Best hunting story, elk.

[Humptulips]

So, we have this in Deer hunting but some of my best stories involve elk. I think some others likely have a few good elk stories to tell too so let's hear them.

This would have been 1987 0r 1988. I had intended to hunt that day in the river bottom below Humptulips but after maybe an hour into it I decided there was someone else ahead of me chasing the herd so pulled out and decided to try a spot on Joe Creek. That is inland from Pacific Beach. I had seen a lot of sign there but frankly the entire area was a brushy nightmare. There was one little patch of timber and that is where I went. I hunted across it until I came to Joe creek. I intended to cross the creek but hit fresh elk tracks going right down the creek. There did not seem like a lot of elk, and it is a tough area to track but the elk stayed in the creek so pretty easy to follow on the gravel bars. that went along fine until they came to a patch of logging maybe 15 years old. They cut up across it feeding, spreading out and it was just about impossible to stay on their tracks, but I went up this low ridge and would see a track occasionally. As I went along the ground got higher and the trees were growing better which meant I couldn't see much and finally I hadn't seen a track for a long time. There was a winter huckleberry bush with a lot of berries, and I was munching on them wondering what to do. It was a jungle to go straight back to the car but if I headed up the ridge there was a road and a long walk around to the car. About this time I heard and elk whistle, not a bugle just the little noises they make to keep track of one another. I thought it had come from the right. I climbed up on a tall stump that had a round chunk balanced on top of it and was looking try to see off to the right. I happened to glance off to the left and about 200 yards away across a swale there was a monster bull standing broadside. Trouble was I could barely see him over the brush and it wasn't getting better any place between us. So, I thought it's either a shot from here or nothing. Offhand standing on a round log balanced on top of a stump and what's worse the only way I could see him through the scope was if I kind of went up on my toes. Needless to say, I missed but when I shot two more big bulls ran out in a little opening below me that I had an actual shooting lane too. I shot the one, a 7x7, one of the bigger bulls I had ever killed but definitely smaller than the first one I saw who was still standing there. I went on down to the one I had killed and was hearing rustling in the brush. After making sure that bull was dead, I looked over towards the first one I had shot at and there were 6 big bulls lined up in a row. I watched them slowly walk up the ridge and out of sight. Later after I had gutted my elk, I followed the same trail on up to a landing and walked around back to my car. On the way I ran into a herd of elk of about 40 in the road, not a bull in the bunch. I went down to the Aloha tavern and called my Dad who had a Landcruiser with a winch and we winched him out of the brush.

[baldopepper]

  nice to see just some fun to read success stories on the forum with no controversy involved.

[redi]

Great story Bruce. Thank you for sharing

[Sliverslinger]

I write a ton of short stories for hunts I’ve been on and have several about elk. I think this one is posted here on the site over a decade ago when I was first starting to write them, but I’ll post it again here:

The story of my bull this year:

