Wyoming Elk Hunt
Posted: Monday, January 04, 2010
by Jack H. Schick
It was still dark when I left Rawlins to hunt elk in the Sierra Madre Mountains down on the Colorado border. I was, I thought, well prepared. In my pack I carried rope, a spare hat, socks and gloves, some food, a plastic tube tent, a survival blanket, several ways to make fire and an aluminum can in which to boil water if I had to. I had knives and a saw to bone out the animal if I had to pack out only the meat. I was a transplanted Easterner. It was my first elk season in Wyoming. The "locals" didn't like "new comers" horning in on their big game hunting so, though they were willing to tell me how to hunt, they would not suggest where and certainly would not take me along or go with me. They made sure I realized that I had absolutely no chance of getting an elk. I was excited and confident, but once again, I hunted alone.
Dust rose from the wash board road behind me and quickly drifted eastward driven by the rush of cold October air over the Continental Divide. The blue green sage and tufts of yellow grass rippled and swayed in the ceaseless westerly winds. The landscape seemed beaten and tired. Crumbling, rocky hill tops, steep sided gullies and long drifted, sandy slopes tapering off eastward testified to the constant assult of water and wind and of the rock splitting frosts that sculptured the "Pass Between the Mountains", that is Wyoming in Amerind tongue.
Finally, off to the south, the rounded tops of the Sierra Madre appeared behind the sage brush hills. Their brows appeared black, blanketed by vast pine forests. Bare ground above the tree line and scattered clearings contrasted white and gleamed in the bright light of the now risen sun. The entire high country was covered with a fresh fall of snow. Though I should have anticipated it, I had not. I had proper gear and clothing, but I knew my hunt had become more complicated.
I climbed the northern slope of the up-lift on a steep gravel road with a dozen switch backs. The snow cover began just as I hit the trees. There were no other tracks to follow so I switched into four wheel drive and stayed an equal distance between the reflector posts on either side of the road. Soon the snow was nearly up to my bumper. I came to the fork where I'd planned to leave the main road. The week before I'd scouted a long wooded valley where I was sure I'd get an elk. I stopped and got out to assess the situation.
The snow was powdery and light. It came nearly up to my knees. the air was brisk but still. The sun, now higher, glared brightly off the pristine cover. The white frosted pines glistened and shimmered. I shielded my eyes, inhaled the crisp, thin air and scanned the fantastic Rocky Mountain vista. The scenery change was stunning. With a few thousand feet climb I'd been transported from a dry, broken desert world of sage and rock and sand to a wonderland off of the cover of a winter holiday card. A glow grew within me. There was no other Human for miles and miles. There was just me and my truck, and our tracks in the road. Except for the tops of the guard rails that peeped above the snow, there was no indication that Mankind even existed in the placid realm. The absolute isolation was peaceful and beautiful. I felt a warm harmony with nature and the higher power.
When I'd traveled the road that went down into my valley the week before there had been several large bog holes blocking the way. Some of them were wide and deep enough to half swallow my truck. I'd skirted around them to get by. Now those mud holes were covered with nearly two feet of snow. I wouldn't be able to see them. If I happened into one I'd be stuck with no hope of getting out. I would not take the risk and continued on the main road a little disappointed at the change of plans.
I'd gone about a mile on up into the forest when I saw a set of elk tracks crossing the road. The locals had told me that if I followed tracks I should swing wide loops around them. If I came back to my own tracks without crossing them I knew the animal was somewhere in the area I'd circled. I decided to try that, having not yet given up hope of filling my tag.
I threw on my pack and grabbed my rifle. My enthusiasm and confidence were high. I staddled over the guard rail and clambered down the steep side of the road grade into the woods. The going was tough. That patch of forest was a jumble of downed timber and brush. I began by trying to circle the tracks, but soon simply struggled to proceed. The trail was easy enough to follow in the deep snow, so I just stayed with it.
After covering about a quarter of a mile of that frustrating terrain the trees abruptly ended at the edge of a large park (an open meadow in the forest). Above me, to the west, rose the rocky peak of one of the summits. The sun light gleamed off the chunky grey and silver granite facets. Off to my left stretched the valley I'd scouted. It sloped off toward Colorado disappearing out of site behind trees. The elk trail continued straight across the park toward the next woods about half a mile away. I continued on the same path.
The woods on the other side was not nearly as thick and tangled as the first. For the next hour I continued to circle the elk's track. It's pace did not seem to change. I'd been told that elk will sometimes decide they are going over the hill and into the next county and you'll never see them again. I believed that was the case with this one. The sun was now high overhead. My energy and enthusiasm were rapidly waning. I knocked the snow off a fallen log and sat for awhile. I was over heated and sweating. I was at least a couple miles from the car. If I did kill an elk, it occurred to me, how would I get it back to the truck by dark? If I cut it into pieces or boned it out it would still take half a dozen trips. I opened my coat to cool down and had a snack, debating whether to go on, or back to the truck.
