The Three Days of Blackleg, herd bull. Finished!

[jhg]

There is something special about a big bull elks bugle. It stands the hair on your neck and sweats your palms to hear it. Many say you can't tell an elks size by his call, but it has been my experience that while a big bull may often sound small, its a rare small bull that sounds big. Blackleg was like that. The first time I heard him growl his train horn bugle I thought the whole mountain was falling around me.

My base camp that year was a slide-in truck camper 1970's style. Off gridded with a gravity heater,  propane stove with working oven and enough water to wash your hands with soap. I had done the truck tailgate as a table thing at 9:30 at night in the wind and the rain. Being able to pull off boots and put feet up after a 16 hour day chasing elk was such a welcome change I still smile with appreciation every time I do it. There are two kinds of elk hunting after all and neither one of them has to include unnecessary abuse. Unless of course you have some unmet need for discomfort.
Dispersed camping on public land can be a remarkable experience if you know your area well, or are lucky. The campers door opened out onto a view of Wyoming wilderness that rolled away toward the NW. I often wondered what magnificent bull elk ghosted those black timbered slopes cut by wet drainage meadows lush with feed.

[jhg]

The first time I saw Blackleg it was moonlight

My camp opened onto an old clearcut and offered access to elk unused by 99.9% of the hunters. I don't know why it is exactly, human nature maybe, but you can increase your hunting odds substantially by finding a way in that others do not use. Or maybe I'm just a contrarian and like doing things the hard way.
I was walking out from camp in the pre-dawn ghost light, a slight downslope cooling my right cheek. The pine needles were wet and the night sounds still made their cry. In front of me a narrow avenue opened between the tall timber that fell away slightly and gave me a small window of the mountain beyond. Blackleg was standing there broadside, has cows moving past and around him like dancers on a stage. He slowly turned his head and looked my way his body and antlers backlit by the predawn sky. He was only there for a second, but the image of him at that moment is welded into my memories forever. 

[jhg]

It was way too early for a shot and to be honest it happened so fast my bow never would have been up in time anyway. I knew he had seen me, or maybe by sixth sense known I was there. But he was not alarmed and he hadn't gotten my wind, I was certain of that.  I let them go a minute or two until the random cracking and breakings typical of elk on the move in timber receded out of my hearing. But it is a foolish archer who waits too long to dog a group of elk in the woods and I made my way quick, keeping quiet and careful in the deadfall and the beetle kill everywhere around.
At first shooting light I was looking down into a narrow drainage, a twenty inch creek snaking its way through the rocks and grasses of a wet meadow. Ten or twelve cow elk fed around lorded over by a stud of a bull. He was mostly tan and sunbleached. But his legs were as black as coal and it seemed as if he had leggings on just for the effect. He strutted and postured and bugled quiet tending calls.

My heart rate was up a notch as I both watched the group below and studied the terrain around. Make a stalk or at least get closer before calling? That bull was not going to climb up the steep slope between where I stood and the bottom where they were, no matter how convincing I was as an elk. Or don't call at all. Try a hail-mary stalk, through sentry cows and the diminishing cover that typlifies so many canyon meadows? No matter what it was going to be, I would have to close the distance and keep the wind. No small thing in the narrow canyon of tree and deadfall everywhere.

[jhg]

I first chose to get lower on the canyons S slope and see what the thermals were doing closer to the elk. It was rough going. The elk had chosen well.

[jhg]

It took awhile but by mid morning I was on the edge of the upper meadows. It was obvious now that I couldn't make a stalk from here so I tried some calls to see what would happen. The bull didn't care. He was down in the bottom with his cows and the other bull (me) was up above. If the new bull chose to press the issue Blackleg had a number of choices in how to respond. He could take his girls and leave. There were a number of escape routes. He could stand his ground until the intruder showed himself, then choose an action. Or he could ignore me altogether. I pondered my own choices and decided to leave the calling alone for awhile. I decided it was better to play to my strengths and not blow the herd out of the canyon altogether. I understood my limitations as a caller and to keep calling seemed low percentage right then.

[jhg]

I decided to take the long view and circle above them, crossing the canyon to the other side, climbing above them and trying a stalk from there. It seemed the better play. From where I stood the elk would see me well outside my lethal range. I wanted timber cover into the bottom and it seemed the other slope offered more of it deeper into the meadow.

