p_ham
Well-known member
My dad drew a muzzleloader bull elk tag this year, which happened to be the same tag I drew last year. Celebrations were in order, as anybody familiar with Nevada knows, a bull tag is no easy feat to draw.
My dad's back had been bothering him for some time, and the decision was finally made to go in for surgery the end of June. He asked the doctor at least 20 times if he'd be mobile in time to hunt. The answer was yes, with a strict "no packing" restriction.
He was understandably apprehensive, "Do I turn the tag in? Do I go?" "Will I be capable?" I told him that as long as he could walk, we were going even if I had to pack the whole thing myself.
As soon as he was able to after surgery he began walking after work. Then short hikes. Then physical therapy. Anything he could do to gain some strength back and build stamina. Things were on the right track.
I received a job offer early August, and told them before I signed the papers, I needed some time for the hunt. Luckily they were very understanding. What a load off my mind!
I went on my archery antelope hunt the week before I started my new job, tagged out, and when I got home I learned that my brother would be joining us from Oregon. I hadn't been able to hunt with him but a couple times since high school.
Fast forward to deer season...the test. Dad and his wife headed up to the area a few days before my wife and I were able to join them. They were able to do some short hikes and overall everything went well. After many miles of walking my rifle all over the mountain, Dad joined me on a short morning hunt resulting in a small forkie almost running me over, ending in his untimely demise.
We came home from that hunt and a couple days later my brother arrived in town to help pack. We hit the road the day after. We got to a hunting spot that we got some Intel on a group of bulls that hangs out in a couple basins there. We spent a day and a half there and found a lot of deer, no elk. Time to move.
Location 2 was in the same burn I shot my bull(no brainer I know). We hurredly set up camp and shuffled off for an evening hunt. There was not even half the sign where it was last year. "No big deal" I thought, I knew they were there somewhere. We crossed over a saddle and started to glass. It didn't take long and I had spotted some elk on a far away ridge. After deciding they were cows I talked dad into pushing just a little further over a close tit to check the bottom of the draw. Almost as soon as we crested over I caught movement and "whispered" STOP!
After confirming they were not only bulls, but large bulls, we ranged them at 250yds and developed a plan for dad to close enough distance. I was so excited I almost couldn't hold my binos up. One was a 6x7 that was I would guess around 320, the other was a giant 6x that I guessed at 350+.
As I watched the shaky show the shot and smoke filled my senses. The smaller bull jumped backwards as the big bullet struck the ground in front of it. Disappointed and still shaking, I watched the 2 bulls make their way up the steep mountain side and into the trees. I knew then, that was our chance. Dad swore up and down that he didn't pull the shot. We decided he would carry my muzzleloader which I brought along as backup.
We spent the next day and a half hiking and glassing around the area to no avail. We found lots of places where the elk used to be. Found deer. No elk.
I proposed the idea that we would go down below and glass up into as many draws as we could before dark.
It didn't take very long to spot a good bull bedded in the PJs almost at the top of a ridge. Then a second bull showed itself. I talked dad into believing it was a doable stalk, even though it was a long ways out. Last hunt day Hail Mary. He took my brother along to pack water while I stayed back at the spotter to offer hand signals if need be.
Not long after, some wood cutters sauntered up the trail headed in the worst direction. I told them our situation and our plan. They agreed to cut wood elsewhere. Everybody was cordial and thankfully so.
I sat behind the spotter for an hour. Then 2. Then at 2.5 hours I spotted some deer busting out of the trees a couples hundred yards downhill from the bull. He watched them stot away and went back to chewing his cud. At 3 hours the bull stood up and he was real interested in something downhill from him. I knew it was Dad. After a long staredown he and the other bull started heading uphill, pausing to look back at the unknown noise. Suddenly they both began to run and I thought the jig was up. Then I heard the WOOMF of the muzzleloader and the unmistakable THWACK! I was surprised I could hear all that at over a mile away. I watched the bulls fight their way through burned up trees and deadfall, up and over the nearby saddle.
I threw all the glass and jackets into the truck and hauled ass up the trail until it ran out. I stuffed my pack with coats, snacks, and water and began freight training up the mountain. I met up with my dad and brother in the saddle and we began tracking. He said he was 40yds and it felt like a good shot. We waited a while before going in after him, and also so I could regain myself after racing uphill.
We dropped over into the next draw slowly following track and keeping the wind in our favor. We came out of the trees and I spotted the rear half of an elk sticking out from behind a pine, still standing. "Elk!" "Don't shoot, there were two!" We frantically scanned the surrounding bush looking for another. My brother spotted an elk butt laying on the ground not far from the standing bull. I soon saw antlers moving. We waited for what felt like forever for them to move enough to tell which one was hit. I had a gut feeling it was the bedded one but better safe than sorry. The bedded bull got up and came around to our side of the tree. He looked sick but I wasn't ready to call it and he facing the opposite direction of the 1st shot. Finally the other bull turned around and showed that he was definitely not hit. "It's the lower bull, take him!" The shot was true, mid lung. He stood there like nothing happened. "He's hit hard but you better put another one in him!" "Hug the shoulder and drop him!" Another shot and the bull stumbled and fell. I heard him take his final breathe. We had done it.
After many years of hunting elk my dad was finally able to harvest a mature bull. After all the struggling to even get to hunt, a miss and what I thought was our only chance I sat by my brother on the slope in disbelief as my dad made his way over to the downed animal.
We took our pictures and shared some laughs. Skinned and quartered, we hung what my brother and I couldn't carry and headed to the truck but not before the eyeshine of a fox not 15yds away gave me quite the start. We hit camp at midnight. My brother and I got up and packed the rest of the meat the next morning while dad broke camp.