There was a sudden gust of wind that shook snow from the branches creating a terrific blzzard around me. With in seconds I was coated as though I'd been standing out in a storm. The snow flakes continued to swirl for a few more minutes, but then it was sunny and calm again. I brushed myself off and bundled up. I moved into a small clearing and looked to the west. A large dark cloud obscured the summit behind me and was beginning to spill down the slope. The wind began to pick up as the snow squawl approached. The debate was over. I was heading back to the truck.
I quickly back tracked the elk trail, the most direct route. Within minutes the storm was on me. It grew frighteningly dark. Winds continually whipped the trees sending tons of snow to the ground and swirlling around me. The snow fell at a tremendous rate and speed. I hurried as best as I could through the timber. Before long the trail would be covered and I'd have to rely completely on my sense of direction. I could see only a few dozen yards through the woods. A panic began to grow in my gut.
When I came to the edge of the forest at the wide park I'd crossed the panic intensified. I'd long since lost the elk tracks and had just been plunging along. I faced a roaring white cloud. The furious fall of fresh snow and the wind driven ground blizzard across the open terrain seemed an impenetrable wall. I could see no more than a few yards ahead of me. The wind cut through me, chilling me to the core. I was wet with perspiration from my desperate trek through the woods. I was afraid to start out across the open terrain.
I moved back into the woods a few yards, out of the wind to gather my senses. I had all my gear. I was always packed to 'spend the night' if I had to. I could set up the tent and hole up for awhile. If I did, the truck would be snowbound by the time I found it and I might have to spend several days. But, I had no way of knowing exactly where the truck was with no landmarks visible in the raging storm. The snow was already over my knees. I had no choice but to push on.
I'd always prided myself on my sense of direction. I consentrated for a moment thinking of the truck as I'd last seen it. I tried to establish a 'magnetic connection' with it. My chill and growing fear inhibited me, but finally I was convinced that the truck was...There! With new found energy and conviction I plunged out of the woods into the driving snow.
As I trudged through the knee deep blanket of snow the ground blizzard schushed down the slope with an odd, electrical sound stinging and lashing my face. I tucked into my hood and leaned into the rushing current. My up wind side was soon plastered white. I could see only a few feet ahead so there was no reason to even open my eyes. I kept the image of the truck in my mind and walked as straight toward it as I could. I stumbled several times and was completly absorbed in the drifts.
I finally staggered into the first patch of woods, exhausted and cold. I sat down and nestled among the downed trees to regain my composure and strength. My spirit was fading. The snow was deeper. I remembered how difficult it was to travel through that patch of woods before and again considered staying where I was. Then I remembered a story I read of two men in the Alpine who were caught in a storm. One pushed on to the cabin and was safe. The other dug a snow den and was found dead. It was less than a quarter mile to the road. It bordered the whole length of the woods. There was no way I could miss it, so I summoned my last strength and went on.
In less than half an hour I came to the road grade and with much effort struggled to the top. The guard rails were now coverd. I was exhausted, but no longer scared. The snow had some what abatted so I rested a few minutes catching my breath. I felt safe until it occurred to me that I had no idea which way to walk to the truck. I thought, 'how far should I go one way before turning back?' I consentrated for a moment before striking off, up hill. Within a hundred yards I came to the truck. I could still see the tail lights, but the license plate was under the snow. I knew I at least had shelter if I couldn't get off the mountain.
With some effort I was able to get the truck turned around an pointed down the hill. Within a half hour I emerged from the trees. Behind me the storm continued to rage. The entire national forest was shrouded in a dark cloud. Below me the brown desert was bathed in late afternoon sunlight. The harsh broken landscape, the dry Wyoming waste land seemed inviting and warm. I didn't get my elk that year, but I was at least still there to go back the next fall.
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Top-level comments on this article: (9 total)In Alaska we call newcomers "Cheechakos" an prety much treat'em with disdain until they've paid their dues in time and experience. From this elk hunt story I'd say you're moving in the group know as "locals", Enjoyed the tale and 'Welcome to SearchWarp'Thanks for reading.
Good Article - enjoyed the suspence.Thanks for reading.
great article, and very well written...Thanks for reading
Another world...another country ...and totally an amazing experience for an Indian like me. Realtime adventures always give thrill to readers. Very good article by Jack. Welcome to SearchWrap friend!Thanks for reading.
Welcome to SearchWarp, Jack. I hope to read more of your adventures, whether fiction or real life.Thanks for reading
Thanks, Jack, for writing. Welcome to SearchWarp. ~mogama~thanks for reading
Incredible story - would you consider investing in a GPS before you venture out next time? I have a Wapiti story written this year but I was barefooted..... GRIN. Marijo (your neighbor from Colorado who hunts also pronounced Mary Jo - dad was creative...)Sorry-my stroy happened long ago, before GPS. I'm in Pennsylvania now. You probably know how the "locals" feel about "Greenies" up in WY, too. Again, thanks for reading.
amazing you can relive these times just from memory. I can barely remember what day it is, or what I did last year. I liked how u were able to elaborate on your surroundings, precieved and real. It was exciting how you built drama for the reader. I can empathize with you even though Ive never been in a similar situation.Thanks for reading Geoff.
Great story, real suspence , you paint real scenes in my mind. Loved it. Thank you Jack.an old one- did it a couple of years ago. I think I'm better now. may have to try it again.
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