Head West Young Man

Here is a story sent to me from Michigan’s John Marshall about the fulfillment of his dream - an elk hunt in the Western United States. Thanks for the story, John!
Enjoy!

HEAD WEST YOUNG MAN

Since I was young, growing up in Pennsylvania and Michigan, I gobbled up as many articles and books about hunting elk out west as I could find. My family moved back and forth numerous times at the whim of my dad’s work. I dreamed about the mountains, putting myself into the beautiful scenery I would glimpse in Outdoor life, North American Hunter, and Field and Stream. I hung on the edge of every word written and prayed that someday I would be fortunate enough to explore beyond the Appalachians or the flatlands of Michigan. In my dreams, I roamed the vast terrain of the west in search of mule deer, antelope, or as most of my daydreaming would end – the Rocky Mountain Elk.

My fascination with traveling out west stayed with me through high school and college. Following my graduation (somehow I managed to fool the professors and obtain a degree from Ferris State University –Go Bulldogs!) work took center stage along with making a living and moving out on my own. This seemed to be the case for many of my long-time friends; most stayed in Michigan. All except my good friend Gunnar.

I met Gunnar in my senior year in high school after he transferred from Clarkston, Michigan to my hometown Howell, Michigan. Well, let’s just say- we did not hit it off right away. He was the new guy coming in and getting ALL the girls, competing for the same positions on sports teams, and did I mention getting all the girls? But, we soon realized that we shared many of the same interests and became close friends. We went to college together and graduated in the same time period.

Gunner was more of a wanderer. He moved to Rhode Island to work as a construction manager, then returned to Michigan and lived in the northern part of the state. I would visit him and enjoy the lakes, rivers and cedar swamps of northern Michigan. Then he broke the news to me. He was moving out west. He made me promise that I would join him on some western hunts. Of course he had to twist my arm to agree.

Once Gunnar moved out west and settled in, we started planning our trip. We immediately applied for restricted draw permits, but were denied. Again we tried to pull the restricted draw permits and again were denied. In the 3^rd year, we vowed that if we did not pull, we would take the trip anyway. I would travel out and we’d purchase over-the-counter tags. We were committed to finally realizing my dream of hunting out west. And that is exactly what happened!!!

THE RIFLE

Once it was decided that I was going, there was no hesitation in picking what rifle I would use. I immediately called my brother, Frank, who got me started in shooting and hunting. I excitedly told Frank that I was finally going elk hunting and would be taking the Mauser 98 in 30-06 that he had built for me 2 years prior. I had taken whitetail in both Pennsylvania and Michigan in the 1^st two years of hunting with this rifle. It was not the lightest rifle - but it was special since it was built for me by my brother. Heck, even the serial number was stamped with my birth date. The rifle is a black synthetic stock with matte blued finish and is topped with a 3-9 power Weaver scope. Since its first trip to the whitetail woods, Frank nicknamed it “Black Rifle.” Black Rifle had performed flawlessly for me and was very accurate. But, this was a foray into a whole different world.

MY PREPARATIONS

I started to hit the range on a regular basis. My 1^st choice for ammunition was 180 grain Hornady light magnum rounds. My rifle did not let me down at the range and loved this ammunition. I sighted the rifle in 3 inches high at a 100 yards. My bank account took a pretty big hit - shooting those rounds as often as I did - but I was determined to make the best of my trip and cash in should I have an opportunity.

I also started a training regime that consisted of weight lifting, running, (a little - not a lot) and taking long hikes with my lab, Casper, of course, and with weight in my pack. Casper loved it and when small game season came around he loved it even more as I started carrying my shotgun and shooting birds for him, too - bonus! Time seemed to fly by and my hunt quickly approached - I was ready!

THE HUNT

Gunnar greeted me at the Salt Lake City Airport. Gunnar had his big Dodge 2500 pick-up with a trailer and two 4-wheelers on it. I felt like a rock star, or maybe a country-music star. We stowed my gear in the truck and headed to the grocery store to get supplies. Once we were set with supplies, we headed up through Salt Lake City, into Wyoming and headed east on the highway. We then dropped back down into Utah and entered the Uinta Mountains. I was blown away by the views and the terrain – this being my first time in new mountains. Endless stands of pines, lakes tucked away in the ravines, steep cliffs – or at least they seemed steep from what I was used to!

We drove as far as the rutted, rocky road would let us and then made camp. We unloaded the 4-wheelers, got the tent set up and made a fire pit. The area was beautiful. Our camp was basically in the Flaming Gorge area of Utah. Getting out of the tent provided a view of the tallest peak in Utah – Kings Point. We grabbed our gear and went to do a little scouting. We did not see any elk. But, their signs were everywhere so we decided to start our hunt in this area.

Upon returning to camp, I opened the tent to go in and found we had company. While we were gone a skunk had decided to make himself at home in the tent. He did not stay long and we were very happy that he did not get scared into spraying. Once our visitor was gone we cooked burgers on the open flame and shared some conversation under the star-lit sky. We were both getting tired and decided to retire to the tent and prepare for the opener.

Gunnar took out his new in-the-box butane heater and prepared to fire it up. I sure was happy he had thought of the heater, as it was starting to get down-right cold. I never would have thought to bring it. Because this was a whole new terrain for me, Gunnar was in charge in the mountains. He turned on the gas and hit the lighter (“as directed by the instructions”). Flames instantly shot all the way across the tent, scaring the heck out of us! Although Gunnar turned the gas off in time to save the tent and our supplies, it was immediately apparent that we would not have a heater during the night. I hunkered down with all my fleece, hat, pants, and jacket and sunk as deep as I could into my mummy bag.

