2019 Colorado Elk Hunt
It was late October, I found myself driving north from Houston, Texas. My destination was an area of northern Colorado that was somewhat familiar to me. Two years ago, my friend Damian and I, hunted mule deer in this particular area (see the article here. While this would be our second time hunting in the west, it would be our first-time hunting elk. For this year’s hunt, Damian and I were joined by our friend, Dan. This was Dan’s first western hunting experience. Between the three of us, we had two cow tags and one bull tag.
The day before Colorado’s 2nd Rifle Season opened, we drove to the particular area that we planned to hunt. As we packed several days’ worth of food and cold-weather gear into our backpacks, we occasionally glanced up at the arid mountain that we planned to hunt. The occasional wisp of clouds floated behind the mountain top, silhouetted against a blue sky. We chatted excitedly about the mountain and what it had in store for us once we reached the top
After we double-checked all of our gear, we struck out for the mountain. We had to hike a little over two miles before we got to the top. Once there, our plan was to find a place to pitch camp. All three of us were giddy with anticipation for the following morning, opening day of the rifle season.
The next morning, we still-hunted most of the eastern side of the mountain. The morning and afternoon passed without seeing any fresh elk sign. Once the sun slowly began its descent to the western horizon, we found ourselves quietly moving along a ridge which terminated into a wide vista overlooking an open valley. The valley was filled with sage, grass, and the occasional stubby juniper pine. Dan and I decided to stay on this ridge and glass the open valley. Damian opted to move across a shallow gulch to another ridge that ran parallel to the one Dan and I occupied.
After several minutes of glassing, something caught my eye. I watched as an elk briskly walked through a narrow section of the valley and disappeared into a clump of juniper trees. I wasn’t able to identify the sex of the elk because it disappeared too quickly. I whispered to Dan, who was glassing another section of the ridge. He was standing no more than 10 yards away from me and he slowly walked over.
“I just saw an elk move into the tree line,” I said, pointing with my gloved hand, “right there.”
With our binoculars we both scanned the edge of the valley for several minutes. Nothing else moved. I walked away from Dan and began glassing another area.
The sun now dipped behind the mountain tops on the horizon. Long shadows were cast into the open valley. Occasionally, the call of a raven was heard. Its harsh cawing echoed against the surrounding ridges. The evening was crisp. It was going to be a chilly night.
“Psst,” Dan was trying to get my attention. I looked back to where he stood. He motioned for me to come over.
“Two elk,” he said, looking through his binoculars. “They’re moving through the trees.”
I put my binoculars to my eyes and saw a bull elk move from the tree line out into the open valley.
“It’s a bull!” I said, almost leaping with excitement. “It looks big!”
Neither Dan nor I had a bull tag, but Damian did. Dan and I both looked to the ridge parallel to ours. We saw Damian creeping along the side of the ridge about 300 yards away. He hadn’t seen the elk. We quickly glanced back towards the bull and watched as it moved across the sage-filled valley. Then it nonchalantly walked down the shallow ravine, away from us. We watched as it disappeared from our view around the edge of the ridge that Damian occupied. We needed to get Damian’s as quickly as we could. Dan and I started waving our orange hats in the air to signal to Damian. It worked. He stopped and looked at us through his binoculars. We engaged in a long-distance game of charades and sign-language. We motioned for Damian to stay where he was. He crouched down and gave us a thumbs-up. As quietly as we could, Dan and I jogged along the spine of our ridge, then cut down into the ravine that separated us from Damian. We scrambled up the side of the ridge.
When the three of us reconvened, Dan breathlessly described what we saw, “We just saw a nice bull,” he paused to take a quick breath, “If we can get to the point of this ridge without spooking him, we might get a shot.”
The three of us moved as quietly along the spine of the ridge. We found an opening in the juniper trees that offered a view of the valley.
“Look, there he is!” Damian said, as he looked through is binoculars. “He looks like a five by five!”
The bull slowly moved through the sage, completely oblivious to our presence. He plodded along, grazed, and occasionally lifted his head to sniff the air for danger. We were positioned downwind and had no chance of being winded by the bull’s keen olfactory senses.
“What’s the yardage?” Damian asked.
Dan pulled up his range finder, “Three-hundred, but it looks like we can move a little closer.” Dan pointed to an opening in the trees where a dead pinion pine stood, “Let’s move to that clearing down there.”
We crept down the slope of the ridge until we reached the clearing. Damian rested his rifle in a crotch of the dead pine. He situated himself, bringing the rifle stock to his shoulder. He lowered his head and peered through the scope.
“Yardage?” Damian asked in a whisper.
“235,” came the hushed reply from Dan.
