Hunting With my Dad

It's interesting the things I read at 53, that I would not have read at 45. I read more articles now and pay a lot more attention to TV shows that provide information about dementia, Alzheimer's, lost memory, etc. I think it's interesting to note how many of us in our 50s start losing our short term memory, but still remember well the pieces of our lives that occurred 20, 30 or 40 years ago. I was worried at first, when I walked into a room and could not remember what I was there for, but don't worry so much anymore, realizing it's normal and I'm not in any immediate danger of not recognizing my wife or sons any time soon.

Dad got me started shooting large caliber rifles when I was nine years old. I had shot 22 caliber before that, but at nine, we were out in the woods with friends and had stopped along a backwoods road and were shooting across the canyon to see who was the better shot at some long distances. He asked if I wanted to try and I said I did. He laid his old Husqvarna 30-06 across a large dead fall, told me to place the cross hairs on a large rock across the canyon and when I was ready, to take a half breath and slowly squeeze the trigger. I shot just once, it hurt like hell, but I hit the rock. Someone took a photo of it that day and I still have it. Over the next couple years Dad used to take me to the local range when he sighted his rifle in before each hunting season. He always allowed me to take 4-5 shots and he taught me well enough that I always hit where I was aiming.

I remember as if it were just a moment ago, the first time I started hunting with my dad. To my knowledge, he never took any of us kids (of whom I was the youngest of five) on any hunting trips with the exception of one or two days of duck hunting before we were 12 and old enough to hunt.

My parents, paternal grandparents and a few friends of theirs used to make an annual week long hunt to the little town of Imnaha in the far north east corner of Oregon. It was as steep and rugged a type of country that you can find in all of the USA with the exception perhaps of the Grand Canyon. The Imnaha River (photo below-double click to enlarge) flowed into the Snake River and the canyons were deep, steep and barren. The only place I've ever been that was even a little bit like it was on the east side of Afghanistan.

As a young boy, I had to watch my family to include my sister Kay (oldest) and my brother Gary head out on the yearly pilgrimage to Imnaha, while my brothers Dave, Jim and I were left at home with friends or family to await our turn. As Kay got older and chose not to go, Dave took her place. It went on this way until Kay, Gary, Dave and Jim had their turns in that 12 to 16 years of age bracket.

Those of you who knew Dad (Don) know that he was an imperfect man. He drank too much, cussed to much, smoked to much, flirted too much, etc, etc. That being said, he was a logger and one of the hardest working men I ever worked with and hunted the way he worked. When you look at the picture above of Imnaha you can see that it is steep, rugged country. For the most part, there are no roads, so you start at the roads and trails at the bottom and hunt uphill in the early dawn so that anything you shoot can be drug or packed downhill.

Often, you climbed from the bottom to the top and then hiked the ridges at the top for most of the day, sometimes finishing your hunt and getting off the steep, rim rocked cliffs before dark . I know that while we trudged up those steep mountains that Dad slowed down for me because there was no way I could have kept up with him. On the first day out, we had hiked for several hours on cattle and deer trails, which switch-backed up the steep slopes. I did my best to follow him, placing one foot into his track as he lifted his boot, but sometimes I fell behind and the only way I could catch up to him was to cut straight up the hill rather than follow the switch-backed animal trails.

I was doing this once as Dad hiked up above for me. When he saw what I was doing, he stopped, sat down and got his thermos of coffee out (I don't ever remember us having a water bottle of any type). He had a couple of swallows of coffee and as he offered the cup to me, he asked, "Are you smarter than a cow?" Even at 12, I knew that whether I answered yes or no, I was going to be wrong or the question would not have been asked. I replied "yes," (because I believed I was). He didn't embarrass me by telling me I was not smarter than a cow, he just said, "Cows are smart enough to use the switch-backs because they know that if they go straight up the hill they use to much energy, you should too." I did, and he waited for me when ever I got too far behind.

The first day of our hunt, we headed up the "Pumpkin Creek" drainage and as we headed up the temperature did the same. During rifle season in northeastern Oregon the temperature can range from freezing to the 80s and by the time we were half way up the mountain it was getting close to the 80s. I was sweating, thirsty and tired, but as we came around and on top of a rim rock we saw eight to ten mulies with one small spike buck in the group. They were way above us, about 200 yards from the top and headed up. They hadn't spotted us and we sat there watching as they moved up. I wanted to move up quickly and get into range before they went up, over and out of sight. Dad said, "We don't need to, they are getting out of the heat, will head to the shady side of the mountain and bed down."

We didn't move until they all went over the top and then we started hiking, agonizingly slow, towards the top and a few hundred yards to the left of where they crossed over. I asked why we were moving so far to the left and he explained that as the sun heated up, the thermals were rising up and to the left and that we would need to be over the top, in the shadows and downwind of them as we tried to find where they had bedded down.

We got to the top, moved over to the backside in the shade and rested for about 15 minutes while dad used his binoculars to look in the shaded timber. He was driving me nuts, I wanted to head over, find those deer and shoot my first mulie buck. After a bit, he put the binoculars down, reached into his backpack and grabbed our sandwiches and then his thermos of coffee. Argggggg! More agony, as I thought this meant they were gone and we were going to have lunch and then continue hunting.

We ate our sandwiches, drank some coffee and Dad leaned back, closed his eyes and napped for about 15 minutes. I sat there, despondent and wondered if I'd ever get my first buck. When the snoring stopped, he opened his eyes, looked at me and asked, "Are you ready to get your buck?" I thought he meant if I was ready to continue hunting, but he pointed and said, "he's just over there, bedded down on the next ridge." I crawled over to him, he pointed out the location and I found him through the binoculars.

He explained that we could sneak about 50 yards closer, but that because the group was bedded down so close to the top that we could not get closer from the other side or we'd spook them before I could get a shot. We snuck that 50 yards, Dad got me a good rest on his backpack and he asked if I could shoot him in the neck, since his head and neck were all that were visible. I said I could and he told me to take as long as I needed, because they weren't going to move from their beds. I settled in, let my "buck fever" subside as much as possible and finally took my shot. Neither of us knew if I had hit him and neither of us probably thought I had, since the shot was difficult and I was nervous. But, when we hiked to the other ridge, we found him in his bed with the shot being right where I had aimed. Dad patted me on the back and told me I had made a great shot.

