Retrospective: Ed's First Elk

In early September 2015, I joined my friend Ed for a long weekend elk hunt on the Walrdon Ranch in southern Alberta. This is the same general area in which I killed my bull in 2013, and remains one of my favourite places to hunt. It really captures the essence of Alberta, as the steep rocky mountains of the Livingstone range give way to wide grassy valleys, punctuated by spruce and pine covered hills, and stands of aspen. To the east, are the Porcupine Hills and to the south, Crowsnest Pass. A windy and harsh but unfailingly beautiful place in all of its forms.

This weekend reminded us how fickle and harsh this environment can be, by turning unseasonably cold, wet and snowy weather on us. In November 2014, Ed and I went elk hunting in the same area during rifle season and endured -37 degree weather and knee deep snow, so in contrast it wasn't too bad!

Ed had been down a day before me, so already had some elk located and on the first morning we went in their direction. We climbed to a rocky knoll, and from there we had a good view of the surrounding spruce forest and grassy glades. I let out a bugle, and immediately got a response from somewhere down the ridge below us. The hunt was off to a great start! We made a game plan as to where we thought the bull might come from and got set up with me as the caller and Ed, 50 yards or so ahead of me, as the shooter. Over the next half hour we continued communicating with the bull, but couldn't get him to show himself. Not wanting to spook him away, I was being a little tentative with the bugle and trying cow chirps and mews. He came quite close and milled around the area but wouldn't commit and eventually he wandered off and we lost contact with him. It was likely a good thing, because by this stage after crouching motionless for an extended amount of time, we were both so cold that Ed probably wouldn't have been able to draw his bow! During the time we were communicating with the bull snow had also started steadily falling. We were both in need of some food and extra layers to keep ourselves warm.

We spent the rest of the day stalking through the area and finding plenty of elk sign and getting close to a few mule deer does, but not laying eyes on the bull or his cows.

By the time we made it back to the clearing where we had called the bull earlier that morning, it was well covered in snow! 

The knoll behind Ed is where we first called from and we set up in the trees at the back edge of the glade.

Day 2: The next day we decided to take the pressure off that group of elk and check out some other areas. In the morning we went up a ridge further south on the Waldron Ranch and crunched our way across the snowy fields to get to an aspen covered hillside that Clayton (the South Waldron ranch manager) had suggested. We saw a few whitetails, but didn't see or get a response from any elk, even at long range back in the forestry lease. It was a small area, so in the afternoon we decided to cross to the west side of highway 22 to see if we could locate any other elk in that area.

It was a beautiful day and the snow actually melted quite quickly on the grasslands, but left a fresh blanketing on the mountains which really enhanced the visual impact of the place.

We did a lot of glassing to both sides of the ridge, and in the afternoon located a group of elk, back where we were the day before. We counted six cows, and there appeared not to be a bull with them. We had plenty of time to watch them through the spotting scope and they seemed to be quite settled in a small aspen stand, so we planned to go back there the next morning, armed with specific intelligence on their location. As it was the beginning of bow season, we were happy to take a cow elk if we could create the opportunity.

That evening we called intermittently and watched the high grassy plateau behind the first ridge west of Highway 22, and east of the 'power line valley'. All was quiet on the game front, but once again, the sunset just filled me with such outright joy as the cold air moved-in off the mountains and the grass swayed in the breeze, while golden and pink clouds drifted across the sky towards the backdrop of snow covered mountains. Every time I am out in a situation like this I feel lucky to be alive and live in this place, with such natural beauty so close to home. It was shame that it was so fleeting, and before long we were trudging back towards the truck in the dark.

Day 3: We were up early and ready to go, knowing we had a group of elk spotted that we had seen late in the day and confirmed their location. It was well after sunrise when we actually got close to where we had seen them as it was a pretty stiff hike, about three to four kilometers across cow pastures and up onto a ridge to get in the trees above where we had last seen the elk.

