Home Forums Hunting & Shooting Elk Hunting An accounting of 4 Idaho bulls

Man, what a season. I hurt everywhere as I sit before my computer typing this today,....and that's with the benefit of a day's rest already. Then again, I'm 47 years old and about 50 pounds past my fighting weight. Even a brisk lawn-mowing can have me reaching for the Advil these days. I digress however. These are good aches and pains. My pain is the residue of hard work, success, and memories I'll cherish when I can no longer do these things. I'll take these hunts in chronological order.

Tim's Bull

I picked up Tim (TDN here on the Campfire) from the Airport on a Sunday, with the opener to follow the very next day. The drive is beautiful imho, and I was pleased that Tim seemed equally smitten with our wonderful state. The open spaces, clean roads, and pleasant folks living in the small towns along the way are simply the best this country has to offer,...as far as I'm concerned anyway. We rolled into camp just as the sun was setting, some five and a half hours after we left town. When we arrived, my primary hunting partner (Matt) already had a fire going in the wall-tent, but informed us he had to run back to Boise to help his son with a VERY nice baseball scholarship offer/discussion that had suddenly come their way. I hated to see Matt go, but was very excited for him knowing how hard his boy had worked to be in that position, and how important it was for Matt to be there to guide him through the process. As such, it would be just Tim and I the first few days.

On an intellectual level I realize 5 am comes at the same time every day. The warm cocoon of my thick sleeping bag made it seem preposterously early the morning of the opener though. Apparently Tim suffered no such malady, as I could hear him rustling about before I could get my hand on the snooze button. I jumped out of the bag and into my hunting clothes as quickly as possible, aided in a way that only cold temperatures can motivate a man. We wolfed down some oatmeal and banana bread my wife had sent along, and grabbed a cup of coffee for the short drive to the nearby ridge we'd be hiking out.

We were about 30 minutes into our hike when we "bumped" something in the dark below us. We grinned at each other like escaped mental-patients in the glow of our headlamps as we listened to whatever it was crash off with heavy hooves down the hill below us. Anticipation hastened our step as we still had two hours left to get to the spot I wanted to be when shooting light greeted us. Roughly 4 miles later we were still a half-mile from my favorite glassing spot when the first vestiges of light start revealing distant shapes and slopes in the glass. I immediately spotted a couple of bulls with two miles and roughly 7,000' of vertical landscape between us. They would be safe from any harm from us that morning for sure. Still though, it was exciting to lay eyes on bulls so quickly, and be able to point them out to Tim. I figured if we struck out on this trip, I'd at least be able to say we SAW some elk. I've had hunts that didn't happen, so I take nothing for granted.

Just as we rounded the last corner before the rockpile I like to sit and glass from, I thought I heard the unmistakable sound a whistling bull somewhere on the hill above us. I am getting older and deafer by the day, so I turned around to see if Tim's younger ears had heard anything. He was locked up like a German Shorthair on point with his hand cupped to his ear by way of an answer. I waved him to me to discuss this turn of events, just as a second bugle followed. The wind was howling away from us, so I knew it couldn't be too far,...and my pulse began to race accordingly. Even though it was still relatively dark, we were standing in a pretty exposed spot and I felt mildly frantic we were going to get busted. I starting scanning the hillside above us and almost immediately spotted a cow come out of a little fold in the land at what I estimate to be 400 yards or so. I grabbed Tim and pulled him down to the ground with me so we weren't skylined, and pointed up the hill at what I was seeing. We crab-walked forward a couple more yards to a relatively flat spot, and threw the pack down to get Tim into shooting position. It didn't take but just a second to realize I had spotted the lead cow, and more elk were following her around the hill. I took a reading on the rangefinder, and told Tim to dial to 450. Tim whispered that he was "on them", as we waited what seemed like an eternity (couple of minutes total) watching them feed out of the little fold of land one cow/calf at a time.

I've seen Tim shoot. I personally confirmed zero on his rifle and scope-dope out to 600 yards prior to his arrival. I knew how this was about to play out, and I honestly started feeling a bit giddy at all of it. I couldn't help myself, as I leaned down and whispered, "Don't freak out, but you're about to kill an Idaho bull buddy". He turned and looked at me like I had just called his mama a troglodyte...which truly made me want to lough out loud. He later told me, "All I could think about was how excited I was, followed by how badly you WERE in fact freaking me out by talking about it while I waited for a shot".

Here is a picture of Tim moments before the shot...



