Page 16 '|JTIChcI.K :1 T. r. - September 26, 2012
This time of year brings back bullish memories
Archery season is almost over
and rifle season is about to begin.
Since I still have elk in the freezer
from last year's hunt I won't be
going out this fall but I've been
thinking back to past hunts. Three
of them come to mind.
Location: Central Idaho elk
camp.
When: First week of Novem-
ber, 1992.
Conditions: Cold, about 6
inches of snow.
! always fantasized about get-
ting an elk at first light and being
back at camp by noon. That usually
turns out to be wishful thinking but
on this day at least half of that wish
came true. I left camp before day-
light and hiked a mile to a meadow
where I waited for enough light to
see my surroundings.
No sooner did the first morn-
ing's light arrive when I saw some
00UTDOOR$
Scott Staats
movement up on the hillside. Two
cow elk walked out into an open-
ing. I froze. They looked right at me
from 150 yards off. Seconds later
a big bull walked out and stopped
next to them. Before he could get a
chance to spy me, I fired. He went
a short distance and dropped.
A quick note about elk hunt-
ing - when you see a bull elk this
huge, the adrenaline starts pumping
through your entire body and your
breathing is on the verge of hyper-
ventilation. When the adrenaline
subsides, you can catch your breath
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and stop repeating (to yourself or
out loud - you can't remember at
the time) "Whoa," "Wow," and "I
can't believe this."
Then reality hits you in the
face like a brick as you stare down
at this animal the size of medium
horse. Now you're repeating (out
loud - you recall clearly) -"Now
what?"
Hunting is the easy part, now
the real work begins. Field dress-
ing doesn't mean putting on your
camo in the woods. It's a process
that involves steps such as gutting,
skinning and quartering the ani-
mal. This is hard enough to do with
one or two others helping but it's
a monumental task to accomplish
solo.
I actually started the morning
off back at camp with two friends.
One of them was somewhere on the
ridge above me and I had no idea
the location of the other. I thought
my friend on the ridge would show
up soon but he never did. He later
said he heard me shoot but since I
didn't yell or whistle, he conclud-
ed that I missed as usual. For my
part, I didn't want to make any ad-
ditional noise, concluding that the
cow elk were heading his way and
he had a cow tag.
What were chances of me
getting an elk, I wondered? I had
a bull tag and my two friends had
cow tags. I always see cows and no
bulls. Not today.
So I took care of the bull by
myself on that steep sagebrush hill,
or rather it took care of me. After
gutting it, I attempted to drag it
whole down the hill into the trees
to quarter it. The snow made it
easier than I thought, a bit too easy
actually. A few times the elk got
away from me. Once, an antler hit
me in the leg, leaving me with a cut
and a bruise.
The bull slid and rolled the last
20 or 30 yards on his own, finally
coming to rest up against a big rot-
ted log. I then walked the mile back
to camp where I dropped off my
rifle and picked up my Wyoming
The author with his 6x6 bull - after
saw, pack, rope, plastic bags and
plastic sled. On the way to camp I
ran into three more elk- a bull, cow
and calf. My two friends didn't see
an elk all day.
Once back at the bull I got it
quartered, cut up and loaded on the
sled and in the pack. All that re-
mained was the backbone, hide and
head. I would return for the head.
I now understand the phrase
"the long haul." I took several
breaks to readjust the load and
catch my breath. On a few slight
downhill sections I even sat atop
the sled with my feet out front to
act as steering and brakes.
By the time I got to camp it was
4 p.m. and I felt totally exhausted.
Both my friends were there and
I thought I'd play a little joke on
them and said it was a spike. They
returned with me for the final trip
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all the work was done.
and when they saw the big 6 X 6
bull behind the log, their eyes about
popped out of their heads.
I had a similar scenario occur
a year earlier the day before Hal-
loween when I ran into a herd of
elk just before dark. This time I got
a spike bull and by the time I gutted
him darkness fell uPon me. I had to
leave and return in the morning.
I returned with the trusty sled
and pack, loading the two hind
quarters and a front quarter on the
sled and a front quarter and the
backstraps and tenderloins in the
pack. I had a rough one-mile haul
through the snow-covered sage-
brush hills to my truck but I made
it one trip.
Another memorable solo bull
elk hunt that I'll never forget, no
matter how hard I try, took place in
southern Utah in October of 1996.
I left the truck before light and
walked along some old clearcuts.
At 7:45 I took a breather and sat
down. I looked up to see a cow elk
approaching at about 100 yards off.
As she looked straight at me I no-
ticed a big bull elk about 200 yards
off.
When the cow stopped, he
stopped and looked ready to bolt
so I took a neck shot since that's
all I had. He ran 100 yards and
dropped. Even though I was about
a mile from the truck I managed
to maneuver it to about 250 yards
from the elk. That was the good
part.
The bad part involved all the
yellow jackets buzzing around,
landing on me and the elk while I
gutted and quartered it. At times I
felt like a beekeeper with the bees
crawling over me as I worked. I
just hoped I didn't end up wearing
a beard of bees.
I'm allergic to bees and
thought this might be the last hunt
of my life if I got stung. However, I
didn't have to pull out the bee sting
kit.
Scott Staats is a full-time outdoor
writer who lives in Prineville.
Contact him by e-mail at news@
sweethomenews.com. Please put
"For Scott Staats" on the subject
line.