We had slowed to silent pace and were looking hard, when we spotted a cow right in the same place we had left them. It was difficult going, over slippery rocks and sparse trees for cover, so as we got closer to where we had last seen a cow, we dropped our packs and went on just with our bows. After we had silently made our way quite a bit further along, to our surprise we heard a distant bugle. We both looked at each other and without any words spoken, we knew the game had just changed! The only issue was that I had left the bugle-call on my pack which was now a long way back. I left Ed in position in case he got an opportunity, and as quickly as I could while remaining stealthy went back to my pack and retrieved my bugle.

Once I get back to Ed, we made a game plan for our set up, with me at the base of a big tree in a sparsely treed slope, and him by a game trail in some thicker timber further up in the direction from which we expected the bull to approach. It seemed that the cows had actually also moved that way, so we just hoped that we hadn't spooked them. Once in position I got the OK from Ed and let a Bugle rip. I immediately got a response, at least a few hundred meters off. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up and my heart rate jumped up a notch and everything felt good. The sun was above the horizon now and drawing a gentle breeze up the slope, which would be perfect for keeping our scent away from the approach of the bull.

I let another aggressive bugle rip and immediately got a response, audibly closer this time. He's coming in!

I called back and again was rewarded with a response and moments later saw the flash of an elk running across a gap in the trees, still a couple of hundred meters away. He seemed really fired up, and I called again, taunting him to come and face the challenger. He called back and soon I saw him running along toward us on the edge of some timber. He stopped and swung his head around, trying to locate where we were, and let out a call, which I cut off with my bugle before he finished and responded even more aggressively. This really urged him on and he committed to coming out into the gladed grassy slope in front of us, stopping to thrash and rip at tall grass in a demonstration of his brawn.

I called again and on he came to about 50 yards from my position and only 30 or so yards from Ed's. Then I went silent. He stood there in the crisp morning air and screamed with visceral force. Great plumes of steam pouring from his throat into the crisp morning air as he called out for his challenger to step forward. The screaming bugle of a bull elk is one of those sounds that penetrates directly to the deeply buried parts of the human evolutionary memory and makes everything in the world melt away except for the primal predatory instinct that is fundamental to what it means to be human. Time seemed to slow down as my heart pounded and adrenaline coursed through my veins. No words can adequately describe the intensity and instinctual focus that exists between a hunter and an aggressive wild animal in those moments when you know the outcome of the life and death game of deception and concealment is about to be decided. The significance of communicating with a wild animal in its own language and successfully getting deep within his flight zone, with the intent of killing it, is something that can only be truly understood when it has been experienced first hand.

Moments went by as he was held up, trying to find the challenging bull and at one point I wondered if Ed had no shot and I should try to kill him myself. I tried to range him, but was having trouble getting a clear reading and wasn't sure of the distance due to the undulating ground between us. I squeaked a little call to keep him interested but didn't want him to bust me. There was a loud crack and he jumped, span and ran off, and soon I realized that was Ed's arrow and I noticed blood on the elk as he ran through the clearing and out of sight.

Silence.

As quickly as it had all started, it had now happened and he had gone, and it was over for now. We both now had the gnawing uncertainty that hunters experience between firing a shot or an arrow and confirming that you have killed your game.

As Ed was making his way towards me, I head the sound of running hooves, and motioned for him to stop. I could barely believe my eyes, but a cow and a spike bull came running in on the same path that the bull had taken, obviously disturbed by his death run. They again stopped around 50 yards in front of me, unaware of our presence. I debated in my mind trying to arrow the cow, as my first bowkill, but could not get a clean range on her either, and while I was procrastinating she pinned me and took off running with the spike in hot pursuit. It was the right thing to do not to arrow her too - we had some work to do yet to find our bull and a lot of meat packing if he was dead.

We wandered down to where the bull was standing and soon found the arrow. It showed blood, but unfortunately also evidence of a gut shot, which put us both at great unease.

