By Richy J. Harrod
The cold air numbed my cheeks during the eight-mile four-wheeler ride. Morning light wouldn’t arrive for nearly two hours, but the time was needed for the upcoming strenuous hike. After 20 minutes, the machine was parked at an indiscrete patch of trees. Coats, gloves, and windbreaker pants were stowed; hunting pack and binoculars were donned; and the uphill climb began.
Big bull elk and their harems had consistently been moving from high elevation sagebrush slopes to bedding areas on dense north aspects at 9,200-feet elevation. I needed to climb nearly 1,000 feet to be in position to intercept their morning travel to have a chance at a herd bull with bow and arrow.
Gnats bobbed in and out of the light of the headlamp. Sweat rolled from my brow, the thin air labored my breathing, and my legs burned from the steep hike. A dim, baby blue light appeared on the distant horizon, signaling the start of the day. Quiet chirps from songbirds greeted the coming light and, as if he heard them too, a big bull bugled somewhere above in the still dark timber. The sounds of the mountain coming to life spurred me higher.
Faint light revealed the forest floor as bugles boomed through the trees nearby. Whines of cow elk indicated the herd was grading uphill. I was in a good position downwind only 100 yards away. Moving when the elk moved, I cut the distance in half by shooting light. The herd slowed and spread out to feed in scattered timber. Elk were close! Suddenly, the deep bellowing bugle of the herd bull reverberated in my chest as he majestically walked into an opening 40 yards away. My heart was in my throat as I settled my pin right behind the shoulder.
A Familiar Story
Sound familiar? You may have read a similar elk hunting story as many an author has attempted to put you in the moment. The sights, sounds, and feelings are true, including this story. To a hunter, a story like this is thrilling, maybe even romantic. Non-hunters may focus on the difficulties of early mornings, steep hikes, and close encounters with rutting bulls. Some might think it nothing short of craziness, or colloquially, a sickness.
For the past nearly four decades, my brother and I have chased bugling bulls for weeks at a time in some the most remote and difficult terrain the western United States has to offer. Friends often joke that we might have a brain affliction, a little sick in the head, to subject ourselves to this physical abuse. Maybe so! Elk hunting does require physical stamina, but no one talks about the real sickness and mental endurance needed to hunt elk in extreme landscapes. The story could be written differently.
The Real Sickness
The 3:30 a.m. alarm blared, but I was already getting dressed. My internal clock was well tuned to an early start after 16 days of archery elk hunting in the remote mountains of western Montana. A mild dehydration headache reminded me to down some water and electrolytes. Eight to 12 miles at high elevations every day for the past two weeks was taking its toll.
I made some coffee in the percolator while my brother was fixing eggs, hashbrowns, and sausage in our cooking tent. We went through our morning routines in relative silence, struggling to wake sore bodies and feed upset stomachs. Daily sickness was now expected as our aging bodies were revolting from the lack of solid rest. No matter, it was time to push on.
Elk had been active in a couple locations several miles from camp, so we needed the extra time to drive the side-by-side to an old trailhead before a long, uphill hike in the dark. The rough road exacerbated nausea and, again, we traveled in silence, each summoning up the determination to once again make an arduous hike. All I could think about was a midday nap.
Donning our hunting gear, we wished each other good luck and parted ways. A light rain began to fall as I plodded up the steep hill headed for timber 1,000 feet above. Sweat rolled down my back despite the upper 30s temperatures. The rain fell harder, requiring a rest to put on rain gear. Dampness from sweat and rain sent a shiver down my spine. I wished to be anywhere but there at that moment.
The first light of day revealed high elevation meadows and dark timber areas beyond. A bugle nearby broke my stupor and quickened my pace. Soon, mews of cow elk were a few yards away and a thundering bugle echoed in the stillness of the morning. My upset stomach, aching head, and chills were suddenly gone as the hunt now consumed my thoughts. I couldn’t imagine being anywhere but there, close to elk.
The Cure: Call of the Bull
Hunting elk really is a sickness both literally and in the vernacular. It takes a little craziness to endure the all-out physical effort to conquer, day after day, the daunting mountains where elk live. Mental toughness is needed to push through the nausea, headaches, and body soreness that comes with extreme physical exertion. It’s not always romantic; it’s often a grind. One thing is certain — a screaming bull elk will cure the literal sickness, driving a hunter back to the mountains to perpetuate the madness.
