Home Forums Hunting & Shooting Elk Hunting Your 1st elk

I bet some of you have a few storys you could share.

I remember my first, because it wasn't that long ago. Had a muzzleloader cow tag. Opening morning I got between two small herds with bugling bulls. I couldn't see 'em but they were no more than 2-300 yards away in either direction, it was about as good as it gets as far as excitement. Right about the time I was deciding to move uphill toward the herd up there, I heard another bugle from a different spot. Or rather, a hunter on horseback who'd ridden in above them, blowing on a bugle and letting his scent carry down to them, there was a trail up there. Then it was like a stampede as the herd ran by on their way out of there. Bummer.

We re-grouped and my buddy and I decided to hunt another mountainside that afternoon. We came up with a plan that he'd go up high and I'd stay a few hundred yards lower and side-hill in the same direction, thinking maybe if we jumped any we'd run them by the other guy. As if that ever works.

I was working my way along slowly when I saw a decent mule deer buck up above me feeding, so I stopped to admire him. No deer tag, naturally. I must have stood there 5 or 10 minutes and as I was standing there, I heard that stampede sound again, coming from up above. Four cows ran by, the first two a little too far away but the second two at about 40 yards and in the clear, as far as the shot. I picked the biggest and swung with her, the shot felt right so I fired and they just kept running.

Right then my bud came down, hot on their trail. We found "my" cow about 75 yards from where I hit her, drilled through the heart. One of the best shots I ever made.

My first elk was on my 26th birthday. My mom helped with packing it out ... well, at least carried the extra meat sacks and tools while dad and I brought out the meat. Less than 3 years later mom was dead from cancer. So ... memorable, yes.

Tom

I'd just broken into my teens when I killed my first elk. It was dusk, I was alone and hiking in the deep show towards camp (I hoped).

I just entered this little prairie when a bull started running from right to left across it. He had all kinds of points, so I didn't have to check if he was legal. He was maybe 50 yards out.

Anyway, I centered the shoulder, trying to drop a bullet just behind his shoulder ... one shot, no effect ... shot number two, no effect ... shot number three, no effect, but he suddenly fell down a few yards later.

It was the first time I'd seen an elk on the ground and my first thoughts were, "Holy SH1T, what am I gonna do now?"

He was a 5X6, but not a wimpy raghorn, he was a darned fine bull, even by my standards today.

I tried to roll him over to gut him and simply could not do it. I pulled, pried, kicked and did all kinds of things and absolutely could not roll him. Then, I noticed that a jackpine was broken and laying on the ground and it occurred to me that maybe, just maybe, he'd run into the jackpine.

It turned out that he'd broken the jackpine about 18-inches above the ground and HE'D IMPALED HIMSELF ON THE BASE OF THE TREE.

Damndest thing I've seen before or since.

Once I figgered out what was happening, I slipped my limb saw under his belly and sawed off the two-inch base. Then, I rolled him over easily.

I'd only gutted about a half-dozen deer at that time, so gutting the elk was a new adventure.

It took me probably three hours to gut, skin, quarter and hang the bull. Not bad time ... considering.

I was wearing a pack frame, so I loaded one rear quarter and the head and walked out to camp, blazing trees all the way, so I could find the kill site the next day.

I remember walking into camp about 11 O'clock. I was so tired, just killer tired. I stumbled into the middle of camp, fell to my knees and cried.

Never been so tired. And happy.

The next day was a bluebird day in the eastern Oregon bush. I packed the rest of the bull out and had a really fun time doing it.

By the way, I was all alone in camp. I was hunting with friends and there were a couple of days when the others had work or other stuff to do, so I thought it would be a great adventure to do it all alone.

It was an adventure, all right.

Kinda cool, though.

My wishes for a Joyous Easter,

Steve

Cow at 30yds with an old Savage 110 30-06 and NP. Was pretty uneventful. Was about 100yds from the truck, as I was walking toward the meadow. The good eating was spectacular.

Story of my first elk...thats a story for the future. No luck yet. Lots of effort, plenty of fun, and some knee pain mixed in. But no luck yet.

I killed my first elk at age 14. I was hunting with my father on (of all places) Elk Mountain in Colorado's Unit 76. I was carrying my father's Rem 721 in .270 Win with a Weaver K4.

We walked into a small herd spread out over a hillside, and we put a parallel sneak on them. I waited for a bit, and finally decided to shoot a 4x4 bull. As soon as I fired, the hillside exploded.

My Dad was shooting at a bull running up the opposite hillside in the timber. My shot was broadside at 100 yds. and the bull died in a gully. My Dad hit his 4x4 bull in back of the neck at 150 yards through the trees. All with an old Mauser chambered to 8x57 and equipped with peep sights.

We dragged his bull down the hill and dressed them both within 25 feet of the other. Dad's bull had a double knee joint on a foreleg- odd. I still am amazed that he could hit that small target on the run with peep sights. Salud Dad!

Upon returning home, we learned that two bull elk had run through our front yard that morning. Proof that no elk comes easily to me!

