Legendary Hunts

by Boone

  After dressing him we returned to camp, taking some of his meat with us for supper, and as we kindled our camp-fire that night we gave three cheers for the Monarch Bull Elk, Harrison and Morton, and the boys of Tippecanoe.

  The next day Mr. Brown returned with our “mocking birds” and we packed in our elk and boned the meat. The next morning we started to move camp again; our animals were packed and we were in the saddle at daylight. We struck a trail and had only gone half a mile when I caught a glimpse of three silver tip bears on the opposite side of an open park we were just entering. Hastily notifying Mr. Brown, who was just behind me, we slipped out of our saddles and started for the game. I gained a bunch of willows between the bears and myself, and Mr. B. kept to the right along the trees. I opened fire and down went a bear. I advanced and continued firing to keep him down. Mr. B. got into position and began shooting, while the other two bears slowly retreated up the hill snarling and stopping occasionally to snap viciously at us. I expected them to come at us, for the one I had shot lay kicking on the ground and squalling terribly; and so I filled the magazine of my gun with cartridges as I ran, expecting a dozen more bears to appear at any moment (I am glad they did not for I was out in the open park with no trees handy.) Mr. Franck, who was some 300 yards behind us fixing his saddle when the rumpus started, came riding into the fight on the dead run, and the first shot from his old Sharps rifle hit a bear in the neck and silenced him forever. The other bear carried off our lead and escaped. I tell you there was music in the air for a few minutes, the constant bang! bang! bang! of our rifles, the snapping and squalling of the bears, the bray of our jacks as they rushed terror-stricken from the scene, and our shouts to each other to “stand your ground and give ‘em h—l!” made up a scene at once exhilaratingly exciting. But it was over in half the time it takes to write it. We came out without a scratch and got two bears out of the three. Their robes are fine and we will have them made into rugs to keep as mementos of a most thrilling experience.

  After a close search for an hour we found our jacks huddled together with a part of their packs off and frightened nearly to death. We were soon on the move again and came down to our first camp, satisfied with our day’s sport.

  In the early morning we were up early and rode six miles to another locality, and then swung around to a “salt lick” where we had seen a band of mountain sheep several days before. It was sundown when we reached the ridge in front of the “licks,” and we dismounted and quietly crept to the top. Three hundred yards distant was a band of eleven elk standing around the lick. It was too dark to see the antlers, but we were satisfied several of the larger ones were bulls, and singling out our targets we fired. At the first round they rushed up the mountain which was very steep. This gave us an advantage, although we were firing a distance of over three hundred yards. We continued firing until each of us succeeded in killing an elk – Mr. Brown bringing down a fine bull. We dressed them and returned to camp, arriving at 11:30, where we prepared a meal from the fat of the land.

  In the morning we decided that the swelling was out of our necks, broke camp and started for home. We reached the railroad on the 16th and sent eight pack animals and two packers back to camp to bring out the balance of our game. Reached home on the 17th ready for business and feeling that we have a new lease on life which could not be had only through an elk hunt in the Rocky Mountains.

  Dall DeWeese

  Canon City, Colorado

  Photo from B&C Archives

  Non-Typical American Elk, Scoring 444-4/8 Points, Taken by Ronald N. Franklin in Coconino County, Arizona, in 2003.

  Cat and Mouse

  By Ronald N. Franklin

  25th Big Game Awards Program

  I HAD JUST RECEIVED THE NEWS I HAD BEEN DRAWN FOR ONE OF THE TOUGHEST UNITS TO GET A TAG IN THE ARIZONA DRAW. I CALLED EVERYONE I KNEW TO PASS ON MY GOOD FORTUNE. EVERYONE WAS SO EXCITED AND READY TO HELP ON THE HUNT. THEN THE SLEEPLESS NIGHTS STARTED, DREAMING OF BIG BULLS SCREAMING AND RUTTING. A FEW WEEKS LATER, THOUGH, I FOUND OUT THAT I HAD DRAWN MY SECOND CHOICE AND NOT THE UNIT I ORIGINALLY THOUGHT.

