The story.
My dad is the 17 year old standing in the back of the truck on the right. That's my grandpa to his right and a family friend shaking hands with my grandpa and another family friend with the spike.
My dad and grandpa started hunting the Cowiche in 1951 for deer and this was my dads first elk hunt. My grandpa killed this buck in 1951 near Green Lake
2014 will be the 59th year my family has been hunting the Cowiche.
Anyway my dads first elk hunt was a good one for them. It snowed a record amount the winter of 1955-56 and this November they camped on bare ground near what is now the Ahtanum Ranger Station and awoke to 25'' overnight. They tent camped back then and their tent collapsed under the weight of the snow. To receive 25'' overnight in the bottom of the creek probably would've made me rethink my plans to head up onto the ridge but they headed up the North Fork Ahtanum road and made it as far as they could without burying the truck and parked.
My grandpa killed the smaller 6x7 on the first day and it was what they thought a pretty good sized bull. The spike was killed two days afterwards and by this time they'd moved camp down the road a ways to where Soda Springs is. You can see the remnants of some old cabins if you drive by there today and they stayed in one of them. That is where the above photos were taken.
The elk were on the move due to the heavy snow and they went back up to where my grandpa had killed that first bull to find two more. They parked the truck and my dad said since he was the kid they made him ride in the back of the bed of the truck.
They split up and my dad headed up the ridge towards a little lake that sits on a bench below the main ridge line. He said the elk were in there thick and he soon saw this other bull in the timber and shot it with his .300 Savage.
The bull was dead he was alone and he was going to gut it then go back to the truck to leave a note for his dad and the other two to let them know where he had killed the bull so they could come help him.
He reached for his knife which back then he wore on a belt in a sheath. The old style sheath with a thin leather band and a snap. He discovered later that when he hopped out of the bed of the truck his sheath caught on the edge and his knife fell out. Or that's what he thought happened. Either way his knife was missing. It was laying near the tailgate when he got back to the truck later.
He ran into one of the party, a guy name Gene, on the way back to the truck and told him he had a bull on the ground and didn't have a knife to open it up. They discussed what to do and my dad said he wanted to find his dad and get back to the bull. Gene said he didn't think they should spend any time looking for my grandpa they'd just go gut the bull and start taking it apart and pack it back to the truck.
They turned around and backtracked to where the bull was and when they got there the head was gone.The hind quarters were in bags the fronts were laying on snow and the ribs loins and neck were still in one piece. Someone had been busy.
There were horse tracks leading away from the kill sight so my dad and Gene followed them. They caught up to two guys after following the tracks downhill a ways, one on horse back one leading a saddle horse with the head tied on. Gene told them this is the kids elk and the guys response was probably the same as many guys would be today.
They said they came upon a freshly dead elk with no sign of anyone around except for footprints leading away. They then took it apart and took the head and were planning to go back and retrieve the meat with some help and pack saddles.
Gene repeated well this is the kids elk. The guy leading the horse with the head replied if you can prove it you can have it.
This was back in the days of the metal locking tags Washington gave out for big game and although it's the law now to immediately notch a tag or affix it to the kill their habit back then was to never tag anything till they returned to camp for fear of losing it during the drag or transport. So my dad had to prove this was his bull.
He borrowed Gene's hatchet and started chopping and prying the by now frozen lower jaw apart and when he could get at it reached into the bull throat and pulled out a .300 Savage cartridge. Gene said this is the kids elk.
The guys on horseback turned around, headed to where my grandpas truck was parked and dropped the head off. They then headed back up to where the meat was laying and my dad, Gene and those two tied the hind legs and front legs on those two riding saddles and they brought it back to the truck. By that time my grandpa had returned to the truck and he Gene and my dad packed the remaining meat out.
Those two guys on horseback became friends of my family and hunted with them into the 60s.
My dad kept these antlers laying around for 30 years afterwards either in the garage or for a time out in the yard laying next to a shed.
In 1985 my brother and I decided for Christmas we'd buy a cape and have the antlers mounted.
We did and gave it to him and I wish there'd been a little gap in the lips because I'd have stuffed a .300 Savage shell into the mouth.
I then got interested in antler measurements and had Jay St. Charles measure them.
After laying around drying for 31 years they scored 355.
That's my dads first elk story.
Another bull my grandpa killed in the Cowiche mid 60s
My grandpa still tent camping in his mid 70's in the late 80s
My dad as a young kid with a little blacktail on the same ridge he killed that first elk and the same one I'll be on in October 2014
In the meantime I hunt moose.