Mine was at age 15 and I claim no skill whatever, just plain dumb luck. I'd met up with my dad and we were standing in a meadow next to a big bushy pine tree deciding what to do next. I looked over Dad's shoulder and there was a yearling running by at maybe 50 yds at high speed. He'd been spooked bad by something. I stepped sideways around Dad, whipped my Win 32 Spc off my shoulder and popped off a shot, almost from the hip. I hit it right behind the eye. I couldn't do that again in 5000 shots. Even at that, it ran over 100 yds before it went down. You could put your fist in the hole in its head so it was running purely on adrenaline.

Dumb luck here too. In the foothills of the Rubys, near Alder, MT. Myself with another 19 year old, neither of which had ever killed an elk, we found a herd moving off of private land right at daybreak, found a couple of bulls too. While we were side hilling the elk, we noticed the bulls were gone. Then all of a sudden, all three turn up in the draw below us at under 100 yards. My buddy fires first and misses, I shoot next, dropping a bull. Turns out my .280 round hit him in the spine just in front of the hips. It was a better than average 5 point.
Neither of us had a clue as to how to take care of the animal, but we managed. We even took the rib cage out by cutting slits in it, then waddling down the hill carrying it together. Had no game bags or even a pack frame, so we just threw the meat over our backs and held onto the leg bones. We were covered in blood by the time we were done, and feeling like real grown ups, we walked into this little bar to celebrate and ordered a couple of beers while we still had blood all over us. And no, they didn't check our ID.

Monday morning. 50 shades of gray. At the top of Elk ridge we’re met by a cow moose, and ½ mile visibility in the falling snow. We see another cow moose feeding on the ridge. The snow stops, but patches of fog drift up and down the valley. We spot elk, all way over on that same ridge as Saturday. Mostly bulls. Too far and too hard a ride in these conditions. There’s elk closer to us, if only we can find them.

We head north up the ridge. We spook another moose, just barely seen in the fog. Just as we’re about to drop off and circle around, Scott stops us. He says there’s no sense in continuing the circle since no elk have crossed the ridge. We backtrack down the ridge to the south.

As we get to the end of the ridge, Riley, Scotts son, looks back and whispers loudly “Larry quick, there’s elk!”. I dismount in a hurry and go behind Earl to grab my rifle from the scabbard. Just as I grab the rifle, Earl takes two steps forward, and I can’t grab my gun. I finally get the rifle and start moving up. Things get kind of confusing here. More impression than memory. I tried to get a range but there was just enough fog to make that impossible. I moved to the end of the ridge and the elk were there, down in the saddle. Steph came up beside me with Riley. Scott said to hold off we could get closer. We worked down the back side of the ridge. We set up again. Steph had trouble finding the elk in her scope. My chosen elk started to move so I fired. Steph fired, Riley fired. Riley fired again. Steph fired. My elk was hit hard and stumbling. The herd was moving.
When it all calmed down. We compared notes. Riley thought he’d missed everything, but was certain I’d hit. Steph wasn’t sure of anything. I finally got a clean range 301 yds. We rode down and spotted my elk laying just at the wood line. I dismounted and it got up and headed up the hill in the woods. I grabbed my rifle and went after it. It didn’t make it twenty yards and stopped. I put the finisher into it. Whew! Six years of hunting and FINALLY I get my first elk.

Scott and Steph went in search of the herd. Riley and I checked the area for other blood trails. Nothing. We gutted the elk and then skidded it back to the truck. Scott and Steph showed up about an hour later. They’d seen more elk and had shot but neither had hit. Scott’s horse had jerked the reigns just as he was pulling the trigger,(he was dismounted but holding the reigns.) and Steph wasn’t shooting her borrowed rifle very well.

And so on a snowy November morning, my elk curse was broken. I had filled my cow/calf tag with a nice young calf. I couldn’t be more happy. I’ve still got my general tag, and there is an area open till the end of the month. Scott said we go back out after Thanksgiving. I can’t wait!

My brother had just gotten back to Montana after his first assignment in Germany. My dad had always wanted to take a hunting trip for elk with just us boys.

We camped in a campground up Jack Creek, Montana. Opening day my brother and I took off on foot and started hiking into the woods, following a trail for several miles.

We saw hunters on foot and horseback all morning. Near sunrise, we had been off the trail for awhile when I heard crunching of ice on a frozen bog. Something I couldn't hear now if I was in the bog.

I looked down about 100 yards and saw the biggest elk I had ever seen. I pulled up my rifle and shot. The elk didn't move and then turned around and walked back into the open where I had a better shot on him. I had a Bushnell 4X scope that had a bullet drop compensation dial on it and it had been turned up way to far.

Turning it back down, I took another shot and couldn't see the elk. I started heading downhill to see if I had hit it and it had fallen out of sight, and sure enough it had...

Too sad a story to relate in detail.
Running Bull
Buck fever
worst shot ever
miles of tracking
First shot about 11:00 AM
Elk in camp just before midnight
Mistakes never to happen again

I went on my first elk hunt when I was in my 20's. Didn't kill an elk until I was in my 30's.

Every year the elk found a new way to elude me or I found a new way to mess up my opportunity.

