A friend of mine, Bill, goes every year, and he invited me to go with him after he went last year. It is in the San Juan National Forest, which is public land. I built a rifle for the occasion, and began training physically for the climb in the mountains in April. About an hour from home my friend Bill's friend, Pete, told me that the success rate for the unit was 16%. I thought, well it'll be an expensive camping trip.
We camped at 9000' and hunted between 8300' and 10,000'. I carried an Eberlestock Gunslinger II, a 10 pound custom built 7mm Rem Mag, Swaro 8 x 30 Laser Guide range finder, Kestrel 4500 with Horus ballistics, a Garmin GPS I borrowed from a fireman I work with, many pounds of clothes, enough water to get me from pre-dawn to about noon, some snacks, three fixed blade knives in case I killed one, Princeton headlamp, paracord, wallet with tag and licence, and a book. The first day I headed out of camp involved a 2 mile ride on the 4 wheeler, and I walked in snow along an abandoned logging road for another mile and a half. I left my huting partned at a waypoint on the logging road and he headed to this meadow.
I walked as far as I dare looking blindly for another meadow I had seen on a map, about faced, and worked my way back to my 4 wheeler. My lungs were churning at 22 breaths per minute, and my heart rate never got below 100 all morning. I had been carrying even more gear than what I listed before day 1. When I got back to camp I started shedding weight out of the pack! The traversing of the slopes, at altitude, was tough! Over the next six days the friend that was also the guide showed us on the map where to go, and one day the entire 4 person (Bill's girlfried went) climbed to 10,000' to a high meadow. We got up at 0400, coffee, snack, 2 mile 4 wheeler ride, 2 mile walk 1000' up. It was definately a physically demanding hunt. The hardest I've ever undertaken.
We met hunters from Louisiana, Oklahoma, Michigan, Tennessee, Colorado, California, and of course other Texans. They all seemed to be great people, and all pre-volunteered if anyone needed help, gear, or tools. It restored some of my faith in America.
I hunted twice a day, dawn to dusk, and evening only two days. I went down, up, east, west, and north. I had not seen a single elk alive. I saw 4 bulls hauled out by other hunters, and one cow, but I had not seen a single elk. We had all agreed to leave for home on Friday. Thursday evening was potentially the last hunt unless one of us felt like getting up on Friday morning. Bill asked me where I was going to go. After 5 minutes of thinking about it, I said "I want to hunt something I havn't seen before, can you tell me how to get to the meadow to the west?" He gave me lat and long, and at 3 pm I headed out on foot. It was a downhill slope from camp, about a mile out, and here's what I was looking at Thursday afternoon.
Bill had been here on this trip and had only seen one cow, but I figured what the heck, it's a new view. Since the walk to the spot was very brushy, was very steep at the end, and I was a mile from camp on foot, alone, I planned to pack up at sundown and use the last 20 minutes of legal light for the walk back to a fire, a cold beer, and some supper. Official sunset was 4:52 pm. At 4:45 I had packed everything back into my back pack and, ironically, had the pack on my lap and my rifle resting on it. I had pre-ranged many fixed objects upon my arrival at 3:20, and had them memorized. I was using the pack as a rifle rest and swinging the rifle to various points practicing for a shot. I made a make-shift cosine indicator before leaving home, and used it to determine that I was shooting at a 35 degree down angle. That meant to subtract 10% from what the distance the range finder told me.
So I was swinging the rifle to the various points when I heard the crashing of brush to my 3 o'clock and 50 yards down hill. A bull! A second bull! Rifle on the narrow opening they were passing through. I thought "where is that first bull going to pop out of the brush down hill?" So I got off the rifle and began scanning bare eyed. Dang! I only had a 10' gap 100 yards down hill. Bull one, bull two, "dang! bull 3 is going to pass right by also" and let me tell you they were at a high trot trying to get somewhere. I cow called. No bull 3. I stood up and moved to my right to see around a pine that was halfway down the hill, and broke one of my cardinal rules NEVER LAY YOUR RIFLE DOWN! I hadn't done it all week, it was in my hands, on my lap or within reaching distance ALWAYS. But I got off my butt and on my feet to step over the downed pine to my right, I moved two feet and there he stood down in the meadow, and I'm four feet from my rifle. CRAP! I thought you gotta ease to it, so I did. The bull was looking right at me, but didn't leave. I got rifle in hand, took a knee, saw he was at the 200 yard mark (so 180 actual) got a sight picture on vitals, and squeezed the trigger. I was shooting my 7mm Rem Mag with my suppressor on the end shooting hand-loaded 180 gr. Berger VLD Hunting bullets, and it was still loud as a Jack in a tin barn in those quiet mountains. I didn't hear the bullet hit the bull, he didn't hump up, or act like he was hit. I cycled the bolt, he walked about 40 yards left to right, got weak in the knees and piled up. Bill started calling me on the radio, since he heard me from camp. I didn't answer. I was watching that bull to make darn sure he wasn't getting up. He called a second time. I answered and said "I've got one down in the meadow", Bill- "can we get to you from the waypoint I gave you?" Me- "yes, you'll see me down the mountian", Bill- Ok, Pete just showed up in camp, we're on our way". The bull is still not moving. I figured it was safe to move down to where he was laying now, so I loaded the rifle into the backpack, slung it, and eased down the slope.
