Soon a trail cut into up onto the ridge and I laid my own tracks on top of those of elk and deer and coyote.
To my left the mountain fell away sharply and far below I spotted a small waterhole. The pock marks on the distant, bare dirt, mountainside told me that it was a game magnet. I noted it's location for future investigation.
I'd not go there today. It was much too steep from this side. One careless step could send a man sliding out of control to rocks and lodgepoles below. In some places you'd have fallen a long bowshot without touching anything but air.
So I kept trekking upward. It was impossible to tell how long it had been since the tracks had been made in the dusty trail. Maybe a month or maybe an hour.
The dropping told another story,however. Dry and hard and round like marbles they hinted of a browse diet and not the homogenous clumps that spoke of a rich grass diet.
I'd push on until I found sign which was green and glossy. No need wasting time where the elk weren't.
In time I found myself in cover which was much more sparse. The lodgepoles had given way to alpine fir. I found myself giddy with the altitude and searching the alpine meadows for some huge old buck mule deer.
I had no tag for them, but I dearly wanted to see one of those heavy horned old timberline bucks... I'd hunt elk on the way back down!
Topic: The Way West...a bowhunting journey. (Read 47365 times)
