As Guy left my office, I had commented on how I didn't want a Mossback experience, a few good friends to share the hunt would be enough, after all my camera didn't have a wide angle lens to get a dozen helpers in the frame. I have been fortunate to have some great hunting partners; my grandpa, dad and brother were the first. Guy and his brother Rod the second and now it was Bret. Bret and I met by chance, a young bowhunter full of energy willing to listen to an outspoken veteran bowhunter. Soon we were sharing a few hunting trips; eventually a trip to Texas to hunt hogs and a brotherhood was formed. If I have a kindred spirit it would be Bret an odd couple of sorts Bret a driven, physically fit go getter and me a laid back out of shape muleskinner. Maybe it was Bret's desire to ride after his first trip on my favorite mule Sara. Maybe it was stubbornness in both of us to out do the other. Whatever it turned into a great elk hunting duo, for those that know they probably agree something about this partnership puts big bulls on the ground. Not long after our friendship formed Bret lost his brother Brian to a tragic Mountain Biking accident, in a small way I think I filled the void from this event. Although Brian was more along for the ride than the hunt, Bret was in need of a new hunting partner. Sometimes it pays to be in the right place at the wrong time, I was lucky to be there for and with Bret.
Bret was in camp early Wednesday just returning from a successful Caribou hunt in the Northwest Territories, in normal fashion Bret was amped and ready to go. With this motivation we were soon on a Trek that would almost do me in before my hunt was a day old. However, that night we happened to see 6 different bulls and hear 3 others one of which needed further investigation. I fell a sleep after a warm meal and short discussion with my wife (Jean), a blessing of being close to home.
Thursday morning found me alone again, a short trip behind camp revealed what I already knew. The sheep were a couple weeks late coming through my honey hole, leaving little time for the elk to return. This year I might need to work a little harder.
Thursday evening seemed to be a good time to see if an old friend had returned. In 2006 my wife had missed a bull of a lifetime, 2007 found a co-workers father missing the same bull. In 2008 I figured 3 strikes and your out, this bull would be #1 on my list if I could find him. A short trip to the backside revealed no sign of him. However a 330 type six point found my cow calls enticing enough to offer a 22 yd. broadside shot, one I chose to pass on as my goal had been set at 350 or better. After all I did not want to be known as the guy who shot a 330 pisscutter. This decision played with my emotions I don't know if I will ever get a chance like this again as a bowhunter. Another relaxing evening with my wife and sleep came easy.
Friday was decision day; I needed to know where I would be the opening of the rifle hunt. Morning was less than productive and evening revealed the bulls from Wednesday were not as vocal; it still seemed to be the best option. One of my goals was to verify a faster way into the canyon for Saturday morning. After verifying my hunch I rode out in the dark only to have a bull bugle at the sounds of a solid mules gait. I stopped at the rider?s camp to let him know I made it out and again ask how many days the bull had night bugled behind his camp. On Wednesday a couple of bow hunters Jake and Cory indicated the bull kept them entertained after dark but the rider nor them had seen the bull. Probably just a pisscutter after all it was less than a quarter mile to the highway. While visiting with the rider a couple of stragglers came in, on there way from California to hunt the famed bucks of the Hoback. In need of a break, the rider had offered some corral space for their horses and a spot to sleep. During our conversation we found a common thread, the stragglers and myself were Monster Muley addicts. After shooting the bull too long I returned to a wife who wondered why I had been out so long after dark. I simply told her I ran into a couple fellows that needed some help. Sleep did not come as easy as I wrestled with the excitement of an opening morning.
Bret and his boy Jayden had pulled in late Friday night, jumped in their sleeping bags, it took a little rousting to get them up Saturday morning. But with Bret's feet on the ground the excitement and hurry up soon came. Just as we finished saddling headlights came up the road. I thought someone would be disappointed to find our camp in his or her canyon. However it was a welcome sight, another good friend Blake had left home over an hour earlier to be here for opening morning. I welcomed him and soon we were headed to the trailhead. As we drove down the highway some sorrow filled my heart, I have been blessed with three beautiful daughters. The middle one Lyndsay has been a constant on my hunts since she was twelve however, today found her fulfilling the commitments of a job, and she would be missed.
At the trailhead Gator, my new MM friend, met us. His welcome was hard to swallow. ?Dude you are late 3 groups of horses and a couple 4-wheelers are already ahead of you.? With a little more urgency we left the truck. I wished Gator luck on his way to Wyoming as he wished me luck on my N Cache bull. Then Gator said oh by the way that noisy bull was right here where your truck is parked about one o clock this morning screaming his guts out and he had a cow with him. Just like the rest we headed up the trail leaving the cow camp bull behind. Again the bull called to the sound of mule hooves as we road on. Soon after sun up came it was obvious Wednesday?s bulls weren't a secret with each movement and scan of the glasses we found more hunters. Most of them we knew, after the golden hour I said it was time to go. I didn't want to be part of the shooting gallery if a bull showed himself. As we hit the trail back to the truck, Bret and I looked at each other with the same thought, we are here, and maybe we should check out the cow camp bull. Within ten minutes the bull was coaxing a couple lonely cow callers into the next draw. Soon Blake and I were putting the sneak on as Bret sat on a hill talking with the bull. Jayden was huddled up in the shade of a pine watching some video on an IPOD. Maybe I am from the old school but I found the colors, scents and sounds of fall more appealing than the latest video release. Really Jayden is a super kid and welcome anytime on my hunts. As a bowhunter there seems to be a sense when you are too close, I found myself ignoring that feeling and soon the bull and his harem broke from their beds in the Maples without me ever seeing them. Bret relayed there were about twenty cows and a 5 point but he never saw the herd bull. Oh well it was only the first day. Why would a fella try and sneak within yards? When his weapon could cover each canyon in less than a second, I would like to think it is the hunter in me.
Saturday evening found us satisfying Bret that our honey hole was void of elk. Someday he will listen to me, then again that might be the day we don't push a little harder than the rest. There is a satisfaction that comes from cresting the next ridge only a hunter understands.
One of my vices is breaking the Sabbath during hunting season (at least for a hunt such as this) however; I don't expect others to disobey the LORD. Therefore I was left alone Saturday night. It didn't take long for a loneliness to set in. In order to ignore the solitude I began organizing, as I got to my kitchen I soon realized how lucky I was to have a wife that supports my addiction. There in the cooler was prepared meals neatly packaged for the next week, all I had to do was come in stoke my tent stove and place them in a dutchoven to warm as I cared for the stock. As I had been busy hunting the past few days Jean had been busy making camp life a little easier for when she returned home.
A hot meal and sleep overtook me before I climbed in my bag, there is something to be said for a canvas tent and a stove chuck full of split wood.