I shaved my legs for this?

Well last winter I decided I was going to be a ballsy little squirrel and invade the northern territory of ‘ol Buzzard –breath, I girded up my chiclet loins, and sent in an app to go and get me some of that there non-resident “free meat”. I was counting on him being so busy saving the cyber world from evil that his wall could be breeched easier than a group of guys staggering out of the desert into Three Points. AZ. begging for agua. But I knew some stealth would be required. Them buzzards have a lot of time as they are up there circling collecting a paycheck without flapping a wing.
I got talked into taking a sit-around job one day a week, and one of the things I did while sitting around was sharpen things, knives, mower blades, and, eventually, my broad heads went on the stone. Now even though my head hair has migrated downward for decades now, eventually my arms ran out of hair to be shaved. Manscaping??? Being out of my skill set, I by-passed all that territory and started at the ankles and worked up. Fortunately all my blades were sharp before I reached my knees.
I did some practicing during the summer, not enough, to build confidence with my recurve, so I chose to use the compound. All my llamas were rented out for the entire month of September except for my six yearlings so my summer trips were used to condition the old guys and also to get the little fellas some experience with 10-20 lb. loads, so that, hopefully, between the six of them I could have at least some assistance when I headed into the back country. Two were a little slow but the four biggest came along quite nicely. My threshold for acceptable skill is quite low when the alternative is to put all my crap on my own back, however.


IMG_1352 by squirrel2012, on Flickr

DSC05600 by squirrel2012, on Flickr

Renting out the boys and work made for a very patchy schedule of days available to launch my northern invasion, I put my manly foot down and blocked out the last ten days of the month at work, after all the wooly boys were going to be returned home, at least I could have one block of time to really get after them away from the truck and all the usual road hunters.
By driving in the wee hours I squeaked in a trip for the first two days, you can’t miss the opener? Right?? I heard a big boy bugle (I have been chasing the same huge bull for almost a decade now, when I can draw, he has a distinctive bellow of a bugle,) at about 8 am just once and my cow calls brought a calf to five yards, where she froze and her eyes approached saucer dimensions as she brought my form into focus. After she broke and spooked back to Mom a pine martin hopped by about 20 yards away, and that was about it for that day. I found a couple wallows that were about a week old since they had been used. Elk sign was absolutely everywhere but with a full moon and 85 degree temperatures there was not a great deal of daylight activity going on.


I knew it was going to get good when i found the "party balloon" of antler radar's dreams tucked in the bushes...

Untitled by squirrel2012, on Flickr

That is a nice one. Seams like all the ones I find are much plainer and under the weather from a few weeks in the sun. Nothing makes your day like a freshy party balloon. I hope you gathered that one up and put it in a special place in the trophy room.

antlerradar said:

That is a nice one. Seams like all the ones I find are much plainer and under the weather from a few weeks in the sun. Nothing makes your day like a freshy party balloon. I hope you gathered that one up and put it in a special place in the trophy room.

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I did, if by trophy room you mean burn barrel?? My pet peeve is beer cans but I laughed hard when I saw this and thought of AR...

