The Hunt, II

We hunted Friday night, Saturday morning and Saturday night.  Saddle up, brush down. Eat, nap.  Our mules/horses and us were on the same schedule.  Friday night a long ride and a long walk.  Surrounded at times by bugling and whistles of elk.  What a lovely song they sing.  Saturday morning, I had a bull elk - the only sex my tag can hunt right now - in the scope.  His butt.  When I saw he was a bull, he ran directly away.  Showing me only.....his butt. 

(Saturday morning hunt)

That evening, we saddled up again.  This time, Mike rode his horse Earl.  Less than 1.5 miles out, Earl stopped on the trail - ears perked and attention forward.  We saw nothing.  One more step forward and then Mike saw the bull feeding ahead.  I jumped off, grabbed my rifle and shooting sticks.  My guide whispered (in a shout - is this possible?) to move less than 10 feet from him on his mounted, fully alert horse and shoot.  Yikes.  This could be a rodeo, I thought to myself.  But I really didn't have time to think.  I set my sticks, looked up.  The bull raised his head.  I found his shoulder in my scope and shot so quickly, the scope came back and nailed me in the forehead!!  Rookie mistake to get "scoped".  Our rides hardly even flinched - no rodeo this time!  My guide reported, "I saw him fall in the trees over there.  Walk up and make sure he is dead!"  It was an order.  I snuck up, not sure where to look.  Which trees?  Right trees, left trees?  Where was he??  Finally, I spotted the elk.  Watched.  No lung movement.  It's the hunter's worse nightmare.  Walking up to your elk and having him stand up and run away.

There would be no running this time.  My shot was a killing shot, for which I am extremely grateful.

My guide carries an axe. 

After removing the enormous pile of guts (I am always astonished at how much of an elk are guts!), he whacks down the sternum, opens the pelvis and finished with whacking the top of the spinal cord so the body will lay open, cooling in the Wyoming night.  We cut limbs from a nearby pine and "brush up" the carcass so the birds won't get the meat.  We hope the bears are eating somewhere else and return home to comb down and feed our trusty steeds.  And ourselves.

This is what the carcass looks like prior to getting brushed up.

 

 

When we return Sunday morning, a cow elk slips across the trail in front of us in the early morning light.  There are bulls bugling and cows squawking.  Mike holds a tag for a bull and a special tag for this area for a cow.  He goes off a-hunting and I am left with Gus, my ride, and two pack mules.  We wait.  Surrounded by the sounds of elk.  I am enthralled and ever so thankful to have these moments in the Wyoming mountains.

 

We return to the cooled carcass.  No bears.  This time, we pack a Sawzall - it's not wilderness here.  A clean cut is finished down the backbone.  One carcass is made into four pieces, hefted into bags and atop mules, tied down, and we return home.  Sounds so easy.  Trust me.  It was not.

 

Comb and brush, feed, and nap.  It was a very good hunt indeed.   Thank you Mr. Elk.  Thank you for giving your life so we may have a full freezer of lean, organic meat.  And for the memories of one of my favorite hunting adventures.  Life is so grand.