Home Forums Hunting & Shooting General Big Game Three bulls and two bucks in Idaho....

Good read. You hunt long enough and weird stuff happens.

Had a very similar situation with an ELD-X on a mule deer a few years ago. Never recovered him so can’t say for sure, but like you, he reacted like he should have to a shoulder shot, left a bunch of blood for a while, then just vanished.

Punching a tag on blood is a personal decision we all will have to make at some point.

I lost a doe by bow and burned the tag.
Yup, personal decision.
My tag, my hunt, my screwup.
Hopefully wont have to do that again for a long time, if ever.
But chit happens.

Guess I’m confused here. I fail to see the “mistake” brother Dave made. Guys that actually “hunt”, and hunt tough country are bound to lose a critter every now again. Shiit happens weather we like it or not, part of the game, sucks, but you hunt long enough, it’s gonna happen. Let’s keep er rollin Dave. 👍

Appreciate the support Jud...but I also get where they are coming from.

If I draw blood and a critter gets away, it's hard to argue against a mistake being made. I think your point is that anyone that hunts much will make a mistake. Both of those things are true imho. The whole thing sucks major azz, but I can guaran-damn-tee you I'll be mindful of what transpired on this hunt next time I squeeze the trigger. I've gotten so used to being certain of an outcome when I squeezed the trigger that I hadn't give much (any) thought to the contrary. Pride goeth before a fall I suppose.


continued....

It was a rough night in camp for me. To say I was brooding about the lost bull is an understatement. I was trying REALLY hard to be positive for everyone else during the midst of my pity-party. Rowdy and Cadon arrived in camp around 10 pm from their drive down from college after their last class that day. They were anxious to hear the details. Matt was rightly proud of the shot he'd made and the fact that he'd filled yet another elk tag in that God-forsaken country, and it was fun watching the faces of the boys as he relived the experience. The boys were a bit shocked to hear I'd lost a bull honestly, but did their best to try and get me to turn loose of it. I went to bed still pouting that night, but determined to not let it ruin the rest of the hunt for everyone else.

Matt elected to sleep in a little as we were pretty exhausted from killing his bull and then searching for mine all of the previous day. The boys and I got up well before daylight and began our trek back towards the location of Matt's bull. The plan was that we'd slow-hunt our way in, and Matt would meet up with us a couple of hours after daylight at his bull where the four quarters and associated meat cuts were still hanging. Daybreak found the boys and I back at the same location Matt and I had been the previous morning. Cadon and I were looking at some distant bucks that were out of reach, when Rowdy suddenly said, "I see a couple of bulls Dad". He got me lined out at what he was looking at, and I was pleased to see they were in a location I thought we could make a run on. Just like the day before, we dumped the spotters and some of the heavier gear and began a rapid descent down the mountain. My quads were screaming for mercy as they still felt pretty shot from the day prior. Thirty five minutes later and lathered up in a hard sweat, my vantage broke open enough that I was able to see the bulls again. This time they were much closer. In fact, they were in shooting range.

We used a downed Ponderosa Pine as a rest, and I threw the Javelin Spartan bipod to Rowdy as he worked to get comfortable for the shot. The bulls were a bit over 500 yards away, and had no idea we were setting up across the canyon from them. One was a good 5x5, and the other a small little 3x3. That range is not to be taken lightly, but Rowdy has practiced out to 1,000 before, and has a fast-twist 25-06 I gave him for just this very type of occasion. A month prior, he'd made a fantastic shot on a great antelope buck at 540 in fact, and I felt confident he could hit either of these bulls if he could get steady enough for a shot. There were two bulls, and I asked Cadon if he'd like to use my rifle to try a shot on the other one. He's shot a bit, but not nearly as much as Rowdy and I at long distance in particular. He responded, "I don't feel confident at this range at all Dave. I'm gonna pass." The maturity he showed in that moment wasn't lost on me. He's a smart kid with a great head on his shoulders and I'm immensely pleased he's my son's primary hunting partner. Cadon is also working towards being a police officer in college, and it's thoughtfulness like he displayed in that moment that makes me confident he's going to be a great cop (just like his dad btw). I digress however.

