By Kyle S. Lipke
Light rays burst through grey billows of cloud in a heavenly fashion. The beams illuminated the miles off ridgeline, seemingly highlighting a way to elk. As if the Sierras were beckoning my bowhunting spirit, I grabbed my bow and heeded the call of the dark, distant mountain.
Despite scant elk numbers, I had an encounter with a bull I couldn’t shake. I spotted the bull as he pushed his micro harem across desert, then into the middle of a water tank. With his belly submerged, the bull guzzled for minutes. I crept in on the bull but my slow, mule deer-stalking habits stunted the opportunity. Had I been more aggressive, I may have ended the hunt then.
The stud remained a fixation in my mind. He was one of the best bulls I have ever encountered. The ominous buildup of clouds above suggested a drop in temperatures. However, the sky’s backdrop was a lie. I was downright roasting. Beads of sodium-concentrated fluid streamed down the sides of my face. I kept frequent tabs on the wind direction. If the elk got one whiff of my stink, they would be blown out of the area for good.
Aside from the constant reminder of dehydration and sunbaked skin, there was another hazard nagging my subconscious. The numerous species of belly ambling rattlesnakes that called this locale home. Nonetheless, thoughts of the big bull drove me up the ridge line.
The Chase
Picking apart the dry grama grass, I ensured my feet would land shy of striking distance from any legless critters. I had a cyclical method. Stop. Glass. Call. Listen. Repeat. However, each session had been met with silence.
Then, I cut one saucer-sized print freshly pressed into the red, chalk-like dirt. The track was no doubt left by a bull, cruising for a cow, or simply traveling to find water. Quickening my pace, I followed the large imprint, paralleling a narrow canyon.
A quick glance between my trail shoes shattered my focus on elk. It wasn’t a rattling, son of Satan either. A dull, burnt orange contraption lay implanted in the ground. Accented with rust, this was no oil can. The metallic piece was more than a foot long and its tail end was equipped with fins. The fins were attached to a narrow rod that was connected to a thick cylinder. It appeared to be an explosive device. Not entirely sure what sort of military apparatus I had stumbled upon, I snapped a photo, then tip-toed out of the way. In addition to keeping an eye out for bulls and snakes, I had the new task of also watching for potentially unexploded munitions.
Range Time Remnants
After some research, it was determined that the explosive device was a practice bomb that originated during the Vietnam era. The hunk of metal bears the label Mk 106 Mod 0. Measuring approximately 18 inches long, these propulsion devices were consistently used by our military service members training for low-altitude drops in the hell of combat.
It was designed as a low-risk, economical training tool over the use of live munition dumps. This device replicated the MK 82 high-drag explosive general purpose bomb, the warhead that was used for the laser-guided Bomb Unit-12 as well as the GBU-38 Joint Direct Attack Munition.
While the live bombs weighed over 500 pounds, packed with 192 pounds of explosives, the practice bomb only weighed 5 pounds. The four high-drag fins were designed to create the slow speeds of the real bombs, which allowed aircraft enough time to pass overhead without receiving damage from explosive fragmentation as planes soared above the intended targets. These low-level drops were designed to arm the fuse after 220 feet of air travel. Upon impact of the target, the fuse resulted in instant detonation. For practice sessions with the MK 106 Mod 0, this simply meant a smoke signal.
Despite my efforts, the hunt ended with no further findings of bulls, rattlers, or bombshells. That practice bomb was the epitome of unexpected. In many ways though, that’s the draw of every hunting adventure. You never know what you’re going to find.