I stood there looking at this dead deer, then squatted down on my knees and as I touched this buck my eyes started to tear up. Dad looked at me for a while and then said, "It's OK to cry, we should all feel a little sad when we shoot an animal" and "it's worst when it's your first time." He told me he cried some when he shot his first deer, I don't know if it was true or he was just trying to make me feel better, but it did. We sat and talked a bit about why we hunt, for population management, to eat the venison, what happens to deer when their population gets to high and they die off in the hard winters, etc. After a bit, I was fine and we started field dressing my buck.

When we finished, Dad cut the joints on the front legs being careful not to cut the large tendon that runs down the front of this joint towards the shinbone and stopped cutting the tendon halfway down. He cut the skin on the rear leg hocks, slid the front legs through the hocks and used the tendon and bone of the front legs to make a T-shape. He then pulled the buck into a somewhat sitting position, sat down in front of the stomach and between its legs, slipped his arms though the opening created by the front legs through the rear hocks like a back pack, rolled forward and stood up. Imnaha was so steep that it was difficult to drag a deer down hill with out it always sliding down the hill, which then required you to hold the weight as you moved down the slope. By making a back pack out of its legs and grabbing a hold of its head over your shoulder, you could pack a whole deer down some incredibly steep country. My Dad didn't weigh much over 155 pounds at his heaviest, but I'd watched him pack large mulies down hill for miles that weighed as much or more than he did.  

Every once in a while when I'm over here in the Middle East or back home in Montana, something will happen that makes me think for just a second, "I'll need to call and tell Dad about this" and then I'll immediately remember that he passed away many years ago.

I started logging for my Dad's little logging company when I was around 13-14 years old, every summer till I graduated from high school. He worked me hard, sometimes 12 hours a day in the heat of summer. He was a very hard man to work for, a lot of yelling, cussing, etc and it seemed I could never do anything right. But, like is often the case, I didn't really appreciate him until I was in my early 30s with a family of my own and the ability to see and understand things that I couldn't see in my teens.

When he passed away, he didn't leave much, but in my eyes he didn't really need to. He taught me that hard work wouldn't kill me and that hunting isn't about the killing.  Pitting your skills of understanding big game is the bigger portion of it and I'm never disappointed going home empty handed as long as I get to enjoy a day in the woods or the mountains. If it weren't for him, I probably wouldn't have the great appreciation that I have today for spending time in nature and it doesn't make a bit of difference whether I'm packing a gun, a camera or just my eyes.

My mother (Maxine) passed away almost 10 years before my dad. She had been cremated and her ashes were saved until my father passed away. I don't even know if the decision about spreading their ashes was made together, but, evidently it was dad's wish that their ashes be spread into the wind, on the canyon road high above the Imnaha River. I drove from Montana, my brothers and sisters came from various parts of Oregon and met up one beautiful summer day in Imnaha. We walked out on a steep razor back ridge about a 1000 feet above the river. My brother Gary, went first, took my mom's ashes, threw them up and the wind carried them up into the thermals and dissipated into the canyon that they both loved so much. My brother in-law, Les, who had many good natured arguments with dad over the past 30 years went next. He took my father's ashes, checked the wind and tossed them high,....and right at that moment..the wind shifted straight back into him and my dad's ashes covered him from head to foot. It did not seem morbid in any way, but funny, made all the more so as Les turned to us all and said, "The son of a bitch got me again." I wish dad had been there to watch, maybe, he was.

If you look at the side of my blog, above the counter, you'll see a site added about a wounded veteran site that helps get our wounded vets into Montana's nature. If you're interested, please help by contributing in any way you can. They do a great service to those who've done a great service for our country and paid the price.

Hunt hard

Ron

Antelope Hunting = Fun

We've lived in Montana since 1997, and I'm not sure why, but we didn't start hunting antelope until 2006. I have no idea why we didn't start sooner because it has become one of our most enjoyable hunts of all. It's great to take out your younger hunters and be able to teach them a variety of hunting ethics, a great many of which come into play while hunting antelope. As examples: Not shooting at sky lined animals, not taking bad shots at fast moving animals, not shooting because of cattle in the background, not taking longer shots than the individual is capable of and being aware of property lines and not shooting because it is off your legal hunting area. It all happens hunting antelope and it's a great way to make your kids not only aware of the ethics, but gives good cause to explain the reasons for those ethics.
I think one of the most enjoyable aspects of antelope hunting is that it is overwhelmingly "spot" and "stalk." If you ever did any "jump shooting" for waterfowl as a kid, then you'll understand what I mean. When we are young and just learning how to use a shotgun it can be difficult to understand the different ballistics involved with shooting shotguns and getting that "just right" lead, knocking a few birds down and having it "click." From there on out, it's a lot easier, successful and fun. But, as kids, when we crawl on our hands and knees, or belly crawl for a half mile through cold water or mud or stubble fields, you do it knowing that if you can just get within that 30-40 yard range you'll have your best chance of finally knocking down a bird or two because shooting ducks rising from a pond is, well, like "shooting ducks on a pond." Antelope hunting gives a similar feeling.
If you are in reasonable physical condition or just have "a lot of heart" sneaking up on your hands and knees or crawling on your stomach for a half mile through stubble fields, or snow or mud, gives you that same feeling as jump shooting ducks when you were a kid. The photo at top shows Ted, Randy and I after a successful antelope near Two Dot, MT. The most difficult part of this hunt was trying to locate bucks on state sections (one mile tracts of land owned by the state, but found mixed amongst private ranch holdings). You can only access these state lands from public roads, meaning if the state land is separated by even one foot of private land, you can't gain access. We located a small bunch of antelope on one of these sections and Ted and I hiked as close as we could before doing the low crawl for approximately 400 yards to bring them into a more manageable shooting distance. It was hot, we had  sparse grass about a foot high to hide our approach. We tried to use whatever small sage brush we could find to crawl behind but there wasn't much to be found. When we got to 400, Ted wanted to get a bit closer and we crawled to about 350. They never did catch onto us and Ted was able to take his buck when it turned broadside and I shot mine while it was bedded. We did the shots at the
same time with the old "1, 2, shoot on 3," and we dropped both of them. It was Ted's first antelope and like sneaking up on "ducks on a pond," he had a blast.