Rowdy settled in behind the rifle and dialed the distance on the scope as Cadon called out the range one last time. The larger of the two bulls had fed into some thick brush, which only left the smaller bull left to shoot at. I was watching through the binoculars when Rowdy squeezed the trigger. The bull immediately acted sick, and rotated 180 degrees. "Put another one in him Rowdy" I said, and Rowdy followed up with another shortly thereafter. The bull was still standing after the second, so Rowdy took a third shot that dropped him. We'd later find two holes in the bull. I know he hit him on the first shot, but it's anyone's guess which of the two that followed was actually the finisher. Either way, Rowdy had just killed his 4th bull and 6th elk overall at the age of 19. This would prove to be his smallest bull yet, but I'll say again the success rate for OTC bulls in Idaho is less than 15% for most units in the state. Killing ANY bull takes some doing in my experience.

We quickly formulated a plan for Cadon to continue on to Matt's bull, while Rowdy and I crossed the drainage to start working on his bull. Due to the steepness of the canyon, we'd have to descend almost another 800 vertical feet down and then the same back up just to get to him and daylight was burning. Here is a picture of the boys pointing at where we'll soon be heading...




Rowdy and about to leave to tackle his bull...



It would take us almost an hour and a half to get to the bull....but those hikes made in anticipation of putting your hands on an animal are always the best ones of the season. I can't adequately express how rough this country is, which made the game trail we stumbled across on our climb up to the bull feel like a little slice of heaven for the period of time that it and our intended destination were in sync. This was the most well used game trail I have ever come across in the wilds of Idaho. Rowdy and I took to calling it the "highway" the rest of the hunt. Here is a glimpse of what I'm talking about...



I know, I know...it doesn't look like much in the photos but I swear to you it's nasty country! Soon enough, we made our way to the bull and began the process of breaking him down. I'm a terrible father and didn't remember to take a photo of him with the bull prior to removing the rack. My apologies for that oversight, but here is the bull in question...




To be continued......

#hellya

I second that.

continued...

The two days that followed were mostly about suffering. Some may enjoy packing quarters but I am not one of them. It's a necessary evil, nothing more and nothing less. I did the math when I got home and for each trip we descended 800 vertical feet, and then climbed some 2,750' back to camp. The only bright spot for me was that I was doing it with my son. I can't say we talked a LOT...because most of the time we were too out of breath to say much. Still, there are few things that bond you to another like shared suffering. Mostly though I was just proud to see what Rowdy has grown into. It didn't feel like all that long ago that I had to carry the heavy loads and I was constantly worried about his safety/comfort. I noted with satisfaction those days are well behind us now. I trained pretty hard for six days a week for four months leading up to this hunt. When we'd get back to camp I'd collapse into a chair for an hour or so trying to re-hydrate and giving some much needed relief to my old joints and muscles. Rowdy would sit for about 5 minutes, then be up and moving around camp like we'd just walked to a park. Oh to be young again.

The "best" part of the pack for me was the creek-crossing. It's not quite a river but it's bigger than what most of you think of when the term "creek" is used. It has been scoured by spring flooding events over the years, which has left some pretty massive boulders in it's wake. You can't cross it without getting wet, and the velocity and the depth make it a fairly dangerous proposition even if you're willing to do so. I've found the best way to cross is to look for a downed tree that spans the gap. Fortune was with us this year as I found a pretty great candidate with only minimal searching. It was mostly free of limbs, and the bark was rough enough to give us solid purchase as we crossed...damn I love Ponderosa Pines. At it's highest point it was about 15' down to the creek bed. I considered it a victory for 49 year-old men everywhere when I scampered across it like an Olympic gymnast. Rowdy is a pretty tough kid in every sense of the word, but does NOT like heights. He thusly decided he'd rather "scoot" across the log...dignity be damned. He didn't seem particularly pleased to have his old man laughing and filming him the whole time either.