DSC05743 by squirrel2012, on Flickr




Day two saw the same bellow, just once, from a few yards away from where he had been on day one. I saw a pine martin, probably the same one hop down by me looking for a squirrel to eat. I watched carefully on my way back to the truck to make sure he didn’t sneak up and jump me; as if he did he would be home free, with chow for the whole winter. I drove home and took care of business for the next week before heading back for a three day stint.
I got there mid-day and upon gearing up realized I had no camouflage… bummer, but no big deal. On the evening hunt, barely out of sight of the truck, I bugled in a four point to 35 yards and was surrounded by bugles in spite of the extreme heat. I passed on him, and, as they all sounded “squeaky” I slipped out the side and headed back to where my pine martin buddy lived.
As I started downhill into the big boy’s hangout my snapped twig prompted a challenge bugle from 75 yards ahead. I hurriedly set up and cow called a large 5 point to 30 yards who came in from my wrong side and busted me. From where my big buddy lived I heard several bugles but did not aggressively approach them and they talked trash back to me from as close as a hundred yards, smashing trees and screaming with rage, without moving substantially closer. I retreated at dark, certain the next morning would be great, but it only brought deathly silence.
The second evening the big boy was bellowing on a regular basis as well as at least ten other bulls all in the same small basin, this was about as exciting as elk hunting can get. I put the wind in my face and got within a hundred yards of the big boy. I was just ready to take a few more yards off and I saw a bull about 50 yards away, staring almost at me, but not quite. He had heard my clumsy approach but had no idea what nor exactly where I was. He stalked off in business like fashion and I was able to see he was a very nice 5 (about 260-270”) and he was not the guy doing the bugling, confirming my theory that the herd bull must be the big one, though I had not laid eyes on him this year (Even years ago he was 350” or so). He was on a mission to ascertain what I was and for the next half hour he went back and forth in a 2/3 circle staring and eventually barking as he tried to locate me to resolve his curiosity. He was big enough to make me settle but he never came close to giving me a clear shot from inside 40 yards. As he swung wide and my sights faded I slipped back in retreat as they continued to scream into the darkening pines. Twice in the dark walking back to the truck, bulls accosted me from within fifty yards thinking my boot steps were elk… it gets no better than this!

DSC05732 by squirrel2012, on Flickr

DSC05697 by squirrel2012, on Flickr

All night long a bull bugled within a hundred yards from my tent keeping my dog growling and me awake, and anticipating the next morning’s arrival. As usual he shut up just before dawn and I headed out towards where I had been the night before, but didn’t make it two hundred yards from camp before I was pinned down by a close bugle. A truck roared up a half hour after daylight and ruined that so I head further back in. Not a quarter mile in and I was again surrounded by four bulls screaming. Two squeakers and a good sounding satellite were part of the music, but the deep bellowing bugle never moved as the others revolved around, that was my boy (but not the one from the night before). After listening to the lay of the land, so-to-speak, I moved down and to the left keeping the wind favorable and avoiding the satellites. I got within a hundred yards and stopped to see what might happen, as the woods were just too crunchy dry to push closer.
A cow/calf came in on my downwind side and froze as my stench swirled into them, they bolted as I scanned the trees for the herd bull, rocks rolled, trees crashed, it was surely over?? Five minutes after the commotion he let out a scream from 75 yards dead ahead of me, he hadn’t gone with the spooked girls, what was going on? A spike fed unconcernedly 35 yards upwind from me and squeaked a couple times, then two cows and a calf walked directly in the tracks of the girls that had just spooked, and the wind was the same, this was going to end poorly. As they got into the danger zone of scent detection the thick Christmas trees parted and the herd bull walked to my upwind side at 20 yards. I came to full draw as he passed behind a beautiful little blue spruce and my yuppie camo never got a glance.

I'm liking this so far...

Great story! Can't wait for the ending.

Dang good read, funny too.....
Matt

K7A3BE4CAC625D_1000371 by squirrel2012, on Flickr

He strolled through two shooting lanes, stopping briefly in both but with my sweet spot covered up; the third would be a charm a five yard opening that would surely work. Then all hell broke loose behind me as the cows smelled me and bolted, he wheeled on his rear hooves and quickly retraced his steps and through the first opening and then stopped in the next, my last hope, as I loosed an arrow in what could best be described as thinly veiled panic on my part. I did not see the arrow fly, though I thought I heard a hit, he walked slowly away and in 5 yards was gone in the impenetrable green. The second-guessing and recriminations started immediately, where in the hell had my arrow gone? Did I flinch and blink or what? I was still shaking uncontrollably and sat for 10 minutes before creeping up and there was my arrow stuck deep into the dirt but covered front to back with dark blood, no bubbles but no smell of gut either. As I stood there a fierce commotion broke out 50 yards ahead sounding a lot like antlers on stone at one point. I beat feet back to where I took the shot carrying my arrow and spent an hour trying to make my watch turn faster and trying to make the arrow talk to me. It was a VERY long hour.
At precisely 61 minutes from the thrashing sounds ending I crept up the way he had gone and ten yards from where the arrow had been I could see an elk butt… a very dead elk butt, what a relief! He had thrashed down into a nasty mess of burned timber, deep ashes, what a lovely butchering scenario…
Now I was on cloud nine, hundreds of raghorns had walked over the years to allow this moment to occur; I was truly awed and thankful, especially as I had almost screwed it all up at the moment of truth. I floated back to the truck and was gathering my tools, game bags and black pepper together and the late arriving truck’s owner walked down the road to get in and go home, my guard was down and I waved to him from maybe a hundred yards away. It was like waving a red flag at a bull. He started screaming at me from there and it only got worse as he closed…