On another hunt, Steve  and I low crawled almost a half mile in a bare wheat stubble field that was flat as a board. Luckily there were several big round bales of hay about 800 yards out that we were able to crawl behind, but we expected to be busted the entire way by about 20 pairs of eyes. It was so flat that because we had left our backpacks and neither of us had bi pods, Steve ended up taking one boot off and used it as a rest. It worked just fine and Steve shot his buck at approximately 450 yards. Something  that helped our stalk was that the sun was going down behind us and while I don't know it as fact, I've read that low light in the early morning and evening (dawn and dusk)  is the most difficult time for antelope to utilize their excellent eyesight. We paid the price though, as our hands and wrists were torn up by that stubble.

Jake took his first buck (photo below) on a hunt near Wibaux, MT. We first spotted the buck over a mile away, bedded down by himself in the middle of wide open prairie grass fields. All we could see were his black horns and tips of his ears. Jake and I looked it over for a while, found a bit of contour here and there that we could use for cover to close the gap and took off. We lost sight of him for about 40 minutes and as we low crawled over a small mound to get out bearings, he was no where to be found. We backtracked some, then cut down a small gully to get further east. There isn't much to use for landmarks in those wide open grasslands and of course, everything looks a bit different than what we looked at from a mile away. We squatted down, worked our way over a rolling hill and then started crawling on our hands and knees as we kept looking for that "speed goat." As we came over the rise of the small hill, we started the belly crawling because we knew if he was close and he spotted us first he'd be off before Jake could get a shot. We finally spotted his horns and all we could make out of him was horns, ears and eyeballs. We couldn't crawl any closer because it would have put us on the downhill slope and made us completely visible to him. We waited for about five minutes, hoping it would get up and offer a shot, but no luck. We got Jake a good rest on the backpacks and I told him I'd hold my hat up in the air, wave it a bit and that should get his attention. I told Jake he might just stand up and hold or, he might just come out of his bed with all legs churning. I told him, as soon as he starts to stand, be ready to fire fast. Well, to make a long story short, that didn't work. The buck's eyes turned towards us, but he didn't stand. I then gave Jake the same directions as I first came to my knees,..nothing, came to a full standing position,....nothing. The buck just stayed put while it looked right at me. I told Jake that I was going to start walking diagonally away from Jake, but a little towards the buck. I took about 10 steps, the buck jumped to it's feet and Jake made a good shot that anchored him right back into his bed.
Antelope hunting IS a blast. Some tips that might help if you're on your first time hunt. Go ahead and take some knee pads and elbow pads, you might look a little bit of the wimp, but you'll make those half mile crawl stalks a hell of a lot more enjoyable. We had spotted Randy's buck almost a mile away and while Randy made a stalk behind some contour from the side, we walked around the same area the entire time. While Randy made his stalk, the two bucks stood right where they were and watched us the entire time. Decoys work well. The ones you buy are pretty small and while I haven't done it yet, I plan to make one out of a bigger piece of cardboard, paint an antelope buck on it, either from broadside or straight on facing and I believe we'll be able to easily walk to shooting distance.
I'm a bit late, but hope you all had a great 4th.
Hunt hard
Ron

Echinococcus Granulosus from Wolves

Last fall Ted Bettin took a nice 6x6 behind my house and during field dressing, Randy Holmgren noticed something unusual that we had never seen before. The photo above was taken of the bull's      lungs with thumb tip sized cysts all throughout the lungs. We placed the lungs in a plastic bag and took them to Region Three HQ of the Montana Department of Fish and Game. The biologist was able to immediately recognize it as Echinococcus. I've attached a file below to find out additional, more technical information, but what I've learned in lay men's terms is as follows:

Echincocccus is usually found in canines, has been around for a long, long time and has become much more prevalent in our big game animals since the reintroduction of wolves in to Yellowstone National Park (YNP) and subsequently outside the park in Wyoming, Montana and Utah. Canines are "definitive hosts," meaning the tapeworm's eggs are released from their feces. These eggs are then taken in by rodents and ungulates through the digestion of grasses or other food that has been contaminated. Once the eggs are ingested in the "intermediate hosts," the eggs produce a change that allows it to pass though the small intestine of the animal. Once it passes through the small intestine it proceeds to other internal organs, but predominantly  in the liver and lungs where the cysts will spread and grow. The cycle continues when these intermediate hosts die or are killed and eaten by other animals and the cycle continues on and on and on. Humans can contract Echinococcus Granulosus from handling wolf hides, wolf feces or by coming into contact with the feces or affected hair of their own pets if those pets have been in contact or eaten portions of dead intermediate hosts.

From the below site: Professor Kritsky, Idaho State University wrote:
"Utah had a focus of E. Granulosus during the 1970’s and 1980’s during which time people were dying or undergoing dangerous surgery for the parasite cyst." Professor Kritsky's article can be found at:

http://rliv.com/wolf/Echinococcus%20granulosus%20brought%20in%20by%20wolves.pdf

There are many, many articles regarding this topic and I suggest you do some research and learn as much as you can. In addition to articles regarding Echinococcus , I encourage you to do some research regarding the reintroduction of wolves to the greater Yellowstone. Please read all sides of the arguments to aid you in making an educated opinion as to what it was intended, what it has become and what we should all do about it. And if you happened to come upon my site by accident and fall into the category of ant-hunting, anti-logging, anti-mining, etc, you are in the wrong place I believe they all have their place when done responsibly, and yes, it can all be done responsibly.  To include a well regulated hunting season for wolves to keep their numbers managed in such a manner that "almost" everyone is  happy. And please, if you are from back east, Midwest or west coast,  let the people who live in the Rocky Mountain West do what's right in the states we call "home."