 September: the month where the cooler nights wrestle relentlessly with the fleeting heat of summer's days, knowing that victory will be only a matter of time. It is the month that the first brilliant shades of glowing orange and fire yellow begin to infiltrate the leaves of alders, maples, and cottonwoods. The look of the landscape slowly changes day by day and there is almost a tension in the cool, crisp air as birds and critters of all kinds ready themselves for the transition into fall and the inevitable winter to follow.
 September is an incredible time in the hills for more than the sights though, as there are sounds floating across the valleys and ridges that are only rarely heard throughout the rest of the year. September is mating season for elk, a time also known as the rut. It is a season where bulls stretch their vocal chords and bugles crescendo with increasing frequency and intensity. No two sound exactly alike, but once you've heard one, the sound will be seared into your mind forever and you will find yourself straining to listen in case you're fortunate enough to hear another.
 The twilight before dawn of September 6th this year found me and my good friend and hunting partner Chris at the top of a massive drainage just a few miles northeast of Mt. St. Helens. Having putting in for many years and finally drawing Margaret bull tags, we were eager to see what adventures the next two and a half weeks held in store. As dawn announced its presence by casting brilliant shades of light on the slopes of Mt. Rainier on the far side of the basin and silhouetting Mt. Adams and St. Helens behind us I stepped slowly to the edge of the enormous basin in anticipation of the moment that officially kicks off the new hunting season. Ahh... September, how I have missed you.
 Bugle tube in hand, I adjusted the reed against my palate and inhaled deeply. Like a shofar signaling the start of an ancient holiday, I cut loose with a bugle starting deep in my diaphragm, rising to a ringing high note, and descending to a low growl before cutting off. Listening to the remnants of the sound bouncing off the hillsides below, I strained to listen that I might not miss even a distant response. Within seconds I was greeted with exactly what I had hoped for immediately down below me, followed by another to the north, and finally a deep scratchy bugle close behind us. September was here, the rut was beginning, and Chris and I both had tags. It was time to get down to business.
 The decision regarding which bull to go after was made quickly and easily based on a strong breeze carrying the sound of the bulls bugles directly to our ears. Moving quickly, we gathered our bows and gear and moved in the direction of the bull somewhat behind us. We quickly realized he was in thick jack firs only 40-50 yards uphill of an old grade. One of the biggest goals I had for this season was for Chris to get the opportunity to kill his first elk with a bow and as we approached the area below the bull with the wind clearly in our favor I told Chris he was the shooter and began to set up. I stayed down hill and back from the bull and began with the sexiest, most seductive cow elk sounds I could muster. The bull disclosed his location once again with a few chuckles, the elk equivalent of a cat call and invitation to come on over. I stubbornly refused to acquiesce his request, continuing to invite him to come make my acquaintance as I was clearly lonely and in need of a real man. Back and forth we argued and it became clear that he simply was just not that into me and was unwilling to leave the safety and security of the thickly timbered hillside. Chris and I had spoken about the desire to really increase our aggressiveness so I continued to keep him talking as Chris moved in.
 Within 20 minutes, Chris reappeared further up the grade and let me know that he had gotten within 20 yards and that bull was "the dinkiest of all dinks." Though legal, he was not worth an arrow. Still, we had three bulls sounding off within the first minutes and it took well under an hour to get within shooting distance of the first bull. Within 15 minutes we were glassing yet another bull on a nearby hillside and putting together a new plan. This was going to be a fun hunt.
 Later that same afternoon, our level of excitement was through the roof as we had already had opportunities on other bulls, heard multiple bugles, and generally had one of the coolest opening days ever. The decision was made to drive to an old grade that went alongside another secluded basin I had scouted and was sure that elk were holding in. There was an almost palpable electricity in the air as we quietly shut the doors of my trusty Tundra and began to work our way up the grass covered road. After about a half mile we sauntered past the base of a rock cliff and I let out a locator bugle from the edge of the drainage. Hearing no reply despite being sure that any elk in the area would have heard me, I contemplated turning back, but Chris suggested going just a bit further.
 200 yards later I pushed the air over the latex once again sending a resounding bugle throughout the valley. Still no answer, but this time I followed it with a few seductive and slutty cow sounds to see if I could arouse a response. Moments later, a bull roared from down below and I knew that he was taking the bait and it was up to me to set the hook. Playing this little scene out I set out to create the scenario of a couple of horny college elk showing interest in the big stud bull in the canyon, before being whisked away by a clearly inferior nerd elk. As the bull bellowed up the hill at the nerd bull and chuckled to his potential ladies, I mirrored him and chuckled as if I was trying to call the ladies over my way and called him a name or to. If I recall correctly, I called him a yellow bellied pansy and a sissypants - or something like that. This had the desired effect as he screamed his desire to turn me into elk burger. I felt the same way about him and let him know it.
 After it was clear that the big bambooza was good and worked up, Chris and I decided to charge down the hill and get right in on him. Carefully picking our way down the small cliff, we descended into the thick, dark timber. At last estimate, we guessed the bull to be about 125 yard away and slightly up the canyon from us. Knowing the winded was likely flowing downhill in the bottoms, we circled somewhat to make sure we stayed downwind. After just a minute or two, we paused to re-evaluate our location and how we wanted to set up. However, we never quite got that far as we heard a stick snap directly to the side of us. Looking over, my eyes were quickly met by the sight of a dandy bull at only 40 yards walking straight towards us, and he was walking with a purpose. Apparently, nobody was going to call him a yellow bellied pansy, and definitely not a sissypants.
 Now, in elk hunting having a nice bull walking right at you is generally a very good thing. However, there is a minor issue with this when you are a bowhunter and you are not ready. As the bull closed the gap, Chris and I both simultaneously began trying to surreptitiously get arrows out of our quivers, get them knocked, and on our rests. Then there's that whole issue of getting your release on a little tiny d-loop, getting the bow drawn, getting anchored, aiming, shooting, minor hunting details like that. This might seem simple enough, but put a fired up, angry bull elk right walking right towards you, add a little adrenaline, and a severe case of the shakes, and all of a sudden this is akin to a blind woman trying to crochet on a rollercoaster.
 Within seconds the bull was right below us, and despite the adrenaline, the confidence born from thousands upon thousands of practice shots took over. His head passed behind a tree and Chris and I simultaneously drew and anchored standing side by side. The bull swung slightly down from us at 20 yards and when he was perfectly broadside I chirped a cow call. Everything went into slow motion as he lifted his head and looked right at us. My plan was to back up Chris and shoot right after he did. I felt rock steady, but the shot was going to be difficult despite how close it was. The trees and branches were very thick and shooting lanes were sparse. I leaned to the side slightly and found a small window, settling my pins on his vitals as I waited for Chris to shoot. Over the pounding of my heart in my ears I heard Chris whisper that he didn't have a shot and less than a second later my arrow was on its way towards the bull's vitals.
 The sound that greeted my ears was a deep, resonating mix of thump and ttthhwwaaacck indicative of a solid hit. Without hesitation, Chris sounded off with a loud and enthusiastic whisper "blood everywhere!" as the bull stumbled, regained his footing and ran down the hill to the side, "Dude, you got him!" Within seconds we heard a crash, some rattling, and a death moan. Sucking in deep breaths, two good hunting brothers with manly beards (admittedly Chris' is way better than mine), bows, and camo turned to each other and tried to contain schoolgirl giggles as we excitedly talked about the calling, the approach, the set up and the shot. Six hours into our hunt and we were pretty sure bull #1 was on the ground.
 Giving the bull an extended period of time to expire was difficult considering what we had heard and after a little while we headed down to look for my arrow. While we didn't find it at first, the scene of the shot and the immediate blood trail confirmed what we had seen and heard. The trail was short, easily observable and ended almost immediately. The bull was down. Because of the heat and insects, we got immediately to work and within three hours all of the meat was cooling in game bags and we were back at the base of the cliffs on the old grade retelling the tale again and again. Sitting there in the cool shade, I caught a crisp breeze on my face and took in the scene. The old monarch's raspy bugle was still ringing in my ears as I strained to catch another one from amidst the alder, fir, and hemlock down in the valley below knowing it would only be a matter of time. Ahh... September. How I missed you.