A few seconds later, I saw the unmistakable sway of antler tips emerging from the same fold of land the cows had recently emerged from. I leaned in and whispered, tell me when you want me to stop him for the shot. Seconds later Tim whispered "Now" and I gave the most mournful cow-call I could muster. He stopped in his tracks and looked down our way like he was reading from the same script we were. A second later Tim's rifle barked. Then again, and again. The bull was a tough old codger, and wore each shot like a champ. Finally, the inevitable came and he stumbled to his last. Just like that, it was over.

We jumped up and hugged like little girls on the first day of school. I think Tim said, "I can't believe that just happened" about 10 times in a row, like a poorly programmed robot trying to reboot itself. Frankly, I couldn't believe it has just happened either. We'd taken a dandy bull in an OTC unit that averages 12% success rates...15 minutes into opening day and on public land. I felt equal parts happy and relieved if I'm being totally honest. I was happy it had worked out almost EXACTLY how I had mentally scripted it in the days and weeks leading up to that moment. I was relieved the friend I had invited to travel across the country (and incur the costs associate with that) would be going home as one of the few successful hunters that would frequent our little part of the world in pursuit of bulls. I knew that no matter what happened the rest of the season, it would be a "success" for this hunt alone.


Here is Tim a few minutes later taking in the fruits of his labor in a candid photo that I really love for some reason....




Here is the "trophy shot" several of you have already seen of course, so my apologies to those of you that fall into that category...




We replayed the scene over and over while quartering and skinning the bull, which made the task go by quickly. Much to the delight of both of us, we were able to find two of the 143 ELD-X bullets laying against the off-side hide. I thought they performed and looked pretty great for what that's worth. I grabbed them for a quick photo as these are the types of details I always love seeing in other people's hunts...





Soon we were laboring under the heavy load of the packs as we began the 4.5 mile trek back to the pickup. I won't say it was easy, because it wasn't. I will say it was made easier by the companionship and general joy Tim was so obviously carrying back with us. I've been lucky enough to kill a few bulls over the years, but always seem to enjoy the success of others even more...especially when THEY enjoy it. This hunt was no exception as Tim seemed fully grasp the enormity of the moment and how fortunate we had been. Several hours later we made it back to camp for one of the best meals I have ever had. We stuffed ourselves like fat little piggies on Carne Asada and just a smidge of Pendleton whiskey. I went to bed that night with a full heart and an even fuller belly.

We awoke the next day and began the trek back in for the hind quarters and rack. Unburdened by any expectations or pressure to succeed, the miles passed quickly and in no time we were loaded up and headed back to the truck once again. Among my many ailments, my right ankle has been broken many, many times and the associated scar tissue swells and looks a bit unsightly when traveling long distances under load. This little sucker hurts, and Tim stared in obvious horror at the mangled appendage as I removed my boot and sock for a quick peek




It wasn't pretty, but it still gets me to where I need to find elk so I'm going to leave it alone until I can avoid surgery no longer. I show this unsightly thing not for sympathy, but rather as a reminder that regular success on bulls in Idaho usually comes at a price. Then again If it were easy, everyone would be doing it I suppose. As the successful hunter, Tim received the additional burden of the rack on the return trip. He didn't seem to mind at all. If anything, he looked even fresher carrying out that last load. Oh to be young and successful again.

Tim had two days left to hunt and a deer tag left to fill, but the unexpected logistics behind the success of his hunt dictated we head back to Boise to get him a vehicle rented and on the road as soon as possible. We would return to Boise, arriving late in the evening. Matt's excitement to hear the story led him to meet us at my house, and we re-told the story to he and my wife upon our arrival before finally shuffling off to bed. We got up early for breakfast, and Tim was able to spend a little time with the kids and wife before they headed off to school and work. It was a great morning and I thoroughly enjoyed showing off my family to him. My boy (Rowdy) was especially eager to hear all the details, so one more time we gave a rundown of the events while everyone filled up on eggs and toast. I hope he enjoyed their company half as much as they did his at the breakfast table.

A couple of hours later Tim was on the road and I was headed to the grocery store for a re-supply.


To be continued...…..

Looking forward to the next bull, and thanks for the good write ups I look forward to them.

Fantastic write-up, looking forward to chapter 2!

Always look forward to your posts! As every year this one is starting of great - I'm sure it will only get better with each additional story/hunt

Great read.

Congrats to you both.

Oh. And no more cankle pics, please.....

Damn you all to hell Huntsman...though I kind of knew the cankle reference was coming from someone when I put it out there. I want to be clear the other one does NOT look like one of Hillary’s appendages.

Dave

Great write up, you guys would be a hoot to hunt with. You cover a lot of ground for an 'old' guy


mike r

Congrats Tim!