The clearing, looking in the direction from which the elk approached.

Unsure of the shot, we decided to give a full hour before we started tracking him, hopefully allowing him to lay down and die, without pressure from us. We retrieved our packs and returned to the site of the shot to anxiously kill some time while we waited.

It was a beautiful morning and the mountains looked like postcards to the west with the morning sun illuminating them.

We started tracking the bull, and did find blood, though not prolific amounts and not frothy pink lung blood. Our anxiety filled us both. No hunter ever wants to cause unnecessary pain to an animal, and the burden carried by a hunter after wounding an animal is a heavy one. We did not speak much, but methodically followed his sparse blood trail across the open hillside and into a dense patch of aspens. We were working slowly, and Ed was the first to spot him - laying down in some undergrowth about 100m away. Our initial relief was immediately dashed when we noticed him move his head. Our hearts sank, and we were both quite upset about the pain and suffering he was obviously going through. We decided that Ed should try to get close enough for a follow-up shot and started working quietly towards him, while I waited back to keep watch. Tragically, he spotted Ed and got up and ran, though he was clearly mortally wounded. Once we regrouped, we decided to give him some more time and not to pressure him any more, as it seemed impossible to us that he would survive and the best thing to happen would be that he lie down quietly and not get back up. Again we waited anxiously, trying to kill time, and after an agonizing 45 minutes or so, we started inching along his blood trail, me tracking and Ed looking forward to spot the elk. Despite the uncomfortable circumstances of this particular instance, tracking a wounded animal is an activity that requires an intensity of concentration and carries with it a serious level of consequence that are rarely experienced by people today in everyday life. Being in this mode of absolute heightened awareness and observation, while following blood from a large animal that you have attempted to kill is a very existential experience. It is hard to escape the feeling that in that mode everything is 'real', and in comparison, everyday life is quite artificial.

We continued tracking and to our surprise the now increasingly sparse spoor led out of the trees and up onto a bare gully leading to a wide open field. Our hearts were in our throats, as we were now tracking individual spots of blood meters apart and for the first time there seemed to be a very real possibility that we would lose him. His tracks led up a steep bank, and then turned, and that is when I looked down and spotted an antler poking up from the underbrush in the base of the gully. He was motionless. We both approached and confirmed that he was stone dead, and had been for some time. The tracks told the story that our second wait was unnecessary and he had fallen and slid to the bottom of the gully during the run away from Ed, now over an hour ago. Emotions welled up in me - the relief that his suffering was over and that we had found him, the sadness for the beautiful creature's life that we had ended, the exhilaration of the morning's interaction with these wild animals and also being fully connected with the primal predator that lives within me. All the mixed emotions that make hunting the important human experience that it is.

Ed's first Elk, where he fell.

Paying respects the impressive creature.

Final reflections...

Of course this elk was going to provide us with a lot of food and we performed the 'gutless method' while dressing him to keep all the meat clean. It was good to show Ed the technique, and it was nice to have him photograph it.

This is my way of being truly connected with my food, and gives me immense satisfaction.

Removing the tenderloins without having to gut the animal.

The prize cut!

Ed loaded up, and all that was left of the carcass.

We packed everything we could into our packs, and I strapped on a whole hind quarter, while Ed carried the head and all the tender cuts and we put the remaining meat in the shade and started the first push back to the road.

On the pack-out, burning with pain, but deeply satisfied

Doing what I love, in a pretty beautiful place

Exhausted, but in high spirits

Carrying meat is very hard work

We arrowed the bull up behind the treed knoll in the background

Finally at the truck at the end of the day, after heading back in for the remaining load of both front quarters and the other hindquarter. It was quite late in the day, and we had been going hard since before sunrise, so were were pretty well exhausted. We figured the pack-out was about four kilometers each way, so after we had effectively done that four times, we had put on some pretty solid miles with excessive loads.

Finally home - with some very good meat hanging up, and a great 5x5 set of antlers to remember that bull by