The article below is somewhat dated, but still provides the most comprehensive documentation regarding the reintroduction of wolves to the Rocky Mountain West that I've ever read. You should read it in its entirety to understand the full scope of the information. But, be forewarned, it's long, but interesting.

http://www.yellowstonenationalpark.com/wolves.htm

In 1995-96 they started the reintroduction of wolves into YNP with approximately 31 brought in from Canada. Current conservative estimates of wolves in and around YNP are approximately 1600. In 1995, the Montana Department of Fish and Game issued 2660 anterless elk permits north of YNP,  in 2000-2004 that number was reduced by 51% to 1400. In 2006 the number was reduced to 100, a 96% reduction of anterless elk permits after the wolves were reintroduced in 1995. In 2004, it was determined the YNP elk herd had been reduced from 16,700 in 1995 to 8,300. In YNP, elk comprise 92% of wolves winter diet, the overall kill rates of YNP wolves is estimated at 22 wolves per anum per wolf.

My own personal experience with wolves is limited. We hunted the Taylor Fork drainage's for quite a few years and started just before the reintroduction of wolves into YNP in 1995-1996. We first started seeing wolf sign in that area around 1998-99. At first it was just tracks of a small pack, 3-4 in number. Each year the elk numbers dwindled and when I took my Mountain Goat in that area in 2009, we saw very few elk, but wolf pack tracks throughout the canyon. In  addition, I saw my first wolf track behind my house in 2009. When I called to inform Montana Fish and Game, I was told there were no wolves in that area. In 2010, when Ted and Randy came out from MN to hunt elk, we tried unsuccessfully to locate elk in the National Forest approximately 20 miles from my house. We found little to no sign of elk, but plenty of wolf tracks. We hunted closer to home about a two miles back and again found little elk sign, just wolves, and lots of them.
I believe the original intent of reintroducing wolves into YNP was a good idea, but I also feel that at some point regulations will have to be changed to allow management of wolves not only outside of YNP in Wyoming, Montana and Idaho, but within the park itself.
I read an article once, in which a Bozeman, MT wolf defender opined the eco-systems in and around YNP could handle ten times the current number of wolves. I have no doubt that is true and when  they eat themselves out of house and home, move on to our domestic animals to include cattle, sheep and pets, start feeding on every other predator and then eventually to killing each other. Then our wolves will be somewhat managed, but at what expense? People will try to point out that wolves kill the weak and injured. Do some research and you'll find they often kill just for sport and leave numerous carcasses uneaten and often times still alive but left to die. They are,...a beautiful animal, that needs to be managed in a way that benefits them, our wildlife and ourselves.
Hunt hard
Ron

Jared's Bull

Greg Galloway, my son Jared and I decided to try a new hunting area a few years back and decided on some national forest adjacent to Ted Turner's Double D ranch southwest of Bozeman, MT. We were going in on horses, which meant I had to get up a couple hours prior to leaving to let the horses get some hay in 'em. I have to say that hunting with horses has it's pros and cons. The pros being of course riding rather than walking, being able to get beyond the normal foot hunters and being able to ride out after a long day of hunting. The cons are, they're a lot more time consuming to get ready and you never know what their "idiocy of the day" is going to be.
We would normally have left well before daylight, but since this was a new area that we were not familiar with we headed out after daybreak. We wanted to learn the trails, see what meadows were in the area, look for fresh elk sign and then plan an evening hunt from what we learned. I would suggest you do the same anytime you head into a new area as it makes it much easier to get out when you have some idea what the area looks like in daylight. We rode on a National Forest trail along side the fence line of the Double D, but did not see much fresh sign. We turned around near the top end of the better looking areas and headed back to another ridge line we had noticed on our way up.
We still didn't see much sign on this next ridge, but didn't have any other option than to spend the afternoon next to a fire and wait for that "last best" hour of shooting light to work our way back to the trail head in the hope of finding some elk.
We ate lunch, napped and BS'd around that fire for almost four hours. It doesn't do much good to hunt in the afternoon. You can do some hunting in the timber in their bedding areas, but for the most part, unless you've seen fresh sign to know they are in there, it's a waste of time and you might end up spooking elk from the area. In addition to that, sneaking in on elk in their bedding area is next to impossible in crunchy snow. It's best just to bide your time, as the majority of your elk are going to be taken in the first two hours of morning and the last hour of shooting light in the evening.
It was about 3:30pm when we decided to get ready. We put our gear away, spread the fire out, tore out the hot embers in the fire bed and then filled it up with snow. We started down the trail through the timber and eased our way up to the first meadow, didn't see anything and started on to the next. We got about half way across and Greg decided to take some photos of the Spanish Peak Mountains behind us. He asked Jared and I to get together on the horses so he could get a photo of us with the mountains as a backdrop. Jared and I struggled a bit, trying to get the horses faced towards the camera and as we were doing that, Jared said, "There's an elk." He had spotted an elk about 350 yards behind us, bedded down in the thick timber. We all dismounted and looked it over with binoculars and Jared said, "It's a bull!" I still couldn't make out any horns, but did see a bunch of dead limbs behind it that could have been mistaken for horns. Jared swore he could see the elk move it's head and when it did the "horns" moved too. The bull was bedded down broadside to us and did not seem spooked or nervous at all.
I thought it would be best if Jared and Greg both got good rests and shot at the same time since it was a bit longer shot than Jared had ever taken and the bull was right on the edge of a big steep canyon full of dead fall. Greg said he couldn't really see the bull very well, which he told me later was a little fib, he just wanted Jared to have the bull all to himself.
We got Jared into a good steady prone position with a couple of backpacks to use for a solid rest. The bull was still not spooked so I told him to take his time and when it felt right, to squeeze the trigger nice and slow. Of course, it seemed like forever but finally the shot was taken. I could see the bull try to rise up out of his bed, get halfway, then slide down the hill out of sight. It's fun, as a father, to take your teenage son hunting, see him make a good shot and have him turn to you with a big grin from ear to ear.
We left the horses with Greg and Jared and I headed around a deep draw over to the bull. I tried to get Jared to walk. I did not want him winded when we got to the bull in case he needed to make another shot, but I might has well been talking to the horses. He jogged all the way until I was able to slow him down about 100 yards from where we last saw the bull slide down the hill. When we got to within 75 yards, I made him stop, relax and get his heart rate and breathing under control.
We snuck slowly down the hill, finally spotted him and he was still alive. Jared made one more well placed shot and put the bull down for good.

