My brother Chris and I flew out to
After scouting out a couple of easier trailheads we found a bunch of trucks from fishermen instead of open paths to wilderness. As it was also the opening week of Muzzle Loader season, we found the company less than reassuring, and packed our bows to find a more difficult, less crowded access approach.
As the rain ended, we made camp in the Conejos campground for the night. My brother jokingly said, “Conejos means balls in Spanish, doesn’t it?. While I knew better, I would come to question my certainty later… I think it actually means rabbit or bunny. After packing up our damp gear and “pairing down to essentials” for a hard hike in, we set out with just about 70lbs of gear a piece. Big mistake! The terrain was tough and about 4.5 miles long and going what felt like a mile straight up. It was going to be a long hike.
Signing in at the trailhead we noted only one other lone person “on foot” was in the area, and he was marked to go six miles in from the top of the trail near a lake. Who would go so far solo? About a quarter of the way up the hill, we were hurting bad but only just beginning. Immediately we regretted the pack weight, but it was too late to turn back now. We were committed. And we were (according to my brother) getting older. Hurting at this point, we knew we had too much weight...but we were committed! Both my brother and I are ex-infantry, so we thought we could handle the load. Of course that was before we truly understood the terrain and elevation affects on our flatlander bodies. Lesson learned. Halfway up, at about 9,000 feet my brother started to feel nauseous and sick. It was time for a break. And time for the rain to start again. Resting under the tarp, we noted an outfitter passing by as he packed in a wounded warrior and his father to the back lake on a muzzle loader hunt. Their horses seemed like a pretty swell idea.
Yet we continued on....flopping down in exhaustion about every other switchback to recover. At the top, a large plateau, we paused for both breath and congratulations. At ten years my senior, my brother was only going about 25 yards between flops to make it. But we did it. Our reward was a view including a pleasant little pond guarded by some not so pleasant free range cattle. Good thing we carried all enough heavy water up with us for the evening. Exhausted yet proud, we set up camp and celebrated the end of day one with unconsciousness. 
Turns out Moe was camping about 6 miles from where I bumped him at Alverjones Lake and usually makes about 5 or 6 trips with meat from there to his truck when he gets one. No horse. No help. No surprise. Moe was one tough dude! I’m pretty sure I’d have let the babywipes go. I gave him a pack of mine (I said we packed way too much!) and he was happy I saved him 4 hours hiking – I think. It also turns out that he was about to retire. Coincidentally my brother's wife head hunts for Goverment contractors – so we may be able to help him get a civilian job too! I copied his email address on my topo map! You never know who you’ll meet out here.
Rising early the next morning, I struck out for the small meadow in the vicinity of where I saw that bull skull with the antlers removed. Inside a group of four evergreen trees a made a nice hide and waited. All looked good. I heard hooves approaching and the crunch of branches!! Then all at once I was crushed......a loud MOOOOOOOOOOO.....those damn cattle were moving in. In fact, I watched as they came right in front of my blind at 15 yards. They strolled in right where I was expecting the elk. Right place. Wrong species. I spooked off the cattle and decided to spend the rest of the day exploring. I went down to the big meadow where I "expected" elk to come down every evening. There were lots of cattle in the meadow however, and we were not sure how that combined with the very bright moon would affect the elk hunting? Poking around the meadow’s edges I began seeing the traces of outfitter camps. Long lodge poles still either spread about or neatly stacked for future use. Large stone lined fire rings. All the signs were there that at least someone else had thought it was a good area hunt.
I headed back to camp for some late lunch. As luck would have it, as soon as we were done our Ramen soup cuisine and some jerky it started to rain. That chased us in our tents for about 2 hours. Before it stopped, we witnessed wet snow, then more sleet! It was only September - and back home the temps were still in the 70s. We collected some icy rainwater in our military ponchos to fill our 2.5 gallon filter reservoir and sheltered until the weather passed. We had a nice nap....glad to be under cover. It rained about once per day here, but stuck to a routine of about 15 minute quick showers. But as someone told me once..."There are no warm rains in
My brother who was nursing a sore knee from the hike (did I mention he’s ten years older than me?) decided to hunt a ridge closer to camp. He came across the remains of two elk skeletons in one spot. The trail went by an outcropping at about 20 yards by a perfect stone "bench seat" set up behind the pine tree. A natural ambush spot. Some hunter must have been pretty happy with the set up as the two skeletons were dropped in about the same spot on the trail. Who knows how long elapsed between kills. But the game trail was still heavily used with fresh sign and lots of beat up trees. Things looked good in this area. And the top of the ridge had a nice commanding view!