A hunt I will always remember fondly.
*pictures to follow*
My dad's back had been bothering him for some time, and the decision was finally made to go in for surgery the end of June. He asked the doctor at least 20 times if he'd be mobile in time to hunt. The answer was yes, with a strict "no packing" restriction.
He was understandably apprehensive, "Do I turn the tag in? Do I go?" "Will I be capable?" I told him that as long as he could walk, we were going even if I had to pack the whole thing myself.
As soon as he was able to after surgery he began walking after work. Then short hikes. Then physical therapy. Anything he could do to gain some strength back and build stamina. Things were on the right track.
I received a job offer early August, and told them before I signed the papers, I needed some time for the hunt. Luckily they were very understanding. What a load off my mind!
I went on my archery antelope hunt the week before I started my new job, tagged out, and when I got home I learned that my brother would be joining us from Oregon. I hadn't been able to hunt with him but a couple times since high school.
Fast forward to deer season...the test. Dad and his wife headed up to the area a few days before my wife and I were able to join them. They were able to do some short hikes and overall everything went well. After many miles of walking my rifle all over the mountain, Dad joined me on a short morning hunt resulting in a small forkie almost running me over, ending in his untimely demise.
We came home from that hunt and a couple days later my brother arrived in town to help pack. We hit the road the day after. We got to a hunting spot that we got some Intel on a group of bulls that hangs out in a couple basins there. We spent a day and a half there and found a lot of deer, no elk. Time to move.
Location 2 was in the same burn I shot my bull(no brainer I know). We hurredly set up camp and shuffled off for an evening hunt. There was not even half the sign where it was last year. "No big deal" I thought, I knew they were there somewhere. We crossed over a saddle and started to glass. It didn't take long and I had spotted some elk on a far away ridge. After deciding they were cows I talked dad into pushing just a little further over a close tit to check the bottom of the draw. Almost as soon as we crested over I caught movement and "whispered" STOP!
After confirming they were not only bulls, but large bulls, we ranged them at 250yds and developed a plan for dad to close enough distance. I was so excited I almost couldn't hold my binos up. One was a 6x7 that was I would guess around 320, the other was a giant 6x that I guessed at 350+.
As I watched the shaky show the shot and smoke filled my senses. The smaller bull jumped backwards as the big bullet struck the ground in front of it. Disappointed and still shaking, I watched the 2 bulls make their way up the steep mountain side and into the trees. I knew then, that was our chance. Dad swore up and down that he didn't pull the shot. We decided he would carry my muzzleloader which I brought along as backup.
We spent the next day and a half hiking and glassing around the area to no avail. We found lots of places where the elk used to be. Found deer. No elk.
I proposed the idea that we would go down below and glass up into as many draws as we could before dark.
It didn't take very long to spot a good bull bedded in the PJs almost at the top of a ridge. Then a second bull showed itself. I talked dad into believing it was a doable stalk, even though it was a long ways out. Last hunt day Hail Mary. He took my brother along to pack water while I stayed back at the spotter to offer hand signals if need be.
Not long after, some wood cutters sauntered up the trail headed in the worst direction. I told them our situation and our plan. They agreed to cut wood elsewhere. Everybody was cordial and thankfully so.
I sat behind the spotter for an hour. Then 2. Then at 2.5 hours I spotted some deer busting out of the trees a couples hundred yards downhill from the bull. He watched them stot away and went back to chewing his cud. At 3 hours the bull stood up and he was real interested in something downhill from him. I knew it was Dad. After a long staredown he and the other bull started heading uphill, pausing to look back at the unknown noise. Suddenly they both began to run and I thought the jig was up. Then I heard the WOOMF of the muzzleloader and the unmistakable THWACK! I was surprised I could hear all that at over a mile away. I watched the bulls fight their way through burned up trees and deadfall, up and over the nearby saddle.
I threw all the glass and jackets into the truck and hauled ass up the trail until it ran out. I stuffed my pack with coats, snacks, and water and began freight training up the mountain. I met up with my dad and brother in the saddle and we began tracking. He said he was 40yds and it felt like a good shot. We waited a while before going in after him, and also so I could regain myself after racing uphill.
We dropped over into the next draw slowly following track and keeping the wind in our favor. We came out of the trees and I spotted the rear half of an elk sticking out from behind a pine, still standing. "Elk!" "Don't shoot, there were two!" We frantically scanned the surrounding bush looking for another. My brother spotted an elk butt laying on the ground not far from the standing bull. I soon saw antlers moving. We waited for what felt like forever for them to move enough to tell which one was hit. I had a gut feeling it was the bedded one but better safe than sorry. The bedded bull got up and came around to our side of the tree. He looked sick but I wasn't ready to call it and he facing the opposite direction of the 1st shot. Finally the other bull turned around and showed that he was definitely not hit. "It's the lower bull, take him!" The shot was true, mid lung. He stood there like nothing happened. "He's hit hard but you better put another one in him!" "Hug the shoulder and drop him!" Another shot and the bull stumbled and fell. I heard him take his final breathe. We had done it.
After many years of hunting elk my dad was finally able to harvest a mature bull. After all the struggling to even get to hunt, a miss and what I thought was our only chance I sat by my brother on the slope in disbelief as my dad made his way over to the downed animal.
We took our pictures and shared some laughs. Skinned and quartered, we hung what my brother and I couldn't carry and headed to the truck but not before the eyeshine of a fox not 15yds away gave me quite the start. We hit camp at midnight. My brother and I got up and packed the rest of the meat the next morning while dad broke camp.
A hunt I will always remember fondly.
*pictures to follow*