The most interesting part of this hunt was that the bull was bedded down not 150 yards away from where we had spent the entire afternoon. It had snowed some in the early morning, not much, probably about an inch. That bull's bed had no snow in it, he had been there all day and there's no doubt he heard us, but knew that we could not get close to him before he could bail off the side into the deep wooded canyon. He was old and smart, his ivorys' were worn right down to his gum line. He was also the toughest piece of meat I ever tried to eat.

Most people who have never hunted elk come out west believing that like whitetails, there are elk everywhere that the habitat looks good. Nothing could be further from the truth. Elk are..where the elk are, period. During our last hunt in Ed Hake's old camp (Ed sold the business, but was still guiding on occasion) I did not see an elk for the first five days, not even a cow. On the last evening the day before we were to leave camp I was hunting with guide "Russ" and we were at the top of Middle Ridge. We had hunted all day and were frustrated of another day of no elk, not even much sign. I believe a major part of the reason for lack of elk was that wolves had moved out of Yellowstone National Park into this area in the previous two years and the numbers just weren't there anymore.
We had about another hour of shooting light and had moved to the backside of the ridge to look down into another drainage. It was a beautiful late afternoont for hunting,.... cold, soft snow and just enough of a light breeze to be used in our favor. As we stood there looking into the other drainage, we heard it, a bugle, followed shortly after by another different toned bugle. Two bulls were down in the bottom of that drainage and they were obviously interested in a cow that was in a late estrus.
I've lived in Montana since 1997, hunted there since 1993 and there have only been two times that I've heard bugling during the rifle season. Russ and I looked at each other, both with the same thought. It was late, we did not have time to get to a trail where we could get the horses down into this drainage and this might be my one and only chance for a bull before we had to leave tomorrow afternoon. I looked at Russ and stated the obvious, that I was headed straight down to get into those bulls before we lost our light.
Russ stayed with the horses and I took off over the edge of a very steep slope and into the timber. It was quick getting down, the snow was about knee deep and I managed to do a quick jog to the bottom. Once I got down, I snuck quickly through the timber and stopped every once in a while to get a bearing from the continued bugling. I got to those bulls about two minutes after legal shooting light and the only thing I saw was the bull's horns and ass sliding out of a meadow into the timber.
It took me over an hour to climb back up that slope that had taken me 15 minutes to come down. I found Russ at the top, explained what happened and we headed back to camp.

Russ and I headed back into that drainage the next morning. We had to leave a few hours before daylight as it was a long ride from camp, but when we got near the area, sure enough, we heard bugling. We tied the horses up, made our way into thick timber and as we got close, we were spotted by a couple of cows. The wind was in our favor, so we just held tight for about 15 minutes and listened to a bull bugle from what couldn't have been more than a hundred yards, but we could not see him. The wind had to have shifted slightly, because the next thing to happen was a crash of limbs as the entire bunch headed out. I ran up the small hill as fast as I could, spotted cows charging across a very small meadow and then the bull came through the thin timber in a half run and Russ gave a quick cow call. That bull stopped on a dime, looked over at me and I made the shot.

Montana is tied with Wyoming as the states with the second highest elk herd at about 120K. Colorado still ranks number one with about 280K. Success rates for tagging an elk are highest in WY at 43%, but it's one of the most difficult states in the west to get drawn as a non-resident. Colorado has over the counter elk tags for non-residents and in Montana you have about a 60% chance of getting drawn as a non-resident.and both states have an approximate 22% success rate of filled tags. The drawing ratio in Montana might get higher soon as they have eliminated "outfitter sponsored" tags, which placed those tags into the general drawing, but raised the tag price from an already high $675 to almost $1000 for non-residents. I think the tags will be plentiful, I'm just not sure the general public is going to be willing to buy them all up at that price. I believe the voters of Montana made a mistake by eliminating "outfitter tags" and will suffer the consequences of unfilled tags. For the most part, I don't believe the general public understood this when they voted.
There are not elk around every tree in Montana and for those first time elk hunters who come out west to bag one, be prepared to pay the outfitters price, which will increase your chances many fold. If you come on a "do it yourself hunt," do a LOT of research, get in great physical condition and if you bag a bull, well then, you've really accomplished something.
Hunt hard,
Ron

Horses, A Love-Hate Relationship

I know people who "hunt with horses and put up with 'em," "hunt with horses and love 'em" and "hunt with horses and hate 'em." I guess I fall into the "hunts with horses and loves 'em," but they sure can be a pain in the butt. If you go on a guided hunt, be forewarned that you will most likely be riding "dude ranch" horses. That is, horses that for the most part have been used for summer trail rides for tourists or horses that have been around long enough to know a rider that does not have a clue about riding horses. This usually means trying to ride you under low limbs, rubbing your thighs into trees, stopping for no reason and unwilling to move forward, or constantly walking so slow that they lag 50-100 yards behind the rest, then catch up quickly in a bone-jarring canter. If you don't have any, or much, horseback riding experience, your inner thighs will ache to the point you'll be asking yourself if walking the entire way would not be less painful.

They will get you into places you could not go on foot because of distance and allow you to feel rested enough that you can hunt hard and long when you arrive. They can get you beyond the foot hunters regardless of their physical abilities and make packing that animal out a pleasure, rather than your worst nightmare. They will identify game that is nearby before you have any idea it's there. All horses are good at this, but my mare "Charlie" was exceptional. You could be walking along by yourself or with other horses and Charlie would just stop in mid-stride with both ears pointing directly at whatever sound that caught her attention. Sometimes it was nothing more than a grouse or a coyote, but often it was deer or elk.