Meanwhile, I hiked 2 miles back down across the big meadow to find a spot on the other side to hunt that evening. Coming across another "outfitter type camp,” I was disappointed to see that it was obviously in recent use. And that they’d left trash. Underwear adorned the low hanging tree branches. Seems a lot of folks had lost their drawers around here. They left a nicely set up toilet seat, a weathered wood stove and even the ropes used to tether their horses. I’d have personally thought they be a little more respectful to a wilderness area if it was their livelihood. Perhaps it wasn’t professionals, but a group of slob hunters with their own horses. Some people just don’t seem to care.
I headed up the meadow where there was a "grassy chute" coming off of a steep ridge, looking for a nice natural blind area on the downwind side. Coming around, I stumbled across a chewed up piece of antler...then found the rest under a pine.
Was this someone’s “bull that got away”? Or did it succumb to natural causes in the rut or winter. No one will ever know now. The tips were chewed and it was pretty heavy (I was about 5 miles from camp), so just I took pictures and left it where I found it. I didn’t think to look for the ivories until later. I did, however, find
a nice natural blind in the middle of some smallish pines just inside the chute. Settling in I let the evening slip by, listening to the distant mooo of cows in the meadow, the occasional call of the very large jays they have here, and straining to hear any elk noises.
Then I decided to head back to the trail home. Thank goodness for the miracle of GPS! It’s easy to get turned around night on this terrain. But I found the hiking trail and briskly walked back without using the headlamp. A bright moon and the horses trails to follow. It did take longer then expected and by the time I arrived, Chris already had a nice fire going. It was chicken Teriyaki Mountain House meal time with a chaser of Ramen noodles. A great day overall. We talked for a few hours before the exhaustion caught up to us and turned in around 9pm. A late night for us “old” men in the woods.
Waking in the wee hours I gazed at the bright moonlight. It kept me up and I was itching to get back up the Mountain. I figured I could catch anything that might be coming up after feeding in the low areas overnight. It’s amazing how quiet the nights are up there in the wilderness. Not a cricket or insect to be heard. Sometimes the occasional coyote howl. Mostly just pure silence. Passing jets sounded like thunder. I heated a quick cup of coffee and "took care of some personal business" before heading out in the darkness toward the top of the ridge, above the meadow. My brother was out cold. I left him be and set out, stripping down to just my base layers as I ascended the trail. The moon was still bright as the dawn broke three miles up. My plan was to overlook the meadow until the sun started to heat things up enough to flip the wind which at this point was still sinking downhill. I found a nice ambush spot on the edge of the transition between rocky face and the pine tree zone. Sitting my butt on a nice rock, I watched the sun slowly creep across the opposing hillside towards me. I still hoped to intercept something heading to the plateau pond for a last drink before bed. My spot was only about 50 yards from the pond.
Peacefully relaxing, as I’d put my wool sweatshirt back on by now, I heard the unmistakable thud of approaching hooves. The previous trip had taught me to recognize the distinctive sound of those enormous hooves. These animals are BIG! Unable to sneak in like deer, the hollow thud sounds like distant car doors slamming....thud, thud, thud. This was it! I was ready. Shifting to the right in order to be able to shoot left better from my sitting position....fingers tense on the string... heartbeat in my head… my inner mantra began. Take your time. Pick a spot. Pull through.
The sounds seemed to head right past me. Then, like the whistle had blown after adults only swim time on a 100-degree afternoon in the city– the splashing roar began. SPLASH, SPLASH, SLOSH, SPLASH!!!! Like a frat house cannonball competition! There was obviously more then one animal and they were NOT trying to be quiet. I knew they had made it past me to the pond and my only choice now would be to stalk up to them and crash this pool party. Checking the 5 inch piece of unwaxed dental floss on the tip of my top limb I noted that the wind was right to begin a straight on assault. Slowly, I raised up - noting the cartilage in my weary knees crunching. I made my way ever so slowly forward, between the rocks and towards the small pond. Heart still thumping in my chest and ears!
