ridgetops
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Friday, November 4
As the sun was coming up over the Oquirrh Mountains, Tom and I headed out on another hunting adventure; this time, it would be after elk with our muzzleloaders. We hadn’t traveled more than a few miles out of town when we came across a dandy buck chasing a doe. It had a 180” class frame, with a 7 or 8” drop tine on one side. The late season muzzy hunt was in its 3rd day and there wasn’t a hunter in sight. I’m guessing most of the hunters were high up on the mountain and not road-hunting the main highway. LOL.
We arrived at our hunting spot, quickly set up camp, and headed to one of my better glassing points by 3 PM. Within minutes we were seeing elk. We made a plan. I would head to a pond to the north of the elk and hopefully ambush them if they ended up going there for water before dark. Tom would stay and watch them to see if they decided to move down the mountain to another water source in a canyon between Tom and the elk. If they did so, Tom would make a move on them.
An hour later I was setting up at the pond, hoping the elk would come in to it. Though there was six inches of snow on the ground and the ponds were freezing at night, I was hopeful that during the day the water would thaw around the edges for the elk to drink at. There were fresh elk tracks all around the pond. They were really consuming the acorns around the big gambol oak stands. A few minutes after arriving at the pond, I began hearing cow calls and then a bugle about a ½ mile to the north of my location. For the next two hours I sat there, listening to several elk calling back and forth to each other. Sometimes they seemed to be getting closer, but other times they sounded as though they were moving away. I would give two or three cow calls every 5-10 minutes. This went on for over two hours. With only 45 minutes minutes of shooting light left, I made the decision to get more aggressive and try to move toward the elk.
I hadn’t moved more than 50 yards when I looked up and saw six cow elk on the skyline staring right at me. I quickly dropped down and ranged their distance. The reading on my range finder was 160 yards. The cows stood motionless for ten to 15 minutes, then slowly moved off out of sight. Darkness was quickly approaching and I figured if I was going to get a shot at a bull I only had the next ten minutes. I quickly moved across a small meadow and then followed an old, grown over jeep trail. When I came around a small bend in the trail, 10 elk suddenly busted through some oak about 60 yards away. I cow called to stop them and about half did stop. Instantly, a nice 6 point bull came over the ridge and stopped. I didn’t bother to range it because I was positive it was under 80 yards. As soon as I got the crosshairs behind the bull’s shoulder, he stepped into a small window in the brush and I took the shot. I could hear the bullet hit a couple small branches on its way and then a big “thwack.” The bull bolted and was out of sight. I went to look for a downed bull, or at least a blood trail, but I found neither. I called Tom and he told me he’d watched the whole thing unfold and the bull ran straight downhill. I met up with Tom an hour later back at camp. We decided to be back at that area at first light. That was one long, sleepless night.
Saturday, November 5th
We arrived at the chosen area just as the sun was coming up. We could hear a bull bugling to the south of us and not far away. We crept towards the elk sounds, which were coming from the same direction as I shot from the night before. Unfortunately, the elk were moving away and we didn’t meet up with them. We looked for blood in the area. The bull had run downhill, with at least 6 inches of snow on the ground; there was no sign of blood anywhere. It was apparent that I hadn’t hit the six point. After looking for over two hours, we went to the exact spot where I had taken the shot the night before. Tom stood where the bull had been and I stood where I’d shot from. It was obvious that I had hit a big oak branch before the bullet reached the bull’s location. Without my binoculars, I could barely see Tom through all the oak branches. When I focused the optics on Tom, most of the branches disappeared, and I realized that’s why I didn’t notice them when looking through my scope.
While we investigated this area, Tom and I could still hear some elk to the south of us, so we headed that direction. This time, it was Tom’s turn to try for one of the bugling bulls. I joked with Tom and made the comment that he was only allowed to shoot a bull uphill from the trail because it would be a lot easier of a pack-out than below the trail. We continued to sneak south for about another hour, but the elk had gone silent or moved out of the area. It was now a little past 11 AM and we decided to turn back to avoid pushing the elk any further. We would head back to camp and come up with a game plan for our afternoon hunt.
We hadn’t walked fifty yards after turning around when we heard a cow call uphill from us only 100 yards away. We quickly picked up our pace and snuck in the direction of the call. Tom was about ten feet in the lead; just as he passed through a small gap in the thick brush he ducked down and mouthed the words, “There’s a bull!” I mouthed backed to him, “Shoot it!” In one quick motion, he rose, aimed, and fired. He turned to me with a fist pump and I knew he’d connected. I couldn’t see a darn thing being downhill and blocked by brush. Tom waved for me to come up next to him. When I did, I could see Tom’s bull about 65 yards away in the middle of a meadow. It was down and kicking a little and it was being watched by a small 5 point bull and a cow. I guessed the bull to be around 100 yards away, so I aimed right behind its shoulder and fired. The bull and cow just trotted away and out of sight into the thick trees around the meadow. The bull never kicked or hunched up, so I figured I’d missed again. I was so upset about blowing such a great opportunity two days in a row. By this time, Tom’s bull was completely dead so we went to look for blood in the direction the other bull had headed. We couldn’t find any blood, so I was convinced that I’d missed it. I felt strongly that I should circle the area a few times looking for any sign of blood in the snow. Within a couple of minutes of doing this, I walked right into a downed bull. My shot had completely passed through it, hitting both lungs.
Because of the snow and the bull’s position uphill of the meadow, it was easy to drag him down next to Tom’s for a group photo. Not too many people get the opportunity to kill two bulls in the same meadow with muzzleloaders. What an awesome experience!