[Dan-o]

I had a string of years back-to-back where my son was almost regretting becoming my elk hunting partner.

FIRST YEAR:   I dropped my son off at the bottom of a draw and was going to drive back up top and wait for him.   I was literally 2 minutes into my drive back uphill after dropping him off and a herd of elk are crossing the road.   I hopped out, threw on my blaze orange, got my rifle out of the hard case it was in, loaded it, and shot an elk in my sox.    Then I called my son on the radio and ended his 2 minute elk hunt.   

SECOND YEAR:   We were to go elk hunting after work and my son begged out.  He wanted to go hang with friends.   So I said then I wasn't going.   He felt bad about that and said if I got one he'd come help pack it out.     Sure enough, right at dusk I shoot an elk.   I had to drive out a little ways to get cell service.    I got him on the phone.  He arrived at the trailhead about 10PM.     I think we got home about 7AM.   Luckily, he didn't have to start work until 8.    He has made that offer a few times since.

THIRD YEAR:   I had a torn meniscus, and wasn't going to hunt too far off the road.   My meniscus would sometimes hang up and lock my knee up really painfully.    So, of course I shot an elk and while working on it on the ground, my knee locked up.   I literally had to scoot 300-400 yards  on my butt uphill back to the road..... and my son had to get the elk out himself because I was useless with a locked up knee.

FOURTH YEAR:  My son and I both had cow tags.    I also had elbow surgery scheduled for 3 days after our 1-day elk hunt (big bone chip needed to be removed).   I told him we were only shooting 1 cow because I couldn't help much with one arm out of commission.   I was mostly carrying my rifle as back up.   We crest a hill and there is a whole herd of elk 150ish yards away.   My son lays down, tells me which elk he's gonna shoot and proceeds to shoot.    The entire herd runs about 100 yards, unsure of where the shot came from.   My son no longer has a shot, and it looks like he didn't it anything so I flop down and drop a cow.   At my shot, the entire rest of the herd except one bolt out of sight.    That one proceeds to wobble and drop.         We have two big fat juicy cows down, and I tell my son he'd better put his big boy pants on because he's got a long day of elk processing ahead of him.

I'm not sure why he still hunts with me.     

[NOCK NOCK]

Many moons ago....

Was just getting into archery hunting and scouted some small areas for elk.
The best spot was a large canyon with a drivable road near the top on one ridge, with an equal elevation walk in only road on the opposite ridge, As a crow flies, about 1500 yards separating the 2. There is also a drivable road in the canyon bottom.

Glassing from the rig we spot a lone spike on the opposite side about 1/2 way up the canyon, 900yards away. Being new to calling/elk hunting we give it a quick bugle (have zero idea what I said, just bugled lol) to see what it does. The spike instantly heads downhill straight at us.
Well for whatever reason we decide the best move is to drive to the bottom road, then quickly hoof it out the walk in road to get exactly opposite from where we just bugled.

Three of us set up on the road, myself calling, and partners to both sides about 30 yards out. The bull had climbed that canyon and was about 80 yards below where we bugled from. (Crap...should have stayed there) Well I let another crappy bugle out and BOOM, he turns and is basically running downhill thrashing every tree he went by, heading straight back to where he was, and we now were.
A bit of cow calling and a bugle or twelve (lol) later, and I could hear the bull coming straight up at me about 50 yards out but covered in brush.
He was making lots of chirps and small bugles and finally popped out in the open at 30yards, frontal.

I am shooting a Bear whitetail 2 compound (told ya it was many moons ago) with an aluminum arrow longer than a pool cue. 
I draw back and have to hold for what seemed like 15 minutes. The bull stared right at me barking alot but never budged. Just when I was about to no longer be able to hold the draw, my partner did a cow call that made the bull take a couple steps to the left. This presented a perfect opportunity and i let one fly.

I will never forget the slow mo of this next 1 minute of time, the arrow flight as I watched it drop in to an absolute perfect heart shot. The bull turned and launched straight down hill, only made it about 2 bounds and then a quick tumble and all 4 feet were pointing straight toward the sky.......just 4 feet hanging there. The feet wiggled once or twice and then just hung there. 
I was in total disbelief; I had just killed my 1st Elk. 

To this day I have killed 20+ elk, but by far, this is still my favorite.

[jeffro]

I overslept
Arriving at camp around 9
Never leaving the camp site
A spike decided it wanted to fill my freezer

[Rem14]

SORRY JUST SAW IT WAS ELK HUNTS OH WELL. Can this be moved to hunting story in deer forum? Started the hunt from Tacoma area. Got to Ellensburg stopped for fuel alternator bearing gives out taking the belt with it. It was in my motorhome. Unhook my truck I was towing drove to auto parts to get a new alternator and belt. Got to Rye Grass rest stop the belt was slipping. I had some belt dressing in my toolbox figured it would work, which it did for awhile, got as far as Colville and said this is enough. By now it was late auto parts stores are closed so campout in parking lot waiting for store to open in the morning. Finally got the right belt and back on the road to our destination. arrived mid morning. A friend of my Dad  gave us a tour of where I could hunt. My Dad said he was tired so I took him back to the motorhome and because it was getting late decided  to just walk across the road till dark. Twenty minutes later 4x6 whitetail down, not a monster but adds to the adventure. Over 24 hours to get there for a 20 minute hunt. 

