22 North, 22 yds.!

[desertyankee]

Just had an incredibly fun December elk hunt, so with apologies to those who don’t like lengthy posts, here goes anyways!

 

Ever since finding out last March that I’d been drawn for my first elk hunt ever, I’d been planning and imagining how a dyed-in-the-wool Maine deer hunter like me could use that experience on an Arizona elk hunt. My typical deer hunt was always a solo affair, and usually consisted of scouting up a nice buck in thick woods, getting to know his habits a bit, and then creeping around in his two- or three-acre core area at first and last light until our paths crossed, usually ending it with a shot of thirty yards or less from my .30-06 single-shot Ruger.

 

That sure doesn’t sound like the typical Arizona elk hunt. My preliminary research into how the game was played out here exposed me to all sorts of strange new ideas and technologies—four wheelers, big binoculars, GPS, radios, helpers, guides, trailcams, and even baiting. Well, no offense and to each his own—but that stuff leaves me cold, I just wanted to get out in the woods and hunt. I planned on packing in my little tent and just enough gear to live outdoors all week. All I really wanted was an elk with at least a few stickers on his head; didn’t really care about measuring them. And as long as I was wishing, I wanted to shoot him just once at less than a hundred yards; preferably even less than fifty. Was that too much to ask?

 

Unit 22 North seemed like the kind of place where I might actually be able to do this—there were some big woods, and plenty of terrain that was remote and rough enough to separate the woods hunters from the road hunters. The more I studied the area and talked to other folks, the more my upcoming hunt seemed to resolve into two viable options—either go way down in the Mazatzal Wilderness and check the deep canyons for some reclusive herd bull, or get up in the woods around the Control Road. As I drove south on Route 87 two days before my hunt, I still hadn’t decided which one I’d choose.

 

I finally decided that this might be my only chance to get way down in, so by nightfall I had parked my truck and lugged my gear down on Hardscrabble Mesa, well beyond Twin Buttes. The next day was a sunrise-to-sunset “scout-a-thon” of about twelve miles, just checking the various tanks and assessing the elk sign. Got a few good lessons about desert hunting—I ran out of drinking water by 1:00, and had to eat prickly pears just to get enough juice and sugar in me to make it back to my tent by dark. As I pulled the stickers out of my fingers by headlamp that night, I decided that this was no place for a solo hunter during a December heat wave. Even if I shot the world’s biggest elk, the meat would spoil before I could ever get it packed out of there. My hunt opened the next morning, but by 9:00 AM I was packing up my gear and trudging back towards my truck.

 

Two good things happened on the hike out. One was bumping into Greg Krogh of Mogollon Outfitters, whose dad had drawn the same tag as me, and having a quick chat about elk in 22 North with someone who knows plenty about that subject. The other was meeting a local guy named Dale, who clearly either admired my pluck or pitied my judgment, and graciously steered me towards a couple of his own honey holes. His parting remark was something like “Remember, they drag a lot easier downhill than uphill.”

 

Once I had relocated to the north, I quickly got into elk. I spent Friday afternoon and Saturday morning playing tag with a group of three cows and a one-horned spike; nothing to shoot, but a good chance to watch and learn some elk behavior. It quickly became apparent that they didn’t like this December heat any more than I did. By 2:00 PM I had decided that I would move all the way up under the Rim, and find the coolest, darkest ponderosa grove that I could. I’d heard horror stories about the hordes of hunters up on the Control Road, but I was willing to bet that not many of them would be staying in tents a mile up in the woods like I was planning to. By 4:00, I staggered up one last steep slope just under the Rim and found a little flat shelf in a thicket. Dripping with sweat, I peeled off my shirt and pitched my tent. After a quick cool-down and munching an apple, I put on clean hunting clothes—including my lucky green-and-black buffalo plaid wool shirt from Maine deer hunting days-- and headed out for the last hour of daylight.

 

It cooled down nicely as the shadows got longer, and it was quiet enough to hear a pin drop a hundred yards away. When I finally got up and started cat-footing it back down the elk path towards my tent to call it a day, there was a sudden crashing in the brush about two hundred yards from me—I kicked myself, thinking that I’d spooked one. But wait a minute—this thing was coming closer! As I stood frozen in amazement, whatever it was closed the space between us in about ten seconds, and the next thing I knew I saw brow tines sticking out from behind a tree. Then a lot more tines—and a big tan body—and suddenly my scope was filled with something that looked like an ad for the Hartford Insurance Company, standing smack in the middle of the trail and looking at me. Holy crap!