Can’t wait for the rest of the story!

I can tell already that this will be one of the best threads posted on a hunting forum this fall. Excited to read the rest.

-Jake

GREAT write-up. Thanks!!!

We will be hunting cows and bulls in a couple weeks, public land, and I can hardly wait, But we won't be going in any place where the carry-out is 4-1/2 miles, that's for sure! Pulled three (two cows and a bull) out 3 miles one year and that cured me.

Nice write-up and hunt!

Congrats on the bull Tim! Happy that it all came together for you like it did. Sorry I couldn't be there to enjoy the moment with you.

Oh, and I can't even tell you how many times I've had to look at that cankle..

Hey man! Glad to see you on here!

Yeah... I thought about joining last year, but I tend to avoid social media, message boards and the like but whatever... I follow along on some of the stories from time to time, but decided I would chime in from time to time.

Can't wait to read the rest of it Dave. Great stuff. Thanks for a great intro and great pics for us flatlanders.

Awesome write-up! I look forward to the tales of the other 3 bulls.

Congratulations.

More bulls!

Less cankle!

continued….

A buck interrupts the elk hunt

Matt (IDnative on this thread) and I loaded up the groceries and headed north to camp once again. There was just enough daylight left when we arrived to make a wood run for the storm that would be arriving sometime the next day.
A couple of beers followed a couple of hamburgers, and soon my eyelids grew heavy. I managed to stay awake long enough to stuff the wood stove as full as I could and turned down the damper to get a long burn for the night. I crawled into my sleeping bag with visions of big bulls in the morning. Matt said I was snoring in about 30 seconds. I’ll have to take his word for it of course.

I knew something wasn’t right when Matt’s alarms when off, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. We had a quick breakfast of banana bread and fruit and grabbed a coffee for the short ride to the same trailhead we’d chased Tim’s bull on a few days prior. I was 50 yards down the road before I realized the clock in my pickup said it was nearing 7…we were an hour behind schedule! Matt had accidentally set the daily alarm on his phone instead of the hunting alarm (to go off at 5). Ironically, I had done the same thing a year prior on the morning my son killed his big bull. I immediately started backing the truck up.

“I’m going to take the dirtbike and hunt the low country below camp” I told Matt. He understood, and said he’d slow hunt his way towards our usual haunts above me. I hate to be late to a hunting spot. I know people take animals mid-morning all over the world,…but it simply never happens for me. I swear that 95% of the game I’ve killed over the years was taken in the first 30 minutes of shooting light. If I rode hard on the dirtbike, I figured I could juuust make it into a spot down low I’d scouted the month prior, before daylight broke. I kicked the bike over and took off as fast as I dare in the direction I wanted to hunt.

The spot I was headed to really wasn’t that far off the main road, but it was down about 2,000’ vertical feet. Most folks simply don’t want to get that deep, knowing that will have to pack anything they might shoot back up the same, steep face. Thirty minutes later I parked the bike and headed out at a brisk pace for my intended location, still a mile distant. It was dark enough I needed the headlamp when I left the bike, but the night soon gave way to a grey dawn and I put the headlamp in my pocket as I continued on. Just as I broke through a thick stand of brush, the country started opening up a bit. I stopped for a second to catch my breath, and looked directly downhill from my location to see a pretty fair buck staring up at me. The second our eyes met, he wheeled around and started across the hillside. One way or another, I could see this was going to be over rather quickly. There was about 150 yards of real-estate between him and permanent escape over a finger-ridge.

In a fortuitus turn of events, I noticed there was a beautiful old Ponderosa Pine about three steps from me. In more or less one motion, several events occurred. I popped the security strap on my Kifaru Gun Bearer and pulled my .280 free. I ripped the scope cover off, and I blindly turned the vertical turret a couple of clicks. He was at about 200 yards now, and moving away at a rapid pace. I braced the rifle off the tree and picked him up in the scope. Just as I flipped the safety off, he paused for just a second to look back over his shoulder. He was already turning his head to leave when I squeezed the trigger. I was greeted with the unmistakable sound of a bullet striking meat, as he turned on the jets and steepened his retreat down and away from me. I lost visual on him as he went into a patch of brush, but I should have been able to see him come out the other side. I waited with my pulse still pounding in my ears for just a second, and then began my own descent towards where I had last seen him. I’d covered about 200 yards when I noticed a leg sticking up over the top of a downed log below me. He had only made it about 45 yards before piling up.

He wasn’t my best buck ever, but he was better than average and I was quite pleased with him, especially given it was an OTC unit with a fair amount of pressure in it.