Pretty much without exception, every year we are successful some foot care seems necessary along the way. It must be a genetic shortcoming as both of us were getting our azzes kicked by blisters as per usual. Once again, duck tape was our salvation. That stuff will fix ANYTHING I say!



I should point out here the entire time Rowdy and I were packing out his bull, Matt and Cadon were doing the same with Matt's bull. Just like us, it would take them two complete days to get it out, one quarter at a time. Matt's bull wasn't in quite as miserable an area, but it damn sure wasn't an easy pack. I assume they suffered just as much as we did. I wasn't there to witness it though, so it doesn't really count. Here is Matt and Cadon enjoying a delicious Cliff Bar luncheon as they prepare to head out with the quarters on the second day of their pack...




It was great to have the boys in camp, but I was feeling awful that Cadon hadn't yet connected with a bull. Worse yet, for the second year in a row he'd spent the majority of his scarce hunting time packing out bulls for Matt and I. He's a pretty self-less young man though, and shouldered the burden (literally) without a single complaint. The boys had to be back to school on Monday evening for a test Rowdy had the following day. That severely limited our options, but we decided to give an area closer to town a chance on that last morning they had available to hunt. I wish I could tell you we put Cadon on a bull, but it just wasn't meant to be. We hiked in about 2 miles and 1,500', but couldn't turn up a single deer or elk. Hunting can sure be a humbling experience. Still though, we enjoyed a great morning and snapped a photo for mama back home. Here is our collective, rag-tag group of hunters...




To be continued....

I am really enjoying this. Thanks for sharing!

Good stuff. Have you considered using a horse to lessen the burden of packing all those quarters?

Just a reminder, you've raised a proper son....

Great story about a great hunt. Congratulations to everyone.
I believe a concerted effort should be in store next year to put Cadon and Rowdy on Bulls!

Dave, is one of our best story tellers. Telling the ups, and downs of this hunt will find a place within many of us who’ve spent years in the field. Most of us who have been successful hunting rugged country have seen some unbelievable things with hearty game animals.

The Lazarus effect is real in some Wapiti.

Good hunt, Dave !

Glad that you didn’t forget the “mean grimace face” picture of yourself.

🦫

Continued...

We headed to town after our morning of unsuccessful hunting to drop the quarters from the two bulls off at the butcher. After helping me unload the quarters from the back of the pickup, Matt disappeared for awhile as I completed my processing requests. He was in the truck already when I completed my order. I could tell by the look on his face when I closed the door that something was wrong. "My back is jacked up man. I think I may need to go to the ER". This was not welcome news. Each bump on the road made him grimace with pain as we headed to the nearest town with an ER. Matt could barely hobble into the waiting room. Being the deeply sympathetic man I am, I took photos to memorialize the event of course...





After an IV cocktail of muscle-relaxers and pain killers, we loaded up and headed back to camp. Matt was clearly out of the equation at this point. I tried convincing him into just going home as it was apparent he'd be pretty useless for the foreseeable future. He insisted on staying up there with me though, as he thought he could manage some small camp chores and he could serve as a "safety net" if I didn't return back to camp for some reason. He snored like a drunk trucker all that night, so I was already awake when my alarm went off the following morning. I figured we'd blown out the immediate area with the two bulls and the buck I'd taken the week prior, so I headed for even more remote country in the wee hours of the morning. It took me three solid hours of hiking via the headlamp to get into the drainage I'd been thinking of. The sun hadn't yet made an appearance when I neared the ridge I intended to glass from, but it was now light enough I didn't need my headlamp anymore. I was standing there trying to catch my breath before breaking over the top when I heard the welcome sound of a cow elk sounding off just above where I was standing. I guessed her to be inside of 400 yards or so. She was greeted by way of response with a fairly aggressive bugle from a nearby bull. The morning was suddenly looking up!

