MeatMissile
WKR
This is more of a story of me and my Dad, that just happens to involve my first elk.
My Dad is a good man. Before I came along, he joined the Army in 1966 and did two tours in Vietnam as an infantryman. He had gotten his pilot’s license and decided he wanted to fly for a living, but flying jobs in the civilian world were few and far between at the time so he applied for Warrant Officer Candidate school and became a helicopter pilot where he served until his retirement in 1991.
We were a one-income family with Dad gone in the field and deployments. My sisters, mother, and I raised chickens and pigs for meat and grew vegetables that we sold at farmers markets to supplement the household income.
Unfortunately, this left little time or money for hunting. We fished, clammed, and crabbed a lot because we lived right by Puget Sound and had to spend very little money and time to keep the freezer full. I took to fishing and it filled my childhood with great memories and kept me out of trouble.
I didn’t start hunting until I went to college in the Palouse where deer and upland birds were plentiful. It soon became a passion of mine and I encouraged my Dad to join me. It was strange we never hunted because my Dad grew up in Alaska and hunted moose and caribou to help feed a family of 7. He explained he had gotten to a point after Vietnam where he didn’t want to do any killing. But, seeing my excitement, he started to hunt again.
After I graduated and moved back home, he met a man who was an avid elk hunter. He encouraged us to try and we decided to give it a try. We checked harvest reports and narrowed things down to a couple units that offered access and higher harvest percentages. We scouted and decided on one unit where we consistently found elk.
We set up camp a couple days before opening day and had plans A and B for the opener. I contracted a stomach bug and used up a lot of TP. We went out opening day in November and it was 60 degrees at 5 AM. Really weird. We hiked into a clearcut and waited for sunrise, only to find a pumpkin patch of hunters in the same area.
We went back to camp and decided we needed plan C or D. We figured we’d hunt the timber, thinking the elk would go into hiding. He left me at the opening of an overgrown landing and I made my way down into the trees. I quickly realized my stomach was still upset and I looked for a spot to do the do.
As I walked with my head down searching for a spot, I started noticing a lot of fresh elk turds. I looked up to find I had wandered into a herd of elk. I quickly scanned for antlers and saw a bull. Right then, I stepped on a branch that made a God-awful snap. The elk were on their feet and starting to move, but the bull headed opposite of the cows. I saw an 10 foot window through the trees and settle my crosshairs in that lane, waiting for him to cross. As he did, my crosshairs found his shoulder and I sent a 180gr partition through his heart. The bull went down hard, but tried to get up again so I sent another partition into his neck.
A 4x5 Roosevelt elk was down and I was as excited as I had ever been. My Dad heard the shot and hurried back to me. As we started to process the elk, I saw something was off with my Dad. His symptoms told me he may have low blood sugar. I gave him a ginger ale and a candy bar and had him take a seat as I quartered up the elk and packed it out on my own. It took roughly 9 hours.
We broke camp at midnight and I drove him home, still worried even though he seemed back to normal. He’s had some health problems since then and we haven’t been able to hunt more than grouse.
If I knew that was our last big game hunt, I’d have hunted with him and I would have wanted him to take that elk.
My Dad is a good man. Before I came along, he joined the Army in 1966 and did two tours in Vietnam as an infantryman. He had gotten his pilot’s license and decided he wanted to fly for a living, but flying jobs in the civilian world were few and far between at the time so he applied for Warrant Officer Candidate school and became a helicopter pilot where he served until his retirement in 1991.
We were a one-income family with Dad gone in the field and deployments. My sisters, mother, and I raised chickens and pigs for meat and grew vegetables that we sold at farmers markets to supplement the household income.
Unfortunately, this left little time or money for hunting. We fished, clammed, and crabbed a lot because we lived right by Puget Sound and had to spend very little money and time to keep the freezer full. I took to fishing and it filled my childhood with great memories and kept me out of trouble.
I didn’t start hunting until I went to college in the Palouse where deer and upland birds were plentiful. It soon became a passion of mine and I encouraged my Dad to join me. It was strange we never hunted because my Dad grew up in Alaska and hunted moose and caribou to help feed a family of 7. He explained he had gotten to a point after Vietnam where he didn’t want to do any killing. But, seeing my excitement, he started to hunt again.
After I graduated and moved back home, he met a man who was an avid elk hunter. He encouraged us to try and we decided to give it a try. We checked harvest reports and narrowed things down to a couple units that offered access and higher harvest percentages. We scouted and decided on one unit where we consistently found elk.
We set up camp a couple days before opening day and had plans A and B for the opener. I contracted a stomach bug and used up a lot of TP. We went out opening day in November and it was 60 degrees at 5 AM. Really weird. We hiked into a clearcut and waited for sunrise, only to find a pumpkin patch of hunters in the same area.
We went back to camp and decided we needed plan C or D. We figured we’d hunt the timber, thinking the elk would go into hiding. He left me at the opening of an overgrown landing and I made my way down into the trees. I quickly realized my stomach was still upset and I looked for a spot to do the do.
As I walked with my head down searching for a spot, I started noticing a lot of fresh elk turds. I looked up to find I had wandered into a herd of elk. I quickly scanned for antlers and saw a bull. Right then, I stepped on a branch that made a God-awful snap. The elk were on their feet and starting to move, but the bull headed opposite of the cows. I saw an 10 foot window through the trees and settle my crosshairs in that lane, waiting for him to cross. As he did, my crosshairs found his shoulder and I sent a 180gr partition through his heart. The bull went down hard, but tried to get up again so I sent another partition into his neck.
A 4x5 Roosevelt elk was down and I was as excited as I had ever been. My Dad heard the shot and hurried back to me. As we started to process the elk, I saw something was off with my Dad. His symptoms told me he may have low blood sugar. I gave him a ginger ale and a candy bar and had him take a seat as I quartered up the elk and packed it out on my own. It took roughly 9 hours.
We broke camp at midnight and I drove him home, still worried even though he seemed back to normal. He’s had some health problems since then and we haven’t been able to hunt more than grouse.
If I knew that was our last big game hunt, I’d have hunted with him and I would have wanted him to take that elk.