Further inspection revealed the entrance was exactly where I had hoped it would be. I’ve connected on much further shots over the years, but I don’t know that I’ve ever made a better shot in my life all things considered. I might not be able to make that shot with a hundred more tries in that window of opportunity, but I made it the one time that it mattered most and that's good enough. The entrance is just off the tip of the knife.





It was with a measure of pride that now I went about breaking him down into quarters. I loaded half of him on my pack, and left half for the return trip. The next few hours weren’t fun. It had started to rain and then snow about the time I finished up the quartering process. Even with good raingear I was soon wet through to my base-layer. Cold followed on the heels of wet, and the pack uphill towards the bike didn’t make any of it more pleasant. I’ve started taking pictures of the unpleasant packs the last couple of years, to remind myself of the misery at a later date thinking it might aid in my future decision-making about where I choose to hunt. Here is a picture of yours truly as I started up the hillside with the first load on my back….




After I had the entire deer back to the bike, I started shuttling quarters back to camp. Somewhere along the way I had a spectacular crash on a tight switchback I didn’t quite pull. I tumbled a good 20 yards down the hill and came to rest upside down with my feet facing uphill. After a few seconds to collect my thoughts, I was quite surprised to find both the buck and my limbs had made it through the crash unbroken. When I pulled into camp with the last load, I was relieved to see Matt was back and had started a fire. It was beginning to snow in earnest at that point, and I was eager to get warm again. He emerged from the tent with eyebrows raised and said, “You look like chit. You have blood AND mud on your face. Did you crash again?!” Sympathy from Matt was in short supply, especially given that he had seen nothing that day. I wiped most of the mud and blood from my face and he snapped this picture before I stepped into the warm embrace of the wall-tent.




To be continued….

good stuff.

You write well - you should consider submitting this "series" somewhere.

We need a picture of the dirt bike!

-Jake

Tagged..

Congratulations and great write up.

Been enjoying the entire account to this point. Thanks for posting.

tag

great summary and hunt.

that ankle needs to be rebuilt. it appears to either have too many parts, or perhaps a few pieces out of order.

Fantastic, thank you for taking time to share.

Great hunt. Congrats.

I remember, very distinctly, hearing Dave shoot, and thinking that at least he was able to see... I spent the better half of that day blinded by sideways snow and fog. I had a hunch Dave would be late back to camp as he doesn't miss... However, I know his propensity to riding hard and am always worried I'm going to have to come find him after he dumps it somewhere on that trail. He looked like hammered chit, but at least he was intact..

Great hunting stories! I look forward to the next installment!

Nice work Dave

[i]continued….

Matt and I double up

The night I returned from killing the buck it continued to snow. Every time I woke up to stoke the fire or take a leak, I could hear the unmistakable sound of snow hitting the tarp over the wall-tent. About 4 o’clock in the morning I rolled over to see Matt sitting on his bunk with a rather concerned look on his face. “What’s up bud” I asked? “Uuuhhhh….I think we might be snowed in back here” he replied. I poked my head out of the tent and was greeted with a foot of snow outside and still more coming down. We had about a 2,000’ pass to get over to get back to lower country and paved roads. While I wasn’t ready to hit the panic button just yet, it was indeed cause for concern. We both had chains for our tires if it came to that, but that’s always my last line of defense and I certainly didn’t want to have to go that route if I didn’t have to. “Let’s sleep in and assess the situation after the sun comes up” I said. Everything is better and easier in the light of day.

It was still snowing after a hearty breakfast and a few cups of coffee, but it seemed to be tapering off at least. Since we had missed the morning hunt anyway, we decided to run into town for a shower and pizza. A drive that normally takes a couple of hours stretched to almost four this time, but slipping and sliding we made our way back to town. It was a bit of a perilous trek, but worth the reward.



Our return drive later that afternoon revealed plenty of fresh tracks in the new snow. Critters were on the move, and we returned to camp with high hopes for the day that followed. It snowed a couple more inches in the night, but we had no problem getting to the ridgetop we wanted to hike out the following morning. It just felt “elky” as we made our way out the ridge towards the intended glassing area. My spider-senses were tingling and I told Matt I wanted to slow-hunt our way into the basin we were initially headed for. I had a hunch we might bump into something a little sooner that morning. Then again, the trail we were walking was covered in fresh tracks so it didn’t take a whole lot of smarts to connect the dots to that possibility.