“I can make that shot,” Damian whispered confidently. “I just need him to turn broadside.”
For several tense minutes, not a word was spoken between the three of us. We watched the bull elk move along the valley. It was quartering towards us and moved slowly as it nibbled at bushes and sage. Damian continued to peer through his rifle scope, watching every move the bull made. The bull grazed behind a juniper bush and stopped. I could hear my heart beating in my ears. Then, very slowly, the bull stepped out from behind the bush and turned broadside. I held my breath and waited for the deafening report of Damian’s 6.5mm Creedmoor. I didn’t have to wait long.
After several seconds my ears stopped ringing. I continued to watch the bull through my binoculars to make sure he was down for the count. After a while, I lowered my binoculars and turned to face Damian and Dan. Our wide eyes blinked incessantly as we looked at each other. All three of us were grinning from ear to ear. We high-fived one another and congratulated each other on a successful harvest.
We moved down the ridge and through the sage-filled valley, towards our quarry. When we approached the bull, I was struck by a sense of wonder. I had never been that close to an elk before and the sheer size of the animal was astonishing. It had looked big through the binoculars, but nothing could compare to standing right next to it. It was a beautiful and powerful creature.
“Look at the size of this thing!” I said as I ran my fingers through its coarse hide. “I can’t believe it! What an amazing animal.”
Happily, we snapped a couple of photos and Damian filled out his tag. After Damian attached the tag to the bull’s antler, we realized that the night was fast approaching and the real work had yet to begin. Without any further fanfare, we rolled up our sleeves, took out our headlamps, and unsheathed our knives. We had an elk to butcher.
A little over an hour later, our packs were loaded with the choicest cuts of meat. The rest of the meat we bagged in cloth game-bags and stashed in a nearby juniper tree. Tonight, our goal was to make it back to our camp, about three-quarters-of-a-mile away, and spend the night there. We would start packing out the majority of the meat the following day.
The next morning, we awoke to find the mountain blanketed with about an inch of fresh snow. We decided to hunt our way back to the dead bull and then begin packing the meat off the mountain. On our way to the bull, we cut two sets of fresh elk tracks. We followed the tracks for several hours, but couldn’t find the elk that had made them. We headed back to the dead bull and our cache of meat. Again, we loaded our packs with elk meat. This time, our aim was to trek down to the base of the mountain and the trucks.
By the time we got to the trucks and loaded the meat into the coolers, the day was winding down. We turned around and hiked back up the mountain, but when we made it to camp, we decided that it was best to wait until the next day before packing down the rest of the bull. The freezing temperatures would keep the meat from spoiling.
That evening, Damian told us that he would spend the next day packing out the rest of the meat by himself. Then he’d drive the bull into town to the check-station operated by the Colorado Department of Wildlife. This would allow Dan and I a full day of hunting.
The next morning, we shook another fresh layer of snow from our tents and stumbled out into the gray and chilly morning. We fired up the camp stoves and prepared some hot coffee and oatmeal. It was forecasted to be another snowy day, so Dan and I gathered extra insulation layers. Damian readied himself for an arduous day of packing meat down the side of the snow-covered mountain. All three of us gulped the last of our coffee and wished each other luck. Damian started down the mountain. Dan and I headed the opposite direction.
It didn’t take long before thick clouds gathered overhead and fat snowflakes began to fall. Dan and I hunted along the south side of the mountain, trying to stay downwind of areas where we suspected the elk would bed. All day we hiked quietly, but we never cut any fresh sign. Later in the morning we obtained a weak cell phone signal and received a text from Damian. He stated that he had successfully packed out the rest of the elk. He had made it to town and delivered the bull to the check-station. Dan and I were happy to receive the news.
As the morning wore on, we hunted our way back to camp. Once there, we prepared ourselves a hot lunch and took our time strategizing and preparing for an evening hunt. Eventually, we made our way back to the sage-filled valley where Damian had shot his bull.
We spent several hours glassing the tree line and ridges. It wasn’t until the sun started dipping below the horizon that we saw a young spike moving along the side of a steep ravine. Seeing the spike rekindled our excitement and we scanned the surrounding trees eagerly. We caught a glimpse of two more elk moving along the side of a steep slope. We made a last-ditch effort to intercept them, but our efforts were futile. Night was upon us and it was time to head back to camp.
When we arrived back at camp, we found Damian preparing dinner. He had just finished hiking back up the mountain to join us at camp.
The next day, we explored more of the mountain. Unfortunately, we didn’t cut any fresh elk sign. We discussed leaving this particular mountaintop and driving to a different area. We still-hunted across several more ridges without seeing any sign. As the day wore on, the idea of leaving the mountain began to look more appealing. We all agreed to head back to camp, pack it down, and drive to another area.
