Well guys, the time has come.
I've spent the entire summer scouting for a good place to hunt elk. I've found elk, big ones, but I've also found wolves. Everywhere.
Still, the time for scouting and worrying is over. This coming Saturday I will load up the llamas and pack my camp high and deep. There is no trail from the road to my campsite, but that just makes it more fun. My camp will be there until the end of September, or until I kill an elk. The season opens on the 30th.
My gear has been selected, my broadheads sharpened, and my legs strengthened. My pack is ready, my quiver is loaded, and some of you may scoff at my choice of knife, but the truth is, I can skin a mouse with a Bowie, but you can't split firewood on the side of the Rockies in a driving rain/snowstorm with a three-inch pinkie blade.
Choosing a knife was easy, choosing the bow was a tough one, but it came down to the fact that my Sunset Hill killed a lot of big game last year, and proved itself a true hunter, but my Big Five has not yet drawn blood. This year, 30 years after I killed my first 6x6 bull with an arrow, we will see if the Big Five knows how to hunt. Only time will tell.
The scouting and wondering and wandering is over, it's time to hunt.
P.S. The Arrowmaster is loaded with scary-sharp 160-grain Snuffers on heavy ash shafts. I am just enough of a heathen to get a big grin on my face at what THAT wicked combination can do when shot from a 75-pound Big Five.