Well, I'm FINALLY back in the "real world" with some internet and time to post pics. Had a pretty EPIC last week. Mere inches from an absolutely perfect week.
TLDR will be on the 2018 Western States Thread
For his 80th Birthday, my Dad and I promised to take Grandpa on his LAST elk hunt. He shot a bull 40-something years ago, and never was able to go again. He can barely walk, so this was a real challenge. We had to do a Disability Hunt for him. A friend (who has an AMAZING piece of property) obliged with access and a landowner tag. The hunt was on!
I put in as many hours scouting as I could. Had a couple decent bulls that I was able to locate fairly regularly- mostly 225-250ish 5x5's - which was about what we were hoping to get him. Weather was hot and dry, moon was full for GrandpaCup's hunt. Water would be the key. I found 3 really good water holes- 2 were possibly accessible to Grandpa.
Dad & Grandpa arrive, they get 1 day to acclimate and sight see, then it's game on. First morning is slow. I glimpse a nice bull, but he is moving through thick brush. Dad drives Grandpa around to water and various ridges, while I cover as much ground as possible.
I run back to the house to get my oldest son and a friend to come join us, and we spend the afternoon hours shooting prairie dogs. I was able to pass down my 1st rifle (a .22 Hornet) which I have been restoring. Pretty cool for my Dad to see the first gun he gave me given to my son. He was doing good shooting it, scaring the crap out of some prairie dogs, but hadn't hit anything yet. On the drive out, we spot one last dog, about 20 yards from the truck. My son sat in my dad's lap, took a breath, and smoked his first prairie dog! That is a memory I will cherish forever! 4 generations hunting together- nothing better!
Day 1: Sit Dad & Grandpa on another water hole, and I go scouting. Finally, about an hour before dark, I locate what looks to be a very nice bull. He is moving into some dark timber up a hill, so I give him a couple soft cow calls. I don't see him moving though the timber any more, so I turn up the sexy and hit him again. I think I see him farting through the shadows. I wait a few minutes, and cast a really soft mew behind me. He literally comes BURSTING out of the trees a couple hundred yards closer than when I first saw him- screaming his head off. I lean back into the Juniper tree behind me as far as I can. I throw one more whisper of a mew down the canyon to my right, where a water hole is, and try to disappear into the tree. The bull gives a short bugle/chuckle, and comes walking about 15 yards by me with slobber hanging out of his mouth. Luckily, he passes upwind, and heads down the canyon. I spend the waining hour studying him and making a plan to relocate Grandpa the next day.
Day 2: The following morning finds Grandpa 200 yards from the watering hole at sunrise. It's cold and crisp, going to be a blue bird day. All is silent. At about 7:30, I set out along a ridge, trying to spot the bull again. No luck, so I head down in a thick valley. Glassing from an little oak brush hill, I spot a tiny mudhole. I'm looking at it through my binos to see if there is a wallow or traffic, when I notice a funny looking branch near the water. I move about 10 yards to my right, and the branch turns into elk antlers! Belly crawl down another 10 yards, and I can see a bull- it's the big boy from last night, and he is sound asleep! Must have been up all night chasing. I don't really care why, I just say a prayer he stays asleep. I sneak out, and race back to Grandpa.
We load him in the Polaris, and drive as close as we can, then turn it off and coast down the hill quietly. Only one small rise separates us from the napping elk. We get Grandpa out, and basically have to carry him up a little dip in the hill. I peak over the top, and we are 100 yards away. Grandpa cannot find the bull in his scope. No way we can possibly move him any closer silently. My dad bought a set of tripod shooting sticks, standing height. We get them set up, and I carry the sticks and gun, while Dad tries to help Grandpa move forward. We make it about 10 yards, Grandpa is hurting, but grits his teeth and pushes on. I'm starring down the bull, keeping a step ahead. Bull starts to stir and get his feet under him, so I set the sticks up and put the gun on it. The bull stands as Grandpa shoulders the gun. I'm holding the rifle on the tripod, trying my best to align it. The bull steps out in the open, is moving slowly but decidedly uphill and away. Grandpa can't find him. I point the gun in the next opening, reach up and back the magnification down on his scope. He bull steps out, Grandpa sees him! He says "woah! That's a huge bull". I just whispered "focus on the shoulder", and then give a quick cow call (which comes out more like a drowning cat being kicked in the nuts), and the elk stops and looks. I'm about to let go of the tripod and tuck my head, but Grandpa sends a round immediately. I thought the muzzle break was going to cut me in 1/2... never told Grandpa about that part. My Dad shouts out "HIT!" and through a ringing head I can see the bull staggering. Grandpa reloads, but the bull only goes 25 yards and crashes.
We are absokutely elated! Grandpa has a seat, while I fetch the Polaris and we take him to his bull. Shot a little far back, but no matter. It is a really nice 6x6, and we couldn't be more pleased! Amazing to share this experience with 3 generations!!!