After what seemed like 20 minutes of inching closer, with a row of medium sized pines between me and the pond, I could pick up a flash of tan rump here and there. And I ran out of cover. The previously non-vocal elk started chirping, mewing, and calling between themselves. I knew I could get no closer and felt as if they were calling together in preparation for moving out. They’d been there about 25 minutes already. So I decided to take out my plunger-type cow call and join in the conversation. I worked. I’d mimic the louder mews and get an immediate response – even louder then before. And they were moving closer.
Then they seemed to be all on top of me!! I was tight up against a 3-inch diameter fir but open to the front and rear. Crouched low but not down on a knee. Ready to draw when something showed in the open. In my peripheral vision behind and to the side, a small calf about the size of a large whitetail buck began coming in to investigate, head on...and fast!
Now we had either sex tags for this area and although I was not dead set on "brown it's down", I knew that this guy could bust the whole deal at any moment. It had been five years of chasing elk without any blood but our own drawn. I was ready. It would be a trophy for me regardless. When it advanced just on the other side of my tree, I had made up my mind.
It caught some slight movement of my bow arm and froze. Just it's head and neck were completely clear of the tree branches, it stopped. I was hoping it would pass at least quarter way into the open. Things were at a head. I could have poked it with my top limb if I still used the longbow! Through a small window in the branches I could see the crease behind it's front leg. Burned a hole, paused at full anchor, pulled through, and committed to the release.
The elk jumped, stopping about 10 yards forward of my position. I knew immediately I had missed! But how? So close! No time to worry about it now. None had a clue to what had just happened. The calf was still broadside in front of me with its head completely obscured by branches and its front quarter nearly free of the branch tips.
My hands were shaking violently as I pulled out another Douglas Fir and knocked it without looking down. Nobody else had moved. I still had another shot. You’ve got to love the quiet closeness of the bow. Sliding my front foot forward into another "window" through the branches. I could make out the kill zone. Focusing on the center of that "hole," I brought the eclipse 2 blade back to the edge of the arrow rest.....and released! Immediately there was a mule kick and white rump flash! For a second I thought, “OK Greg, finally you took your time and got it done.” Then the darn thing stopped after a couple bounds and after a brief pause began to trot back behind me from where it came.
Unbelievable! Another miss!
I shifted my weight and looked back in time to see it with head held high, mewing as it trotted out downhill, out of sight and behind the trees - like a show prancer! Trying to get my scent??? Proud to have no idea what was going on? In any event the rest of the herd was still milling about! Shaking even harder now I pulled another Douglas fir arrow from the quiver. Immediately a larger (maybe an older cousin - but surely not a huge elder) cow trotted out into the open. Just 30 yards away. Staring intently down the hill from where the calf just fled.....mewing down to it! Wondering, perhaps, what that darn youngster was doing. This was my last chance at redemption! Broadside in the open...just on the edge of my comfortable range. I took a deep breath. Full draw. Burned a hole on "the spot.” Started pulling through. And sent the 3rd arrow on its way.
As if in slow motion I watched my arrow sail off. A sinking feeling came over me as I saw it sail high over the back and to the rear of the spot I was watching.
You must be kidding me!
That was the last straw. I plucked the string, forgot about high elbow and even the pressure on my index finger (which has been giving me fits shooting high). Then I knew the gig was up. Elk exploded everywhere! To the sound of Buffalo rumbling across the plains, highlighted by the crashing brush, breaking branches, and mayhem of a Buick on a wooded path – about 10 elk busted down the mountain and around the pond.
After catching my breath in the thin alpine air (I was about 11,000 feet and hyperventilation at this point). I listened to the sudden silence and then shakily started to retrace my sequence of events to find arrows. I found the prints where the first one was standing….paced off at only 8 ½ steps! The arrow had a deep gouge mid shaft. It had struck a branch between that short distance, sending it clear and high. The sound of the arrow impact from where the elk had just come must have surprised the calf into jumping clear. Then it stood still again as the sound was not where it was looking (at me). I searched for the second shot recreating the events. No arrow. I went high, I went low….I went back again and again to replay the shot. Still no arrow. Doubt started to creep in. Did it hit? Miss as I suspected? And if so, where was the arrow? Not in the rocks behind the area. No blood. Did it ricochet far and away?