[pd]

These are great!

I think Jeffro wins the Brevity Prize.

[Pathfinder101]

Does it have to have a happy ending?  Most of mind don't...

[NOCK NOCK]

Does it have to have a happy ending?  Most of mind don't...

Elk hunts not massages. 

[redi]

Great stories. Like to see some pictures too.

[NOCK NOCK]

Just not from path. 

[String Bender]

In 2016, I was one of the lucky people to draw an archery eastern quality elk tag. I decided I was going to take the entire hunt off of work and hunt my bottom off. On opening day, I'm with my buddy and its hot an haven't heard or seen anything. At around 10am, a bull bugles. We call and he responds back instantly. We work this bull the rest of the day going into some of the biggest thickets I've been in but never laid eyes on him. I could hear him walk and take breaths but never seen him. It was a great day for getting the adrenaline pumping and a great start to the hunt.  The next day we hit the same spot hard and get on the bull first thing in the morning but he clams up and nothing for the rest of the day. That night in camp, my Dad says he is seeing a ton of sign where he is going so we head in there the next day.  We go in before daybreak and the elk are bugling everywhere. Had a lot of close calls and did a lot of calling but once again, it's so thick I don't lay eyes on any of them. The remainder of the hunt is like this, a lot of listening ,following and calling but never laying eyes on them. Fast forward to the second to the last day. I woke up that morning and was thinking that I was probably going to be eating my tag. I was bumming myself out eating my breakfast at 4 am. I did breakfast, got my gear and me and my Dad drove to the parking spot. When I got out to grab my gear, a elk bugled right next to me. I grabbed my bugle and screamed back and he responded with a scream right back. Then another bull bugled to my left and I responded back. That's when all heck broke loose.  Besides myself, there are 3 other bulls and they are absolutely screaming bugles. I am running around trying to get eyes on any of them but they are moving around too much. Finally, two lock horns right next to me and start fighting. I scramble around to their location only to see butts going opposite directions. This all lasts about 45 minutes and now my spirits are lifted and adrenaline is once again pumping. Me and my Dad head into our spot. He stays hi on the mountain while I drop down. I get down pretty far into the thick stuff and cut one of the biggest elk tracks I've ever seen and he's heading towards a spot that I'm familiar with so I turn around and head back uphill to the spot. I slide in there and a bugle busts out right next to me. I bugle and he responds back pretty quick. I look and I can see the tops of his antlers above the brush that was very hi and knew he was a very large bull. I try to rang his horn above the brush about 20 time but the adrenalin was really flowing and couldn't range him. He stuck his nose out and I finally ranged him and prepared for the shot. I was there for what seemed like 10 minutes and he came out in a very small opening and walked through it so fast I couldn't shoot. And boy was he big! I ran around the little finger to my right to try to get a shot, but it was like he jumped into a trap door and disappeared . I was trying to locate him for the next couple of hours to no avail. I walked back up the mountain and met my Dad and told him everything. I ate some food and thought I had just blown my chance at a giant bull .  Well, I'm sitting with my Dad feeling sorry for myself around 2 in the afternoon and a bull bugles just below me and its him. I grab my stuff and run about 300 yards back down the mountain and drop behind a freshly fallen log and let out a bugle. He responds back just below me and I see his antlers sticking out of the pine trees below me. I do a soft call and he starts up at me and to my right. I never looked at his antlers again, only the spot I wanted my arrow to hit. At 45 yards, he stopped and I shot. He went about 50 yards and died. He ended up being a 8x7 bull and meat and bones he weighed 558 lbs. Taxidermist aged him at 9-10 years old. My Dad was 72 at the time and has a lot of elk under his belt. He kept telling me this was the biggest elk he ever laid hands on.                                                               

[baldopepper]

Fun reads. Kind of like a hot stove get together for hunters.

[Boss .300 winmag]