On the one hand, horses have incredible intelligence, strike that, I don't believe it's "intelligence" so much as "instincts." And on the other hand they can be as dumb as the saddle on their backs. I have ridden them up the same trail past the same object, be it a boulder, bush or fence post and on any given day they might go wild eyed when they come up to it on the third, fourth or fifth time as if it were a grizzly bear waiting for lunch and they....are lunch.  Just work through it. It might even take you getting off, leading them to it and showing them it's a boulder, bush or fence post.
My son Jake and I were coming off the mountain from an all day elk hunt in a fairly new area. It was dark and I wasn't using my headlamp because I just don't use it unless I have to and horses have great night vision. As we came down to a point in the snow and timber where the trail forked I took the right side fork. Mac immediately balked by stopping and trying to turn around. I fought him a bit and kept him moving down the trail until the trail was blocked by a bunch of dead fall. I turned my headlamp on to find our tracks that we had come in on, but there were no tracks to be found. I let Mac have his head, he turned around, walked back to the fork and took a right on the trail we came in on. Horses "almost" always know where they are and if you are a bit lost and headed "home," they more than likely know where home is.

We had a "fun" horse incident one rainy night in Ed Hake's elk camp. We had all gone to bed in the wall tents, wood stoves were loaded up for the night, most of the BS had died down. If you were not already asleep, you were close to it. And then, all hell broke loose as we listened to horses in an all out stampede past the sleep tents. All of the horses were "secured" in some way or another, hobbles around the front legs, picketed in meadows and inside electric fences.
Horses are herd animals and when one gets scared and takes off then everyone of them that's able is usually right behind them. It doesn't matter that some or most have no idea what they are running from, they just know it's time to get. The last we heard of those that were able to break out was the sound of shod hooves running across the stone of the creek bed, up the other side and back towards safety and "home," which in this case meant the corrals at the "Covered Wagon Ranch," eight miles down the canyon.
Gone, were six of Ed's horses and my two, Mac and Charlie. Like I said, it was a rainy night, unusual this time of year as it would normally be just snow and cold. My guide Dennis and two others saddled up, called on the radio to the Covered Wagon to let them know they had horses headed their way and to please open the gates to the corrals. They made that eight mile ride in the wind and rain to the Covered Wagon where they had a hot cup of coffee, a quick bite to eat and then made the return trip in that dark, windy, rainy night back to camp. They were all tired, but we all hunted that day like nothing happened thanks to Dennis and the others. By the way, the horses spooked that night because a moose wandered into the electric fence, which spooked the horses.
One thing you might want to do if you go on a guided horseback hunt is maybe get some basics with horses. Riding some would help, but more important might be just the basics of saddling, putting a bit in, etc. On my very first trip into Hake's camp I had a guide from Wyoming that was all about being a cowboy  He knew what he was doing around horses and I had no real experience at that time. One night it was pitch black, we'd rode a lot of miles that day and we were coming down a steep slope through the timber. Visibility was nil, but the horses were fine. My guide warned me that I was coming up on a very steep pitch, steep enough that if I'd known how steep it was I'd have probably got off and walked. I put all my weight in my stirrups, leaned way back and gave him plenty of rein. All the preparation didn't do me much good when my saddle slid forward up and over the horses withers, which then threw me head first over his head and down the hill. I can tell you it's not much fun when you have no idea what you are falling into or on to. I landed on my shoulder, hurt like hell, but no worse for wear. If I'd known then what I know now, I'd have double checked that cinch to make sure it was tight before I headed down the hill. You can also check the tightness by throwing quite a bit of weight into the stirrup on one side or the other. If you throw some weight into it and your saddle slides easily in that direction, it needs to be cinched tighter.
Another time, Bill who was guiding, was riding behind Randy Holmgren and myself. I was leading on Mac, followed by Randy on Charlie and then Bill. Now, Bill was a great guide, but did not have much experience with horses. We were on a good flat trail through the timber on a clear, sunny day. I was getting bored with the pace as we headed back to camp and asked Randy and Bill if they minded a lope. I got a thumbs up and off we went. Mac and Charlie both have real comfortable lopes and we were making good time and having fun, .....until we heard a loud, human, yelp. We pulled the horses up, looked back, and there was Bill, on the ground and his saddle was underneath the horse. The saddle was still on and cinched up. Bill had just put too much weight on one stirrup and when the saddle slid left and Bill fell off, it ended up hanging underneath his horse. Again, make sure you check the tightness of that cinch.
There is nothing better than having a horse to pack your elk out. Elk are big animals and horses make it about 500% more enjoyable when it comes to getting that meat off of the mountain. One year, we shot a bull a couple miles from camp. Dennis got on the radio and by the time we got done field dressing and quartering, a couple other guides showed up with pack horses. The bull was shot about 300 yards down a very steep slope and I thought we would have to pack the quarters ourselves to the top of slope. But, they just brought the horses down and we loaded the meat up. We got about half way up and "One Eyed Jack." a tiny, tough little mustang with one eye lost his balance. Before we could do anything to help, he went over backwards and did two "airborne" back flips. We thought surely he'd have a broken leg or some other bad injury, but knew he was fine when we helped him get up, still with his two quarters in the panniers and the first thing he did was reach down and grab a mouth full of grass.
I really do enjoy riding horses and enjoy it just as much out there by myself as I do with friends. There is nothing like riding out of the mountains on a cold, clear night, with a full moon lighting up the snowy meadows like it's the middle of the day. You can see the sparks fly off a rock as the steel horse shoe strikes it and if the wind is not blowing you can often hear the sound of elk running that you spooked out of a meadow. I really am one of those who "hunts with horses and loves it." I hope I can do it just as long as I'm physically able and a couple years beyond that.
Tips for the Day: Make sure those cinches are tight and also while I'm thinking about it. Never leave your rifle unattended in the scabbard on your horse if he's not either tied up short or you've got a good hold of em. If you aren't paying attention, that will usually be the time your horse decides to roll and either do some serious damage to your rifle or at the least, knock your scope out of alignment.
Hunt hard
Ron