We were about two miles in when it became possible to glass the open, snowy hillsides for game. It was still too dark to shoot, but there was enough light that a deer or elk standing in an open area could be detected with glass for the light (snowy) background. I was looking at a hillside below us when Matt said, “I’ve got a couple of cows”. I didn’t even know he had his glass out, and I turned around to see where he was looking. As it happens, he was looking straight ahead at our elevation, where the trail wrapped around a small finger-ridge. Sure enough in the darkness of some brush, I could make out a few elk milling around seemingly unaware of our presence only a couple of hundred yards away. We both took a seat in the snow, and I got set up on the sticks as quickly as possible. We watched them for a good five minutes before I was finally able to identify a bull. It was getting lighter by the minute and I could tell we were going to get a shot if they didn’t bust us during the wait.

After a few minutes I could finally see the bull sufficiently well enough to get a shot, but he was absolutely blanketed by cows. He wasn’t a monster, but we was approaching 300” and it was a bull I really, really wanted to shoot. Ten minutes later and he still hadn’t cleared the cows he was bunched up with. Worse still, we were both shivering at this point. We had been hiking in just our baselayer shirts. That was fine on the move, but sitting in a foot of snow for 15-20 minutes had us both freezing our giblets off. Matt whispered that he was going to try and pull his coat out of the bag. The second he started reaching for it, a cow began staring holes through us and I hissed at him to stop. She finally went back to feeding and he started moving again only to have her lift her head and stare at us again. We played this cat and mouse game for another five minutes until he finally had his coat out and on. I was happy he was going to keep hypothermia at bay, but it was clear to me I had to get a shot off and soon, or they were going to bust us for real.

The bigger bull still wasn’t clear of the cows, and my frustration was growing by the second. I was (foolishly) considering trying to thread the needle with a shot to the base of the head, when a smaller 4x5 emerged from a hidden cut below and began walking directly at us. I turned and asked Matt if he wanted to shoot him, but he graciously declined and told me to “go ahead”. It wasn’t the bull I had been dreaming about for 12 months, but it was a bull…on public land…in an OTC unit with low success rates that I was confident I could get a good shot on. Finally, it was only two miles from the truck, which would make it the easiest bull to extract I have ever killed in that country. I flipped the safety off and slowly squeezed the trigger. I lost sight of him at the recoil, and elk began scattering like a covey of quail.

I rolled out of the way and told Matt to take the gun. He had his own rifle at hand of course, but I knew he hadn’t chambered a round or even taken the scope covers off during the Mexican stand-off we had just endured. He quickly slid behind my .280 and began trying to pick up the now, moving 6x. Unfortunately, that bull stayed tight to the cows as the herd began retreating in earnest down the hill. I pointed out a spike standing all alone just below the first bull I had shot at. Matt drew a bead and let one go in short order. The spike collapsed at the shot and just that quickly it was over.

We hustled over towards where my bull was standing at the shot, and quickly found him down the hill about 80 yards piled up against a log. I am eternally grateful he hit that downed snag, or he might still be sliding down the hill and my hopes for an easy pack out gone with him. Here is a photo of Matt laughing at our good fortune and wondering how we’re going to get him turned for processing…



Matt’s spike was below my bull straight down the hill another 100 yards. Packing quarters is never an easy task, but all things considered I was giddy about the relative ease by which we’d be getting these two out. Matt’s spike isn’t quite as small as it looks in this photo I swear. No spike is huge of course, but this one is a lot more “average” than it appears. Matt is 6’4” and about 240 pounds, so everything looks small next to him. I sent the picture to a mutual friend of ours that replied with, “Does this Sasquatch make my elk look small?”…



My bull was a hard quartering-to shot, and I was thrilled to find the remnants of the 160 Accubond just forward of the offside, rear quarter when we started breaking him down. It had penetrated 3-4’ of elk and held together nicely at a range of 250 yards.





It was a steep hike back up the hill to the trail, but a relatively flat two miles back to the truck from there. We’d make two trips that first day, and two the day that followed. The snow had us stepping with care, but we extracted both bulls without incident.



to be continued….
[/i]

Always a good read...Congrats!

Thank you for the story and pictures and .... Congratulations. Meat in the freezer.

L.W.

Man, Big congrats! Great story as well..

love it!

And now I can’t wait for the 4th!

Excellent

Great stuff there Dave, another memorable year for your crew...well done!

This is awesome.
Tis some mighty unforgiving country.

Dang man I always look forward to your reports and this did not disappoint! Excellent work on putting up some serious meat man that’s just awesome!!