In 2016, I was one of the lucky people to draw an archery eastern quality elk tag. I decided I was going to take the entire hunt off of work and hunt my bottom off. On opening day, I'm with my buddy and its hot an haven't heard or seen anything. At around 10am, a bull bugles. We call and he responds back instantly. We work this bull the rest of the day going into some of the biggest thickets I've been in but never laid eyes on him. I could hear him walk and take breaths but never seen him. It was a great day for getting the adrenaline pumping and a great start to the hunt.  The next day we hit the same spot hard and get on the bull first thing in the morning but he clams up and nothing for the rest of the day. That night in camp, my Dad says he is seeing a ton of sign where he is going so we head in there the next day.  We go in before daybreak and the elk are bugling everywhere. Had a lot of close calls and did a lot of calling but once again, it's so thick I don't lay eyes on any of them. The remainder of the hunt is like this, a lot of listening ,following and calling but never laying eyes on them. Fast forward to the second to the last day. I woke up that morning and was thinking that I was probably going to be eating my tag. I was bumming myself out eating my breakfast at 4 am. I did breakfast, got my gear and me and my Dad drove to the parking spot. When I got out to grab my gear, a elk bugled right next to me. I grabbed my bugle and screamed back and he responded with a scream right back. Then another bull bugled to my left and I responded back. That's when all heck broke loose.  Besides myself, there are 3 other bulls and they are absolutely screaming bugles. I am running around trying to get eyes on any of them but they are moving around too much. Finally, two lock horns right next to me and start fighting. I scramble around to their location only to see butts going opposite directions. This all lasts about 45 minutes and now my spirits are lifted and adrenaline is once again pumping. Me and my Dad head into our spot. He stays hi on the mountain while I drop down. I get down pretty far into the thick stuff and cut one of the biggest elk tracks I've ever seen and he's heading towards a spot that I'm familiar with so I turn around and head back uphill to the spot. I slide in there and a bugle busts out right next to me. I bugle and he responds back pretty quick. I look and I can see the tops of his antlers above the brush that was very hi and knew he was a very large bull. I try to rang his horn above the brush about 20 time but the adrenalin was really flowing and couldn't range him. He stuck his nose out and I finally ranged him and prepared for the shot. I was there for what seemed like 10 minutes and he came out in a very small opening and walked through it so fast I couldn't shoot. And boy was he big! I ran around the little finger to my right to try to get a shot, but it was like he jumped into a trap door and disappeared . I was trying to locate him for the next couple of hours to no avail. I walked back up the mountain and met my Dad and told him everything. I ate some food and thought I had just blown my chance at a giant bull .  Well, I'm sitting with my Dad feeling sorry for myself around 2 in the afternoon and a bull bugles just below me and its him. I grab my stuff and run about 300 yards back down the mountain and drop behind a freshly fallen log and let out a bugle. He responds back just below me and I see his antlers sticking out of the pine trees below me. I do a soft call and he starts up at me and to my right. I never looked at his antlers again, only the spot I wanted my arrow to hit. At 45 yards, he stopped and I shot. He went about 50 yards and died. He ended up being a 8x7 bull and meat and bones he weighed 558 lbs. Taxidermist aged him at 9-10 years old. My Dad was 72 at the time and has a lot of elk under his belt. He kept telling me this was the biggest elk he ever laid hands on.                                                             

Nice story, any pics?

[Humptulips]

Mind a long story, this is. This starts a couple years before this hunting season.

Middle of the summer around 1980, I was out scouting around and took a long hike down to the Quinault River on the Res so out of bounds for hunting but not for snooping around. At the time there was a large roadless area below Boulder Creek and the elk made a habit of going between the river and FS land south and east of the Res. I had parked at the end of the road on the FS but saw nothing in a half day of hiking until I got back near the car. Within sight of the car was a herd and two bulls facing off to fight. One a respectable 5 point, the other a just monster it reminded me of a professional wrestler alongside an average person. Huge muscles rippling, someone must have been feeding this elk steroids. Beyond that he was a giant, easily a third larger than his opponent.

Three summers later I was checking out a canyon off Quinault Ridge. From the top there was a beautiful bowl down there, but an impossibly steep rim seemed to prevent entry. It came to be known to us as "The Big Hole". I went down in like a mountain climber but later that day I located an elk trail that switch backed up and out. While down there I ran into a herd of about 40 and separately the elk that came to be know at least to us as "The Crooked Horned Elk". At that time horn rot was very common on Quinault Ridge. That elk had it with just eye guards on one side and a weirdly bumpy, twisted two point +? on the other side. He followed me around all the time I was down there and only left me when I headed up the trail out. I told my Dad about it and suggested we should go down there. Later on, that summer he said one day "Let's go have a look at your elk spot". When we got down in there we met up with the crooked horned elk and he followed us around until we hiked out. He stunk from the horn rot and we joked he was probably lonely as the other elk wouldn't have anything to do with him.
First day of season My Dad, his hunting partner Don and I went over to a spot I had scouted between the forks of the Humptulips. I didn't see a thing, but Dad and Don got into some elk right away and Don killed a spike. Not far but a swampy pack out.
Next day we decided to go look for the crooked horned elk. Dan and Don went on one side of the canyon, I went on the other. I jumped a small herd with no bulls and soon after I heard a shot. They found the crooked horned elk, taken a shot and missed. I guess we will never see him again. Last, they saw of him he was scooting for parts unknown.
Next day we went someplace else which must have not been great because I don't remember where.
Next Day my Dad wanted to go back to the Big Hole. As I remember I thought it was a waste of time, but we repeated the plan, and they ran into the crooked horned elk again and killed him. Oh my God, what a pack. I was in great shape at the time and took the front half. We packed 'till dark and made it halfway out. We went back in the morning and had the elk out by noon.
My Dad and I would have normally went home but for some reason we decided to drive over on the reservation boundary. One place you could cut through about a mile of timber right along the boundary and come back out to the road. I volunteered to walk through, and Dad would pick me up on the other side. I was about halfway through skirting a swamp when this elk jumps up in the edge of brush around the swamp. I threw the gun up and bang, he goes down. When I walked up, I couldn't believe how big he was. It looked like a draft horse laying there. I'm sure to this day it was that monster I mentioned at the start of this story. He was old. His muzzle was completely grey, and his horns had reverted, 6 on each side. Had that three-way fork at the top. Size wise though they weren't huge, but his body still was. I climbed a tree and hung a come-a-long in it with a measured 12 feet of line on it. Stretched all the way out it was three feet short of reaching the ground. We hooked his hamstring on the hook and started skinning. When all that line was cranked in, his head and neck were still laying on the ground. I had shot him in the neck so there was some meat loss there but there was still a 5-gallon bucket of boned out meat out of his neck. I think we cut him up into seven pieces and I still broke and army pack board packing him out. Never weighed any of it but I will always remember his size.
Yea, we weren't so big on pictures back then. Thought the hunting would always be great and I'd stay young forever. I can still look at his horns in the backroom and remember though.

