Monday, October 12, 2009
Roger 0, Elk 4
It has been four years since I saw a live elk on a mountainside in Colorado, while I had a rifle in my hand. I'm forgetting what they look like. We went to our scouted spot, got the van stuck in snow and almost over a cliff when brother in law Gary was towing me out, and it was remarkably elk free. There was no sign of anything recent in the snow and we had no idea where they went. The days were absolutely silent. Our elk hunting guru, the stock boy at the local grocery store, had no idea where to go and all the hunters we talked to were baffled, frustrated and ready to go home. So we did.
I listened to the Bronco victory on the radio, as soon as I got to Poncha Springs. That was fun, but staying up late to see the Rockies lose was not as much fun.
Labels: Personal History: Failing to Shoot Elk
Saturday, October 25, 2008
Well, Here's Your Problem, Right There.
That's a mountain in the eastern part of the San Juans. It's over 11,000 feet tall. Heck, I was taking the picture on a mountain about 13,000 feet tall and I was at 12,000. Notice anything missing, for late fall? Like white, glistening stuff all over the ground?
There was no snow, and therefore no pressure to bring the elk down to lower elevations. So they were hanging out way up high on the mountainsides and we got tired of going up again and again not to see them. So we came back empty.
Every hunter has his excuse ready by the time he hits home and I'm no exception. I never fired a shot the entire trip. Not that I'm complaining. It really is beautiful up there.
Labels: Personal History: Failing to Shoot Elk
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Mid Hunt Report
To say the first part of the elk hunt, up in the deep woods of the Roosevelt Forest west of Fort Collins, was a disaster would be too kind. First, although it's pretty country, ambush hunting in the deep woods without snow to show fresh prints is a model for frustration. But I get ahead of myself. Gary, my hunting bud, and brilliant biochemist, eschewed bringing water from the taps of Denver and filled the 5 gallon jerry can with water from a ditch, no, to be fair, from the East Fork of Sheep Creek (where it flowed into a ditch) with his magic pump/filter. Apparently the filter malfunctioned and we were deathly ill the first day of the hunt. Gary stayed in his tent and puked. I walked around the beautiful deep woods, puking, but not seeing anything but a moose, and that for about a quarter second. That's the only living large game animal I saw. I had lost my valuable watch the day before reconnoitring, so the trip started with a bad omen. And then got worse.
That night, in the VW Eurovan, I had a sort of anxiety attack. It's hard to explain, maybe a little claustrophobia too, but I couldn't get to sleep, a recurring weird thought would cause me to open my eyes in near panic. It was too cold to go outside for a refreshing walk. So, about 4 am, I got to sleep sitting up with the sleeping bag over my head. Not the best night ever.
The next day hunting was more fortunate. Gary saw and shot dead the last deer in the area, a beautiful young four pointer. He did all the gutting and carrying by himself as I had my radio off by mistake. Sorry, man. That night, I pulled the dead deer out of the back of his Toyota pickup, wiped up the blood, and slept there, a lot better, I might add.
We were entirely bummed by the lack of fresh sign and sightings (Gary too saw a moose and cows--but that's it) so we decided to leave but our enthusiasm took a big turn for the better when it started to snow. Unfortunately, the snow stopped after a useless quarter inch and we fled. I plan to work today and then we'll go to Antonito and try our luck in the deep woods there. Most of our success has been in the unlovely sage country north of Craig, where you can actually see the game. I'm trying to work on the reason we abandoned Craig. I have no idea at present.
That night, in the VW Eurovan, I had a sort of anxiety attack. It's hard to explain, maybe a little claustrophobia too, but I couldn't get to sleep, a recurring weird thought would cause me to open my eyes in near panic. It was too cold to go outside for a refreshing walk. So, about 4 am, I got to sleep sitting up with the sleeping bag over my head. Not the best night ever.
The next day hunting was more fortunate. Gary saw and shot dead the last deer in the area, a beautiful young four pointer. He did all the gutting and carrying by himself as I had my radio off by mistake. Sorry, man. That night, I pulled the dead deer out of the back of his Toyota pickup, wiped up the blood, and slept there, a lot better, I might add.
We were entirely bummed by the lack of fresh sign and sightings (Gary too saw a moose and cows--but that's it) so we decided to leave but our enthusiasm took a big turn for the better when it started to snow. Unfortunately, the snow stopped after a useless quarter inch and we fled. I plan to work today and then we'll go to Antonito and try our luck in the deep woods there. Most of our success has been in the unlovely sage country north of Craig, where you can actually see the game. I'm trying to work on the reason we abandoned Craig. I have no idea at present.
UPDATE: I have sprinkled in some photos--the deep woods, the medusa trees, the successful hunter, the peaks and the frozen elk wallow. Foothills of the San Juans just north of New Mexico starting tomorrow early. Could be fun.
Labels: Personal History: Failing to Shoot Elk