  I started scouting, going every weekend and any chance I had some time to slip up to my unit. My brother Charlie, who also had a tag, was getting information from co-workers since he worked in the area we would be hunting. That information really came back to pay off in the long run.

  No really big bulls materialized during my scouting, but as the season approached they started to rut. Some really nice bulls started to show, and I could tell from the antler growth on even the young bulls that this was going to be a great year to have a tag.

  The season started uneventfully. We saw nice bulls everyday, just nothing I thought was worth taking so early in the season. It’s amazing how each year it seems the elk change. One year it’s all about bugling for a response, the next year it seems that a cow call was the ticket, but this year it definitely was the cow call I had. That call seemed to be the only one to get a positive response without sending the elk out of the country.

  About a week into the hunt, things got really interesting. My buddy, Travis Mast, was supposed to join us, but got held up at work for a couple of days. I was excited because the last time we hunted together we had an opportunity at a huge 375-class 6x7 bull. That year my shot didn’t connect. Since I was hunting alone for a few days, I tried an area that Charlie and I had heard about. Supposedly, a really big bull had been shot at and missed earlier. I ran into another hunter who had heard of this bull, but said he hadn’t seen it. He seemed to say it with a gleam in his eye. Ha! I thought to myself that he wasn’t giving it to me straight. The bull had to be around. The stage was set to find the bull of a lifetime.

  That night, Travis showed up around 3:30 a.m. after driving all night to get there. When my lantern kicked on at 4 a.m., he said he might skip the morning hunt and get some rest. Then he jumped up and said he didn’t want to miss anything. Driving out, I told Travis about the encounter with the other hunter. I also told him that I knew this big bull was still around.

  What unfolded over the next several hours took teamwork. We arrived at our area of choice about an hour before daylight. We sat in the predawn silence and heard only one faint bugle way off. We moved up the ridge, where I had patterned the elk and their crossing each morning. We decided to wait near a water hole until something stirred. As the dark turned gray, a bull sounded off a bugle in the distance. We both pointed about 90 degrees off from one another, so we split the difference and off we went!

  As it started to get light, we heard the bull bugle several more times, which helped us to pin down the direction. We knew we had to get there before they started to feed off, so we ran to intercept it. Eventually, we stopped to catch our breath. Just then, Travis said, “Stop. Did you hear that?”

  We crouched down just in time to let two satellite bulls walk right by us at a short distance. As we started to get closer we saw very fresh sign. This was getting really serious, really fast. Just then we caught movement. Another satellite bull walked within 15 yards of us. As we moved up, we saw a few cows and heard a big smash as two bulls were crashing and fighting. Then Travis whispered, “Oh, my gosh! It’s huge! I’m counting 10 or 12 points!”

  Just then another bull bugled behind us, which worked to our advantage. It brought the huge bull around to our side of the cows at 80 yards. The bull then started to rake some trees. Finally, I decided every time it put its head down to rake, I would move up. This cat and mouse game went fast when I finally realized I was within range.

  Everything was perfect. The bull had its head down, and I drew and released. Time froze, everything stood still, and the bull just turned and looked the other way where the arrow had blown through and bounced into the trees behind it. The broadhead had done its job. It took like what seemed forever before anything happened. I had already removed another arrow from my quiver when the bull started to run. It was almost like a dream. The bull went 40 yards and then it was over.

  Tr
avis charged me and started hugging me as I just stood there in shock. It was like it was meant to be. I would like to thank all the people who made this hunt possible: Steve Sherwood of TNT Taxidermists who was a great help and went above and beyond; to my friends and brother who helped with the hunt and scouting; and most of all to my wife and son who understand my passion for hunting and allowed me to chase those dreams I had of a summer of big bulls screaming and rutting.

  Photo from B&C Archives

  Typical American Elk, Scoring 411-3/8 Points, Taken by Chuck Adams in Rosebud County, Montana, in 2000.