Now comes the hard work of getting Grandpa and this big bull off the hill. Thankfully, the generous landowner allows us to bring it to his barn to process, he has a stainless table and walk in cooler... not a bad set up at all!
My Grandpa notices that I'm throwing up a Gig 'Em, so he and my Dad do something unholy with their hands... I guess I can let it slide! Ha ha! Little family rivalry
Day 2: after getting the elk processed and in the cooler, the owner invites us up to his house for a victory drink and a tour. Let's just say that he has more mounts than two or three Cabelas... absolutely UNBELIEVABLE house. I only took pictures of his main room. There were 3 smaller rooms with mounts like this. And an "Alaskan Themed" bar with every animal you can hunt in Alaska and a huge wood burning fire place with the (at the time) world record moose hanging over it. Ever heard of the Weatherby Hunting & Conservation Award? He and his wife are the only husband/wife pair to each receive this prestigious award. They have them side by side, hanging under an enormous Rhino. I'll let you read the special recognition part of his trophy, just a taste of perspective- see pic below. I've never seen so many sheep in my life.
Day 3: I guess touched by the Legacy Hunt we took on for my Grandpa, the owner tells me he has about 1,500 acres high fenced. It had a bunch of fallow deer on it, but most have been shot. he thinks there are 4-5 left, somewhere on the place. He says if my Dad and I can find them, we are welcome to each shoot one. We aren't passing that up!
This place was THICK, and hunting was hard.
My dad barely missed a good buck, I think he hit a limb and deflected. A little later, we caught a buck with a thick dark neck out in the open. 325 yards, my Dad tells me to shoot it. Boom - plop. Victory! (And more work). Never had the chance to get a Fallow, so I'm excited to see what it tastes like. He is kind of 1/2 chocolate (we called him light chocolate), with that dark neck. Much thicker and heavier than I thought.
I'm SUPER bummed I couldn't get my dad a fallow, that's the only thing that could have made this absolute perfect. My Grandpa was almost in tears. My Son was extatic. And my Dad is perfectly content. Mission accomplished! We are treated to an amazing sunset. Perfect ending to a nearly perfect trip!
Post Trip Bonus: I worked the next day, then headed back in to the mountains. Took a group of pastors from all over the country on a backpacking/discipleship conference. Got some people their first taste of 14,000 feet (which was a BUT KICKER). Absolutely amazing what our Creator has done!
TLDR will be on the 2018 Western States Thread
For his 80th Birthday, my Dad and I promised to take Grandpa on his LAST elk hunt. He shot a bull 40-something years ago, and never was able to go again. He can barely walk, so this was a real challenge. We had to do a Disability Hunt for him. A friend (who has an AMAZING piece of property) obliged with access and a landowner tag. The hunt was on!
I put in as many hours scouting as I could. Had a couple decent bulls that I was able to locate fairly regularly- mostly 225-250ish 5x5's - which was about what we were hoping to get him. Weather was hot and dry, moon was full for GrandpaCup's hunt. Water would be the key. I found 3 really good water holes- 2 were possibly accessible to Grandpa.
Dad & Grandpa arrive, they get 1 day to acclimate and sight see, then it's game on. First morning is slow. I glimpse a nice bull, but he is moving through thick brush. Dad drives Grandpa around to water and various ridges, while I cover as much ground as possible.
I run back to the house to get my oldest son and a friend to come join us, and we spend the afternoon hours shooting prairie dogs. I was able to pass down my 1st rifle (a .22 Hornet) which I have been restoring. Pretty cool for my Dad to see the first gun he gave me given to my son. He was doing good shooting it, scaring the crap out of some prairie dogs, but hadn't hit anything yet. On the drive out, we spot one last dog, about 20 yards from the truck. My son sat in my dad's lap, took a breath, and smoked his first prairie dog! That is a memory I will cherish forever! 4 generations hunting together- nothing better!
Day 1: Sit Dad & Grandpa on another water hole, and I go scouting. Finally, about an hour before dark, I locate what looks to be a very nice bull. He is moving into some dark timber up a hill, so I give him a couple soft cow calls. I don't see him moving though the timber any more, so I turn up the sexy and hit him again. I think I see him farting through the shadows. I wait a few minutes, and cast a really soft mew behind me. He literally comes BURSTING out of the trees a couple hundred yards closer than when I first saw him- screaming his head off. I lean back into the Juniper tree behind me as far as I can. I throw one more whisper of a mew down the canyon to my right, where a water hole is, and try to disappear into the tree. The bull gives a short bugle/chuckle, and comes walking about 15 yards by me with slobber hanging out of his mouth. Luckily, he passes upwind, and heads down the canyon. I spend the waining hour studying him and making a plan to relocate Grandpa the next day.
