Pony Soldier
WKR
I have been thinking about this for a while so here goes.
When I was first starting out at the prime old age of 12, I went where my Dad wanted to go. Hell I could barely decide on lunch let alone where to hunt. Dad had been told by a friend that he had seen a nice bull elk up along the reservation boundary. Dad had never been there so it was a new experience for all involved.
Since we didn't know anything about anything we parked on the bottom and worked our way up the hill. There was a little block of cliffs with a kind of a flat above it. When we got there Dad chose to work the west side to the draw and sent me up the boundary line to the top. I guess that was his way of keeping track of me.
I worked my way up to the top but got cold. Kids don't pack a lot of insulation. I came upon a hollow log and crawled in to get out of the wind. I fell asleep and when I woke up, the sun had come up and the wind had gone away. I crawled out and perched on a large p-pine stump. Within moments I saw movement and stood up for a better look. At that point I could see it was a nice bull working towards the boundary. I put the sights on him and pulled the trigger. When he didn't fall I readied for a second shot and he fell just before I could pull the trigger.
When I got up to him he started to stand up and I shot him in the neck without even aiming. The first shot was at 50 yds and the second was at about 5 ft. I sat down and starrred at him. My heart was beating so hard I thought I was going to pass out.
Now I was at a real dilema. Earlier in the year Dad had given me a knife which I had lost fishing and never had guts enough to tell him. So now I had an elk and no tools or knowledge of knowing what to do or where to start. In about ten minutes my father showed up and the education began. He showed me where to start, what to cut, why and helped when I didn't have the strength.
The bull was a big, big bull. He had a 56" spread and a lot of mass. There was 6 on one side but the other side the last two points were broke off and gone.
We put a rope around the head and started down the hill . We give a hell of a pull and on dry ground he moved 10 whole feet. At that point Dad said let's lighten the load and cut the head off. He was right and it did move easier but then he said to leave the head and horns. He said they don't fit in a pan. With a great deal of pleading I got to bring them home. However when I went to college he threw them out.
We broke over a little bluff and found a road we didn't know existed. Dad walked out the road and came back with a jeep cabover with a flat bed and I guarded the meat.
That was the beginning of an insatiable apitite for elk hunting.
Now it's your turn. What do you remember about your first elk kill.
When I was first starting out at the prime old age of 12, I went where my Dad wanted to go. Hell I could barely decide on lunch let alone where to hunt. Dad had been told by a friend that he had seen a nice bull elk up along the reservation boundary. Dad had never been there so it was a new experience for all involved.
Since we didn't know anything about anything we parked on the bottom and worked our way up the hill. There was a little block of cliffs with a kind of a flat above it. When we got there Dad chose to work the west side to the draw and sent me up the boundary line to the top. I guess that was his way of keeping track of me.
I worked my way up to the top but got cold. Kids don't pack a lot of insulation. I came upon a hollow log and crawled in to get out of the wind. I fell asleep and when I woke up, the sun had come up and the wind had gone away. I crawled out and perched on a large p-pine stump. Within moments I saw movement and stood up for a better look. At that point I could see it was a nice bull working towards the boundary. I put the sights on him and pulled the trigger. When he didn't fall I readied for a second shot and he fell just before I could pull the trigger.
When I got up to him he started to stand up and I shot him in the neck without even aiming. The first shot was at 50 yds and the second was at about 5 ft. I sat down and starrred at him. My heart was beating so hard I thought I was going to pass out.
Now I was at a real dilema. Earlier in the year Dad had given me a knife which I had lost fishing and never had guts enough to tell him. So now I had an elk and no tools or knowledge of knowing what to do or where to start. In about ten minutes my father showed up and the education began. He showed me where to start, what to cut, why and helped when I didn't have the strength.
The bull was a big, big bull. He had a 56" spread and a lot of mass. There was 6 on one side but the other side the last two points were broke off and gone.
We put a rope around the head and started down the hill . We give a hell of a pull and on dry ground he moved 10 whole feet. At that point Dad said let's lighten the load and cut the head off. He was right and it did move easier but then he said to leave the head and horns. He said they don't fit in a pan. With a great deal of pleading I got to bring them home. However when I went to college he threw them out.
We broke over a little bluff and found a road we didn't know existed. Dad walked out the road and came back with a jeep cabover with a flat bed and I guarded the meat.
That was the beginning of an insatiable apitite for elk hunting.
Now it's your turn. What do you remember about your first elk kill.