On the mountain!
I am going to have Caleb tell the story of his hunt.
Keep on reading...
My grandpa and I both had a cow elk tag, thanks to the generosity of my dad. I am not even sure what day it was, all I remember, I was stepping out of the door and thinking, "This is a good morning to get frostbite". My brother and I met my grandpa in the barn and loaded up our six wheeler with our hunting gear and headed off to a place where I had spotted some elk the day before. About half way there, the six wheeler started acting weird and on the last biggest and steepest hill, it broke down. Of course, none of us were too thrilled with this, but with no other choice, we grabbed our guns and packs and trudged up the hill. This was not our first attempt at harvesting an elk and I just gotta say - my grandpa is a real trooper! He let me hike him all over our mountains stalking what seemed to be imaginary elk until his legs felt like jello. He also put up with my crazy backwoods 6-wheel driving. He was even a good sport when I ran into a fallen tree and a branch punctured his face. I hope I am as tough and has in good shape as him when I am his age.
Thanks grandpa for putting up with me!
Hudson, Brian, Papa and Me
Anyways after we had hiked for over an hour (uphill) we reached our destination and began glassing the hillsides for life. After a couple minutes, I spotted a cow elk on the other side of the canyon and estimated it to be a little over 400 yards which is a long shot, especially with a .270 ( the gun I was shooting). We could hear some elk directly below us in the brush so we decided to wait for one of them to present themselves but after a while my trigger finger was itching to pull the trigger so I decided to try and kill the elk 400 yards away and I was also hoping that if I shot, the noise would scare the other elk out of the brush and allow my grandpa to get a shot off. Thanks to quite a bit of target practicing and some research I felt pretty good about this shot and I got set up, she was in some brush so I put my crosshairs in an opening where I thought she would walk out. Finally, after several minutes, she walked into the opening and because my gun is a not quite powerful enough to kill an elk at 400 yards, I aimed for the head and pulled the trigger. She dropped in her tracks and rolled down the hill. The elk below us scattered but never stopped long enough for my grandpa to get a shot. We were all excited and slapping each other on the back. Then a thought suddenly hit me "the six wheeler is broken down and I just shot a elk on the highest point of our property in the bottom of a canyon". I am not sure why I think of these things when it is too late. I then remembered the outfitter I work for owned a six wheeler. I called one of the guides I work with and he said I could use it for the day. Relieved. (sigh) I sent my brother several miles back down the canyon to pick the six wheeler up and meet us at the bottom of the canyon where I shot my elk. Me and my grandpa hiked over to the elk. We took some pictures, gutted it and then drug it to the bottom of the canyon where my brother and dad met us.
We loaded her up and headed home.
My Grandpa was finally able to harvest a elk on Thanksgiving morning,
he definitely earned it!
Also, a big thanks to my brother and dad for helping me out and saving the day.