owned. Recoil during hunting has never bothered me.

This should be relatively easy. I found the biggest cow in the small herd, and found a rest in a scrub oak. A backpack and two leather gloves propped in the oak, and me on my keester in the snow, turned out to be nearly as solid as a shooting bench and a sandbag. I’d been watching the elk for so long, the adrenaline dump tapered off, and I was as calm as could be.

The big cow across the valley faced left to right. She was bedded, but not sleeping. I had a full view of the ribs, and I had every intention of a double-lunger. I snuggled into my bench-grade oak bush, and settled into the buttplate. The crosshair settled about 2 ribs behind the shoulder, and I knew this would be good.   BRASS. BRASS. BRASS. Breathe. Relax. Aim. Stop. Squeeze. The big rifle boomed, and I heard the solid hit. Out of reflex, I worked the bolt and put a live one in the pipe. I looked through the scope and the cow got to her feet. I touched off a second as she started to move, and third as she headed up the hill. It was then that I realized how many elk there may have been. Purely a guess on my part at this point, but there were somewhere between thirty and fifty. Absolute elk mayhem.    All going up the hill, yet there weren’t two of them that were going the same direction. At that point, I had no idea which elk I shot the first three times at, so I didn’t dare risk hitting a second animal.

I waited about 30 minutes to start the tedious job of tracking. I was confident, because I knew the first shot was good. I was nervous, because she got up and ran, when I expected her to stay in the bed. So in all reality, I didn’t know what to expect, but I was pretty sure I was going to be field dressing in a few minutes.   My two brothers found me while I waited, and they offered to track for me. I pointed them in the right direction, and about 225 yards later, indicated they were on the blood trail. I left my spot and followed. It took me about 20 minutes to catch up to them. They had no good news. The blood trail had gotten thin before it crossed the ridge. With all the elk that departed at the sound of the shots, there was no way to follow a set of tracks, as there were thousands of tracks heading up that hill. I tried to pick up the track where they left off, but is was no use. My brothers are very good trackers, and myself included; there was no way to follow. Unfortunately, my prize got away.

I take all the steps I can to prevent lost animals. I make my equipment as accurate as possible. Then when that’s done, I practice. Long range, short range, prone, shooting sticks, bipods, sitting, kneeling, offhand, and generic field positions. This one still got away. I don’t like it when it happens, but hunting is not a perfect world. I was told once that ‘You don’t know your limitations until you exceed them.’ I try to exceed them all the time in practice, and then stay within them during the hunt. It was a long walk back to the cabin that evening.   When I got back, all the questions started. Did you jerk the trigger? Was she farther away than you thought? Are those handloads so hot they blew up on impact? Are those bullets so solid they went all the way through without opening up? Funny thing is, all those questions have the same answer: “I don’t know” However once back at the ranch house, all of us boys got to take a great photo with Dad and his elk. I’ve taken some good animals before and after this particular hunt. I don’t believe I’ll ever have a more favorite hunting photo. Ever. Dad, thanks for the great trip.

Greg