Here was the final firing position. The bull is laying in the center of the pic.
Here's the pic I took when I got to him.
Bill took this pic when he got down to me.
I stood in that meadow, looked at the sunset on the ridge of the mountains and said out loud "Thank you God!" I had been praying for a bull all week and look what I was blessed with!
I started skinning, and it began getting dark. Headlamp on I kept at it for an hour before Bill and Pete worked their way down to me. They convinced me to shoulder mount him, so I capped out my first animal for a shoulder mount in a meadow in Colorado. They warned me it would be damned heavy, but I had to do it since both of them said I should.
I skinned and they quartered. We loaded a full shouler on Bill, the loins and neck meat on me, and a boned hind quarter on Pete. We hung the other two quarters, the head and cap in a tree for another trip in the morning. I had shot the bull at 5 o'clock, it was 9:30 by the time we humped him up the mountain, in the dark, with headlamps and GPS, before we made it to camp. We were whooped! But those two good men and I got it done. Bill said "that hike would kill a regular man". He's always got me in stiches.
The next morning we packed up camp, mostly, and headed back down to the meadow for the other two quarters, and the cape and head. Needless-to-say we had nothing in our packs but water, since last night I hauled meat and all my hunting gear. We boned the shouler and hind quarter, packed them in Bill's and my packs, and stuffed the cape and head in Pete's pack since it was larger than mine. We all knew I was hauling the heaviest load out. Bill took some pics of me when I was at the bottom. I was smiling there, but it didn't last long.
Halfway up the mountain and I'm trying to live through it. Looks like Pete has more energy than me.
Once we got to camp, I wanted that load off of me.
Bill took some pics of all of us but he has to e-mail them to me. It's an experience I will never forget, and hope to repeat some day...but not next year! I got home and went to washing meat, and packing it on ice. For those that have never been up close and personal with elk meat, like I had, here's some pics of just how large the parts are.
Full shoulder.
Thanks for sharing in my experience. I hope many of you get to have the same hunt!
-JG
We camped at 9000' and hunted between 8300' and 10,000'. I carried an Eberlestock Gunslinger II, a 10 pound custom built 7mm Rem Mag, Swaro 8 x 30 Laser Guide range finder, Kestrel 4500 with Horus ballistics, a Garmin GPS I borrowed from a fireman I work with, many pounds of clothes, enough water to get me from pre-dawn to about noon, some snacks, three fixed blade knives in case I killed one, Princeton headlamp, paracord, wallet with tag and licence, and a book. The first day I headed out of camp involved a 2 mile ride on the 4 wheeler, and I walked in snow along an abandoned logging road for another mile and a half. I left my huting partned at a waypoint on the logging road and he headed to this meadow.
I walked as far as I dare looking blindly for another meadow I had seen on a map, about faced, and worked my way back to my 4 wheeler. My lungs were churning at 22 breaths per minute, and my heart rate never got below 100 all morning. I had been carrying even more gear than what I listed before day 1. When I got back to camp I started shedding weight out of the pack! The traversing of the slopes, at altitude, was tough! Over the next six days the friend that was also the guide showed us on the map where to go, and one day the entire 4 person (Bill's girlfried went) climbed to 10,000' to a high meadow. We got up at 0400, coffee, snack, 2 mile 4 wheeler ride, 2 mile walk 1000' up. It was definately a physically demanding hunt. The hardest I've ever undertaken.
We met hunters from Louisiana, Oklahoma, Michigan, Tennessee, Colorado, California, and of course other Texans. They all seemed to be great people, and all pre-volunteered if anyone needed help, gear, or tools. It restored some of my faith in America.
I hunted twice a day, dawn to dusk, and evening only two days. I went down, up, east, west, and north. I had not seen a single elk alive. I saw 4 bulls hauled out by other hunters, and one cow, but I had not seen a single elk. We had all agreed to leave for home on Friday. Thursday evening was potentially the last hunt unless one of us felt like getting up on Friday morning. Bill asked me where I was going to go. After 5 minutes of thinking about it, I said "I want to hunt something I havn't seen before, can you tell me how to get to the meadow to the west?" He gave me lat and long, and at 3 pm I headed out on foot. It was a downhill slope from camp, about a mile out, and here's what I was looking at Thursday afternoon.