[Bob33]

Mind a long story, this is. This starts a couple years before this hunting season.

Middle of the summer around 1980, I was out scouting around and took a long hike down to the Quinault River on the Res so out of bounds for hunting but not for snooping around. At the time there was a large roadless area below Boulder Creek and the elk made a habit of going between the river and FS land south and east of the Res. I had parked at the end of the road on the FS but saw nothing in a half day of hiking until I got back near the car. Within sight of the car was a herd and two bulls facing off to fight. One a respectable 5 point, the other a just monster it reminded me of a professional wrestler alongside an average person. Huge muscles rippling, someone must have been feeding this elk steroids. Beyond that he was a giant, easily a third larger than his opponent.

Three summers later I was checking out a canyon off Quinault Ridge. From the top there was a beautiful bowl down there, but an impossibly steep rim seemed to prevent entry. It came to be known to us as "The Big Hole". I went down in like a mountain climber but later that day I located an elk trail that switch backed up and out. While down there I ran into a herd of about 40 and separately the elk that came to be know at least to us as "The Crooked Horned Elk". At that time horn rot was very common on Quinault Ridge. That elk had it with just eye guards on one side and a weirdly bumpy, twisted two point +? on the other side. He followed me around all the time I was down there and only left me when I headed up the trail out. I told my Dad about it and suggested we should go down there. Later on, that summer he said one day "Let's go have a look at your elk spot". When we got down in there we met up with the crooked horned elk and he followed us around until we hiked out. He stunk from the horn rot and we joked he was probably lonely as the other elk wouldn't have anything to do with him.
First day of season My Dad, his hunting partner Don and I went over to a spot I had scouted between the forks of the Humptulips. I didn't see a thing, but Dad and Don got into some elk right away and Don killed a spike. Not far but a swampy pack out.
Next day we decided to go look for the crooked horned elk. Dan and Don went on one side of the canyon, I went on the other. I jumped a small herd with no bulls and soon after I heard a shot. They found the crooked horned elk, taken a shot and missed. I guess we will never see him again. Last, they saw of him he was scooting for parts unknown.
Next day we went someplace else which must have not been great because I don't remember where.
Next Day my Dad wanted to go back to the Big Hole. As I remember I thought it was a waste of time, but we repeated the plan, and they ran into the crooked horned elk again and killed him. Oh my God, what a pack. I was in great shape at the time and took the front half. We packed 'till dark and made it halfway out. We went back in the morning and had the elk out by noon.
My Dad and I would have normally went home but for some reason we decided to drive over on the reservation boundary. One place you could cut through about a mile of timber right along the boundary and come back out to the road. I volunteered to walk through, and Dad would pick me up on the other side. I was about halfway through skirting a swamp when this elk jumps up in the edge of brush around the swamp. I threw the gun up and bang, he goes down. When I walked up, I couldn't believe how big he was. It looked like a draft horse laying there. I'm sure to this day it was that monster I mentioned at the start of this story. He was old. His muzzle was completely grey, and his horns had reverted, 6 on each side. Had that three-way fork at the top. Size wise though they weren't huge, but his body still was. I climbed a tree and hung a come-a-long in it with a measured 12 feet of line on it. Stretched all the way out it was three feet short of reaching the ground. We hooked his hamstring on the hook and started skinning. When all that line was cranked in, his head and neck were still laying on the ground. I had shot him in the neck so there was some meat loss there but there was still a 5-gallon bucket of boned out meat out of his neck. I think we cut him up into seven pieces and I still broke and army pack board packing him out. Never weighed any of it but I will always remember his size.
Yea, we weren't so big on pictures back then. Thought the hunting would always be great and I'd stay young forever. I can still look at his horns in the backroom and remember though.

That's a fascinating story. Thanks for sharing.

[jeffro]

I overslept
Arriving at camp around 9
Never leaving the camp site
A spike decided it wanted to fill my freezer

I want to apologize to the dedicated hunters who were once my fiends
They seemed pissed off
That I hadn’t hiked the hills

[Pathfinder101]

Does it have to have a happy ending?  Most of mind don't...

Elk hunts not massages. 

[branches]

These are all great stories! Thank you for sharing them

[salmosalar]

Mind a long story, this is. This starts a couple years before this hunting season.

Middle of the summer around 1980, I was out scouting around and took a long hike down to the Quinault River on the Res so out of bounds for hunting but not for snooping around. At the time there was a large roadless area below Boulder Creek and the elk made a habit of going between the river and FS land south and east of the Res. I had parked at the end of the road on the FS but saw nothing in a half day of hiking until I got back near the car. Within sight of the car was a herd and two bulls facing off to fight. One a respectable 5 point, the other a just monster it reminded me of a professional wrestler alongside an average person. Huge muscles rippling, someone must have been feeding this elk steroids. Beyond that he was a giant, easily a third larger than his opponent.