My Goat Hunt

As I wrote in the article of "Steve's Goat," Ed and John love being up at the tops of the mountians in "Goat Country." So, when Ed called me up to go spend some time scouting in September when the weather was nice and we did not have to slog through knee, thigh or hip deep snow, I jumped at the chance. I did not think we'd have the opportunity to get to the top once the snow started flying, but turned out I was wrong as you can see by the large photo "At The Top," in the main blog. We also had the opportunity to see a young Griz when we were in Crystal Basin, always a plus.
After our scouting trip, Ed was in the area in October and conditions were good for the actual hunt. We were in there about five days, only saw one average "Billy" and five goats total. We hunted hard that entire time, climbed the mountain every day from various directions, walked across snow covered granite boulder fields (we're talking large truck sized boulders) that we should have broken a leg in but didn't. Crossed snow drifts on 70% slopes in snow up to our chests, while driving our uphill arm into the packed snow to keep us from sliding a couple hundred yards down the mountian. Climbed up an 80% slope on a loose, muddy slide as a shortcut to avoid having to cross the snow covered boulder field so we didn't break those legs. Took our horses in as far back as we could in boulder fields and snow drifts that I would never have attempted without Ed leading the charge. In other words we put just about all we (well, maybe I) had into this goat hunt. It was dissapointing, but it just was not in the cards to fill a tag on that first hunt. We got out of camp as the snow started flying and the plan was for Ed to keep an eye out for goats when he was in there over the next week or two on an elk hunt.
Ed was to call me as soon as he started seeing better numbers of goats on the mountain,which meant it would be time for me to load up my gear, load my gelding "Mac" up and get our butts n there ASAP the next morning. Ed made the call about a week later and said the goats were back so I loaded Mac up and I drove the 50 miles  to his place early the next morning.
We got to the trail head late morning and made the three hour ride into camp. We unloaded our gear and Ed suggested we had enough time to ride into Crystal Basin, which was a good vantage point to check a lot of slopes to see what had moved into the area. This would give us a good idea to form a game plan for the the next days' hunt. It took us about an hour and thirty minutes to two hours to ride in and just as we were coming out of the timbered trail where we could see some bare slopes we immediatey started to see fresh goat tracks down low and not too far off the main trail. As we continued up, Ed spotted goats at the end of those tracks.
They were only four to five hundred yards ahead of us, so we continued on the horses up the main trail through timber that hid our approach for another hundred to two hundred yards. We tied the horses up, I grabbed my rifle and we moved through the timber in the direction we last saw them. As Ed got to the edge of the timber he spotted them all, about twelve or thirteen ewes, lambs and one mature billy. Ed and John were both excited by his body size, his great hair, since it was late in the season (Nov), but they were just a little unsure about his horn length. I think I had already made up my mind that he was the one, regardless of horn length. Like Steve, in the earlier hunt, I knew what I had already gone through in the first hunt and I wasn't too sure that I wanted to go through it all again in the hopes of getting another inch.
OK, here's where I have to admit failure, but all's well that ends well, and this did. The excuse:  I used my best long range rifle on the first hunt, a Remington 700 Sendero, 300 Weatherby fitted with a 6.5x20 Leupold with a custom "Premier" reticle. But you know what? That setup weighs close to 11 pounds and after five days of packing it to the tops, I decided to pack my old, "usually trusty" Mauser 98, 300 Weatherby. In hind sight, I should have taken my "most trusty" 300 win mag. My son had borrowed the old Mauser and while I had sighted it in, three inches high at 100 like I like, I did not check it after I got it back. The billy was only a bit over 200 yards away, piece of cake right? Wrong. I was standing and using a large boulder as a rest. It wasn't a great rest, being a bit too tall and awkward, but we'd been spotted and the goats were starting to move out. And after all, 200 yards?
Ed was looking through his binos and on my first shot said, "high, five inches over this back!" That flustered me a bit, but the billy just stood there and I needed to get the second shot fast before he got smart and took off. I dropped the reticule to low under the lungs where his heart would be, took the shot and Ed said, "high, just over his back!" Ed could see it all as the bullets were smacking a rock cliff right behind the billy. This was turning into a worst case hunt real fast, especially since I could feel the blood running from my forehead, down my nose and across my lips. Between the angle of my rest, a quick second shot and the recoil of that light 300 Weatherby, I had also managed to do a pretty good job of scoping myself. I lined up for another shot on that billy that still hadn't moved, put the cross hairs on "air" just under his chest and let loose with another round. And then, the billy went down.
Once it was over and the high fives and hoots were completed, it all seemed just a bit anti-climatic. I was expecting another four, five, six or seven more days of hard hunting to fill my tag and now it was over on the first day of scouting. But, you know what? It did not bother me one bit. He wasn't the biggest goat on the mountain, but he was my goat and had just average 8 3/8th long horns. It would have been great if he'd had nine or ten inch horns, but in my opinion it's the hair on a Mountain Goat and the mountains you find them in that makes them a special trophy. If I remember right, I believe Ed mentioned that my goat was the latest in the season he'd ever guided in his 20 successful hunts and the hair certainly proved it.
If you ever go on a goat hunt try to hunt in an area that allows you to get in and take him as late as possible and be prepared to pay the expense of a full body mount because nothing shows a goat trophy like a full mount. Do some shopping around for your taxidermist unless you've got one you like and are willing to pay whatever he charges. Ed and I used my taxidermist, Justin Sabol of Bridger Taxidermy in Bozeman, MT for our full mounts and paid $1500. My brother in-law used his taxidermist in ND and paid around $3000, but we are all happy.
Tip of the Day? You guessed it, double check that your rifle is still hitting where you expect it to..
Hunt hard
Ron