[Terry Green]

 

[jhg]

I found hidden small meadows. Tiny oasis' among the dense stands of timber. I kept going, knowing the elk group were well below me in the drainage. Still, it was easy to image an encounter with a big bull in a place like this.

I crossed over and climbed the other side until I could look down onto the herd. I was so focused on them I didn't see the satellite bull 20 yards ahead of me and on the same contour. He was doing the same thing, watching the herd! We both did a little jump but his took him out of my life forever while mine only managed to shift my bugle out of the way for a shot.
But that was alright- I was after Blackleg like a lone wolf. I let a round up bugle rip followed by huffs and Blackleg responded with a stay back warning. I left it at that knowing he wasn't going to come up but it at least felt good to get his goat. But now I had another problem- the wind. As I snuck down toward the herd it was clocking around until I was afraid if I went any farther they would wind me. It killed me to do it but I decided to pull out, sure I would never see that black legged bull again. But sometimes you have to trust in your intuition, even if the impatient part of you undermines the certainty. I circled under the elk group quite far down the drainage and climbed back toward camp. However, I had one more trick up my sleeve and I decided to wait inside a small access gulch off the main valley. This little avenue led to a dense stand of timber in a wet seep full of tender elk treats and nibbles.

[rastaman]

Awesome story so far!

[Curvebo]

What a treat to wake up to this morning!! 

[hessian]

Wonderful story so far!

[jhg]

 I set up looking NW across the little funnel. This was my view and it looked pretty sweet to me. I was hedging my bet and this spot was at the very bottom. If the elk decided to bypass this access and follow the bigger canyon down I could still skip over and  catch them. 

I was gaming that the elk might (and it was a big might), choose to move into the area above this photo. If they did I was sitting pretty to ambush Blackleg. He would be gently pushing the cows, corraling them from wandering, and otherwise occupied. He might think my soft cow chirp was a girl gone astray and swing right in front of me. I settled in to wait, hoping they did not tarry so long as to have the thermals reverse and so force me out of my hide to avoid alerting the elk there was a hunter, focused, like a laser beam.

As it turned out they came up this funnel but well out of view. I should have been higher up where it was more narrow. This next photo shows the spot I should have set up at.

[kennym]

This is great!! 

[ron w]

On the edge of my seat….   

[Ark.Buck]

Man, you have got my undivided attention, don't stop now!!

[Cyclic-Rivers]

 

[kerry]

Thanks for taking the time to bring us along.

[jhg]

I sat my hide, not yet knowing I had blown it already by trying to have it both ways, thinking I could sentry two drainages at the same time. But hunting is also about other things. I have never lamented being in the back country. Even if the lessons learned there went down hard I knew no other place I'd rather be.
My brother never hunted. He never had any interest in any of it. But I was the kid sneaking peeks into Dad's "hunting closet", a small space off the den packed with fishing rods, boots and woolen jac-shirts, rain gear and the holy grail of all boys hunt dreamings, guns. Also, way in back, rested a 1964 Yellow Jacket longbow. Made by the Cravotta Brothers, it was yellow & white glassed, 64 inch and maple cored. I shot all the cedars held by the old leather quiver until I placed one "by accident" dead center in the widow neighbors garage door. The arrow hit right where old "Mrs Bush" would be standing when she opened the door to get to her car. The shaft buried itself in a plywood panel and I couldn't pull it out. I went and got my father who took one look at the arrow, its lethal spot in the door and everything that implied. He wrapped his strong hands onto the arrow and pulled it free. He then looked at me. He knew a lesson already learned needs no comment. Dad only quietly said: "don't tell anyone" and went back to work.
So waiting on elk in the mountains was no task for me. In a lot of ways it was home.

[jhg]

So the elk went past my hide, the limb crackings and the mewings, the soft tending bugle of the black legged bull. At this point in my elk life I had not the confidence to lean on my bugle tube and turn the encounter my way. I let them go. I knew they would be near there in the morning. At least I hoped they would and to my advantage they had no clue a wolf was stalking them.
It was late and I knew better than rush after the herd. I shouldered my pack and placed my headlamp knowing it would be dark before I climbed out of the drainage. My recurve balanced light in my hand. I loved how it was a part of the hunt, so graceful and unobtrusive. It was never out of place, never a nuisance.
The truck camper was a comforting thought. I would warm elk stew and bake some frozen biscuits.
There was tomorrow. Oh yeah...

[Joe2Crow]

Great story! Thank you. Hope it’s not over…