Bill had been here on this trip and had only seen one cow, but I figured what the heck, it's a new view. Since the walk to the spot was very brushy, was very steep at the end, and I was a mile from camp on foot, alone, I planned to pack up at sundown and use the last 20 minutes of legal light for the walk back to a fire, a cold beer, and some supper. Official sunset was 4:52 pm. At 4:45 I had packed everything back into my back pack and, ironically, had the pack on my lap and my rifle resting on it. I had pre-ranged many fixed objects upon my arrival at 3:20, and had them memorized. I was using the pack as a rifle rest and swinging the rifle to various points practicing for a shot. I made a make-shift cosine indicator before leaving home, and used it to determine that I was shooting at a 35 degree down angle. That meant to subtract 10% from what the distance the range finder told me.
So I was swinging the rifle to the various points when I heard the crashing of brush to my 3 o'clock and 50 yards down hill. A bull! A second bull! Rifle on the narrow opening they were passing through. I thought "where is that first bull going to pop out of the brush down hill?" So I got off the rifle and began scanning bare eyed. Dang! I only had a 10' gap 100 yards down hill. Bull one, bull two, "dang! bull 3 is going to pass right by also" and let me tell you they were at a high trot trying to get somewhere. I cow called. No bull 3. I stood up and moved to my right to see around a pine that was halfway down the hill, and broke one of my cardinal rules NEVER LAY YOUR RIFLE DOWN! I hadn't done it all week, it was in my hands, on my lap or within reaching distance ALWAYS. But I got off my butt and on my feet to step over the downed pine to my right, I moved two feet and there he stood down in the meadow, and I'm four feet from my rifle. CRAP! I thought you gotta ease to it, so I did. The bull was looking right at me, but didn't leave. I got rifle in hand, took a knee, saw he was at the 200 yard mark (so 180 actual) got a sight picture on vitals, and squeezed the trigger. I was shooting my 7mm Rem Mag with my suppressor on the end shooting hand-loaded 180 gr. Berger VLD Hunting bullets, and it was still loud as a Jack in a tin barn in those quiet mountains. I didn't hear the bullet hit the bull, he didn't hump up, or act like he was hit. I cycled the bolt, he walked about 40 yards left to right, got weak in the knees and piled up. Bill started calling me on the radio, since he heard me from camp. I didn't answer. I was watching that bull to make darn sure he wasn't getting up. He called a second time. I answered and said "I've got one down in the meadow", Bill- "can we get to you from the waypoint I gave you?" Me- "yes, you'll see me down the mountian", Bill- Ok, Pete just showed up in camp, we're on our way". The bull is still not moving. I figured it was safe to move down to where he was laying now, so I loaded the rifle into the backpack, slung it, and eased down the slope.
Here was the final firing position. The bull is laying in the center of the pic.
Here's the pic I took when I got to him.
Bill took this pic when he got down to me.
I stood in that meadow, looked at the sunset on the ridge of the mountains and said out loud "Thank you God!" I had been praying for a bull all week and look what I was blessed with!
I started skinning, and it began getting dark. Headlamp on I kept at it for an hour before Bill and Pete worked their way down to me. They convinced me to shoulder mount him, so I capped out my first animal for a shoulder mount in a meadow in Colorado. They warned me it would be damned heavy, but I had to do it since both of them said I should.
I skinned and they quartered. We loaded a full shouler on Bill, the loins and neck meat on me, and a boned hind quarter on Pete. We hung the other two quarters, the head and cap in a tree for another trip in the morning. I had shot the bull at 5 o'clock, it was 9:30 by the time we humped him up the mountain, in the dark, with headlamps and GPS, before we made it to camp. We were whooped! But those two good men and I got it done. Bill said "that hike would kill a regular man". He's always got me in stiches.
The next morning we packed up camp, mostly, and headed back down to the meadow for the other two quarters, and the cape and head. Needless-to-say we had nothing in our packs but water, since last night I hauled meat and all my hunting gear. We boned the shouler and hind quarter, packed them in Bill's and my packs, and stuffed the cape and head in Pete's pack since it was larger than mine. We all knew I was hauling the heaviest load out. Bill took some pics of me when I was at the bottom. I was smiling there, but it didn't last long.
Halfway up the mountain and I'm trying to live through it. Looks like Pete has more energy than me.
Once we got to camp, I wanted that load off of me.
Bill took some pics of all of us but he has to e-mail them to me. It's an experience I will never forget, and hope to repeat some day...but not next year! I got home and went to washing meat, and packing it on ice. For those that have never been up close and personal with elk meat, like I had, here's some pics of just how large the parts are.
Full shoulder.
Thanks for sharing in my experience. I hope many of you get to have the same hunt!
-JG
