DrMike
Ballistician
- Nov 8, 2006
- 36,923
- 5,113
I've worked harder for an elk (or a moose) this year than I have for quite some time. This week saw me taking a couple of new hunters into the bush again. Jason may be coming on staff with me, and he wanted to learn to hunt. His ten-year-old son, Jonah, wanted to be there each time we went out. We worked hard Saturday morning and again all day on Monday. I found a honey hole on Monday afternoon. The fresh tracks of elk, moose and deer made the valley floor look like a cattle lot. Unfortunately, the animals are nocturnal. Jason had gone back out to an area I had introduced him to Saturday morning. He encountered a very large bull. Turning to his son, Jonah, he said, "Quick Jonah, how many points according to the regulation?" While Jonah was thumbing through the synopsis, the moose turned and ambled into the bush. By Jason's account, he noted it had four brow tines as it turned. A moose only needs three brown tines to be legal in this zone. By the time he recovered from his shock, the moose was swallowed by the gathering darkness and the dark forest. I imagine Jason will be beating himself up for, oh, about twenty years or more. Here's Jonah, standing above an area we had just finished hunting.
Just above this area, we encountered out first grizzly this fall. He was a two and a half year old that drifted into the bush just ahead of us. We moved on past him and waiting about 150 yards above him on a small hill. Sure enough, he came back out and began walking toward us, until he thought better of that act and moved again into the bush. I always love watching this bears, and he was in fine shape.
Sunday afternoon, I had gone out west of town because a friend called to tell me about a massive black bear. Altogether, he and his dad had see six blackies. I travelled out that way and hunted hard until dark, but I never found any of those bears. We found where they had been, but they seem to have moved on; at least I thought they had moved on. I found some massive scat this morning that changed my thinking on that.
I picked up a friend at 4:30 this morning to see if we could find an elk. They've been scarce, and most have suffered with lockjaw to this point. We were driving into the first valley well before light, when Stacey said, "There's elk!" I suspect it was the alarm in his voice as much as the fact that he nearly shouted that caused me to slam on the brakes. Shutting off the lights, we peered through the filthy windshield at four elk about four hundred yards away on the valley floor. One appeared to be a bull, but we weren't able to count points. Then, we became aware of two more about fifty yards north of these. One of those was definitely a bull, and seemed to have some large headgear. Excited and wanting to see more clearly, I opened my door. I had forgotten to shut off the interior lights, so we flashed the elk, which seemed to startle them somewhat. Moreover, the keys were still in the ignition, ensuring that the alarm would ding incessantly. These are very tolerant elk, for they stood patiently while this comedy played out before their wondering eyes. Growing bored of the entertainment we were providing, they ambled off into the forests, leaving us to question our ability and/or our sanity.
At this point, we decided to abandon the truck and walk up the hill to see if the elk had stopped near the top. Before we crested the hill, we were busted by an inquisitive cow moose. She ambled over to see what we were armed with, contentedly munching on some birch twigs. Realising that we were carrying rifles that could harm a moose (my 280 Remington and Stacey's 270 Winchester), she trotted about fifty yards away and again began to inspect us, but from a safer distance. I suggested after about ten minutes of a stand-off that we move very deliberately lateral to said moose, avoiding making direct eye contact. Perhaps she wouldn't go crashing off and scare off any elk that were still over the hill. My plan worked, well, somewhat. She didn't run, but she did definitely laugh as she ambled off and into the woods. Yes, I'm certain it was a laugh--kind of a strangled snort as she shook her head in mirth.
We walked on up the next hill and along the treeline. We heard the strangest sound. It sounded like an amateur practising his elk cow chirps. However, they were continuous, and not very authentic. Chuckling at the thought that an amateur was working near to us, we walked a bit farther, only to become aware that a very large cow was watching us about 350 yards away. All the time, the strange mewing continued, drifting toward the way we had just come. In about ten minutes, a calf elk broke out of the trees, mewing and chirping, trotting across the meadow toward the distant tree line. I had never heard such sounds in my years among the elk; it was a lost calf calling its mother. We watched the little critter run back and forth in front of the treeline, bleating and pleading, but receiving no answer.
We were about two miles from the truck, so we turned around and started back. We weren't finished being busted. Yep, within forty yards of the truck, we were busted by a whitetail doe and her fawn. We did that staring contest with one another that the cow moose had taught us earlier, until the doe tired of the game and bounded away, leading his fawn into a safer district.
