# I should have known better...



## stillhunterman (Feb 15, 2009)

With no mule deer buck tags in hand this year, we decided to give chasing elk on a general unit another shot, this being only our second time. The choice of area to hunt was mine, and I picked the Kamas area&#8230;again. I should have known better...

Funny how yer memory becomes selective over time: I recall roaming those same mountains from Hell's Kitchen to Hoyt's Peak to Haystack Lake, chasing muley bucks, hardly breaking a sweat in my late teens, yet, the aching muscles, cramps, back pain, sore feet, all with no elk to be seen just two years ago were memories lost somewhere in the cobwebs of my aging noggin. I do believe a bottle or two of 'Focus Factor' is in order&#8230;

We arrived at our destination late Saturday, opening day. Jason and his son would be the first on scene and was given the task of finding a place for our camp. He found a fine place just off hiway 150 not far from Yellow Pine campground, which included a picnic table, no camping fees, a large field of grass, and all the dried cow dung one would need should an emergency fire be required with no kindling at hand. Although there was no place devoted to my morning constitutional, I figured a short mile drive would be just fine: I should have known better&#8230;

Excited and filled with the spirit of the hunt, we quickly set up camp. My tent is a 10x15 springbar, easily housing myself, my son and all of our gear with comfort. Note to self: comfort increases exponentially on FLAT ground&#8230;



With most things in place, we set about getting dinner going: I, as usual, was the designated camp cook. Being a solo hunter the better part of 4 decades, I ran a tidy camp, with a place for everything and everything in its place: not so easily done with four excited hunters hustling about, three being less than 'seasoned' in the woods. The camp fire was crackling, two lanterns burning, and a bright moon glowing high overhead, giving off a warming light that seemed to be enough to navigate the sloping camp ground while I rustled up some grub: I should have known better&#8230;

My son, in his excitement to enjoy the campfire and crack open a cold one, inadvertently left my 'camp kitchen', enclosed in its 2x4 BLACK canvas bag, sticking out from under the picnic table bench, sight unseen. Making my way along the bench, my boot caught just enough of the bag to send me hurtling forward, bowl of gravy in hand, at just under mach 1: pure instinct took over in half a heartbeat! With cat-like reflexes (albeit an aging, senile cat), I stretched out my left arm to break what I knew would be an embarrassing landing. Were it not for the large cow pie my fingers found, I'm sure it would have been painful.

Hitting the guy-rope stabilizing the canopy over the table, I swung my body sideways, pushing off from the cow pie completing a full gain somersault landing on my tush. With momentum on my side, I quickly pushed my feet into the ground and ended up standing, although a bit wobbly, with gravy bowl safely in the grasp of my right hand, finishing off with a pirouette that would make Baryshnikov proud: Gravy wasn't really all that important to the taters anyway. That would set the tone of our hunt&#8230;






Being a noob at elk hunting, my knowledge consisted only of what I have gleaned on this forum, so with the four basics in mind, (elk are very mobile, they don't like roads or vehicles, they are where you find them, and burning boot leather is absolutely paramount), we set off to find evidence of the wiley wapiti. We searched high, we searched low, we searched in between but to no avail. With the boys having to leave after a couple of days, Jason and I poured over the map to find a likely place we might have missed. There at the top of Norway Flat we saw Hour Glass Lake and Little Elk Lake: the area looked perfect, with a road going up to the top! I should have known better&#8230;

The first few miles were ok, we were driving Jeeps after all. But things changed shortly and we found the road turning into, for lack of a better description, a river bed that no doubt was the reason for giving those mountains their name: Rocky! I'll be seeing my mechanic sometime this week.





Our first trip up the river bed ended a couple miles short of our destination when the alternator light came on in Jason's Liberty. In my inexperienced days of youth, I would have chosen to continue up, knowing it would be all down-hill to the main road should something bad happen: He could easily coast all the way down. But, age and experience ruled the day and we headed down to Kamas. With a brand new battery, we decided the long ride up the mountain would be better served if we did it that evening, and spend the night in our vehicles for an early morning start, so off we went with sleeping bags and the makings of a cold dinner and breakfast. I should have known better&#8230;

Early morning found me attempting to crawl from my sleeping bag, my knees bent in a semi-permanent fetal position. Hitting the ground, I was fairly certain my back pain wouldn't last long as I gobbled down more than a few ibuprofen. Jason, being a rather tall, large man, but twenty years my younger, moved with a bit more grace and was able to work out the kinks without medication. We hit the trail and were delighted to find elk sign: tracks that were a couple days old, ALL heading DOWN HILL, but tracks nonetheless! The country was breath-taking to say the least.













