The alarm goes off stirring the quite dark trailer alive with action...barely. “Why do we have to get up at 3:45am?” gets asked in a whiny tone. “You know why” is responded from the top bunk. The coffee is ready to go, you just have to light the stove and wait. We'll spend the next 10 min listening to the java perkulate like a snooze button as we lie half awake. Caffeine is a must. We are stretching and slowly waking up with dreadful thoughts of the workload that lies ahead.
We've been hunting for six days already. Hiking all day, from dark to dark with very little action. By this point we've become deflated. Elk hunting can be a series of highs and lows. This was a low.
The mornings are the worst. We have to throw ourselves out of our soft warm beds. Beds that seems to heal and sooth our painfull muscles. “My body doesn't want to carry me up the mountain again” comes from the bottom bunk. “I know man... niether does mine, but we gotta get up” The negotiation is over. Time to make a move.
Out of our beds, we stumble around the confines of the tightly spaced R.V.
Better eat something with that coffee. Last nights pasta dinner will make a nice first meal of the day. Next, huge lunches are made. Trail mix is good fuel. For some reason the carrot sticks haven’t been popular, but we're almost out of chocolate bars and candy. They must be raw energy.
Once the grub is in the pack and the guts are full, it's time to load in the truck and make our way to the base of the mountain. The truck seats are like the beds, soft and comfortable. “My ass loves this seat.” I say as we drive along the bumpy gravel road. Dave agrees. Dance music plays over the stereo, and we are getting pumped.
It's still 2 hours before daylight.
The hike starts with a vertical climb straight up. It's a hard push. We grab at any tree or shrub within reach. It helps if you can use your arms during the steep sections. Once the first 500 meters is over we can take a quick rest and shed some clothes.
Bushwacking is just like the word describes. Wacking the bush. There is no trail, just a forest full of trees, brush, downed logs, and any other debris you can imagine. The packs and guns whey us down as we work for every step. Branches are constantly hitting us in the face. You just have to accept it. We are going to get raked continuously by the bush for most of the hike. It will get better when we arrive at the meadows, so there is hope. But until then we'll have to “grin and bear it” as we scramble and claw up the mountain in the pitch black guided only by our head lights.
And hour and a half later we have reached the promise land. The meadows are in perfect condition today. It's quiet and it's just about shooting light.
As daylight slowly comes over the open meadows, we start calling. We take turns blowing as hard as we can down on a piece of pipe with a reed in it. The sound it produces is a high pitched scream that imitates a pissed off bull perfectly. They elk are in rut this time of year, so they are irritable to say the least.
The sound of the call stirs the peaceful air and fills the valley with it's presence. Hopefully we can get an animal to answer the call and come looking for a fight. Maybe he will present us with an opportunity for a shot before he smells our sent with his massive snout. If he gets wind of us, we'll never see him and all will be lost.
Success depends on what type of mood the elk are in. Sometimes when they get called, they simply call back but don't actually approach. If that happens you have to charge them, crashing the bush and making lots of noise. When you charge a bull you have to give up your shooting position, making it difficult. Maybe you'll get another opportunity as you get closer. Maybe not.
Sometimes a bull will hear a call and then just leave the area, not interested in a brawl at all. Maybe we'll spend our entire trip working hard everyday and still fail. That's what happened last year. Disappointment.
We call, listen then wait. Nothing. We give it another 10 min and call again. Still nothing. We agree to sit and wait and give it one more shot before we continue trolling up the mountain. We sit and hope. Every call we make is like a casting a fishing line into the water that may or may not have fish in it. Another 10 min goes by and I bugel one last time before leaving the pristine meadow for another spot.
Once again I fill the valley with the sound of a screaming elk. We listen quietly for a brief moment. Suddenly the silence is broken with a faint whistle of a distant elk coming from down the mountain below us.
Our faces light up, we smile with relief and excitement as this is the first elk we've heard in days. If this where fishing, then we just got a bite.
We take a second to prey. Please, Please, Please call back. If we can get the bull “hot” and lure him into the meadow, that would be ideal. All of the hard work and days of preparation could pay off. I think of how much I would love to make my precious jerky when we get home. I want this so bad.