 

There was no doubt that it was a shooter, so I dropped the crosshairs an inch behind his elbow and squeezed off a heart shot—I thought. But. . .nothing happened; literally nothing at all. It looked at me a second or two longer, then spun and ran back down into the gully it had just emerged from. I watched and listened in disbelief. . . what had gone wrong? After waiting five minutes I followed its tracks down the steep banking, fully expecting to find a heap of elk at any second. But nothing was there—no blood, no elk. While I was looking, I heard an elk jump a hundred yards away from me. If it was him, he sounded pretty healthy, and I knew better than to push any more. I went back to Ground Zero and paced off the distance – he had been 22 yards away.

 

After I’d slunk back to my tent, it finally dawned on me that because he’d been standing on a steep uphill, his front leg was angled backwards, so my shot had been behind the heart. I had to hope that I’d gotten the liver—and that he hadn’t run too far after I jumped him. Sick with the thought that I might have wasted one, I spent a very long night, mostly beating myself up and listening to the coyotes outside. Daylight seemed to take forever to come.

 

When it did, I decided that I’d be better off to circle the area and just look for him, rather than try to find a blood trail in the dim light. Three-quarters of the way through my first circle, I heard a faint rustling off to my right. Something was moving. . . it was a young black bear, headed diagonally downhill on a line that would soon cross my own path. I certainly didn’t need him around, so I made a bit of noise and he immediately turned tail and retreated. A minute later, I spotted what the bear was probably headed for; there was my elk. What a happy feeling it is when you find one that you could have lost.

 

He was looking utterly at peace, stretched out between two boulders. The side of him that was up was cold, so I judged that he’d died early in the evening—a thought that gave me some comfort. I flipped him over so that the other side could cool down, and started skinning and quartering. By 2:00 PM I finally had everything ready to start packing the mile-long hike down the mountain, and as the sun dipped ever lower I started thinking about bears, and forced myself to travel as quickly as possible. Trip 1 was my camping gear and about fifty pounds of backstraps and side meat; trip 2 was a front and hind quarter, and ditto trip 3. The last trip was the head, with skin and neck still attached, and that one was the heaviest of all. By the time I reached my truck on the Control Road with the last load, it was 6:00 PM and almost all dark. Enough work for one day—but a tremendous sense of relief and satisfaction to have the hunt all done, and to have done it all by myself.

 

I treated myself to dinner and a beer at the Sidewinder Saloon in Pine, then went back to a campsite on the Control Road-- one last night in the tent for me, and one last night in his home woods for the elk. I’m so grateful for having had this hunt, and for all the help from other hunters, whether on this forum (jeremyb,azpredator@work, etc.) or out in the field, who were willing to share their insights and advice with a newbie elkaholic. I have to especially thank Ron Hamric of Pine, who showed me the area and shared a lot of advice back when I was scouting—and even let me use his shower when I staggered back in from Hardscrabble! I’ve just about wrapped up my own DIY meat-making process; looks like about 190 pounds of boneless elky goodness will be the tally. Here’s a few pix; he may not be a toad, but he’s no tadpole either-- definitely worth doing as a European-style mount. He’s certainly a trophy to me.

 

[Browning'sCustomMeat]

Definitely a good bull, and a mighty fine job on the meat it appears to me. Glad I could help any way I could.

 

-Jeremy-

[azpredator@work]

desertyankee - absolutely awesome. The coloring on him is beautiful. Hunting bivy style is unlike any other. I love it. My boy is 12 and cannot quite do things that way yet, but in the next few years he'll be ready. Again, glad to see you got your trophy. I just got your message this morning as we didn't get back until 1am this morning and my cell died Sat. Again, huge congrats to you.

[DUG]

Way to go man! That's awesome to get your 1st elk all by yourself. You earned that one.

[coues7]

What sort of contraption are you boiling that skull in? Looks like a truck rim. Great story and nice elk!

[ehunt]

Great Job!!! Awesome story too!!!

[AZLance]

congrats, are you a witch on the side?? just wondering because of the size of that pot...

[desertyankee]

Oh, the skull is cooking in a copper fire pit that we use for backyard barbecueing. Conveniently being done while wifey is at work. . . and here's a picture of my "high camp". When I found him the next morning he was only about 150 yd. from the tent.

[NavajoHunter]

good write-up... congrats on a solo elk hunt

[ZBAR]

I was waiting to hear how you did. Congrats man! Hope you enjoyed your AZ hunting experience.

[WHALE]

Great job nice story

[tjhunt2]

Congratulations on a nice bull. You certainly earned that one. Thanks for sharing and it's a pleasure to know there are still alot of hard hunters who take it to the extreme. Great write up as well.

 

TJ

[justinspe25]

Thanks for sharing, that is a great bull and story. Congrats!

[desertyankee]

Here's a quick question: How old is this bull? Here's the ivories-- I'm guessing it was his first set of 6 x 6 antlers, but it's just a guess. . .

[mcelkhunter]

Congrats on a fine bull! Great Story and a heck of way to get your first elk.