Hunting
Colorado Triple Play
Bugling from horseback has been a secret strategy that guides rarely discuss, yet often employ. Jim McCoy began “whistling” with a grunt tube as soon as our mounts entered the quakies, dropping down a steep trail toward the canyon floor a mile below. Every few minutes he’d simulate a satellite bull looking for cows, with shrill notes that melodically seemed in tune with the emerging daylight. Suddenly, he stopped, glassed with his right hand and motioned me with the left.
I quickly bailed from Chief, pulled my rifle from the scabbard, chambered a round and took a rest on a log. The scope soon found the tawny beast, and I glimpsed a long beam with a large “Y” at the top.
This hunt was just minutes into legal shooting light, and such an early end to a grand adventure kept my finger from the trigger. A full moon hung on the western horizon and the glory of high mountain days still lay ahead—an adventure I had dreamed of for months.
Nope, not yet…
A Homecoming…Of Sorts
From the mid-1970s through the mid-1990s, my hunting highlight was a cross-country trek to Craig, Colorado, for elk and mule deer. Our group of six hunters began with outfitter Bob Peters in 1974, when a fully guided hunt cost just $600. By the late-1970s we began booking spike camps on the White River National Forest, and a decade later switched to ranch-country leases. In every instance, the camps were filled with high adventures, sudden snow storms, unpredictable migrations of animals, and long hikes into the mountains. Last summer, a slot to hunt elk on the Elk Horn Ranch section of Black Mountain opened, and I jumped at the chance.
Opening Day In Mid-Season
Elk Horn Outfitters lease 120,000 acres of unfenced paradise for wildlife. Formerly cattle range, the bovine herd is down to 60 animals, allowing mountain grasses and natural browse to grow in abundance. The grasses are so lush that elk no longer raid the haystacks of lowland ranches for winter sustenance. Operating under Ranching for Wildlife regulations, the owners allow a certain number of Colorado residents to hunt their private land in exchange for the ability to sell hunting licenses to the general public.
After passing on that first-minute bull, we rode to the top of a ridge and began glassing openings in the oak brush below. My partner on the hunt was Scott Rupp, a native Pennsylvanian and now editor for Guns & Ammo magazine.
Rupp and I each watched the distant slopes, and saw several herds that headed toward a remote drainage.
“There’s dark timber and thick aspen in that canyon, and I believe the elk will bed for the day,” said McCoy, relying on his 20 years of guiding experience. “If we return this afternoon, I believe we can get a shot and have our pick of the bulls.”
As noon approached, temperatures climbed to around 70 degrees and elk seemed to evaporate, so we hiked back to our horses and rode the mile or so to the horse trailer. Despite the mid-October date, many aspens still held their bright leaves, and the ground seemed carpeted with fallen gold. Twice McCoy dismounted to point out fresh bear tracks along the way. Cow-calling in a hungry blackie is a common experience, which keeps callers and hunters on their toes.
Big Bull Butte
McCoy, Rupp, and I headed back to the same area in early afternoon, hoping to intercept the herds of bedded elk as they began to feed for the evening. I, again, hopped onto Chief, my beautiful paint horse, while Rupp drew Buster the mule. Despite their stubborn reputation, Rupp knew that he had a trusty, stable mount, and relished the chance to team up.
McCoy had a special spot he called “Big Bull Butte”—a small opening in the oak brush where, in each of the five previous weeks, a hunter had downed a bull. Our plan was to make it six…or seven. We tied the horses a mile from the ambush spot and climbed the butte to glass and wait for the thermals to change. McCoy continued to bugle and cow call, when suddenly I spotted movement and a single antler poked above a bush 30 yards away. McCoy’s wimpy bugle had called in a spike—a legal bull, but certainly not the reason we had come out West.
A favorable wind continued to blow in our faces as we headed toward “the spot.” En route, we saw a cow feeding in a small opening on the National Forest about a half-mile away, while two hunters moved toward it. Animal and hunters were oblivious to their respective proximities, and like some outdoor reality show, we saw the scenario unfold. A shot rang out and soon we could hear excited voices as the men celebrated their success and field-dressed the cow.