Once camp was packed, we began the hike back to the trucks. As we walked, we came to a large clearing devoid of trees due to a wildfire from many years ago. I hiked to the edge of the clearing where I could peer across a ravine to the opposite side. To my surprise, a lone cow elk stood in the bottom of the ravine. I whirled around to face Damian and Dan, who were just a few steps behind me. I motioned for them to get down, and all three of us collapsed into a crouch. We dropped our packs and converged into a huddle.
“There’s an elk down there!” I whispered excitedly. “Just above the base of the ravine.”
While looking through our binoculars, we devised a quick strategy to harvest the animal.
Damian said, “I’ll wait here and keep tabs on its movement, just in case you lose sight of it. You guys start stalking.” Dan and I agreed to this plan.
Dan and I moved very slowly towards the edge of the ravine. We crawled on hands-and-knees, and sometimes on our bellies. We used scrubby bushes to shield our movements from the elk. The cow appeared very nervous. She grazed for a little then suddenly snap her head to attention. Her ears, nose, and eyes checked her surroundings for the any sign of danger. Her keen alertness kept Dan and I on pins and needles. Each time she lifted her head, we stopped our slow creep and held ourselves as still as statues.
Finally, we made it to the edge of a short cliff where we hunkered down behind a juniper shrub. We were now within 200 yards of our quarry. We both peered around the side of the bush. Unexpectedly, the elk moved behind a small group of trees at the base of the ravine. Disappearing from our sight.
My heart stopped. “I lost her,” I whispered to Dan.
Dan was looking through is binoculars. He nodded, “Me too.”
Anxiously, we both scanned the copse of trees at the base of the ravine. With each passing second, I felt more and more dismayed. I thought that she must’ve found a low-spot in the ravine and moved downhill, out of our sight. But then, I saw the flick of an ear and realized that she was moving through the trees, right towards us.
“She’s still there,” I whispered. “She’s coming right at us!”
Quickly, I laid down in a prone position. The cow moved to the edge of the tree line and stopped. She stood facing us at 160 yards. Neither Dan nor I had a clean shot. We waited.
It felt like we waited a long time. I laid in the prone position, rifle to my shoulder. I watched the cow elk through my scope as she stood at the edge of the tree line testing the air with her nose. Her ears swiveled on top of her head trying to pick up any sounds of danger. I could tell she was getting more and more nervous. Her body became increasingly tense. Not knowing what her next move would be, I watched her from behind the crosshairs of my scope. Then, without warning, she turned and started back towards the tree line. I had my shot.
The three of us stood at the base of the ravine, and once again, high-fives were distributed all around. We admired our harvest and were thankful to have another elk tag filled. This elk was fairly young, but we were still happy to have it. We got to work quartering and bagging the meat.
It was getting late, so we opted to stash the meat in a nearby tree and head down the mountain with our packs full of camping gear. We decided to spend the night at the bottom of the mountain. In the morning, Damian and I would pack the meat down, while Dan hunted.
The following day, Damian and I made two trips packing out meat. Dan attempted to locate more elk on the side of the mountain, but was unsuccessful. On our final trip down to the trucks, Dan met us at the carcass and loaded his pack with the remainder of the meat. When we arrived back at the trucks, we decided that we’d break camp and leave the mountain.
By the time we loaded everything into the trucks, it was late in the afternoon. We drove down the dirt road that skirted the edge of the mountain where we had spent the last several days. While we drove, we stopped to glass any open areas on the mountainside that looked promising. Soon, both of our trucks were parked on the shoulder of the dirt road and we were eagerly glassing a clearing close to the top of the mountain. I hopped out of my truck and walked back to Dan’s. I stood at the driver-side window and pointed to the clearing at the top of the mountain.
“This mountain just won’t let us leave,” I said to Damian and Dan as I pointed to the top of the mountain. “I just saw four elk moving across that open area up there.”
They chuckled, “Well, let’s go get ‘em.” Dan twisted the keys in the ignition of his idling truck and the engine went silent.
It didn’t take us long, before we had our backpacks ready to go with water, tents, sleeping bags, and another 3 days’ worth of food. We left the trucks parked on the shoulder of the dirt road and once again found ourselves heading up the steep slope of the mountain.
It was getting later in the day and we moved quickly. We scrambled over boulders and around pines as we pushed for the top. At every favorable vista, we stopped to glass the mountainside above us. Occasionally we caught sight of the elk. They were browsing across an open area full of sage and grass. We continued to push higher. We needed to get into position before we ran out of daylight. We climbed the spine of a steep ridge and peered across a deep ravine to the other side.