As the sun was coming up over the Oquirrh Mountains, Tom and I headed out on another hunting adventure; this time, it would be after elk with our muzzleloaders. We hadn’t traveled more than a few miles out of town when we came across a dandy buck chasing a doe. It had a 180” class frame, with a 7 or 8” drop tine on one side. The late season muzzy hunt was in its 3rd day and there wasn’t a hunter in sight. I’m guessing most of the hunters were high up on the mountain and not road-hunting the main highway. LOL.
We arrived at our hunting spot, quickly set up camp, and headed to one of my better glassing points by 3 PM. Within minutes we were seeing elk. We made a plan. I would head to a pond to the north of the elk and hopefully ambush them if they ended up going there for water before dark. Tom would stay and watch them to see if they decided to move down the mountain to another water source in a canyon between Tom and the elk. If they did so, Tom would make a move on them.
An hour later I was setting up at the pond, hoping the elk would come in to it. Though there was six inches of snow on the ground and the ponds were freezing at night, I was hopeful that during the day the water would thaw around the edges for the elk to drink at. There were fresh elk tracks all around the pond. They were really consuming the acorns around the big gambol oak stands. A few minutes after arriving at the pond, I began hearing cow calls and then a bugle about a ½ mile to the north of my location. For the next two hours I sat there, listening to several elk calling back and forth to each other. Sometimes they seemed to be getting closer, but other times they sounded as though they were moving away. I would give two or three cow calls every 5-10 minutes. This went on for over two hours. With only 45 minutes minutes of shooting light left, I made the decision to get more aggressive and try to move toward the elk.
I hadn’t moved more than 50 yards when I looked up and saw six cow elk on the skyline staring right at me. I quickly dropped down and ranged their distance. The reading on my range finder was 160 yards. The cows stood motionless for ten to 15 minutes, then slowly moved off out of sight. Darkness was quickly approaching and I figured if I was going to get a shot at a bull I only had the next ten minutes. I quickly moved across a small meadow and then followed an old, grown over jeep trail. When I came around a small bend in the trail, 10 elk suddenly busted through some oak about 60 yards away. I cow called to stop them and about half did stop. Instantly, a nice 6 point bull came over the ridge and stopped. I didn’t bother to range it because I was positive it was under 80 yards. As soon as I got the crosshairs behind the bull’s shoulder, he stepped into a small window in the brush and I took the shot. I could hear the bullet hit a couple small branches on its way and then a big “thwack.” The bull bolted and was out of sight. I went to look for a downed bull, or at least a blood trail, but I found neither. I called Tom and he told me he’d watched the whole thing unfold and the bull ran straight downhill. I met up with Tom an hour later back at camp. We decided to be back at that area at first light. That was one long, sleepless night.
Saturday, November 5th
We arrived at the chosen area just as the sun was coming up. We could hear a bull bugling to the south of us and not far away. We crept towards the elk sounds, which were coming from the same direction as I shot from the night before. Unfortunately, the elk were moving away and we didn’t meet up with them. We looked for blood in the area. The bull had run downhill, with at least 6 inches of snow on the ground; there was no sign of blood anywhere. It was apparent that I hadn’t hit the six point. After looking for over two hours, we went to the exact spot where I had taken the shot the night before. Tom stood where the bull had been and I stood where I’d shot from. It was obvious that I had hit a big oak branch before the bullet reached the bull’s location. Without my binoculars, I could barely see Tom through all the oak branches. When I focused the optics on Tom, most of the branches disappeared, and I realized that’s why I didn’t notice them when looking through my scope.
While we investigated this area, Tom and I could still hear some elk to the south of us, so we headed that direction. This time, it was Tom’s turn to try for one of the bugling bulls. I joked with Tom and made the comment that he was only allowed to shoot a bull uphill from the trail because it would be a lot easier of a pack-out than below the trail. We continued to sneak south for about another hour, but the elk had gone silent or moved out of the area. It was now a little past 11 AM and we decided to turn back to avoid pushing the elk any further. We would head back to camp and come up with a game plan for our afternoon hunt.
We hadn’t walked fifty yards after turning around when we heard a cow call uphill from us only 100 yards away. We quickly picked up our pace and snuck in the direction of the call. Tom was about ten feet in the lead; just as he passed through a small gap in the thick brush he ducked down and mouthed the words, “There’s a bull!” I mouthed backed to him, “Shoot it!” In one quick motion, he rose, aimed, and fired. He turned to me with a fist pump and I knew he’d connected. I couldn’t see a darn thing being downhill and blocked by brush. Tom waved for me to come up next to him. When I did, I could see Tom’s bull about 65 yards away in the middle of a meadow. It was down and kicking a little and it was being watched by a small 5 point bull and a cow. I guessed the bull to be around 100 yards away, so I aimed right behind its shoulder and fired. The bull and cow just trotted away and out of sight into the thick trees around the meadow. The bull never kicked or hunched up, so I figured I’d missed again. I was so upset about blowing such a great opportunity two days in a row. By this time, Tom’s bull was completely dead so we went to look for blood in the direction the other bull had headed. We couldn’t find any blood, so I was convinced that I’d missed it. I felt strongly that I should circle the area a few times looking for any sign of blood in the snow. Within a couple of minutes of doing this, I walked right into a downed bull. My shot had completely passed through it, hitting both lungs.
Because of the snow and the bull’s position uphill of the meadow, it was easy to drag him down next to Tom’s for a group photo. Not too many people get the opportunity to kill two bulls in the same meadow with muzzleloaders. What an awesome experience!