  Montana Mega Bull

  By Chuck Adams

  25th Big Game Awards Program

  THE HUGE ELK CAUGHT ME BY SURPRISE. I WAS HUNTING MULE DEER WITH MY GUIDE WHEN A BULL BUGLED 200 YARDS AWAY. I SAY “BUGLE,” BUT THAT’S REALLY NOT THE WORD. “GROWL” WOULD BETTER DESCRIBE THE SOUND.

  Seconds later, a line of cow elk streamed from the timber, fanned across a clearing, and dropped their heads to feed. I locked my binoculars to my eyes.

  I’ll never forget what happened next. A very large 6x6 galloped into view, scattering cows as it charged headlong through the herd. And right on its tail was the biggest, gnarliest bull elk my guide and I had ever seen.

  There was a deer tag in my pocket, but I had bagged my Montana elk four days earlier. That bull was also a stunner, with massive 6x6 antlers. Incredibly, the bull in front of me dwarfed my 6x6 in every sort of way.

  The monster had heavy, deeply arching beams and seven long points per side. The spread was impossibly wide, and every point was long. Even the seventh tines would easily measure a foot. The third points (normally shortest on an elk) looked to be 17 or 18 inches long. Brow tines stretched forward beyond the nose, a sure sign of exceptional length. Main beams dropped downward over the bull’s rump, making the huge “whale tail” back forks look even bigger.

  We watched that elk until nightfall, and during those two final hours, I inspected the bull from every possible angle. I carefully compared it with the elk I’d already taken, and reached an astonishing conclusion. With main beams pushing 60 inches, an inside spread at least 50 inches, and long points all around, I decided this elk would score at least 50 inches more than mine! That meant we were looking at a bull that would score well over 400 points!

  I shot a decent mule deer a few days later, and headed home with the image of that huge elk permanently burned in my brain. I told a few friends about it, and thought about that bull every day and every night for the next 11-1/2 months.

  September 14, 2000, found me hiking the same drainage where the giant bull had been the year before. My trusty guide, a good friend of mine, was across the canyon glassing and listening for the bull. My pal prefers not be mentioned by name because he’s afraid people will zero in on his elk hot spots. I don’t blame him a bit.

  I knew from past experience that mature elk often rut in the same place year after year. “Please, God,” I thought. “Let that theory be true!”

  I felt my neck hairs prickle as a familiar, single-note bugle rolled down the draw. The gravel-voiced monarch was back, less than half a mile from where we’d seen it in 1999. There was no mistaking the sound.

  Half an hour later, I caught the herd as they crossed the last opening below a dog-hair-thick bedding hillside. Weather was beastly hot — already 80 degrees — and animals were racing for shade.

  My view was not a good one, but I instantly recognized the bull as it trudged between two trees. It looked a bit smaller than I remembered. It had the same wide and downward-curving beams, and the same very long points, but only six tines on the right and a shorter seventh on the left. Yet, it was still a huge elk.

  I believe it’s always a mistake to pressure elk in their bedding areas. If you do, you risk running them off for good. We called it a morning, and went back to camp for lemonade and a snooze.

  Elk move around a lot and don’t bugle consistently when weather is warm. It was very warm in mid-September 2000. My guide and I heard and saw nothing that evening. We located only ten cows and one small bull the following day. The country was steep, remote, and densely overgrown — just the place for a giant herd bull to feed and breed silently without being detected.

  I was certain the bull was still nearby. I could feel it in my bones.

  Pale pink arrows shot upward across the sky as we hiked uphill at dawn on the third morning. Hot yellow light soon oozed over the mountains, followed by a blazing sun. I could barely see to shoot, and it was already 75 degrees!

  We split to look and listen from opposite ridgelines. A cow elk popped into view 300 yards ahead followed by another and another. Soon more than 30 cows and calves were feeding in front of me, slipping in and out of the trees like ghosts.

  I saw only one antler at first, but I recognized the rack as the animal came into view. The colossal bull crossed an opening and nudged a cow with its rack. Its left seven-point side flashed clearly before the bull disappeared, showing the dramatic down-sweep of the beam.