Dave is being kind. I was, plain and simple, freaked out about making that drive, especially if it had kept snowing. This wasn't helped by the downed tree we saw on the way back that day where someone had obviously left the road. I was mainly concerned about not having purchased new tires, like I had planned, and not having enough clearance. The hunt ended up, as you can see, being a great time. I feel blessed to experience Idaho back country the way we do. I always love the feeling of accomplishment when the chore is complete, especially when you have the company of a great friend. I did not grow up hunting big game, and Dave has been a great mentor (and tormentor, which might be mutual) to me. We always seem to have some great laughs, and come home with great stories. Some of the best hunts I've been on did not result in tags being punched. The drive home ended up being quite a bit more treacherous than expected. I've never been so happy to see pavement in my life. Three hours of drifted snow, ruts, pot holes, fishtailing uphill, trying not to look down all the while. After we pulled into town, Dave greeted me in the parking lot with smirk and a "That got kinda sporty on the way out"... he knew I was dreading that drive and seemed to be amused by it all. Thanks Dave!! Cheers, and a fist bump...

This thread is amazing. Great job guys

[i]continued….

Rowdy does it again

As it happens, the last story is the best one. Well, it’s the best one for me anyway, as it involves my son. Rowdy is 17 and in his senior year of high school. He’s also a straight A student that never gives his mama and I a lick of trouble. This affords him some luxuries in life. Not only does he get to come and go at all hours from our house like a feral cat, he also gets to miss school on occasion to go hunting. I told him when he was about 13 that he determined how we parented him. If he acted right and kept school at the forefront, he’d enjoy freedoms most teenagers only dreamed of. If he acted like a chithead and got poor grades….our house would feel like Alcatraz. He wisely chose the former, and we’ve held true to our word as parents in the years that followed. I digress however.

Rowdy has had a run of good luck over the last few years. Last year he killed a huge, old bull on a hunt in the same area. It was an epic pack out. It damn near broke both of us quite honestly. It was rough enough that I was mildly concerned he wouldn’t want anything to do with elk-hunting again, or at the very least he’d stick to chasing waterfowl with his buddies. I needn’t have worried. The early success Tim, Matt, and I had enjoyed this year had him chomping at the bit to get up in the hills. The suffering of last year’s pack a distant memory it seemed. We departed Boise on a Thursday evening and made our way north with anticipation running high. It was a sporty drive in to say the least, but the new Yokohama mud terrains scratched and clawed the old pickup back into the high-country without incident. We rolled into camp around 10 o’clock that evening, and hit the sack after getting the fire going on a low burn to ward off the chill of the night.

The alarm greeted us early as usual. The poor planning (my fault) last year had Rowdy double-checking the packs prior to our departure that morning. Extra water and extra protein bars…check. We hit the trail with two hours of dark still left before us and our intended destination. We didn’t chat much in the dark as we bumped along. Neither of us are morning people under even normal circumstances. I also think both our minds were occupied with the task(s) that lay ahead. There would be no “easy” elk on this hunt, and we both knew it. Rowdy only had 4 days to hunt and we were headed to the farthest reaches of our area. We were headed to where he had killed his bull the year prior, and it wasn’t a short jaunt. We simply leaned into our packs and trudged along like a plow-horse taking the collar in the frigid morning air.

We made good time, and dawn was just breaking when we sat down to glass almost 5 miles later. Rowdy spotted a couple of muley does a long way off, but the big draw we had hoped would hold elk was otherwise empty. I could see three bulls a on a remote hillside so far away it was likely they were in a different zip code, but they were out of our reach no matter how froggy we might have been feeling. The first hour or so passed quickly. Each passing minute diminished our expectations though, and we were settling into the idea of an unsuccessful morning when things changed in an instant.

For reasons I can’t fully explain, I turned around and looked back up the hill we had previously descended to get to our current glassing location. Much to my surprise, I was greeted by the sight of a decent bull coming down the hill at a good clip. In fact, he was almost to our elevation by the time I spotted him. I hissed “Bull coming!” at Rowdy and the scramble was on. He hadn’t yet seen the bull but knew from the tone of my voice things were urgent. He quickly threw the .280 up on the sticks, and I pointed over his shoulder in the direction he was headed. He picked him up and tucked in behind the scope just as the bull was about to enter a thick stand of dead, jack-pines. I “mewed” with my mouth as loud as I could, and the bull stopped and looked back our direction. I hadn’t had time to range him or dial accordingly, but I was confident he was just under 300 and told Rowdy to hold on the pocket.

