My dad and brother have been going to Colorado Elk hunting for the last 8 years. Usually staying between 2 and 4 weeks. I'd made a couple attempts to go out halfheartedly, but never go the draw for the muzzle loader tag, and I'm not interested in shooting a cow.
Yet again, I put in for elk muzzle loader and didn't get the draw. I put in for a bear tag, and was fortunate enough to get that one. So I finally had my trip to Colorado set in stone.
My dad was the only one else with a bear tag, and he spent the majority if his time in the elk hunting group, so I was left alone wandering new land (which I didn't mind at all). That's the best way to learn it, when you're not following. Though I learned the land quickly, I didn't have the 8 years of experience knowing the animal habits that everyone else there did. They would rattle off the names of certain places. One of which was Bear Gulge, how can you not go to the place known as that, right? Well, I spent 2 days there and saw a couple chipmunks that wouldn't shut the hell up.
There was also another location they called bear alley, and there was supposedly a lot of bear traffic there recently. So I figured I'd give that a try. My dad decided to come and sit with me that day. As luck would have it, just before dusk, I saw some movement on the brush on the opposite side of the mountain face. (We were 400 yards away at that point). I was using his 300 win mag, and he had my 30-06.
I had never realized how hard it was to find a bear in a scope compared to binos at that distance. I spent a good minute trying to locate the damn thing, while my dad was sitting next to me drooling over it in the bino's getting impatient I couldn't find it yet. A long minute later, I finally found it again, shortly after let the first bullet fly. Dirt flew a few inches away from it's head, and he stood there confused. So I let another one fly, and more dirt flew, but this time he jumped and scurried away into the brush. He poked his head out and worked his way back on to the path one more time, and I missed yet again. By that point, I had a severe case of buck (or bear) fever.
I was so mad at myself about the buck fever, and the fact I just missed not once, not twice, but three times at the same bear! About 45 minutes later, we saw a small bull moose rooting around for some food, which helped end the day on a slightly better note. That was without doubt the worst night if sleep I had on the trip. Replaying it over and over. But, there would be another chance.
The next day would was my brother and I's last day there, as we both had to return back to the real world and work. The morning began with an onslaught of rain, which only lasted about an hour, and the sun quickly dried it by noon. So we had lunch, and I planned to leave back to the same spot in hopes that the bear would make a return. My dad wanted to go with me as well, which ended up delaying the departure about an hour. As we finally go to our spot, we saw the same bear walking off into the brush and disappearing. It was pretty crushing, knowing we missed the chance again, by 5 minutes.
I decided to go down the mountain a little and scout for a better spot. I found a good opening that displayed the entire opposite mountain face, and eliminated another 100 yards in the process. Now we were only 300 yards away (only right?). About 30 or 40 minutes later, i saw a bit of movement again, and got my gun up and on him. This one was bigger, a lot bigger. I really focused on my breathing this time, deep breaths over and over as i got situated to shoot. With my initial shot, he dropped like a box of rocks. After we saw that dark pile just laying there, that's when the shakes really set in.
I left my dad his 300, grabbed the radio and high tailed it up the mountain to get enough signal to call the other 2 guys and have them come over to start packing out. When I started working my way back down, I got about 50 yards away from my dad, who had lit a cigarette and was turned with his back to the bear looking at me. I still had my eyes glued on my bear, except I saw movement again, and had no gun. I signaled to my dad, but he was too slow to the gun, and it disappeared again. I got the binos up there, and realized that the movement had to be the original bear we shot at, because my bear was still down! He ended up getting 2 shots at the other bear in the next 30 minutes, but none of them hit the bear.
When we began the decent down to the bear, the rush slowly went away and the realization that we had to pack a bear 5 miles back to camp. Once we got there, we realized how truly big the bear was. We had to skin it, quarter it out, and pack it out, so we have no confirmed weight, but the bear was easily 550 pounds. Though, every time my dad tells the story, it gains another 50 lbs and 6 inches in length.
That was quite the pack out, by the time we got back to camp, it was 2:30 AM.