Thoroughly disgusted with our luck, we decided to drive up toward the top of the hills and look for anything. As we drew abreast of the treeline where the calf had been crying, we saw the poor little beast mewing and chirping incessantly, looking intently into the trees. As we watched, a larger elk came out. Immediately, I threw my Leica Geovid to my eyes and said, "That's a bull." Before I could say anything else, Stacey said, "And he's legal." I ranged the distance, establishing that he was 692 yards.
"Let me see if he will respond to a bugle," Stacey said. Before I could respond, he blew a bugle that was immediately answered by the bull. Not only did this bull scream his defiance, but he wheeled and began a trot toward where we were seated in the truck. Piling out, we each grabbed a rifle and took up firing positions. The bull was clearly angry as he screamed his rage at the audacity of another bull coming into his bedroom. I added a couple of cow chirps, which only sent him running at a faster pace. Time was moving pretty slowly as he drifted behind a small hillock. When his antlers appeared shortly after, they were rising out of the grass at the rapid pace. Stacey and the bull were engaged in a screaming contest when he stopped at the crest of the hill.
We pause this account to bring you a message from our sponsor. Mike has been carrying a .280 Remington all fall. It is a lovely model built by the Remington Arms Corporation in 2008.
The load for this rifle is 150 grain ABLR charged with 60.0 grains of N560 powder.
This is an excellent load giving Mike over 3100 fps and acceptable accuracy.
Mike highly commends this load to those wishing to working with the .280 Remington.
Now, back to our story.
Stopping at the crest of the hill, the elk screamed his defiance one final time. Unfortunately, relatively to Mike, he was standing partially obscured by some rather tall grass. Stacey was muttering, "Shoot, Mike. Shoot Mike. If you don't shoot soon, I'm gonna' shoot!" Mike was offering prayers, asking that God would goose the elk to make him step away from the grass that threatened to deflect any bullet sent his way. God is gracious; the elk stepped forward two paces. Mike pulled the trigger, and the rage all drained immediately as the 5X5 collapsed. The bullet had struck him in the spine, collapsing him on the spot. He was seventy-five yards from the muzzle. Well, it's fairly obvious that neither Mike nor Stacey are photographers. I guess either Guy Miner or Bullet will have to come up to record some of these hunts for these two clowns.
We could find no exit wound, but neither have we found the bullet, yet. The elk expired quite suddenly. Stacey, demented soul that he is, suggested it was because the beast had heard that I was totting a Remington firearm, causing it to die of fright. I suggested that it was the fact that I was shooting an ABLR that cause him to expire so suddenly. In any case, we skinned him out fairly quickly and dressed him, wrapping him in game bags so we could take him to the butcher. In all, an excellent conclusion to a day that will go down in the annals of the growing myth of the Peace Country Elk Hunters.
Just above this area, we encountered out first grizzly this fall. He was a two and a half year old that drifted into the bush just ahead of us. We moved on past him and waiting about 150 yards above him on a small hill. Sure enough, he came back out and began walking toward us, until he thought better of that act and moved again into the bush. I always love watching this bears, and he was in fine shape.
Sunday afternoon, I had gone out west of town because a friend called to tell me about a massive black bear. Altogether, he and his dad had see six blackies. I travelled out that way and hunted hard until dark, but I never found any of those bears. We found where they had been, but they seem to have moved on; at least I thought they had moved on. I found some massive scat this morning that changed my thinking on that.
I picked up a friend at 4:30 this morning to see if we could find an elk. They've been scarce, and most have suffered with lockjaw to this point. We were driving into the first valley well before light, when Stacey said, "There's elk!" I suspect it was the alarm in his voice as much as the fact that he nearly shouted that caused me to slam on the brakes. Shutting off the lights, we peered through the filthy windshield at four elk about four hundred yards away on the valley floor. One appeared to be a bull, but we weren't able to count points. Then, we became aware of two more about fifty yards north of these. One of those was definitely a bull, and seemed to have some large headgear. Excited and wanting to see more clearly, I opened my door. I had forgotten to shut off the interior lights, so we flashed the elk, which seemed to startle them somewhat. Moreover, the keys were still in the ignition, ensuring that the alarm would ding incessantly. These are very tolerant elk, for they stood patiently while this comedy played out before their wondering eyes. Growing bored of the entertainment we were providing, they ambled off into the forests, leaving us to question our ability and/or our sanity.