I found the third arrow quickly. Bummed and down on myself for 3 misses. Sitting on a log, I took out my 6 inch mill file from my belt knife sheath and started to work re-sharpening my broadheads. Mainly for something to do as I calmed down. Shhhhick. Shhhhick. Schhick. I worked away, ignoring the chatter of those damned red squirrels on constant alarm. As I worked I realized the chatter had stopped. Evidently the curious little squirrel did not know what that strange noise was and had crept close to find out. About 3 feet from my head it watched me nervously. I took it’s photo and began to recount the experiences I just endured.
It was sinking in how amazing the entire episode had been. I was in the elk’s living room! I was watching their TV and eating out of their fridge! I had pulled off a 20 minute stalk, over 25 or so yards, with about 10 sets of eyes vigilantly looking around for predators like me. I started to feel a little better about the whole thing. But that lost arrow was nagging at me. I returned to the scene of the attack for a longer, harder look.
That’s when it happened. I felt something….a weird sensation as I was bent over looking at the ground. It had been about 2 hours now since my run in with the elk family pool party. It was getting hot and the high sun was shining down and reflecting from the lake. I instinctively looked up and in the direction of that weird feeling….
In a small depression, about 20 yards away, over my shoulder near the edge of the water …. a pair of eyes that simultaneously met mine. There stood a lone adult cow elk! She was a matriarch! As big as a full grown horse. Sleek and tan. Not raggedy like those giddy juvies I’d so recently dealt with.
Dropping to one knee instinctively, I swallowed my adams apple back down where it belonged. She bounded up the slight rise, assumedly to better assess what in the heck had been eyeballing her. Just 40 yards away at this point, we stared at each other. She pranced nervously to the right, then stopping to look down at me, reversed to prance back to the left (I know what you are thinking…what is with all the “prancing,” I’m just trying to describe how it looked to me…nothing more LOL). Anyway, she knew something was down there but I was frozen. I was barely even breathing with the thought that if I play this right, she may calm down and come back for a drink. How thirsty is she getting?
Forty yards! If I’d had a compound at full draw, or my Hawken Muzzle loader (it was -after all, the first week of the season)… Game over!
I was a little calmer this time. Trying to ignore the pain in my knees, I resisted the urge to move at all costs and tried hard not to look the cow in the eyes. I glanced down for a silent step closer for cover should the cow allow a movement, and I spotted that darn second arrow!! No blood. Big gouge in the midshaft and obviously deflected by a branch again. I smiled, someone up there likes me!
Now, how was I going to get a shot at this cow? Caught out in the open like that I could do nothing but wait for her to make the first move. After what seemed like an eternity, but was probably more like a few minutes, she shifted inside the timber around the side of the pond. Then she poked her head back to look again for a few seconds. Yeah, I was still here. She went all the way in this time.
This was the opportunity to use those pre-planned footfalls and get to my right. About 5 yards away was the cover of a small pine. I put it between me and where the cow just went. A few seconds later, I heard a twig break. She was still there! I could go no further, but if she came back in the open I had an arrow ready and on the string. I heard more twigs snapping. Was this it?
Then I heard a higher pitched bark like a small dog. Rouff…..Rouff. Rouff. Obviously she was becoming more agitated by not seeing what it was that had spooked her. She was giving a barking alarm….over and over. Roufff….Roufff! Amazingly this went on for about 20 minutes. Then silence followed by another twig snapping. She was on the move. Was she trying to get around the pond??? Should I adjust? Or keep still? Keep still, I thought.
Another 15 minutes went by and I started to second guess myself. Maybe I should “do something.” The call had worked on the others, maybe I could talk to her to calm her down and bring her back???? Worth a shot.
Eeeeeyaaaawwwwwwww…….Eeeeeeyyyaaaaaaaw….
I heard another twig crack…..she is still there!
