This is whitetail, not Elk, but I think it well applies.
We had supper and returned to the barn to do some repairs. About 9 pm we finished up. We were silently walking to the house in that fluffy crunchy snow that lies on the ground in 0 degree weather. I was looking at the Big Dipper when Dad stopped and asked, "did you hear a shot?" I hadn't. When we got to the house Dad loaded the ole 300 Sav, steeped out the back door, and let one off. There was a barely perceptible answer a long way up the river. Dad shot again and the vague answer came back. He grabbed two boxes of shells and fired up the Ski Doo. A new invention in those days. I think it was around 1960-61. I waited outside and in about a half hour, I heard the 300 and then that long off answer. Later it happened again, than once more, and than no more shots. I went inside and Mom and I kept watch out the kitchen window. It felt like hours when we saw the dim light of the snowmobile crest the hill.
A hunter had wounded a buck and followed it. Those Adirondack breezes had blown snow into his tracks and he was lost. At sundown he fired his first three distress shots and no answer. After doing that a few more times spaced about half hour each. He took inventory and realized he'd soon run out of ammo. He gutted his buck, scrounged around and found enough dry brush to build a small fire, and shot once every hour. Mom insisted he eat something hot and and have a couple of large cups of hot tea. WE drove him to his car about three miles up that old gravel road. Dad and he made arrangements to get his buck the next day. When we got home we looked at the thermometer. -16. It was a good thing for him that sound carries a long ways on those cold crisp silent nights in those mountains and that he had enough ammo to guide Dad in. He had two left.
Nice 8 point!
After that, for the last 60 +- years, when hunting, I always carry way more than I think I'll ever use. I have a treestand that I can see from the house and take 10 with me even there.
Last edited by Rug3; 10/07/17.
