Rogue
10/25/2006, 09:00 PM
So, I spent two weeks off. Part trip home to Idaho to see the folks, part elk-hunting trip. Got my first elk, not a monster by any means but about a 425 pound spike bull. Soaked in some of the numerous hot springs in the area, got snowed-on for the first time all year, caught up with some cousins (yes to the obligatory question that some of them are hawt and no I won't post their pics), all around great trip.
Here's the story: I've fished all my life and hunted some but only bagged a few birds. I sorta like venison but I've always thought that elk meat is gourmet primo-stuff. So Dad and I planned a trip. He bought me a new scope for my .270 and had it bore-sighted. I hadn't shot it with the new scope since the trip. Got to Idaho a few days before opening day so we could get a decent camp site. Rode 4-wheelers around a few days and saw some beautiful country. Now many guys hunt elk on horseback but since this was just a "Dad and me" trip, and he doesn't have horses we rode in and hiked around.
The great thing about hunting with Dad is the stories he tells about his days growing up. He spent summers working for sheepherders and cowboys in the backcountry and tells the best stories about bear encounters, crazy old miners and mountain-men, and lots of funny stuff about his brothers/my uncles. Dad's 66 now and not as spry as he used to be, can't hear himself fart, but has really mellowed over the years.
So opening day we finally go up to the mountain that we've been avoiding all weekend (so as not to spook the elk 'course). Tramp around all morning and come across a guy from Pennsylvania who'd just shot his first "wild elk". See, dood had hunted on a game preserve in the east before. So he's taking his 4-wheeler up into the hiking area to haul it out. 'Bout 30 minutes later we stroll down a ridge and the PA dood's head is covered in blood. He's rolled his nephew's machine about 100 yards from his elk. He's a little dazed but mostly alright. We spent the better part of an hour helping him get the machine running, unstuck, through the brush, and to his elk (had he been smarter or not such a city-slicker the path woulda been much easier). About that time, his boys show up and agree to help him and his elk back to camp.
Dad and I decide to stroll through some of the heavy timber back to a trail.
About 1000 yards downhill, in thick timber I spot a big young spike bull about 80 yards away. Sight him in and miss (high I assume) with the first shot. He bounds about 25 yards further and stands broadside and I dropped him cold with the second shot.
Turns out we are only about 40 yards from the main trail. Still it was lots of work cleaning and getting that animal out of there. I wondered how a bleedin' heart liberal like me would handle this part, even a good 2nd amendment supporting liberal. I've always had a huge respect for these critters where-as I think of deer like a big-fuggin'-goat. Well, let's just say I got through it and still prefer skinning to cleaning any day. We got in as close as we could with the 4-wheeler and a winch. After strapping him onto the machine, I rode the animal 12 miles down a washed out mining trail (previously referred to as the "main trail") fit for neither man nor beast and never had a more exhausting ride. Maybe I should change my username to "elk jockey".
One of the uncles just returned from his most recent summer in Alaska and we had some halibut and smoked salmon. Wow, if there's better seafood than that that comes out of the cold water up there, I've never had it. Even the oysters from the N. Pacific are better.
After paying exorbitant fees to Delta to bring back a cooler full of meat and heavier luggage than I went with, I'm back home in Tennessee. Mrs. Rogue has had the dining room fixed up with crown-molding and wainscoting. Very sharp.
Just before skinning.
http://i82.photobucket.com/albums/j257/soonercody/Hunting/100_0945.jpg
Elk Jockey
http://i82.photobucket.com/albums/j257/soonercody/Hunting/100_0943.jpg
The hunting wagon
http://i82.photobucket.com/albums/j257/soonercody/Hunting/100_0937.jpg
Dad riding (I love this picture).
Caribou Mtn in the background.
http://i82.photobucket.com/albums/j257/soonercody/Hunting/100_0940.jpg
Here's the story: I've fished all my life and hunted some but only bagged a few birds. I sorta like venison but I've always thought that elk meat is gourmet primo-stuff. So Dad and I planned a trip. He bought me a new scope for my .270 and had it bore-sighted. I hadn't shot it with the new scope since the trip. Got to Idaho a few days before opening day so we could get a decent camp site. Rode 4-wheelers around a few days and saw some beautiful country. Now many guys hunt elk on horseback but since this was just a "Dad and me" trip, and he doesn't have horses we rode in and hiked around.
The great thing about hunting with Dad is the stories he tells about his days growing up. He spent summers working for sheepherders and cowboys in the backcountry and tells the best stories about bear encounters, crazy old miners and mountain-men, and lots of funny stuff about his brothers/my uncles. Dad's 66 now and not as spry as he used to be, can't hear himself fart, but has really mellowed over the years.
So opening day we finally go up to the mountain that we've been avoiding all weekend (so as not to spook the elk 'course). Tramp around all morning and come across a guy from Pennsylvania who'd just shot his first "wild elk". See, dood had hunted on a game preserve in the east before. So he's taking his 4-wheeler up into the hiking area to haul it out. 'Bout 30 minutes later we stroll down a ridge and the PA dood's head is covered in blood. He's rolled his nephew's machine about 100 yards from his elk. He's a little dazed but mostly alright. We spent the better part of an hour helping him get the machine running, unstuck, through the brush, and to his elk (had he been smarter or not such a city-slicker the path woulda been much easier). About that time, his boys show up and agree to help him and his elk back to camp.
Dad and I decide to stroll through some of the heavy timber back to a trail.
About 1000 yards downhill, in thick timber I spot a big young spike bull about 80 yards away. Sight him in and miss (high I assume) with the first shot. He bounds about 25 yards further and stands broadside and I dropped him cold with the second shot.
Turns out we are only about 40 yards from the main trail. Still it was lots of work cleaning and getting that animal out of there. I wondered how a bleedin' heart liberal like me would handle this part, even a good 2nd amendment supporting liberal. I've always had a huge respect for these critters where-as I think of deer like a big-fuggin'-goat. Well, let's just say I got through it and still prefer skinning to cleaning any day. We got in as close as we could with the 4-wheeler and a winch. After strapping him onto the machine, I rode the animal 12 miles down a washed out mining trail (previously referred to as the "main trail") fit for neither man nor beast and never had a more exhausting ride. Maybe I should change my username to "elk jockey".
One of the uncles just returned from his most recent summer in Alaska and we had some halibut and smoked salmon. Wow, if there's better seafood than that that comes out of the cold water up there, I've never had it. Even the oysters from the N. Pacific are better.
After paying exorbitant fees to Delta to bring back a cooler full of meat and heavier luggage than I went with, I'm back home in Tennessee. Mrs. Rogue has had the dining room fixed up with crown-molding and wainscoting. Very sharp.
Just before skinning.
http://i82.photobucket.com/albums/j257/soonercody/Hunting/100_0945.jpg
Elk Jockey
http://i82.photobucket.com/albums/j257/soonercody/Hunting/100_0943.jpg
The hunting wagon
http://i82.photobucket.com/albums/j257/soonercody/Hunting/100_0937.jpg
Dad riding (I love this picture).
Caribou Mtn in the background.
http://i82.photobucket.com/albums/j257/soonercody/Hunting/100_0940.jpg