“There’s an elk,” Dan said, as he quickly crouched down behind a bush. “It’s bedded down on the other side of the ravine.”
Damian and I lifted our binoculars to confirm the sighting. Then, we followed as Dan led us, along the side of the steep ridge. We used the spine of the ridge to shield our movements from the bedded elk.
We moved up the ridge another hundred yards. We crept over the spine to see where we lined up against the bedded elk on the opposite side of the ravine. I lifted my binoculars and saw the elk bedded behind a bush. Its back was against a cliff. It was a strategic place for the elk to take a nap.
Dan crawled on his belly to get a better look at the elk, but the bush in front of the animal screened his view. He wasn’t able to clearly see if it was a cow or a bull. We still had a cow tag to fill, so we kept our fingers crossed as Dan attempted to quietly move to a better vantage point. The wind began to pick up and it howled in our faces. With each passing minute, we lost more and more light.
I whispered to Dan, “Can you tell? Is it a cow?”
Dan whispered back, “I don’t know. I think I see antlers, but it could just be dead sticks from that bush.”
While lying flat on his belly, Dan wormed along the hillside. Eventually, he worked his way to a better vantage point where he could see the head and neck of the bedded elk.
Dan slowly turned his head and looked over his shoulder at Damian and I. He mouthed the words, “It’s a bull,” and shook his head in frustration. Then he slowly crawled back towards us.
We briefly huddled to discuss what had transpired. We were disappointed that we spent so much time stalking an animal that we couldn’t legally shoot. But at the same time, we were glad that we had spotted it and hadn’t trampled right by it on our way up the mountain. We spent the remainder of the evening trying to find the rest of the herd, but were unsuccessful. That night we camped on the side of the steep ridge. The cold wind gusted across the top of the mountain and made for a fitful slumber.
The following day we hunted several different ravines in an attempt to relocate the small herd. We didn’t find them.
That night, while we cooked dinner, we recapped our experiences hunting for elk. Unfortunately, it was my last night on the mountain. Dan and Damian were going to hunt for one more day.
In the morning, we made coffee and ate a quick breakfast. After breakfast, I packed up my gear while Dan and Damian prepared their own packs for one last day of hunting. We said our goodbyes and I wished them luck. I headed down the mountain.
The next day, while driving back to Texas, I received a text from Damian stating that they had stalked in on another herd, but had missed a shot. Despite not filling all three of the tags, I still considered the hunt to be a great success. The two elk that we did harvest yielded plenty of meat for the three of us. Most importantly, the adventure and comradery on the Colorado mountain, was well worth the time, effort, and money. I hope to go on another hunt with Dan and Damian sometime in the near future.
Learnings:
As always, each of us learned something new about hunting in the west. Listed below are our individual key take-aways from this year’s elk hunt:
Rob:
One thing that was a major improvement from the last hunt in Colorado was my preparedness for cold weather. I overcame the cold weather by improving upon the following:
I upgraded my insulated jacket. I bought an 800-fill down jacket which was a major improvement over the synthetic down that I had two years ago.
This year, I brought a pair of down pants. While they kept me warm when glassing and while at camp, I wish they were zip-off. Unfortunately, I had to completely remove my boots before removing the down pants.
This year I brought a summer sleeping bag that I stuffed inside of my winter bag. This kept me nice and toasty each night.
I wore more wool layers this year. This helped regulate my body temperature better. I wore a merino base layer and a regular wool button-up shirt.
Damian:
Next time, I will bring boots that are less insulated or more breathable. My feet seemed to overheat quite a bit. Once my feet started to get wet, it was hard getting them dry again.
I believe it is important to be able to shoot up to 200 yards from most positions (crouched and sitting, not just prone). Cover can be hard to come by and stalking in can be difficult in many situations.
We never saw elk before 1PM. This leads me to believe they were more active in the evenings than in the mornings. At least this seemed to be true during the time of year that we were hunting and the location we were hunting.
Next time we hunt the west, I’m going to bring a small caliber gun for hunting small game. We had plenty of opportunities to harvest rabbits and chukars.
Next time, I’ll be sure to bring more Spam. Lots of it!
Dan:
Next time, I’d like to concentrate on making my feet tougher before the hunt. In addition to that, I’ll bring less insulated boots to prevent my feet from overheating.
I was happy with the layers that I brought. They were warm but breathable. I brought a pair of zip-off puffy pants that were easy to remove when I needed to shed layers.
Next time, I’ll bring more foods that are high in calories but easily packable. For example, high-calorie sports bars.