Three summers later I was checking out a canyon off Quinault Ridge. From the top there was a beautiful bowl down there, but an impossibly steep rim seemed to prevent entry. It came to be known to us as "The Big Hole". I went down in like a mountain climber but later that day I located an elk trail that switch backed up and out. While down there I ran into a herd of about 40 and separately the elk that came to be know at least to us as "The Crooked Horned Elk". At that time horn rot was very common on Quinault Ridge. That elk had it with just eye guards on one side and a weirdly bumpy, twisted two point +? on the other side. He followed me around all the time I was down there and only left me when I headed up the trail out. I told my Dad about it and suggested we should go down there. Later on, that summer he said one day "Let's go have a look at your elk spot". When we got down in there we met up with the crooked horned elk and he followed us around until we hiked out. He stunk from the horn rot and we joked he was probably lonely as the other elk wouldn't have anything to do with him.
First day of season My Dad, his hunting partner Don and I went over to a spot I had scouted between the forks of the Humptulips. I didn't see a thing, but Dad and Don got into some elk right away and Don killed a spike. Not far but a swampy pack out.
Next day we decided to go look for the crooked horned elk. Dan and Don went on one side of the canyon, I went on the other. I jumped a small herd with no bulls and soon after I heard a shot. They found the crooked horned elk, taken a shot and missed. I guess we will never see him again. Last, they saw of him he was scooting for parts unknown.
Next day we went someplace else which must have not been great because I don't remember where.
Next Day my Dad wanted to go back to the Big Hole. As I remember I thought it was a waste of time, but we repeated the plan, and they ran into the crooked horned elk again and killed him. Oh my God, what a pack. I was in great shape at the time and took the front half. We packed 'till dark and made it halfway out. We went back in the morning and had the elk out by noon.
My Dad and I would have normally went home but for some reason we decided to drive over on the reservation boundary. One place you could cut through about a mile of timber right along the boundary and come back out to the road. I volunteered to walk through, and Dad would pick me up on the other side. I was about halfway through skirting a swamp when this elk jumps up in the edge of brush around the swamp. I threw the gun up and bang, he goes down. When I walked up, I couldn't believe how big he was. It looked like a draft horse laying there. I'm sure to this day it was that monster I mentioned at the start of this story. He was old. His muzzle was completely grey, and his horns had reverted, 6 on each side. Had that three-way fork at the top. Size wise though they weren't huge, but his body still was. I climbed a tree and hung a come-a-long in it with a measured 12 feet of line on it. Stretched all the way out it was three feet short of reaching the ground. We hooked his hamstring on the hook and started skinning. When all that line was cranked in, his head and neck were still laying on the ground. I had shot him in the neck so there was some meat loss there but there was still a 5-gallon bucket of boned out meat out of his neck. I think we cut him up into seven pieces and I still broke and army pack board packing him out. Never weighed any of it but I will always remember his size.
Yea, we weren't so big on pictures back then. Thought the hunting would always be great and I'd stay young forever. I can still look at his horns in the backroom and remember though.

That'sa cool story. Tracking Roosies in that area seems like it could be a fun and rewarding way to hunt. Thank you.

[scotsman]

Not my pic but how many of us have hunted all day far from camp, then come  in tired and hungry to find tracks like this…..

A few years ago my wife accompanied me on an elk hunt but decided to stay in the RV. Midday she saw a herd of 7 elk walk by about 50 yards past the dinette windows. I saw nothin’.

[Humptulips]

Well, it was great. My favorite hunting was being on the tracks of some elk. A real adrenaline rush as you never knew when you might jump them. Unfortunately, it has all gone to crap. Lucky to see an elk anymore or even find a track. I'm beginning to wonder if it is even worth buying a tag anymore. Still, I am addicted though.

[Humptulips]

Not my pic but how many of us have hunted all day far from camp, then cone in tired and hungry to find tracks like this…..

Ha Ha, never had that happen but maybe I'll tell the story of the elk I was chasing that crossed the road about 100 feet from my PU.

[NOCK NOCK]

Not my pic but how many of us have hunted all day far from camp, then come  in tired and hungry to find tracks like this…..

A few years ago my wife accompanied me on an elk hunt but decided to stay in the RV. Midday she saw a herd of 7 elk walk by about 50 yards past the dinette windows. I saw nothin’.

HA, Thats my pic,  Its posted on here somewhere.
The wife and I were about 150 yards behind camp, coming back from checking cams, saw this guy and spooked him from where you see him in this pic. That night we had a huge herd run right thru camp, literally tracks that almost ran over our tent.  Good times!

[scotsman]

Too many years ago when I was first trying to learn elk hunting,  I went to the Randle area during late archery season. Driving along a logging road I stopped to chat with a couple of seedy looking guys cutting firewood. “See any elk?”  “Yup”, says seedy guy #1. Seedy guy #2 says “If I was you I’d be down the road by that next turn in about 5 minutes”. Figuring me for a greenhorn #1 says there will be a bunch of elk there. “How do you know that?”  “Because in about 5 minutes I’m gonna pound this big ‘ol wench on that propane tank!”.

So I drive about 1/2 way to the turn, then get out and start walking. As the road is icy I have to walk carefully not to slip and fall…. Before I get to the turn guy #2 starts banging the propane tank and I hear crashing in the reprod below the road… before I can get ready a bunch of elk come flying over the shoulder of the road… the lead elk falls on the ice and more elk fall trying to avoid thrashing elk #1. I’m not sure what to do then slip and fall on my butt. Before I can regain any sense of composure the elk are gone and I can hear the woodcutters whooping and carrying on behind me! So this is elk huntin’, eh?