IMG_0161 by squirrel2012, on Flickr

“You aint IN Colorado!! Do you even know where you are AT?”
Yep, I’m at my truck…
“This is WY I’m a native”
(I couldn’t resist) Really?? Right here where we are standing is WY?
“You bet yer ass it is I’M A NATIVE”
Well if you are a native you probably should know…
“You’ve gotta be WAY over that far mountain to be in CO, you aren’t even close to being legal. And you might as well not try to run cause Biff’s already coming.
I don’t know Biff should I be scared?
“Yep he’s the warden out of Saratoga, and he’ll nail your ass.” (Seeing that I was putting my pack frame on) “You didn’t kill an elk did you?”
Matter of fact I did… At this point spit was flying out between both of his teeth, and he was really getting riled up.
“That means it’ll be a hunnert times worse on you when he gets here…I live here and take care of the ranch down there… you are going to go down hard”
He started to walk away but came back for some more parting shots and to take pictures of me and of my truck plates, before stalking off to his truck with his crossbow over his shoulder. I called to him to try and talk some sense to him but he walked away talking trash as he went so I wished him a sarcastic “have a nice day Wyoming boy”, and went back to the task at hand.
WOW! Buzzard Breath has a brother… who knew? Blowing his stack without having a clue as to the facts… gotta be Buzzard brother #1…



IMG_0160 by squirrel2012, on Flickr

My sixth and last load got to the truck about two hours after dark that night, 245 pounds of boneless meat and a killer 100 pound load of cape/horns/head. Holy crap I’m getting old, there was a day not long ago when I’d have gotten him out in 4. Flies and bees were terrible even with lots of pepper, although the pepper may help the ashes pass the cook’s inspection!! I got home in the wee hours of the morning and still had lots to do to make sure he did not die in vain.
The next day the WY Game and Fish called and they were extremely un-Buzzard-like: very thorough, professional and polite (as always I might add, I wish ours were half of that) It would appear that I’m not guilty of anything at all, which would explain the sound sleeping.
Now if “ol Buzzard just let’s points averaging carry on for one more year out of his sense of love and benevolence… Cause I got a guy dying to share his 8 pack in next year’s draw…

Good story and great bull! Definitely a memorable experience for you.

Nice bull! I always enjoy your hunt reports. It seems like there is probably a little fiction thrown into each one, but what good story doesn't.

Awesome bull! thanks for sharing your story.

That is a dandy bull!

Awesome story congrats.

Great story and bull! Congrats!

Great bull...congrats!

Great bull! What is the story on Buzzard Breath #1?

Addicting said:

Great bull! What is the story on Buzzard Breath #1?

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Just Squirrel being Mr. Congeniality as usual.

Great elk and great write-up!

Awesome hunt report! Congratulations on the nice bull!

Ohhh my - how did I ever miss this one?!

I wait for this report all year then was busy filming bulls when the squirrel struck.



You must know some horrible things that I don’t if you can’t see the humor in ol’ squirrel, or maybe a jeoulous, over zealous guy??

LCH - if you have followed this squirrel for long you will realize this guy is all non-fiction. Some guys talk about it and some guys do it. Can’t make up those pic’s



Buzz’s brother....

I can follow the pics but could someone translate the story to English?