My first elk hunt. I may have posted this before, but I'll add it to this thread anyway.
This is the story of my initiation into Elk hunting. I have given a lot of thought about what year it was and I think I must have been 13 and in the 8th grade. I had been deer hunting for a couple years but my Dad had said I wasn’t big enough to go elk hunting until this year, 1968. At the time we were hunting on the Kalalock. I remember driving up Kalalock Cr. Rd in elk season and a city had sprouted up. There was a camp in every wide spot in the road. There were a lot of elk in those days. My Dad had a hunting partner, Don who had a son Sam who was like 21. Also, there was Art, Dons brother-in-law. Art was a road hunter. I was told he had a heart condition so had to stay close to the road. He took “medicine” for it during the day which often had him sleeping by noon. Even at that I remember him getting an elk, a good sized three point. We never counted eye guards so I guess a 5 point by today’s standards.
A couple hours before first light found us waiting at the end of the road. You had to be early if you wanted to be first in line at your preferred spot. We started up the Creek, Don and Sam went up the left side and My Dad and I angling up the hill on the right side. Pretty big roadless area of old growth at the time. I think we saw a single spike but didn’t get a shot. Sometime late in the morning we heard shooting from the direction of where Don and Sam had went. Eventually we made our way down into the creek bottom and ran into Don. They had killed two spikes and Don was head out for packboards. We went with him and then back to where the elk were down. There always was a big rush to get an elk out in those days. Dad and Don were loggers and seldom got time off for elk hunting so they only had Saturday and about a half day Sunday to hunt if they wanted to have a reasonable expectation of getting an elk out. They skinned those elk and cut them in half, and everyone including me got a half an elk. I remember it being quite a chore to even stand up with the load. Down the hill we went and then down the creek. The creek was the worst as it was soft and every step you went in over your ankles in mud. There were some big windfalls that were perfect to balance your pack on and get a break but then had to be climbed over too. We made our way down the creek out into the clear cut where we were parked. There was a log jam on the creek you had to cross on. My Dad was way ahead of me and came back and took my load from there as he had caulk shoes to walk on the logs.
The last weekend of elk season (It was two full weeks then, so three weekends.) We went closer to home on the last day on Stevens Cr and about a thousand feet up the creek we ran into a lone bull. Dad started shooting. I never fired a shot. Dad asked me afterwards why I never shot and I told him he was ahead of me so I couldn’t shoot. Truth is I could have stepped to the side but it all happened so fast it never occurred to me to shoot. Dad said it was too heavy for me and he packed that elk out in two loads by himself. I packed the head out and some of the butchering gear. Haven’t missed a season until last year, even when I hunted with a broken leg but that is a story for another day.