I awoke shivering to a dark morning that was very COLD. I’d have to say that sleeping on the ground with only the ridge mat to shield me was not very enjoyable. We started a cozy fire and thawed our 5 gallon water jug, which was frozen solid. We made coffee and breakfast prior to heading out.

As the sun peaked over the mountain range, it found us glassing elk on distant sage hill. They were so majestic as they ate and enjoyed the October warmth of the sun. This was good. But, we were on the wrong mountain. The elk had showed themselves and we had chosen the wrong mountain. After the elk had filled their bellies and retreated into the pines for some cover and rest, we started our trek down the mountain. We circled the open sage hillside on an old logging road and got to the back side of the mountain, which was covered with thick pines and steep ravines and washes. We decided to split up to slowly still-hunt and glass through the pines. Growing up in Pennsylvania I had learned to hunt whitetails by still-hunting the thick mountain laurel hillsides so this did not seem too different to me.

I slowly moved through the thick pines with a heavy, well-used trail below me by about 50 yards. I was basically just under the crest of the ridge and following it, like I had been taught. I was nearing a saddle and glassing heavily when I noticed what appeared to be a large boulder toward the bottom of the ridge. I studied the rock intently for quite some time, through my binoculars, as something just did not look right.

Suddenly I saw a huge rack swing upward and then look back over its shoulder. I threw my rifle up and found the bull in the scope and frantically searched for an opening in the thick cover. The elk moved forward and I found an opening in the pines and waited and waited. Whatever the big bull saw or heard over its shoulder, it did not like. Instead of walking in the direction it was looking, he turned and climbed a slope that was so steep I could not believe that something his size could climb it. I was sick as I thought for sure I had blown my chance at the only bull I would ever see on this trip.

After lunch we continued to still-hunt the timber finding lots of sign. We were hunting parallel hillsides probably 400 to 500 yards apart. The slope I was on had a very deep ravine that came to a point and joined another ridge. As I slowly moved along the ravine, I was replaying the sighting of the bull and wondering what I could have done differently to get a shot on that bull. Even through my tortured thoughts, I was repeatedly pulled back to reality by the awe-striking nature of the terrain I was now part of. The deep dropoffs of what looked like avalanche chutes- with the huge pines twisted and broken like toothpicks. Massive boulders larger than the truck that had brought us up to this remote area. Even though I was used to seeing big rocks from the old mountains out east, these were rough and jagged, not smoothed over with years of water and wind pounding against them. Despite knowing my friend was close by- this country made me feel very alone and small — but very much alive.

I started noticing that bark from the aspen trees was gouged-out with what looked like teeth from elk. It appeared they were eating the bark off the trees in this area, which joined a small secluded sage field. I slowed down and started glassing the area with my binoculars. I was about to take another cautious step when I saw movement. Two cows were climbing out of their bed, above me and to my right. I picked my rifle up and followed the first cow and then the 2^nd cow. Then I noticed a third animal following the cows; The antlers of a decent bull hit my scope. All the practice at the range and the familiar feel of my rifle took over. I flicked the safety off as the bull started to trot approximately 75 yards from my position just under the crest of the ridge. As the bull came into a clearing my crosshairs found his front left shoulder. The rifle boomed and the bull stumbled, fell, and slid to a stop. I worked the bolt and waited - but no further rounds were needed. I HAD MY BULL!

Upon reaching him I admired his healthy coat, large shoulders, and 5 x 5 antlers. Gunnar soon joined me and after the initial celebration, the work of field dressing the bull and preparing him to get out of the woods was started. I want to stress this: IT IS WORK!!! When you are used to dealing with a 150-200 lb whitetail and have to deal with a 650-700 lb bull on the steep slopes of this terrain, you get a very good appreciation of exactly how big they are.

It made matters worse that we were not prepared properly for getting an animal of this size off the mountain. We did not have full frame packs, no meat bags. I even had to use the saw on my Leatherman to cut through the animal’s spine and basically split him in half. Through this ordeal, we learned the hard way that these were not luxury items, but necessities. Gunnar and I then manually pulled the beast half by half.

It was starting to get dark and we needed to get back to camp. I marked the spot on my GPS, covered the bull with pine tree branches and started the long trek back to camp. We reached camp at about 2AM, tired and hungry. After a short, sleepless night we headed back to the spot where we left the halved elk and completed the job. According to my GPS the bull’s final resting place was 2 miles from the nearest access road and 8 miles from our camp. (Yes, the two of us had to drag the elk about two miles. Gunner told me that soon after my departure from Utah he went and bought items to insure he would never have to do that again.) He was shot at just over 10,500 feet elevation and my eastern lungs felt every foot of that.

It was an unbelievable trip, spent with one of my closest friends. It ended in success for us and I cannot wait until we do it again. I will never forget the terrain, the antelope, the mule deer, and a certain bull moose that wanted to cross the river and wanted me out of the way (he kept retreating to the willows and then coming out posturing and grunting to show his displeasure of my presence). Of course, I will remember the numerous elk including my bull.

But most importantly, I will never forget the good times with my friend and all he did to make this trip a success. This year, I will welcome him into my hunting camp in Michigan to enjoy some whitetail hunting, camp tradition, and most importantly the good times.