At this point, we decided to abandon the truck and walk up the hill to see if the elk had stopped near the top. Before we crested the hill, we were busted by an inquisitive cow moose. She ambled over to see what we were armed with, contentedly munching on some birch twigs. Realising that we were carrying rifles that could harm a moose (my 280 Remington and Stacey's 270 Winchester), she trotted about fifty yards away and again began to inspect us, but from a safer distance. I suggested after about ten minutes of a stand-off that we move very deliberately lateral to said moose, avoiding making direct eye contact. Perhaps she wouldn't go crashing off and scare off any elk that were still over the hill. My plan worked, well, somewhat. She didn't run, but she did definitely laugh as she ambled off and into the woods. Yes, I'm certain it was a laugh--kind of a strangled snort as she shook her head in mirth.
We walked on up the next hill and along the treeline. We heard the strangest sound. It sounded like an amateur practising his elk cow chirps. However, they were continuous, and not very authentic. Chuckling at the thought that an amateur was working near to us, we walked a bit farther, only to become aware that a very large cow was watching us about 350 yards away. All the time, the strange mewing continued, drifting toward the way we had just come. In about ten minutes, a calf elk broke out of the trees, mewing and chirping, trotting across the meadow toward the distant tree line. I had never heard such sounds in my years among the elk; it was a lost calf calling its mother. We watched the little critter run back and forth in front of the treeline, bleating and pleading, but receiving no answer.
We were about two miles from the truck, so we turned around and started back. We weren't finished being busted. Yep, within forty yards of the truck, we were busted by a whitetail doe and her fawn. We did that staring contest with one another that the cow moose had taught us earlier, until the doe tired of the game and bounded away, leading his fawn into a safer district.
Thoroughly disgusted with our luck, we decided to drive up toward the top of the hills and look for anything. As we drew abreast of the treeline where the calf had been crying, we saw the poor little beast mewing and chirping incessantly, looking intently into the trees. As we watched, a larger elk came out. Immediately, I threw my Leica Geovid to my eyes and said, "That's a bull." Before I could say anything else, Stacey said, "And he's legal." I ranged the distance, establishing that he was 692 yards.
"Let me see if he will respond to a bugle," Stacey said. Before I could respond, he blew a bugle that was immediately answered by the bull. Not only did this bull scream his defiance, but he wheeled and began a trot toward where we were seated in the truck. Piling out, we each grabbed a rifle and took up firing positions. The bull was clearly angry as he screamed his rage at the audacity of another bull coming into his bedroom. I added a couple of cow chirps, which only sent him running at a faster pace. Time was moving pretty slowly as he drifted behind a small hillock. When his antlers appeared shortly after, they were rising out of the grass at the rapid pace. Stacey and the bull were engaged in a screaming contest when he stopped at the crest of the hill.
We pause this account to bring you a message from our sponsor. Mike has been carrying a .280 Remington all fall. It is a lovely model built by the Remington Arms Corporation in 2008.
The load for this rifle is 150 grain ABLR charged with 60.0 grains of N560 powder.
This is an excellent load giving Mike over 3100 fps and acceptable accuracy.
Mike highly commends this load to those wishing to working with the .280 Remington.
Now, back to our story.
Stopping at the crest of the hill, the elk screamed his defiance one final time. Unfortunately, relatively to Mike, he was standing partially obscured by some rather tall grass. Stacey was muttering, "Shoot, Mike. Shoot Mike. If you don't shoot soon, I'm gonna' shoot!" Mike was offering prayers, asking that God would goose the elk to make him step away from the grass that threatened to deflect any bullet sent his way. God is gracious; the elk stepped forward two paces. Mike pulled the trigger, and the rage all drained immediately as the 5X5 collapsed. The bullet had struck him in the spine, collapsing him on the spot. He was seventy-five yards from the muzzle. Well, it's fairly obvious that neither Mike nor Stacey are photographers. I guess either Guy Miner or Bullet will have to come up to record some of these hunts for these two clowns.
We could find no exit wound, but neither have we found the bullet, yet. The elk expired quite suddenly. Stacey, demented soul that he is, suggested it was because the beast had heard that I was totting a Remington firearm, causing it to die of fright. I suggested that it was the fact that I was shooting an ABLR that cause him to expire so suddenly. In any case, we skinned him out fairly quickly and dressed him, wrapping him in game bags so we could take him to the butcher. In all, an excellent conclusion to a day that will go down in the annals of the growing myth of the Peace Country Elk Hunters.
Great write up glad it all worked out for you, that is definitely some tall grass.
