When you are a big game hunter, you plan all year for when you finally get to step out into the woods and go hunting. Subconsciously, the seconds, minutes, hours, days, months count down in your mental calendars. Then jumps into your conscious mind when flyers from sporting goods stores start hitting your mailbox to remind you, it will be here soon. Most of us, at that point, begin the process of checking our equipment, checking season dates, possibly buying our tags, and planning our grocery list.
The first deer camp I had an overnight stay was years ago in Liberty, KY with John Carman. I learned the value of proper planning and also the secret of adding a little vanilla extract to your scratch pancake batter. (Thank you, John!) For every deer camp to follow, I tried to perfect my preparations with sometimes comical failures typically caused by hurried efforts to get on the road. Like the time I drove down several hours from Lexington to Casey County to turkey hunt with my new Remington 870 Express.
For this adventure, I left in the pre-dawn hours with my Primos mouth calls, camo, ammo, and shotgun. As I crept through the woods, I could hear Toms gobbling. My heart raced with anticipation as this was truly my first ever turkey hunt and I was solo. I sat down and popped open the plastic container that held the diaphragm calls and shoved one in my mouth like a Pez. I started to make a sound that would probably have gotten me laughed off the stage at a national calling competition but no matter, I was proud to be in the moment. Surprisingly, and I do mean to my surprise as I was seriously bad at calling, I heard a Tom get closer and closer. Until before my eyes stood a Tom in full strut and there is nothing on a spring morning that is as beautiful in the woods to behold. I raised my shotgun and tried to kick the safety off. It didn’t budge. That’s when the image of a little green tool that had a shaft shaped in the profile of a “j” leaped into my mind. You see, Remington, in an effort to make guns safer, had created a safety locking mechanism that made it impossible to disengage the safety unless you inserted a special tool and turned. Knowing that tool was safely at home nearly three hours away, I quickly stood up and yelled, “Run! Turkey Run!”, as I surely would have swung at it with the shotgun from frustration. Lesson learned, I traded that shotgun in but I kept one of those tools and still have it today, just in case.
Over the years I have settled on a pretty stable menu. Breakfasts consist of homemade burritos with scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, chunks of potato and cheese. Lunches are typically a Gala apple with a sandwich of some sort. Snacks are a mixture of chocolate chips, peanuts, and granola. Water is the drink of choice but a Red Bull does help to kick a nasty case of Altitude Sickness. Dinner is usually some sort of game meat whether it is Elk steaks or Pronghorn chili with a vegetable or couscous. I don’t starve but I don’t overdo it either. On average, I will drop ten pounds from start to finish when hunting big game in the Rocky Mountains. Why I don’t keep this up in the offseason is kind of a mystery to my wife and the waistline.
This year was no different. I went through my routine and pre-made 30 breakfast burritos, packed 15 bags of trail mix and three large multi-packs of water. I made sure the camper was ready, filled propane tanks checked tires and turned the refrigerator on in plenty of time for it to be cold.
I checked and double-checked my bow, sight, quiver, arrows, and rangefinders. This year I picked up a bino harness from Badlands Packs and made sure it didn’t impede my draw. I checked my Badlands Approach Apparel over to make sure there were no necessary repairs to be made and that my waist hadn’t grown too much. I kept in constant contact with my bow hunting partner, Kelly Squires of Inner Outdoors. We made our plan to meet up the night before opening day of Elk season at his father’s cabin outside Cascade, ID.
The workweek seemed to take forever as the anticipation built. That Thursday, I drove to work with my ATV in the back of the truck bed. At 16:30, I head home, hitched up the camper and was on the road to catch my daughter’s volleyball game before taking off to the mountains. After winning her match, I said goodbye to her and the good looking coach, my wife, and jumped in the truck for my Wapiti adventure. I arrived at the cabin a little after 21:00. Kelly helped me make quick work of getting the camper unhitched and leveled out. We spent the next few hours with a few drinks and talked strategy. Before we knew it, midnight rolled around and we dashed to bed with only four hours between us and go time.
