October Mountains, --16 Years Ago

 

       My camera couldn’t capture it and my words can’t describe it.  The Rocky Mountains of Colorado in mid-October...I saw it close up and will never forget it.  All the while, during the three days we were camping and working back up into the high country where the elk are found, I thought about the mountain men from 175 years ago who first saw it, and why they couldn't ever go back to a regular life.  I never thought I'd return to a regular life either.  Heck, I never thought I'd survive the trip! 

    Somehow on the opening morning of the elk season, I found myself sitting alongside the concealing branches of a huge Douglas fir, peering uphill into a thinner-than-normal group of good-sized yellow-leafed aspen trees.   I was watching elk come and go, only 30 or 40 yards away.  First there was a cow and two calves, then there were two big cows and a young spike bull.  Then there were seven or eight cows crossing the opening behind me, then four or five more.  I was in cow heaven.  

    But you can bet that during the prime of mating season, there's a bull or two around that many cows. And there were several, but one in particular I heard him bugling a half dozen times in the first hour, sending a high-pitched bellowing note out across the aspen grove from a ridge-top well hidden high above me in thick scrub oak. 

        Seven more cows came down the hill before me, and in the midst of them there was a set of tall antlers.  But I couldn't get a good look at them, and you have to have four points on one antler before a bull elk is legal.  I wouldn't take a chance, but oh was he a magnificent creature.  A young bull, he was a deep chocolate brown.  And then, high above them, coming out of the scrub oak, was the big bull, last in line behind them all, with heavy antlers and a deep tan coat and dark mane.  I watched him come down the ridge toward me 200 yards away, and into the swag below the high mountain beyond.  

        I didn’t move a hair.  Holy mackerel, it was exciting.  Before me was an entire herd.  I kept waiting, and the big bull ambled toward me, down the ridge, stopping to bugle again.  Then he turned to follow the cows, across the grove of aspens above me, about 75 yards away.  Finally, I knew it was the right time. I put my scope on him but I couldn't find a sure shot because of the aspens between us... and when I did, some of the cows caught sight of me, and began to trot down the hill through those black and white trees at a pretty good clip.  He came after them, moving way to fast.  But there he was, one of the most magnificent animals I have ever seen, a wild bull elk with a dark coat and spreading antlers.  He stopped up that slope a ways, and stuck his nose high in the air and bugled again, his sides heaving with the effort. My pulse went to 150!

I had only one opportunity, and that was a place between two widely spaced aspens.  When the cow in front of the bull moved through it, I set my scope on the opening, picked him up as he entered it, and squeezed the trigger.  A good-sized Douglas fir concealed the elk when he went down, but I was pretty sure of the shot.  I found him dead behind a big log, his antlers rising high above it.  He would have weighed nearly 700 pounds, a 3-and-1/2-year old stag with 5 by 5 antlers...what we'd call a ten-pointer here in the Ozarks.

      We knew there was a big storm moving in that night, so by two p.m. we had the horses loaded with meat and camping gear and we headed in about as serious as you can get about it.  Over much of the terrain, we had to lead the horses, and it was tough going. Even in descending from that 11,000-foot mountainside, there was a lot of climbing involved; it wasn't just a downhill trip. For the last hour I had watched the lightning bolts in the mountains to the north of us, and figured I'd get wetted down and lit up long before we got back.

       The snow began in the mountains that night and there would  be 6 or 8 inches on the ground by morning.  

        It would have been nice to stay another day or so in the glorious weather we had enjoyed the first three days. Half the time we were on elk trails way up in the places where you never see anyone else.  It would have been difficult to stay up there high in the mountains with that storm and the coming snow.

 

      I was thankful that I got to see the country where there are no other footprints or hoof prints.  But what a grand place it would be if there were just some Indians still there to live with, peaceful Indians with some really good looking squaws and warm teepees and a gas grill for the elk steaks.   To  be  continued.