Full disclosure: this column has been on tape delay for the past two weeks. Before leaving for Colorado, I wrote a couple of weeks’ worth of articles and submitted them in advance so that I would be free to chase elk in the Rocky Mountains. Yes, I could have written an article from the mountains, but I chose not to in favor of chasing bulls.  

If you recall, last week I set the archery elk hunting “table” in that you got the 411 on where I was going: northwest of Denver in the Arapaho National Forest, and who was I going with: my brothers and my “half” brothers. 

We arrived in the mountains one day before the season started. It was a simple pleasure being able to take our time setting up camp instead of busting our humps trying to hurry through it so that we could start hunting. We had a terrific first day and night in the mountains that ended with a toast of good luck and a safe hunting season.

On opening morning, we biked up the mountain using headlamps. I would guess we ditched the bikes around 10,000 feet and hiked on foot from there. I couldn’t help but notice four things that had changed since last year’s hunt: (1) My legs seemed to have gotten shorter, (2) I noticed less bounce in my steps, (3) The hike upwards was steeper, and (4) The mountain had grown taller. Regardless of those things, I was in the Rocky Mountains and as Del Gue said in the Jeremiah Johnson movie:  ". . . the Rocky Mountains is the marrow of the world."

If you have surmised that I am dragging my feet a little in getting to the actual hunting, you are correct. Spoiler alert: the hunting was brutal. Half-brother Dan saw two bull elk which placed him at the top of the leader board in terms of actually seeing elk. I was at the bottom in that I never set eyes on an animal, not even a mule deer, but there was some action. 

Real brother Garret, half-brother Dan and I hiked up and over the top of the mountain and walked right into the sound of a bugling bull. We exchanged calls while inching closer together to the point where it was inconceivable that we couldn’t see that bull. When it was all said and done, we agreed that the bull was easily within 100 yards but must have had cows with him and that he didn’t dare leave them unattended in order to square off against a potential threat. We had two other similar encounters but nothing ever close to sealing the deal.  

Looking back I think it could be one of the worst elk hunting trips ever, in terms of dealing with elk. Having said that, will I go back next year? Heck yeah, I’d go back tomorrow. 

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