Calibers

Thank God  I don't have too many people watching my site yet, as nothing gets hunters and shooters more worked up than arguing about the pros and cons of their favorite caliber compared to someone else's . When it comes right down to it, use any caliber you want because everything out there from your grand dad's old 30-30 to the 30-378 will knock down almost any big game animal in North America under the right conditions. I'm not going to get into the arguments with O'Connor fans who believe the .270 Winchester is the best, or get into the details of Elmer Keith fans who like big bore bullets for foot pounds of energy vice the fans of velocity. They're all good arguments and because they are, I own everything from 220 swift, 270, 30-06, 300 win mag, 300 weatherby, and 454 casull in both a revolver and lever action rifle. Pick the caliber that's best for you and use it to the best of its and your abilities. That being said (written), bullet selection and optics probably play a bit larger role than most people give credit.
I like packing my Winchester Model 70, 270 featherweight and my son's first rifle, which is a Ruger compact 77 in 7mm-08. I don't intend to use the .270 out beyond 400 yards, nor would I feel good about using the little 7mm-08 beyond 300. But they are both a pleasure to pack, which I do when conditions warrant it and I'm not in Griz country. My old standby is my Ruger 300 win mag fitted with a Leupold 3.5x10 VIII. It shoots well and has never failed to do the job. I like my 300 mag and an older customized Mauser 98 in 300 Weatherby, both rifles are comfortable to pack and offer me more than enough velocity and energy for Griz if needed. There are a lot of new ultra mag wildcat cartridges out there and many are now provided by major gun manufacturers.
Good examples are the 30-378 Weatherby, 338 Lapua and a virtual smorgasbord of others. If you like them and can hit your target with them, then by all means, use 'em. I'm a big fan of bigger is better and I do like velocity. I've shot the .50 cal Barret sniper rifle and while they are a blast to shoot, and you can wack "targets" from 1500-2200 yards, they might just be a bit overkill for sport hunting..  :-)
There are a lot of good bullets out there these days and it's been great that the major ammunition manufacturers have jumped on board and started making premium ammunition with some of the best bullets available. Examples are: Swift A-Frame, Sirocco, Barnes TSX, Nosler, etc, etc, etc. I happen to like the Barnes Tipped TSX. They shoot well out of almost all my rifles and although they do not expand a huge amount, they hold together and punch holes through damn near any part of a big game animal. I generally prefer lung shots on everything I shoot, but have been known to punch through both front shoulders to put them down hard and fast if the animal had the chance to immediately bail off into a steep timbered canyon full of dead fall. An animal going down hill with a lung shot can travel a long way before he runs out of air and can be very difficult to recover in some areas.
I have also used the TSX to punch through a large bull elk from stern to stem ( a "Texas Heart" shot, as close to anus as possible) when the only shot I had was his backside. The bullet entered approximately a half inch right and that TSX exited out his brisket and dropped him where he stood. The added benefit of the TSX and other full copper bullets is for bears. Griz have a heart rate somewhere close to 25-30 beats a minute, so shooting a bear in the heart, lungs, etc, may just not put him down quick enough for you to not soil your long johns. Breaking a bears motive power, that is, his front shoulders, appears to be the best way to stop their forward momentum. He can still push with the hinds, but he is not going to get to you very fast. I've never had to do this, so I'm not speaking from experience, so take it for what it's worth. Also,  not sure how you'd break those front shoulders if he's coming straight on. In that situation I'd probably start dumping rounds into his chest and lower throat and hope I could take out heart, lungs and maybe even get something into his spine.
I've seen a hell of a lot of articles and listened to a lot of people who talk about a caliber that is overkill for the intended species. Personally, I think it's all BS and here's my reasons why:

If I hit an antelope in the front shoulders with almost any caliber, I've just ruined both of those front shoulders, just as I would with my 300 mag. But my 300 mag maintains almost the same velocity at 600 yards as the 270 has at 400 yards (300=2241FPS at 600, 270=2319FPS at 400). It also has more foot pounds of energy at 700 yards than than the 270 has at 400 yards (300=1627FPE at 700, 270=1552FPE at 400). As I mentioned above, I like hitting all big game animals in the lungs when conditions warrant and if you hit the lungs with a solid bullet that animal is not going far with a hole punched through both lungs and you'll ruin far less meat if you do so.
The above ballistics were established with 300 yard zero, 32 degrees at 4000 feet. The majority of hunters sight their guns in with a 100 yard zero, but recently we've seen ammunition boxes listing 100 yard ballistics and what they term long range for 200 yard zero. I prefer to sight my guns that I intend to use at longer ranges with a 300 yard zero. This works well for me but may not be best for you. The biggest thing you have to remember is where that bullets point of impact is at closer ranges, not to mention having a range card listing bullet drop out to all the ranges to the end of your comfort range. I shot an elk once through the lungs at about 500 yards and when he went down, I moved in to about a 100 yards to finish him. I ended up shooting three times because it wasn't until after the second shot that I remembered my point of impact was +3 MOA at a hundred yards. What I intended to be a last shot through the neck and spine ended up hitting nothing but muscle till I remembered what the problem was. I felt bad for the bull and have never let the adrenaline rush let me make the same mistake twice.

Here's part of the reason why I like 300 vice 100 yard zero. The example is used with 300 win mag,  Barnes 168 grn TTSX, 32 degrees and 6000 foot elevation:

300 yard zero: 100 yd +3inches, 200 +4inches, 300 -.1inches, 375 -4.5inches, 400 -6.8inches,
450 -12.5inches, 500 -20inches

100 yard zero: 100 yd 0 inches, 250 +4.5inches, 300 -8 inches, 350 -13inches, 400 -19inches,
450 -26inches, 500 -36inches.

I don't know about you, but at 500 yards I'd much rather be doping a neg 20 inch drop than a neg 36 inch drop.
And I know, for those of you using tactical type turrets you don't care about the guess work of raising cross hairs above intended point of impact. You'll just dial it up to the correct yardage and let her rip, but this information is intended for those who have not shelled out a  thousand or two thousand dollars for that type Leupold, Night Force or Huskemaw, etc tactical scopes.

Tip of the Day: When you hit an elk and he goes down, but still moving, hit him again. If you feel you need to get closer just make sure you can see him all the time and hit him again as soon as possible. Don't lose sight of him because if he gets up and takes off you may be tracking him for days and you may or may not catch up to him. They are....a very tough animal.
Just my opinion, not that it matters...  :-)

Till next time, live well, hunt hard
Ron out