Day 2: The following morning finds Grandpa 200 yards from the watering hole at sunrise. It's cold and crisp, going to be a blue bird day. All is silent. At about 7:30, I set out along a ridge, trying to spot the bull again. No luck, so I head down in a thick valley. Glassing from an little oak brush hill, I spot a tiny mudhole. I'm looking at it through my binos to see if there is a wallow or traffic, when I notice a funny looking branch near the water. I move about 10 yards to my right, and the branch turns into elk antlers! Belly crawl down another 10 yards, and I can see a bull- it's the big boy from last night, and he is sound asleep! Must have been up all night chasing. I don't really care why, I just say a prayer he stays asleep. I sneak out, and race back to Grandpa.
We load him in the Polaris, and drive as close as we can, then turn it off and coast down the hill quietly. Only one small rise separates us from the napping elk. We get Grandpa out, and basically have to carry him up a little dip in the hill. I peak over the top, and we are 100 yards away. Grandpa cannot find the bull in his scope. No way we can possibly move him any closer silently. My dad bought a set of tripod shooting sticks, standing height. We get them set up, and I carry the sticks and gun, while Dad tries to help Grandpa move forward. We make it about 10 yards, Grandpa is hurting, but grits his teeth and pushes on. I'm starring down the bull, keeping a step ahead. Bull starts to stir and get his feet under him, so I set the sticks up and put the gun on it. The bull stands as Grandpa shoulders the gun. I'm holding the rifle on the tripod, trying my best to align it. The bull steps out in the open, is moving slowly but decidedly uphill and away. Grandpa can't find him. I point the gun in the next opening, reach up and back the magnification down on his scope. He bull steps out, Grandpa sees him! He says "woah! That's a huge bull". I just whispered "focus on the shoulder", and then give a quick cow call (which comes out more like a drowning cat being kicked in the nuts), and the elk stops and looks. I'm about to let go of the tripod and tuck my head, but Grandpa sends a round immediately. I thought the muzzle break was going to cut me in 1/2... never told Grandpa about that part. My Dad shouts out "HIT!" and through a ringing head I can see the bull staggering. Grandpa reloads, but the bull only goes 25 yards and crashes.
We are absokutely elated! Grandpa has a seat, while I fetch the Polaris and we take him to his bull. Shot a little far back, but no matter. It is a really nice 6x6, and we couldn't be more pleased! Amazing to share this experience with 3 generations!!!
Now comes the hard work of getting Grandpa and this big bull off the hill. Thankfully, the generous landowner allows us to bring it to his barn to process, he has a stainless table and walk in cooler... not a bad set up at all!
My Grandpa notices that I'm throwing up a Gig 'Em, so he and my Dad do something unholy with their hands... I guess I can let it slide! Ha ha! Little family rivalry
Day 2: after getting the elk processed and in the cooler, the owner invites us up to his house for a victory drink and a tour. Let's just say that he has more mounts than two or three Cabelas... absolutely UNBELIEVABLE house. I only took pictures of his main room. There were 3 smaller rooms with mounts like this. And an "Alaskan Themed" bar with every animal you can hunt in Alaska and a huge wood burning fire place with the (at the time) world record moose hanging over it. Ever heard of the Weatherby Hunting & Conservation Award? He and his wife are the only husband/wife pair to each receive this prestigious award. They have them side by side, hanging under an enormous Rhino. I'll let you read the special recognition part of his trophy, just a taste of perspective- see pic below. I've never seen so many sheep in my life.
Day 3: I guess touched by the Legacy Hunt we took on for my Grandpa, the owner tells me he has about 1,500 acres high fenced. It had a bunch of fallow deer on it, but most have been shot. he thinks there are 4-5 left, somewhere on the place. He says if my Dad and I can find them, we are welcome to each shoot one. We aren't passing that up!
This place was THICK, and hunting was hard.
My dad barely missed a good buck, I think he hit a limb and deflected. A little later, we caught a buck with a thick dark neck out in the open. 325 yards, my Dad tells me to shoot it. Boom - plop. Victory! (And more work). Never had the chance to get a Fallow, so I'm excited to see what it tastes like. He is kind of 1/2 chocolate (we called him light chocolate), with that dark neck. Much thicker and heavier than I thought.
I'm SUPER bummed I couldn't get my dad a fallow, that's the only thing that could have made this absolute perfect. My Grandpa was almost in tears. My Son was extatic. And my Dad is perfectly content. Mission accomplished! We are treated to an amazing sunset. Perfect ending to a nearly perfect trip!
Post Trip Bonus: I worked the next day, then headed back in to the mountains. Took a group of pastors from all over the country on a backpacking/discipleship conference. Got some people their first taste of 14,000 feet (which was a BUT KICKER). Absolutely amazing what our Creator has done!