Then I heard a red squirrel begin to chatter in her direction. Or was he barking directly at her? In any event I could no longer hear anything but the damn squirrel! 5 minutes…ten minutes….15 minutes later….silence. I hit the call again. Nothing. I moved in closer to the timber. Nothing. I poked my head into the woodline. Nothing. Sigh, she was gone!
I still snuck back to my position as quietly as I could and picked up my arrow. It was busted right in the middle from striking the branch on the way to its final resting place. Backing out downwind, I kept cover between me and the direction she went. Maybe she would be back.
Suddenly, my Garmin Rhino crackled…”Greg can you hear me?” whispered my brother. “yeah, I got ya”… “See anything?”…..”I was covered in elk all morning…missed one”….”Cool, I was into some also. Heading back to camp for lunch. I’ll talk to you there”….”Roger that, see you in a bit.”
I took a “shortcut” back to camp using the gps and came across a stacked stone Cairn on a short hilltop above the big meadow. No trail nearby. Native Americans” Hikers? Quite a day and it was only half over! I relived the morning over and over on the walk. 
Back at camp we could hardly keep from interrupting each other as we told our stories. It seems Chris had also bumped into a small group, including what he was convinced was a very large bull. He was sure it was a bull despite only seeing its very large back side as it scrambled through the brush. Keeping to the ridge near camp again, as his left knee was still bothering him, it turned out he’d stumbled upon the main artery of travel. The elk interstate. He described the tracks from the bull as looking just like a horse track with a split in it, very round compared to the rest. He also noted several more trees freshly rubbed that were intact the evening before.
My mind was still thinking about the small pond. I thought I had discovered a great spot to ambush and could not wait to get back up there. I just wasn’t sure if mornings or evenings would be better. The morning’s experiences renewed both our energies and after a quick spam and bagel lunch we were raring to go. And I admit it, those single serving spam slices were pretty tasty after nothing but freeze dried foods!
A quick light rain started and we paused to add a lean-to around our camp fire. These rains were arriving about once a day 15 minutes. It is amazing how quick weather blows up through the continental divide!
After lunch we both decided to head back out to our separate spots for the afternoon. I snuck back into the pond area and quickly set up two hides on each side within bow range of the waters edge. One on each side of the pond to switch depending on the wind pattern. The side the big cow was on was sparse and I had to stack a few large rocks to sit on then cut away a few branches for two clear shooting lanes with cover behind me. My K-Bar made quick work as a machete and pruner. On the downhill side, a group of 4 pines clumped together with one blown down into a natural pocket open to the water in front. No need to do anything to that position. Setting up these two natural hides was my main mission for use the next morning. For now, I just settled in just for the next torrent of rain to blow by. Huddled under my poncho, I pulled my bow and pack under the material and waited it out.
It remained very quiet as I watched the sunset sink over the mountains. Darkness crept slowly in. Packing up I headed back to camp with no need for the headlamp again. A very bright moon made the horse trail easy to follow. Still, it was about 2 miles and my brother called in on the garmin to make sure I was heading back alright.
At camp we re-assessed our situation. Chris had spent the evening sitting above his “Interstate” trail with no action. We were both sure we wanted to sit in our “hot spots” the next morning. Hoping for some more of that magic. We were both happy we had been “into elk.” But the bulls were still very tight lipped and not bugling. In fact, the only bugle we heard was somewhere on the far side of that big meadow at around 5pm every evening. And we had to strain to hear it. It was our suspicion that he had a wallow somewhere down in the drainages about 4 miles from camp.
So we decided to just see how our mornings went and then re-assess or change our strategy. We had been hitting the same areas pretty hard at this point. Time was moving along.
The next morning I was up before the alarm again. A quick cup of coffee while Chris heated tea. I was beginning to dawn on both of us that we needed to close the deal quick as the week was fading fast. Like machines at this point, we prepped for the day ahead quickly. Filling our water. Grabbing a little jerky from the food bag hanging high between two trees about 50 yards downwind from camp. Stripping several layers of wool in preparation for a long walk to our respective spots. A whispered “Good luck,” and we were off.
The morning was uneventful at the pond. I started out in the blow down blind until the sun heated up the valley air and reversed the wind. Then I transitioned to the uphill blind and stayed in place until noon. It was calm and the sun was finally out of the clouds. No sound. No bugling. Nothing coming to the pond. Hunting down the mountain to the meadow floor I saw and heard nothing but cattle. Time for plan B.