The wind had been in my face all morning and I was feeling really good about how the situation was setting up when I felt the sweat on the back of my neck cool. The slight breeze had been my ally to that point but I knew I had been betrayed in the last minute. Experience told me things were about to go sideways. I began a frantic scramble up the last 20 yards to try and get into a position I could see the elk. I was still a few steps from the top when I heard the first cow sound the alarm. To my horror I could immediately hear elk stampeding up and away from me. As I came over the top, I could see a half-dozen elk at about 200 yards filing into a dark patch of timber. I took two steps forward and threw the rifle to my shoulder as the last few elk funneled toward the timber. To my amazement, I could see a branch-antlered bull bringing up the rear. I flipped off the safety and tracked him in the crosshairs as I began desperately cow-calling him in an attempt to get him to stop. Fortune was with my that morning as he suddenly halted and looked back my way about two steps from disappearing into the thick cover. I tried my best to forget the debacle of a few days prior as I focused on a good trigger squeeze. Just like it's supposed to be, it was a surprise when the gun barked in my hands. I heard a distinct "whap" and the bull faltered immediately. No follow-up shot would be needed as the 200 grain ELD-X had found it's mark. He was far from my best bull, but I was utterly relieved to have taken this bull with no drama. This is how he lay when I walked up on him...



I was thankful it was still early and the temperatures were cool as I went to work breaking him down. It's been a few years since I had to work one up solo, and I was burning up the calories as I made my way through the task. I was delighted to find the bullet against the far shoulder. He'd been quartering away at the shot, and I think the bullet got a good three feet of penetration for what that's worth...



A little more than an hour later, I had three quarters (and trimmings) hung in a tree as I shouldered the pack with a hind quarter and began my trek back to camp. The pack sucked quite honestly. They all do, but this one was especially unpleasant. After descending close to 1,000 feet, I still had another 2,800' to climb back to camp. It would take me a solid 8 hours of hiking before I wearily staggered in just as daylight began to fade. All I could think of as I sat on my cot drinking a Gatorade was that I likely had to repeat the whole process three more times.

to be continued....

You are the master of suspense. Thanks for the read. Stuff like this is why I joined the campfire. Living vicariously! Appreciate you taking me along.....

continued....

After I re-hydrated on some Gatorade, I decided a sip of celebration whiskey was in order. I poured a small glass and snapped this picture just as I heard a branch break off to my left....



I was sipping on the Pendleton wondering what I'd heard when to my utter astonishment a VERY small whitetail buck walked out behind the tent about 50 yards and stared at me. I stared at him slack-jawed for a few seconds before he dropped his head and started grazing. Even at that close range it was difficult to make out the tiny spikes. I started chuckling and said "Matt...wake up. There is a buck out here." He responded with a dubious, "Shut up".

'No, I swear" I said. With that, I heard his cot creak as he slowly gathered himself and lumbered out of the tent. He rotated his head the direction I was pointing and we both started giggling like little girls. "Should I shoot him?" he asked. "I don't care" I said. "Whatever you want to do".

By way of response he grabbed my rifle and slowly chambered a round. He literally leaned on the corner of the wall-tent and took aim. Right about then it occurred to me he was still hurting pretty badly, and I was utterly exhausted from the 8 hours of packing. "Are you sure you want to fool with him?" I whispered. "Not really" he said. Imagine my surprise when he touched one off about two seconds later. The poor little thing made it about 30 yards before piling up. Matt turned to me and said, "Sorry dude. It just occurred to me this would likely be the only chance I had to kill a deer this year considering the shape my back is in". I couldn't really disagree with him. Mind you, all of this had taken place in about 60 seconds from the time I put the cork back in the bottle. I had my slippers on and the whiskey in my hand as we walked over to survey the damage.

If you look past my judgemental face and Matt's maniacal grin, you can see the tent and my pick-up in the background...