  My heart was doing handsprings as I trotted crosswind and closed in on the herd. I knew my guide had seen them too and would be close behind. We’d hunted together like a well-oiled machine. As always, I’d hunt and he’d hang back to watch.

  The elk were moving rapidly toward the same hillside where they’d vanished two days before. I veered away and loped uphill in a huge half-circle, well hidden by trees. With luck, I just might get a shot.

  The big bull pushed its herd up a densely wooded draw. Cows chirped now and then, and the bull growled once. From past experience, I knew the ravine took a 45-degree bend half a mile ahead. I eased around a hill, chugged up a draw, and hooked back over the top at the most likely ambush point.

  Good Lord! Elk were streaming past as I peeked above the ridge. A split-instant later, the giant bull appeared 50 yards below, strutting along the same trail as its cows. I grabbed my range finder, swung the reticule on the nearest elk, and punched the distance button — 39 yards.

  I ducked down, drew the bow, and eased back up to shoot. I had to crouch, twist, and lean to clear a low-growing branch.

  The bull came broadside, and I let go a single cow chirp with the diaphragm call I always clench in my teeth during an elk stalk. The monster stopped and whipped its head to stare. My 40-yard pin found its heart. Thirty minutes later I wrapped both hands around the biggest elk antlers I had ever seen. The animal had gone less than 75 yards before dropping.

  The giant 6x7 rack spread 60 inches, weighed 39-1/2 pounds, and scored 411-3/8 official B&C points, making it one of the largest typical American elk ever measured by that fine organization. My bull was also declared a new Pope and Young Club’s World’s Record. In 2001, I was presented the Ishi Award, Pope and Young Club’s top honor and only the 14th given in the Club’s 40-year history, for taking this extraordinary elk. This bull stands as the second largest typical elk taken by bow or gun in Montana. Taking this elk is a high point in my bowhunting life.

  Image from B&C Archives

  Original score chart for Chuck Adams’ typical American elk, which scores 411-3/8 points.

  Photo from B&C Archives

  Roosevelt’s Elk, Scoring 353-4/8 Points, Taken by Kenneth R. Adamson in Washington County, Oregon, in 1985 (pictured with his wife, Theresa).

  Tearing Up the Brush

  By Kenneth R. Adamson

  19th Big Game Awards Program

  THERE WERE A THOUSAND THOUGHTS ZIPPING THROUGH MY MIND AS I CROUCHED IN MY MAKESHIFT BLIND, STRAINING TO HEAR A HINT OF SOUND THAT WOULD LET ME KNOW THAT I WAS NOT ALL ALONE HERE IN THE WOODS. THOUGHTS SUCH AS, DID I BLOW IT? DID THE WIND SPOOK THE BULL? SHOULD I JUST PACK UP AND LEAVE QUIETLY AND RETURN TOMORROW? SHOULD I HAVE TRIED STALKING THE NOISES I HAD HEARD? WILL I HIT A BRANCH IF I GET A SHOT? IS THIS HUNT GOING TO BE ONE OF THOSE THAT END UP AS A GOOD STORY, BUT NO MEAT?

  I felt the bull was still in the vicinity, and I wanted to be ready if I got a shot. So, I checked the pulley wheels of my compou
nd bow for obstructions, checked the sight pins, drew a couple of times, and checked to make sure my broadheads were tight and aligned. By this time, I was as ready as I was going to get. I figured the elk, if it was an elk, should be settled down enough after a half hour to forget the sound and/or scent that had spooked it.

  My previous bowhunting for elk hadn’t produced anything in the way of meat or antlers. The Oregon bow season had opened the last weekend in August, and I had hunted for a full week with family and friends. We saw elk, but didn’t manage to bring home any antlers. Since then, I had managed to hunt four evenings, with the same results.

  Most of my hunting is done on private land, owned by the timber company that employs me as a forest engineer. So, I do have the advantage of being in good elk hunting areas several times throughout the year. My best friend and hunting partner, David Showerman and I have been hunting together for about 15 years. We have taken several elk and deer, but we were still waiting for the “Big One.” Unfortunately, he was not along on this hunt.