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Home > HuntSpot > Elk  Hunt 2010

Snow covered mountains pushed me out onto the lowland desert hills for a late season hunt.

See right where I nailed my bull elk on Google Earth at: 43° 25.692'N   113° 58.559'W

(this puts you on the north end of the Lake Hills area, just south of Little Fish Creek)

Elk Hunt 2010: How To Shoot Two Six-Point Bulls in the Same Year 

(and get away with it, legally)

At first, I didn't know how to react when my hunting buddy (H.B.) called to let me know he'd shot my gimpy bull elk.  

It was four days after I'd returned from my combined buck and bull hunt on Scorpion Mountain where I'd met with great success on the buck part, but suffered a bout of sheer stupidity on the bull part.

I'd wounded a big six point bull on that hunt, leaving him gimping on his right front leg, but otherwise still keeping up with the rest of his herd. (read Deer Hunt 2010 for the full story)  The site of that bull limping over the ridge had not left my mind for one moment since I came home from the hunt, and I couldn't wait for the next weekend to come as I planned on heading back up after him.

Then, very unexpectedly, H.B. had gone back up the mountain without me and unknowingly connected on that very same bull!  He almost sounded guilty over the phone when he told me the story. 

The opportunity had come up for him to go hunting with another friend and so he'd gone back to the same area, mostly looking to help that friend connect on a buck.  Instead, he ended up finding a group of five or six good sized bull elk in a thick pine pocket just downhill from where I'd shot at and wounded the big six pointer.

Coming upon them in close quarters with little time to react, and nothing but heads to sight on, he simply selected the bull presenting the best target and fired, drilling the big boy through the back of the head.  It was only after the big bull was down that he noticed a bullet wound on his right front leg and realized what it meant.

I couldn't believe it, you know?  I mean, sure, I had figured my gimpy bull would remain in the same area, but what are the odds that H.B. would not only find the same group of bulls but end up blindly choosing my gimpy bull from among them!

I was shocked, truly I was, and somewhat upset to be honest.  I'd counted on having another crack at that bull myself!  After a bit, however, I started thinking more clearly about the situation.  In reality, H.B. had quite nicely cleaned up my stupid mistake and left me free to hunt whatever bull I came across once again.

If he hadn't ended up nailing that wounded bull for me, I'd have likely searched specifically just for him the rest of the season as I definitely had feelings of guilt over the whole deal.  Who knows if I would have found him and who knows what other opportunities I would have passed up in the meantime?

Once I thought about it that way, I wasn't upset anymore.  I was happy the bull had been taken and not left to face the winter with what turned out to be a broken front leg, and I was happy for H.B. for connecting on a darn nice bull!

Here's Gimpy

This isn't the best picture, but it's the only one I've got and will ever get of my gimpy bull as H.B. decided to give the bulls' rack away.  However, he says the bull is 6 x 6 with a 7th sticker point somewhere one one side, his brow tines measuring over 18 inches in length to give you an idea of its size.

The truly funny thing here is that even after H.B. nailed this big boy, for quite a while we both kept referring to him as my bull, and in a weird way, he still feels like he is.  

So, after having nailed one six point bull on the season, sort of, could it be that I might get a shot at another one with two weekends still left in the season?

Here We Go Again -- Not

After talking the whole "gimpy bull" situation out with H.B., and working through my emotions over it, suddenly a realization struck me.

H.B. had seen at least four other mature bulls in that group!  Undoubtedly, they were the same bulls I'd seen on my hunt and they were still in the same area.  Would they remain so, however, after having been chased around a couple of times now, and with one of them having been taken?

Well, two days later, I was headed back up to find out.

As it turned out, H.B. still had most of the gimpy bull to go retrieve.  He'd quartered and skinned him, packed the head and one quarter out, then ran out of time.  Of course, the big bull being two and a half miles from the nearest road had made even that quite a chore.

There was an accessible four-wheeler trail within a quarter mile of the bull, however, but H.B. hadn't had the luxury of a four-wheeler that day.   So, we loaded mine up and spent the first part of the morning getting "our elk" packed out.

H.B. then headed home, leaving me to trudge back up the mountain once again.

Unfortunately, my luck on Scorpion Mountain seemed to be used up for the year.  A snow storm had moved in and the game seemed to literally just disappear.  I'd seen a couple of nice bucks first thing that morning, before the snow hit, but then I spent the rest of the day looking at nothing but white stuff.

It was a very strange day, really.  I was literally walking around in a cloud while high on the mountain and I totally lost track of time.  I also got completely wet and chilled.  I was warm enough while walking, but there was enough wind moving the wet air around that the second I stopped, I immediately got quite cold.

I took a break once, lighting a fire and cooking up a grouse I'd taken earlier with my pistol, but other than that I just kept moving.  

Having seen nothing at that point, not even a track, I decided to head back down to the truck at  what I thought was about midday.  The plan was to warm up, get a little more clothes on, eat a bit more, then kick around the lower parts of the mountain where the falling moisture was rain and not snow.

Well, as it turned out, by the time I made it down to the truck, there was only about forty-five minutes of daylight left.  So much for thinking it was just after midday.  Being in a cloud really messed with my sense of time, let me tell you.

I pretty much weenied out at that point.  I was cold.  I was tired.  It was still raining, getting dark and turning to snow at the lower elevations now too, and so even though I'd planned on spending the night and hunting one more day, I cranked up the truck, and it's heater, and went home.

Well, at least the wife was happy to see me, and I got some wonderfully much needed sleep.

Desert Hunt Time

Rested and ready when the next weekend rolled around, I headed back to my hunt area for one more chance at a bull with a new plan in mind.  The mountains had really gotten dumped on.  Several inches of snow had fallen in the higher valleys, with who knows how much piled up on top.  Because of this storm, I expected the elk had already moved down to lower elevations for the winter, and other hunters I'd talked to seemed to be in agreement.

So, rather than heading up high, I turned instead for the lower desert hills straight south of Muldoon Creek and Scorpion Mountain.  There was a rough and remote road I knew of in the area and as first light was approaching, I'd already followed it to its end.  

The road faded out just as it reached a deep canyon with the slow moving Little Fish Creek in its bottom.  Across the canyon, the Lake Hills area rose slowly away to the south.  The steep south side of the canyon had a thick pine patch growing along it, the only real stand of pines for miles in this desert area.

I sat along the edge of the canyon as light slowly crept it's way across the overcast sky.  It seemed as if the sun took hours to have any effect as the clouds filtered most of its light away.  Using my rifle scope, I scanned the area around, checking both the pine patch and the distant hills for movement.

While searching a small patch of aspens about a mile to the south, I suddenly realized I was looking right at a cow elk. 

Continue the story

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