Back at lunch we regrouped. My brother’s knee was feeling better so he was willing to do more walking. Based on my success at “talking” with the cow call we decided to team up and hunt together. Setting up impromptu ambushes every 75 yards or so. Moving through some new territory farther from camp and towards where we’d heard the bull. Chris would be in the lead as the shooter (since I already had a shot and was the better caller), and I would follow about 50 yards in back , keeping him just in my sight and upwind. We would stop and call a few times back and forth. If we heard anything coming I would continue to call while he kept quiet. Hopefully, we could lure some animals upwind and past Chris for the quartering away shot. We only had one full day of hunting left before it was time to hike back down the mountain with our copious gear and make the 5 hour drive back to Albuquerque for a morning flight to BWI.
That bull we heard bugle was very far from camp but it was now or never! We could rest at home! We needed to be down the valley by around 5pm for his daily wallow and bugle.
After lunch it was calm but overcast. We would start out by crossing Chris’s “Interstate” trail and set up a couple of our rolling ambushes near what he suspected was the preferred bedding areas of that ridge. Hunting well and moving quietly through dark timber we moved on. Between Chris’s knee and the anticipation of a bull the size of a “Clydesdale horse” it was slow moving. But our calling back and forth sounded pretty darn convincing to us anyway. A couple chirps from him and an answer mew or two by me. Things were looking and sounding good!
As we moved I noticed the forest floor was littered with bright red mushrooms. Often bitten in half and disturbed by elk tracks. Were they eating them? Chris is always trying to eat stuff we find out there and it was all I could do to keep him from trying them. I said, “Just because elk eat them, doesn’t mean they’re not poisonous to humans.” For once, he listened. Probably because he remembers his swollen shooting hand from our last trip in New Mexico where he kept trying to eat prickly pear cactus and ended up with a mitt full of spines! Turns out they were indeed “poisonous” mushrooms. Known for occasionally killing humans who tried to take advantage of their hallucinogenic effects. Remember “the mushroom” depicted in the Alice in Wonderland? This was it. 
No action on Chris’s ridge so we pressed onward following the ridgeline where it again neared the Alverjones trail. There we came upon a sickening sight. In a circle of 25 yards around a fire ring the forest floor was just littered with trash! We collected cans, drink bottles, plastic, wooden, and metal spoons, plastic garbage bags, rope, empty food containers, a “Jager” bottle, water bottles, and a cow skull. What kind of “hunters” pack all this junk into the pristine wilderness and leave it like a trash dump! We stopped to collect all the trash and placed it into the fire ring topped by the black trash bag and skull. We would return later to burn it all, but for now we had “places to go”.
Keeping our heads down to continue picking up the odd piece of trash we moved away from “camp landfill.” Then we heard hooves! I glanced up at Chris, his eyes big as saucers, and immediately pulled out an arrow then ducked behind a tree. Chris did likewise, trying to gain some separation with me. Before we knew it the sounds were almost on top of us! My heart rate increased to a thump-thump, in my head…probably helped along by the unaccustomed high altitude. My hands started to tremble. As Chris chirped his cow call, I caught a flash of tan in the dense undergrowth ahead. I thought, “This is unreal!”
Then Chris stood up and looked at me with a smirk….. “HORSES” he whispered!
The outfitter was packing out the Victoria Lake crew. Holy Moley! What an adrenalin dump! I really thought we’d been “caught out in the open” on that one. After regaining our composure we started back out again. We still had to climb a ridge and then drop down a very steep hill into the meadow drainage. From the looks of the topo map it was going to be some work!
At the head of Chris’s “interstate” trail I saw what had impressed him. No wonder he was so excited. There was a small drainage that followed the terrain up this hill from the steep valley below and it was a muddy mess off elk tracks and sign. Man, just to sit on this trail for a few days seemed like a good plan. Maybe we would come back this way and sit here at dark?? But for now the thought of the 5 O’clock bugle drove us on.