[trophyhunt]

Love the stories! 
 
My first bull elk, white river unit about a lifetime ago.  Decided to call in sick from work on opening day of Rifle Elk, talked to my wife, girlfriend back then, into going with me. Just a road hunt quick one day deal. We’re driving up a steep windy ice covered road, and I get stuck, the road is slanted towards a cliff, and I have to break the ice with a stick to try to get my tires on solid ground. My girlfriend is scared to death and won’t get in the truck until I get it unstuck, just being a kid of course I wasn’t prepared with shovels or chains. After probably an hour and a half of breaking through thick ice with a stick I got the truck turned around and she wanted the heck off that Mountain. So we head down and almost at the bottom. A heard Elk cross the road in front of us and one is a nice tall spike, we’re in a spike only unit at the time, I don’t get a shot. We continue down the mountain and I pull over at the bottom to check out some flats, I get about 40 yards away from the truck and I look into the woods and see an ugly spike on my right about 60 yards away just feeding.  Right after I shot elk scatter everywhere and I see a big tall beautiful spike run right by me. My Spike had soft antlers and one was broken in half but for my first bull I felt like I was king of the world. The girlfriend at the time thought I shot a cow. She stayed in the truck and heard me shoot. I got her to the Elk and we were both amazed at the size that these animals can be, I was lucky I had a knife with me that day but no water, I was so thirsty I drank a Diet Coke someone offered me that drove by, hated diet but man was it good!  It probably took about four hours to get him to my truck in pieces. Not a very exciting story but our first Elk are always one of our best memories.   

It seems all my Elk stories like yours are each in their own way special, one of my most toughest pack outs was a few years ago in Idaho. It was the last day and we were leaving around noon, that was the plan anyway. It’s about 2 1/2 miles into our spot Walking and just as a light came up and Elk stepped out on the road a small bull and I missed him somehow. It was an offhand shot probably 100 yards, so after some checking I moved on up the hill. It was getting close to noon I needed to get off the mountain so I had my Dr Pepper, peanut butter and jelly sandwich and did one last cow call. This was Rifle season in Idaho so it was probably around October 18, well after that Cow called all heck broke loose and two or three bulls started screaming. At about 50-60 yards away a cow stepped out and was walking to try and wind me and right behind her followed my biggest Elk to date. I first pulled up to do a free hand shot and remembered quickly about the morning experience so I took about five steps forward to get on a tree and killed a 318” bull. It was a long downhill way out, so I kind of pushed him downhill with his last minutes of his life, each step he took made my pack out a tiny bit easier. So after some thanks to God, I get him cut up hanging in bags and pack out his head and some loose meat 2 1/2 miles back to the quad and I get to camp and my partner at the time has Camp completely packed up and drank most of our beer that we had left. He is in no shape to go Pack out an Elk 2 1/2 miles in a roadless area. The partner is an animal so he says let’s go get it, halfway in to get my elk he notices, he still has his slippers on, before it was over he had a stick go through his slipper and poke his a hole in his foot. We got to the truck at about 1:30 in the morning. It was about 18° and wolves were howling the whole way out. We were soaked, froze, exhausted, a quick change of clothes and on the road we went. Made it all the way to the top of Vantage Hill before I had to stop and sleep for about a half hour to make it home the rest of the way. my pack out weighed 139 pounds his Pack weighed 137 pounds and that didn’t include the loose meat that I pulled out with the head on my first trip. It was an amazing day and the older I get I imagine it will always be my worst pack out.

My last story is one that just happened last week, my son-in-law had a late cow tag which he put everything into. I just had rotator cuff surgery on my shoulder six weeks ago tomorrow so all I could do was go and support him. He hunted every day Sun up to sundown. I only miss two days because of Doctor visits, it was a tough hunt because the elk were very spooky and soon as they saw a truck they took off, he had a couple opportunities, but being a newer hunter messed up. So last Saturday he gets another opportunity, 300 yards he sees an elk confirms It’s a cow gets set up on sticks and makes a shot, we go down and I go into where the elk was and I bump three elk and they come running out right in front of him and stop and look at him, being a newer hunter I thank God he didn’t take one of those elk out because a few seconds later, I found blood from the first Elk. We tracked blood for 2 1/2 hours and lost it in the ferns. He was heading back to the truck and I continued looking when I heard a snap, the kind of snap that an elk makes in the woods. I texted him and said get your butt back here I believe there’s some Elk right Here. Just then I hear more crashing and saw something out of the corner of my eye, after 2 1/2 hours, I get about 20 yards away from this crashing. I look over the ferns and there’s a huge cow Elk down and kicking trying to get up but she can’t. His shot had killed her, but it took a while for her to lose enough blood. During my whole search for her and blood, I was asking Jesus for some signs and he came through, the ferns were so thick and she died on a log that had branches on it, I don’t believe I would’ve heard her if she didn’t die on that log. I had already walked past her once. The very frustrating part of this story was I couldn’t do anything with a messed up arm, but we were blessed with a good friend and two strangers who showed up to help pack his elk out, it was an amazing blessed day.

[trophyhunt]

His cow

[trophyhunt]

Can’t find field pics but my 318” Idaho bull.

[Humptulips]

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.