“His shoulder is covered up dad, I don’t have a shot. Do you want me to put one in his neck?” he whispered. The kid is a good shot and I’m sure he could have made it, but I’ve seen some goat-ropes arise from neck shots and I told him to just be patient and wait for him to take a step. After what seemed an eternity, the bull continued his trajectory down the hill. My attempts to “mew” him to a stop again were unsuccessful, and by this point he was only about 5 steps from being lost in a jungle of smaller trees where I knew Rowdy wouldn’t have a shot. In desperation I barked at him like a coyote as loudly as I could, and by the grace of God he stopped and look back at us over his shoulder. It was a hard quartering away shot and I knew the window was going to be tight, but Rowdy understood time was of the essence and squeezed the trigger before I even had a second to communicate my thoughts. I heard the bullet strike home and watched the bull stagger forward as Rowdy worked the bolt and cycled another round. There would be no need for a follow-up shot, as the bull collapsed inside of 25 yards. We hugged each with joy and for just a moment it felt like he was still my little boy again….instead of the 6’ 220 pound man he’s grown into. We collected our gear and our emotions and headed off to get a closer look at things.

He kept saying he felt like he’d made a good shot as we walked down the hill. He was right. He’d hit him just forward of the rear quarter, and I could see the tell-tale bulge of a bullet just under the skin against the skin on the far shoulder. I’m not sure he could have placed the bullet any better. I noticed him stand just a little taller when I pointed out what a great shot it had been. It wasn't his best bull, but it was a damn fine bull none the less and we were both grateful for the success. We shed the packs and he posed for a picture for mama and our friends back home.




Light hearts made for easy work as we broke the bull down to quarters in short order. Once again, I was pleased to recover a beautifully mushroomed 160 grain Accubond. Here is the bullet in question.



Rowdy has been cutting out backstraps since he was 12, and it always brings him great pleasure knowing the delicious steaks we’d be enjoying in the weeks and months to come.




I secured a front shoulder, backstrap, and some trimmings in each of our packs as we readied for the hike back to the truck. I estimate that first load was around 85 pounds. It was with a measure of pride that I watched him reach down with one hand and swing the pack over his shoulder like it held nothing more than a coat. The kid is strong like a bull. The days of me taking the heavy loads while “protecting” him from the heavy packs are officially over. Even with the benefit of a month of scouting and 4 animals already packed under my belt, Rowdy was on my heels the whole way out. I’m pretty sure he’d have lapped me had we been on a track. The rest of the day was uneventful. We made our way back to the truck and a warm wall tent by sunset that evening with the first load. We stuffed our bellies and retold the story several times, before the excitement and work of the day forced slumber upon us. The next day would also be relatively uneventful, if a little tiring for the old man anyway. Here he is patiently waiting for me to catch my breath as we packed out the hind quarters the following morning.



He still has some things to learn of course, but at 17 he’s light years ahead of where I was at that age. He's a great kid with a bright future ahead of him, and he's proven to be a stone-cold killer. My GPA was so low in high-school, I'm shocked they didn't make me ride the short bus. As far as hunting goes,I think I’d managed to kill one VERY unlucky spike bull at his current age. He’s killed five elk in the last 6 years of hunting, all on public land and four of which were OTC tags. He's already tagged two bulls north of 300", so he's got his work cut out for him in the years to come if he's going to top what he's already done. I wouldn't bet against him though. He's got the fever, and I suspect he'll be chasing bulls long after I can no longer join him.


It's been an unbelievable year and I am grateful beyond words for all of our shared good fortune. I am blessed with great friends/hunting partners and a wonderful family awaiting me each time I return home. As we turn the corner to Thanksgiving, I'll have a lot to recognize given my many blessings in life. I hope the same is true for all of you reading this, and thanks for taking the time to follow along on our hunts.

Dave
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p.s. I want to acknowledge AH64guy and Kimber7man here on the Campfire. Both have helped Rowdy with incredibly generous "deals" on gear the last couple of years and that gear helped immensely this season. Thanks again gentlemen.

Awesome story. Congratulations.

Dave

Amazing write up and congrats to everyone on the successful hunts and memories. Also congrats on raising a great young man! He sure is a stone cold killer.

I sure enjoyed this entire thread, as I have every year when you post. Your taking us along on your adventures is much appreciated - thank you!

Amazing write up. Great year for you guys. Congrats.

Great story! Felt like I was right there! Congratulations to all involved.

You’re welcome - thank you for sharing the successes!

Thanks for sharing your adventures with us. You are an excellent writer.

I've had the privilege to be around and coach a lot of great kids over the years, but Rowdy is one of the greatest. Mature beyond his years, level headed, smart as heck and tough as nails but has a heart of gold. Sometimes I gotta whoop on him a bit to keep him in check but aside from my own boy, he's one of my all time favorite kids. He's definitely a dude in my book. Been fun watching him grow up.

Great thread!

Thank you for posting...…
Lifelong memories were made.