For the next two days, we just couldn't conjure up a living elk, no matter the effort. The day before our hunt ended, we were on our way out of the west side of the canyon with Boulder Creek running down it, when we arrived at the trail head. A kind and elderly gentleman with his wife passed us as we were stowing our gear in the Jeep. He mentioned-with a Cheshire cat grin-- having seen a couple of cows that morning traveling RIGHT THROUGH THE MIDDLE OF HIS CAMP, heading up the North Fork of the Provo River trail. Pushing back the knife twisting in my back at the news, I knew where we would hunt our last morning.

That evening I cooked up a hearty meal and we made our plans: Jason would make his way up the west side of the stream, and I would go up the east side, keeping the stream a good hundred yards or so to our side. We were once again excited for the morning hunt! I should have known better&#8230;





Getting dressed the next morning, the unmistakable rumblings of having missed my morning constitutional for too many days gave new meaning to the word 'panic'. Excited for the morning hunt, I managed to ready myself without mishap, and we headed out. I dropped Jason off then headed over the bridge to the east side of the North Fork. I told Jason to make 'the way of the snail', keeping a sharp eye through the timber and brush up ahead, advice I should have taken more seriously myself.

An hour into the hunt, I began to see fresh elk tracks, and slowed my pace in the timber. Funny how the body can betray the mind when least expected: Yeah, it was time to go, and I don't mean to any place in particular. With all the haste I could muster, I dropped my pack and rifle and assumed the position. Seconds after blessed relief, my low profile had me looking directly at a handful of elk, and they looking directly back at me, not 25 yards ahead. Three were definitely cows, but a smaller one looked to have head gear, though I still don't know for sure. My active hunting imagination has put many an antler on sagebrush bedded doe over the years&#8230;

I got on the radio as soon as possible, given the circumstances, and let Jason know I had kicked out some elk: incidental information was omitted&#8230; He decided to join me on my side of the river, and headed east. I figured we were more or less parallel to each other, and made my way over to the river to wait for him. Many minutes later, he radioed me saying he had just crossed the stream via scooting on his backside along a log lying edge to edge. I still have difficulty picturing my 6' 2" three hundred pound friend accomplishing such a feat, but it's fun to imagine&#8230;

A short time later, I saw him approaching the North Fork and put 1 plus 1 together and figured he must have gone much farther west, and had crossed Boulder Creek, with the NF still to go. I motioned to him to head up stream, it narrowed a bit and he should be able to cross without too much trouble. Yeah, you guessed it, I should have known better&#8230;

Jason carefully eyed the stream, finally choosing a place to cross: It was wide but fairly shallow. I watched him remove his backpack, rifle and cased binoculars, sitting them on the ground. He removed his boots, socks, and rolled up his pants calf high. "Not enough J.", I thought to myself. He put his boots and socks in his pack, then put it on, slinging his rifle. As gingerly as a big man can, he stepped down into the rock strewn stream, making his way across. I quickly pulled out my camera and set it to 'video', but as I watched this hulk of a man daintily maneuver stone to stone, I felt the pangs of memories long ago when I found myself doing the same thing. I chose not to video his predicament, to my current dismay. It would have been a grand piece of film...

I watched him slip and slide, lose then catch his balance time and again, moving with the grace of balerina, eh...almost... water going high enough to saturate his pant legs. Finally making it across, he found the high grass and willows hid a muddy bog beneath, sinking several inches as he made his way to solid ground. It was then I noticed he didn't have his binocular case on his chest. I yelled my observation to him, then watched as his head sunk, staring at his feet. He pulled off his pack, layed his rifle down, then made the treck back across the stream to fetch his glass, then back again. My heart went out to my friend knowing how cold he must be, since the temp had dropped with snow and rain falling.