No matter what time you go to bed, 04:00 comes quicker than you want it to. Smart as I am, I made sure to put my cell phone far enough away from the bed to make me have to get up to turn off the alarm. Mad at myself for being so thoughtful, I stepped out of the camper and started up the generator. The morning air was cool, inviting and promising. The smell of pine needles and a hint of moisture lingered. Once back in the camper, I popped a burrito in the microwave and headed for a shower. After cleaning up with Dead Down Wind body soap, I cut the burrito in two and putting the rest in the refrigerator. With half of a burrito in one hand and water in the other, I traded off back and forth in ceremonious fashion. Opening day was here and we were ready. Our goal was to park the truck at a point by 05:00 in the morning and I wasn’t going to be the cause for not being there. Soon I heard Kelly coming down the stairs of the deck near the cabin and knew it was time to put my gear in the truck.
Without a lot of fuss, we made our way to the parking spot. I am glad to say we were ahead of schedule. We off-loaded the ATV’s and started our climb toward our targeted ridgetop. We drove steadily on winding Forrest Service roads as we made our way closer to the top. Cool darkness surrounded our ascent and the hum of the ATV’s was the only thing that could be heard. As each turn and twist in the road revealed, our plan to beat other hunters to the top of this ridge had worked. Victoriously, we parked the ATV’s, took off a layer and started putting on our packs. With bow in hand, I stepped off into the darkness following Kelly to a trailhead. It is always amazing how much light there is from the stars, even in those predawn hours. We could barely make out our path and a spot flash from our flashlights helped reassure we didn’t veer off course.
As quietly as we could, we made our way to about three-quarters of the way up a ridgeline and sat down. In the distance, we heard three different bulls sounding off with locating bugles. Kelly began to make a few cow and calf calls alternating his cadence, volume, and direction. After a bit, we could tell the bulls were held up and we decided to head toward two bulls off the north side. The bulls seemed to be somewhere in the middle of the ridge face. We dropped our elevation in order to come under them because the thermals were going downhill, cow calling to explain our movements.
Finally, we came to a point and Kelly turns to me to say something when we hear a cow mew just 40 yards away. Kelly’s eyes had to be a big as mine as we both pointed out to each other a location to sit down. We quickly made our way to our spots. I sat down looking downhill with my left knee bent up and bow in hand. Kelly gave a few calls and down in the thickets I could see movement. I could tell it was an Elk but not what sex. As we sat there, Kelly was sitting on his feet and looked to about stand up for relief. I motioned to him that an Elk was just below him and not to move. As the Elk began to move up the mountain to my left I could see it was a cow and not a bull. As she moved behind a pine tree, I stupidly grabbed my rangefinder and ranged her as she stepped clear of the pine. She was 27.5 yards away and perfectly broadside. One problem, she was looking for the Elk she heard and right at me. I couldn’t put the rangefinder down or move my left leg out of the way to get my bow around. For the next thirty minutes, she moved her gaze back and forth between Kelly and me. As the pain built up in our cramped knees and ankles, we both thought it wasn’t going to end. She must have been as frustrated too since out of nowhere she barked at us. If it wasn’t for her forcefully moving her head while she barked, she would have caught both of us jumping out of our skin.
Finally, she turned quartering away as if to begin to bolt. Not wanting to have her take the entire herd out of the draw, it was at this moment I dropped my leg and rangefinder to come to full draw. Hitting my three-point anchor, I instinctively sighted the spot I wanted to hit and let the Gold Tip arrow fly. Nailing its mark, I saw the arrow flex, then break and broken shaft begin to back out as she ran down into the underbrush. Later I found the arrow had passed through both lungs and the broadhead lodged in her front left shoulder blade which is why the arrow snapped. In less than forty seconds, we heard her crash less than forty-five yards away. Kelly moved on to get closer to the bulls. I looked at my watch, it was 08:10 in the morning. My season was over, just another 364 days to go till next season.
- L. Yarbrough, Bucks & Beers