Great read and an even better season!!

Awesome writing! I also was impressed with the 160 grain accubond out of my 280 a few weeks ago, recovered one that looked like a textbook picture of an expanded bullet.

I just love seeing that young man smile!

Well, I thought it was a very love-leh store-eh. And you, tell it so well. And with such enthusiasm.....

Skip to the 38 second mark......



Wanna see what Lt. Dan looks like?.......

Huntsman,

If you want to get hooked on phonics, give me a shout and I'll get you and the heeler of yours squared away with some lessons. It's never too late to learn to write my friend.

Dave

Great write up! Really enjoyed it..

Congratulations.

Great thread... congrats!

Good work man.

You write very, very well, iddave. That was a fun read & you guys are animals... those Idaho mountains are no joke.

Great post and nice job. Details on the 280 you're using?

Thanks for all the kind words gentlemen.

Rifle is a pre-64 action with a Llija barrel, in a slightly heavier than featherweight contour finished at 23”. Barreled action is mated to a LAW/High Tech Specialties stock, blind magazine configuration. The barreled action has been Black-T coated to add some weather resistance. Rifle sans optics weighs 6lbs, 3ozs and balances beautifully.

Shoots 160 ABs in front of IMR 7828ssc around 2850ish.

The rifle was willed to me by my shooting/reloading mentor with a beautiful piece of walnut I still have on hand. It’s a wonderful and functional piece of my old friend that I cherish deeply.

I really, really hope he was looking down from heaven on all the exploits I took his old rifle on this season.

Dave

Great gun and even better story. Was waiting for the Fieldcraft to come out in 280 but might just have to build something similar.

Be pretty easy and worthwhile to buy a used Montana of an older variety in ‘06 family, and have a new tube screwed on it. I’d go just slightly heavier on the contour personally, but that’s just me.

The Fieldcraft in .280ai if/when it arrives also gonna be awesome.

Dave,
Great series of write ups on you hunts this year. Very well done and done in true working class fashion. Memories for sure.

Best thread of the year!!

You have an awesome, descriptive writing style and take the time to take good photos of your hunts.

Thanks for taking the time to share your adventures with us!!

This is awesome, thanks for sharing

Somehow missed this early on...

Congrats on a great year and thanks for the write-up and pics!

Well done by all!

Great write up, you truly have a gift for telling a story. Congratulations on a heck of a year!

I really enjoyed your hunt series.
Good write up and great pics!
Thanks for sharing.

Thanks for this wonderful story and pictures.
It was a great read, had me on the edge of my chair as I read it.

Take care, blessings to you and your family.

Tag

Guess we know what 7mm bullet to use for elk. No flies on that one.

awesome stories. enjoyed them greatly. I would love to go on an elk hunt again.
Only been on one that was in unit 23 at White Rocks, NM.
I've relived every moment of that hunt many times.
I was fortunate to kill a nice 6x7. Wasn't a monster, but really nice.

Maybe i'll get to do it again one day. your stories sure gets me eager.

That last line makes me smile friend. Best compliment I’ve been paid in a while.


Surprised this story still has legs! Glad you all enjoyed it though. We had a pretty great deer hunt the last week of November on a Idaho whitetail as well....I might have to post a story up for that hunt. It’s that time of year where we’re all starting to get some cabin-fever.

Dave

Post up another story. We will be waiting for it!

Nice!!

Awesome, Thank you. Enjoyed immensely. You might want to sell that dirt bike. We need you around to keep living and writing the stories.😏

Wonderful write up, I lived and hunted Idaho from 75 until 2007, when I retired and moved. Been back a couple of times but have been unable to score. Your pictures makes me smile, you were in great country, obviously at the right time.vAgain congratulations on a great season.

Iddave,

Thanks for posting your hunting stories here. They were entertaining and they make me look forward to next fall.

Congratulations to you, your son, and your pals who took game this year.

Regarding your spill on the bike, Ive spent some time also upside down below a single track when the foot peg on my Fat Cat hooked a stump. Glad you weren't too banged up.

To me, there really isn't anything like the mountains of Idaho, a good wall tent, and a good fire.

Thanks again!

Thanks to the guys that bumped this up where
I got to see and read it. 2019 was a great season for your crew. Congrats on the success and appreciate the well-written account.

Boy, this thread just won’t die! Glad you boys enjoyed it.

2020 wasn’t quite as successful, but we managed to cut a couple of tags this last season. Enclosed are the links for anyone so inclined to read about it

Take care gentlemen.

Dave

2019 HUNT LINK

And part 2 of last season...

PART DEUX