Upon reaching the peak we could now drop down into the backside. Wow! What a sight! Sheer cliffs towered over the valley on the far side and a dense aspen grove greeted us on our side. It was worth the hike just for the view and our goal was just below. The edge of the meadow and drainage where we suspected our bull had his wallow.
Dropping down into the trees was surreal! Dense white trunked trees lined the steep trail in stark silhouettes. It was easy to move quietly through with few little low branches. Aspens are noted for very brittle small branches that break off at an early age leaving a long smooth trunk for the most part, and easy moving in the understory. I could only imagine how stunning this grove must be when they change golden fall colors!
When we started down the slope we immediately saw bones spread about….then more. The group I was looking at still had some sinew and hide attached to the leg bones. Someone had made a kill here not long ago. We were in a good area. As I called Chris over to look at the fresh bones, he commented that he’d seen the same thing where he was. We took a second to remove our sweaters and get our face masks and gear situated before continuing on.
Suddenly we heard a bugle blast out from slightly downwards along the same side of the hill! A quick check of the dental floss on my limb tip told me we were in good shape. It sounded several hundred yards away so we began to pick our way across the hillside. Then he repeated the bugle with a couple low chuckles thrown in for good measure. The 5 O’clock Bull!
As we inched closer, the terrain got rockier with lots of overhangs and boulders. We constantly watched to ensure we were not being looked down on. Moving very slowly, continuing our sporadic cow calling – it was now or never. We were very close to the general area where bugles had originated. Lots of demolished trees, plenty of well worn tracks, and a small stream we had to ford.
Somewhere off along this stream was our wallow and Bull…but where? He sure wasn’t coming out and biting on our cow calls. We followed the stream down to the joint with the South Fork River that drains the Big Meadow. And as darkness fell, we entered the bottom of the meadow and the beginning of our long walk back to camp.
Dragging ourselves into camp exhausted and emotionally spent, we planned one last morning hunt before it was time to pack and hike back down the Mountain. After a warm Mountain House meal of chicken and mashed taters, the rain began to spit again. Heading to the cover of our tents, it steadily increased. About an hour later I awoke to the sound of sleet bouncing off the nylon by my head! I dosed only to be roused again by snow clumping and sliding off! It went on like this all night, changing from sleet, to snow, then back to pelting rain. Beat up bruised and exhausted, I prayed for dawn to break and perhaps change this weather. When it came, the rain continued. I was starting to worry about making it back down the mountain with sloppy mud on those steep switchbacks. Our gear still weighed too much, and now we were tired, battered and beat.
After some hot coffee I mentioned to Chris that we might want to pack it in and take our time going back. Though neither of us wanted to give up we agreed on a small walk around the ridge near camp before leaving. It was uneventful and we started breaking camp and packing up. By mid morning, when we had packed up most of the wet gear – the rain tapered off and the sun started to shine.
Going down was much easier! We only had to flop down about three times to rest. It was still hard on our knees and feet, but this time we were in less of a rush and took our time. At least we could still find a laugh at the amount of crap we’d packed in!
At the trailhead we spotted Moe’s truck and left him a bottle of something good on his tailgate. A wee thank you for his advice. Then we started our five hour car ride back to Albuquerque. Boy did we stink. Eight days without a shower in the wilderness will do that to you. When we checked into the Motel the shower was fantastic. Next we cleaned out the rental truck, hit the car wash, and began asking everyone in town where a restaurant that sold elk steaks could be found. Eventually we found it. The only place in town. One way or another we were eating Elk after this hunt. Turned out to be Mexican-style with corn over potato enchiladas. Man-O-Man, it was a darn good steak!
A week after we were back at home we got an update from Moe via email. Seems he had a “run-in” with a 320-330 class bull and clipped a branch on a 60 yard shot. It seems his expandable broadhead partially deployed after the impact with the twig and it caused a non-lethal wound. He spent the next 4 days trying to locate the animal. No wonder we never saw him packing out meat. 
All in all, it was one heck of a trip. Our total cost was just under $2K apiece. I learned an important lesson about trying to shoot through brush. We both picked up some valuable new ideas on how to pack for backcountry hunts. I’ve already made a list of the essentials used and will not bring the rest of the crap next time! And next time we’ll consider getting Sam the outfitter to drop our gear at the top for us!!!!
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