I was 13, not of age for a license, but working a colt and went elk hunting with dad on public land. About a foot of snow. Dad took off across a little park to try to head some elk when they cleared the next timber patch, but my colt was a little goosey,
so I was going easy. Heard a loud buzz, snow kicked up ahead, then the report. Twice more, once underneath. Hollered LOUD and
bucked and ran for timber. Don't know how far off the shooter was, but glad he missed. How a skinny kid on a sorrel horse, all oranged up, resembles an elk, I still don't know.