I wandered off to the tent feeling a little dirty for my part in what had just transpired. I left Matt to deal with his little buck (and shame), but within about 10 minutes he was hollering that his back was spasming again. I trudged out and called him some choice names before I finished the gutting, skinning, and hanging of the deer. An hour later and with a full belly, I crawled into bed and immediately fell into a deep slumber. Around 3am I was awoken to the sound of a steady rain falling on the tent. An already unpleasant packing job had suddenly turned a whole lot worse. I slept in and didn't get out of bed until 8 the following morning.

The bad news is that it was still raining. The good news is that Rowdy had sent word through my satellite texting device that he and Cadon would be making the drive down later that night to help me out and see if we could turn up a last minute bull for Cadon. I seriously thought about just laying around camp all day. After all, if I stalled long enough Rowdy, Cadon, and myself could go back in the following day and get the rest of the bull out in one hump. I knew if I went that route though, Cadon wouldn't have much of a chance at tagging anything. The guilt of that possibility finally drove me out of bed and I prepared a hearty breakfast knowing I was about to burn a bazillion calories. There isn't much to tell about the day that followed. I was pretty much soaked through within the first 30 minutes of the day. There was nothing to be done about it except to stay in motion. If rested for more than about 60 seconds, I'd be chilled to the bone. As a result of this newfound motivation, I actually made better time on the second trip. I snapped this photo just after I crossed the creek and stopped to fill my water bottle again. If I look pissy, it's because I am. I couldn't have been any wetter if I had jumped into the nearby Snake River. In retrospect I'm not sure why I bothered with the rain-gear at all.



I was utterly relieved to see Rowdy's Tacoma already in camp when I made it back later that evening. Spirits were high that night as we all shared laughs, mostly at Matt's expense. Lots of references to aiming at the spots on the buck, and whether or not he saved the cape for the full shoulder mount. Both boys are a whirlwind of forgotten items and general messiness in camp, but they make me laugh every time I am around them. I would never admit it to them directly, but they enrich the hunting experience for me with their youthful vigor at every turn. I love having them around, even if I mock everything they do when they are in our presence.

The next morning Cadon left a couple of hours before daylight by himself, as Rowdy and I slept in until daylight. The distance was the same as the two days that preceded it of course, but having my son with me made the miles fly by much quicker on the last load. I still didn't enjoy the burden of the pack even a little,...but I sure enjoyed spending the day with my son with no distractions between us. Once again I scampered across the log while he chose to "scoot" on his azz. Once again I made fun of him for it. He was sufficiently impressed with my efforts that he snapped this photo as we crossed it for what would be the last time this season...


We would return to camp later that evening to find out Cadon had enjoyed a close encounter with a group of cows, but there were no bulls in the group to put his tag on. Unfortunately, that would turn out to be his last hurrah for the season as we broke camp the following morning and prepared for the return trip to our respective homes.

It had been a long season already, and I still had a week-long hunt planned with my good friend in pursuit of moose a couple of weeks later. The bitterness of my botched attempt at the bull on opening morning was still with me for sure,.... but on the whole I was extremely grateful for the year we had all enjoyed as we drove down out of the mountains that last day. We'd managed to fill 3 out of 4 bull tags with an OTC tag, in a unit averaging well below 20 percent success. In addition, we'd managed to take a couple of bucks...even if one of them barely qualified as such. My body is still sore as I sit and type this. My reconstructed knee held up from the rigors of the hunt, but arthritis has become a daily fixture. Mostly what I'm left with is gratitude though. I'm grateful for the opportunity to chase animals in the great state of Idaho. I'm grateful for the support of my wife and daughter who hold down the fort in my absence. I'm grateful my son (and his friend) share my passion for the pursuit of elk. I'm grateful to my hunting partner for sticking it out to the end with me.

I hope all of you are similarly blessed and have a fantastic fall in our own pursuits. Thanks for following along with me this season.

Dave

Thanks for the story.

It was as close as I got to elk hunting this year.

Very well done and well told! Thank you for sharing it!

Fantastic!

Great story! Thanks for sharing.

Good stuff Dave - you guys really do make the most of your hunting adventures congrats to you all!!