The skull measured (unofficially) 20 1/4 inches
For those of you that endured that novel, here's a couple photos of the kill.
Yet again, I put in for elk muzzle loader and didn't get the draw. I put in for a bear tag, and was fortunate enough to get that one. So I finally had my trip to Colorado set in stone.
My dad was the only one else with a bear tag, and he spent the majority if his time in the elk hunting group, so I was left alone wandering new land (which I didn't mind at all). That's the best way to learn it, when you're not following. Though I learned the land quickly, I didn't have the 8 years of experience knowing the animal habits that everyone else there did. They would rattle off the names of certain places. One of which was Bear Gulge, how can you not go to the place known as that, right? Well, I spent 2 days there and saw a couple chipmunks that wouldn't shut the hell up.
There was also another location they called bear alley, and there was supposedly a lot of bear traffic there recently. So I figured I'd give that a try. My dad decided to come and sit with me that day. As luck would have it, just before dusk, I saw some movement on the brush on the opposite side of the mountain face. (We were 400 yards away at that point). I was using his 300 win mag, and he had my 30-06.
I had never realized how hard it was to find a bear in a scope compared to binos at that distance. I spent a good minute trying to locate the damn thing, while my dad was sitting next to me drooling over it in the bino's getting impatient I couldn't find it yet. A long minute later, I finally found it again, shortly after let the first bullet fly. Dirt flew a few inches away from it's head, and he stood there confused. So I let another one fly, and more dirt flew, but this time he jumped and scurried away into the brush. He poked his head out and worked his way back on to the path one more time, and I missed yet again. By that point, I had a severe case of buck (or bear) fever.
I was so mad at myself about the buck fever, and the fact I just missed not once, not twice, but three times at the same bear! About 45 minutes later, we saw a small bull moose rooting around for some food, which helped end the day on a slightly better note. That was without doubt the worst night if sleep I had on the trip. Replaying it over and over. But, there would be another chance.
The next day would was my brother and I's last day there, as we both had to return back to the real world and work. The morning began with an onslaught of rain, which only lasted about an hour, and the sun quickly dried it by noon. So we had lunch, and I planned to leave back to the same spot in hopes that the bear would make a return. My dad wanted to go with me as well, which ended up delaying the departure about an hour. As we finally go to our spot, we saw the same bear walking off into the brush and disappearing. It was pretty crushing, knowing we missed the chance again, by 5 minutes.
I decided to go down the mountain a little and scout for a better spot. I found a good opening that displayed the entire opposite mountain face, and eliminated another 100 yards in the process. Now we were only 300 yards away (only right?). About 30 or 40 minutes later, i saw a bit of movement again, and got my gun up and on him. This one was bigger, a lot bigger. I really focused on my breathing this time, deep breaths over and over as i got situated to shoot. With my initial shot, he dropped like a box of rocks. After we saw that dark pile just laying there, that's when the shakes really set in.
I left my dad his 300, grabbed the radio and high tailed it up the mountain to get enough signal to call the other 2 guys and have them come over to start packing out. When I started working my way back down, I got about 50 yards away from my dad, who had lit a cigarette and was turned with his back to the bear looking at me. I still had my eyes glued on my bear, except I saw movement again, and had no gun. I signaled to my dad, but he was too slow to the gun, and it disappeared again. I got the binos up there, and realized that the movement had to be the original bear we shot at, because my bear was still down! He ended up getting 2 shots at the other bear in the next 30 minutes, but none of them hit the bear.
When we began the decent down to the bear, the rush slowly went away and the realization that we had to pack a bear 5 miles back to camp. Once we got there, we realized how truly big the bear was. We had to skin it, quarter it out, and pack it out, so we have no confirmed weight, but the bear was easily 550 pounds. Though, every time my dad tells the story, it gains another 50 lbs and 6 inches in length.
That was quite the pack out, by the time we got back to camp, it was 2:30 AM.
The skull measured (unofficially) 20 1/4 inches
For those of you that endured that novel, here's a couple photos of the kill.
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