This time I make a short call as if to mix it up a little. While I call, my partner smashes a tree with a dead branch repeatedly. This simulates the aggressive male thrashing the brush with his antlers.
This time when the elk calls back it's twice as loud. The plan is working. We nod at each other with expressive faces. “He's coming in!” I whisper. Dave pumps his fist like he's just scored a goal. We can hardly contain ourselves. Fish on!
The calls go back and forth over the next hour. All the time the screams from the bull get louder and louder as he approaches. We load our rifles with anticipation. It's hard not to be nervous. Here he comes.
In an effort to give ourselves a better field of view we separate. Dave moves into a forward position and over to my right by 100 ft. The agreement is whoever has a shot takes it. Hunting is teamwork and we can't let our egos get in the way of a successful hunt. It doesn't matter who shoots the animal as long as it goes down.
The bull lets out another call. It's so loud it feels like he's all around us. The throaty scream makes the hair stand up on the back of my neck. This is one of the most exciting things I've ever been a part of. Experience tells me that we are seconds away from seeing this ghost of the forest.
Dave see's him first, but not fully. He looks back at me and signals that he can see the target. I crawl behind a bush and out of sight. I watch my friend as he takes aim.
The gun rests on a tree as he views parts of the animal with the cross hairs of the scope. Still no shot. He can see the huge rack of antlers as it slowly rocks high above the brush. He is almost visible, just a few more seconds.
A massive creature with an enormous rack of antlers steps out from the bushes and into the edge of the meadow in front of us.
Just then a man steps out from behind a tree and sucker punches the elk right in the face. Stunned the animal falls back. Another man appears and jumps on his back knocking him to the ground. The two men lay the boots to the elk, kicking him several times in the mid section.
A Cadillac pulls up with tinted windows and Massachusetts plates. Two more guys with leather jackets and slicked back hair get out. One of the men is holding a phone book.
The man has a quick look around to see if anyone is looking. The coast is clear. He walks up to the elk and slams it with a phone book again and again “You don't listen so well, do ya Mr. Elk” He says in his thick Boston accent. “Where's my five grand?.... Now I gotta teach you a lesson” The men quickly load the beaten elk into the car, and drive off.
I cannot believe my eyes. The elk I have just spent the last hour bugling with has been abducted by members of an east coast crime family.
Once inside the car one of the mobsters struggles to put a bag over the elks head. He fights with the bag over the antlers. Do you know how hard it is to get a bag over someone's head when they have a large set of antlers? It's dam near impossible.
“This is never gonna work” the man complains. Just then the boss realizes something. “Tony you clown, you bought the wrong size game bags, It says right on the package these are for whitetail and mule deer. I shouldn't have to tell you we need the large ones for Moose and Elk. Do I gotta do everything around here?” He says, as he shakes his head.
“Why can't we just wack this elk and leave him in the meadow?” one of them says as he desperately tries to restrain the beast inside the back seat. “He can't pay us the money he owes us if he's dead now can he?” The boss calmly responds.
“What's that smell?” one of the men chirps. “God that stinks!... It's burning my eyes” One of them has a light bulb moment as he realized what happened. “Boss, I think the elk pissed it's self.” Another unimpressed look from the boss. “That smell better not be getting rubbed into the carpet back there, I just had this thing detailed” He barks back. The mobsters had no idea that most times an angry bull will urinate all over him self during a calling session. It's what they do.
The dirty animal was really doing a number on the inside of that Caddy as he thrashed around and kicked the seats. What's worse was, he was also getting hair everywhere. Who's going to clean this mess up?
What the hell where these guys thinking? Everyone knows it's not a good idea to kidnap a 700lb wild animal in the back of a sedan. What they really needed were tranquilizer darts and a utility trailer, but this was no time for finger pointing. Chalk this one up to a learning experience. Anyway you look at it, hunting is a big job. They defiantly had their work cut out for them getting their five grand back.
As for Dave and I? Looks like were going hungry again this year...