Putting his boots back on, we made our way to an old fire pit I had seen earlier and I began collecting kindling and small branches to make a fire. It was then I noticed I had used most of my TP earlier for a more iminent problem. Still, I was able to get the fire going, and he dried out and warmed up.

We finished the hunt walking back to the vehicle, laughing and reliving the morning and rest of our adventures. Back at camp later that evening, during a somber moment of silence, we seemed to look up at each other across the camp fire at the same time. My friend looked at me with all seriousness and said: "Enough elk hunting for me. Next year we go after bucks!" I smiled and nodded, knowing I don't have many more hunts left, keeping the prospect of taking a wiley wapiti at some future point a hidden desire... We packed up the next morning and headed down south for the San Juan Elk Ridge area where Jason had a landowner cow tag, but that's another story.

I can't think of any better way to spend a few days, than to do so hunting with my friend, harvesting a critter or not...


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## Nambaster (Nov 15, 2007)

Beautiful pictures... Pretty much sums up my elk hunts as well..


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## Dunkem (May 8, 2012)

Great post,nice picts.To bad no elk.


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## .45 (Sep 21, 2007)

-_O--_O-o-||-BaHa!-

Good story Stillhunterman.....a good campfire story with pics! Maybe next year brother, maybe next year.


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## 30-06-hunter (Sep 22, 2013)

Elk or not you had an amazing time in nature with a close friend, plus you learned a lot and got away from the valley for awhile, I would call it a success.


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## ridgetop (Sep 13, 2007)

Good heck Still, is that an elk camp or a fat camp?:shock:
Who would want to go hike their butt off chasing old tracks, when they could hang out in a plush camp like that?;-)
Looks like you guys had a good time any way you look at it.
Thanks for the humorous story.


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## BigT (Mar 11, 2011)

This sounds similar to my experiences in the Kamas unit!

Beautiful area though.


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## elkfromabove (Apr 20, 2008)

Now, THAT'S what it's all about! I loved reading it, because I can relate to a hunt like that. Thanks, my friend!


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## stillhunterman (Feb 15, 2009)

Thanks fellers, glad some of you got a smile out of the post.

Mr. .45, it's aweful good to see you still kickin' round the forum!


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## BPturkeys (Sep 13, 2007)

Stillhunter, nice story and all that, but really man, you need to get in better shape if you want to enjoy hunting. Take it from a guy that when he was your age just loaded up his truck and went hunting like he had done for 30 years prior. There comes a time... Simply put, you're asking for trouble. Besides the fact that you probably wouldn't have been able to pack a full grown elk off the mountain, your health is at grave danger. I'am talking heart attacks, falls, pulled muscles, strained and sprained joints, etc, etc. Promise yourself that next year you'll get in shape so you can really enjoy your hunt and we can enjoy more great stories of your adventurers.


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## stillhunterman (Feb 15, 2009)

BPturkeys said:


> Stillhunter, nice story and all that, but really man, you need to get in better shape if you want to enjoy hunting. Take it from a guy that when he was your age just loaded up his truck and went hunting like he had done for 30 years prior. There comes a time... Simply put, you're asking for trouble. Besides the fact that you probably wouldn't have been able to pack a full grown elk off the mountain, your health is at grave danger. I'am talking heart attacks, falls, pulled muscles, strained and sprained joints, etc, etc. Promise yourself that next year you'll get in shape so you can really enjoy your hunt and we can enjoy more great stories of your adventurers.


BP, thanks for your kindly input and concern, duly noted. Although I need to lose another 10 pounds or so, along with additional 'training', I'm not what one would call totally out of shape for the mountains, mostly  As a younger man, I always pushed my body to the limits without due concern for my latter years and am thus paying that price. Three back surgeries, bad knees and shoulders and carrying around a walking time bomb in my brain has forced me to take extra caution as to what my hunting capabilities are at this point in my life. Packing out a critter is of paramount concern to me and I have made all the arrangements necessary to get the job done should it ever arise...:mrgreen: I can and will deal with the sore muscles, aching joints and tired feet for as long as I can carry a rifle on a sling, and, rest assured, I will enjoy every second of it as well as do my share of 'packing' out a critter. Just in case, I bring along the big boys to do the heavy stuff if need be!


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