One year I had gotten an antelope and a deer in early season ... good since it seemed I was destined to never get an elk. In the San Juan Mtns in some north facing black timber I found a natural blind inside a pile of standing spruce and deadfall. 40 yards below there was a creek about 8 inches wide. After about an hour two cows came to the water and then climbed the snowy slope beyond. My bullet broke the back of one and she slid on the snow all the way to the bottom. That small creek ran bright red.

The following year we had a storm come in during our annual hunt and all of the previous years of hard hunting seemed to balance out within that period of 2 seasons. That year I punched my cow tag, bull tag, and then a damage control tag on another hunt a few weeks later.

My first elk was a spike bull. Never even drew blood with the shot.... 4 of us were taking a snoozle in a saddle/crossing, with our horses tied down below in the trees while we slept. A few cows and the spiker came thru right between us. Somebody woke up and alerted the rest of us. I was the furthest uphill. The elk went over a slight rise, and noone else could see them. All I could see was the spikes head over the rise, so I popped him in the noggin. When we all went down to him, he struggled to his feet and started wobbling around. My outfitter buddy leaped on him and bulldogged the bastid, just like in the rodeo. Dennis cut his throat, while Tom held him down. My shot hit the knob of the horn base, and just knocked him out......

Had lived in Idaho for sometime but was all into hunting upland birds over a pointer and never was drawn to hunt elk - until my older brother wanted to come out and hunt them.

My other big pass time was riding dirt bikes in the mountains and I knew where there were lots of elk - LOTS of tracks that is and admit not seeing many elk.

Opening morning there were all sorts of elk hunters bugling down below us and we were pretty bummed, seemed none of those guys could call worth a hoot and we were about to move when we saw two bulls and then several more. Learned elk aren't nearly as good at calling as they show on the hunting programs.

It wasn't all that difficult to get a small 6 point on the ground, one broadside double lung and when he turned up climb up hill I spined him.

Once we reached him we were both amazed how big he actually was and the work really started. And then my 4 year older brother crapped out and I had to carry the entire elk, in quarters, up the mountain to the trail. I believe my brother was hit with altitude sickness. It took all he had to get himself up the hill.

Took my first elk with a bow back in 1998, he wasn't huge (5x5) but he was big enough for me. Called him in using a cow call in the middle of the day, 1 shot in the neck (cut his jugular) at 32 yards.

I remember it like it was yesterday.

Colorado 2001 - first rifle. ( remington sendero in 300 win mag ).

3 of us hiked up a snow blocked road towards a communication tower above tree line. A ridge ran off the top and half mooned for 2 miles to create a huge bowl.

A bunch of dudes were on 4 wheelers on the road 1000 yards below us. Suddenly we heard a bugle. Elk herd at 500 yards. My brother lays down and fires on a nice bigger 5x5 and drops him at 475 yards. The locals were on line pushing the herd right through the bowl perpendicular to us. I'm sure they were pissed beyond belief. Anyway the herd bolts and then angles diagonally straight up 500 yards of slope to go over the saddle below the commo tower. I take off running diagonally down slope to clear a hump. It was over the calf deep snow and I was cranking hard to get through it, but was in great shape b/c I played at the judo nationals the year before and had good lungs. Copped an Indian squat in the snow and worked to find a legal bull as they stormed straight uphill at 125 yards towards the saddle. Talking to myself the whole time, I was scanning the herd with my 4.5x14 scope until I found a rag 4x5, put the reticle on his nose and fired, then 3 feet in front, then held center chest. I was purposely bracketing the target like when we called artillery. First shot had hit dead center lungs, second missed and the third clipped his backbone 4 inches in front of his tail and dropped him. I fired the whole sequence faster than Lee Harvey Oswald.

Next morning we came back. We sat right where I dropped mine from. We heard bugles on the ridge 275 yards above. Uncle shot a 325 inch bull and us three were done on our first elk rifle hunt.

We were high fiving and pretty damn happy.

Game warden came by and kept pestering us about what time we shot the big bull. We honestly had no idea and told him so. Never occurred to us to even look at our clocks b/c we always figure in Oklahoma that if you could ID a buck and shoot it then it pretty much was legal light. Never considered that in a snow bowl with a big moon that it was illuminated pretty much all night. Anyway, he finally went away as we failed to give him any incriminating testimony.

We were so green we hauled that fat bastard out whole with a rope till we could get to the ATV instead of quartering him out. We were gassed. Now I laugh and think how stupid was that.

Someday I will have a first elk story to tell. And I guarantee it will go like this:

"So I start my hike toward a camp site I have picked out 4 miles from the truck. Its a beautiful camping spot that will put me in prime elk country and prime sunset viewing. Can't wait for a week in the back country. As I stop only 100 yards down the trail to readjust my pack, an elk steps out of some brush below me. I shoot, he falls, hunt over. 100 yards from the truck."

First was a calf when I was probably 16 or so. Maybe 20 yards in the timber. Facing me. Shot her under the chin with an old school Ruger M77 30/06. Was back in camp before noon.

WTF makes it 100 yards from the truck, before stopping to re-adjust?

in yer dreams.....grin