Half an hour passed before we saw another elk, and we wondered what effect the cow’s harvest would have on the evening. As the sun dipped below the horizon, we had our answer. Elk forms began to appear on the distant canyon wall, and our hopes rekindled.
Serious Elk Gear
My rifle on this hunt was a Winchester Model 70 chambered for the .300 Winchester Short Magnum. My 180-grain ammo consisted of Winchester’s new XP3 bullet—a marriage of Fail-Safe, Accu-Bond, and polycarbonate tip technologies. With an aerodynamic tip, expanding jacket bonded to a lead core and a boat-tail for long range performance, the bullet seemed to have it all. Sighting in before the hunt, the rifle shot a one-inch group from a primitive shooting rest.
With elk on the move, my range-finding Leica Geovid binoculars became invaluable. My closest shot was 268 yards to a small opening in the oak brush that elk often traveled to feed and water. I ranged other likely elk haunts at distances out to 350 yards. The creamy tell-tale color of a bull came into view as a spike moved along the trail, and my pulse quickened in anticipation of each succeeding animal. In the end, all were spikes, cows and calves.
Day One ended with a ride back through the aspens—tall monoliths that take on a special quality as darkness falls. Approaching the top of the ridge, the full moon rise seemed blinding in the thin mountain air. As we progressed, our moon shadows passed by white aspen trunks and displayed on the sage. The day held all the thrills a hunter could expect. Thankfully, I had not pulled the trigger at dawn.
Back at camp, we learned that the other three members of our group hadn’t scored on any mule deer they were after. “We probably saw 250 deer today, but just not that special buck,” said John Snow. “We’re anxious to try again in the morning.”
Day Two
Well before daylight, we headed toward Black Mountain, hitting the crest of our last ridge with the moon on the western horizon and the eastern skyline aglow with first light. We hadn’t gone half a mile when we spotted elk at the far end of a huge sage flat. Glassing from horseback, we could see one good bull. I had won the coin flip for the first shot, and McCoy and I carefully closed the distance through the tall sage.
The 6X6 bull fed among a group of about 20 cows and small bulls. I ranged a spike at 320 yards and estimated the six-by to be 50 yards farther. My guide set up a pair of shooting sticks and I held at the animals back and squeezed, the rifle report causing the herd to bolt toward the timber. Just feet from safety, the big bull paused as I aimed higher and squeezed again. This time, I heard the bullet strike and the bull dashed into the aspens.
Rupp met us with the horses and we soon found blood. Thirty yards beyond, the big 6X6 bull lay still, shot through the heart. My first shot may have passed under its chest, but the second hit just right. Later we retrieved the bullet, which retained almost 100 percent of its weight while mushrooming to twice its original size. The shot was as much a trophy as the antlers.
Elsewhere, at about the same time, John Snow was closing on a big muley buck amongst a bachelor herd of smaller animals. The old buck sneaked into the oaks, but paused in a tiny opening, enabling Snow to take it cleanly at 419 yards, thanks to a solid rest and some quality shooting. Snow was also using a Winchester Model 70 and the new XP3 bullets. His buck had good forks and a width of 27 inches—a real trophy among one of the West’s more challenging animals.
From Bulls To Buckets
Day Three of our adventure dawned with pouring rain and a dense fog that limited visibility to about the space between a mule’s ears. Needless to say, we stayed in camp.
On the final day, Kevin Howard and outfitter Dick Dodds saddled up to head for antelope country—a fun variation of what is usually a pick-up safari. Just past noon, they reached a high butte with great visibility in all directions.
“We could see game from 200 yards out to three miles in some directions, and took our time glassing about 200 animals,” said Howard as he retold the story at camp that evening. “We spotted one good buck, but it had horns that were very wide, and I wanted an animal with the classic heart shape…one for the den wall.”
Undaunted, Dodds scouted out a hidden valley and motioned anxiously to Howard, who led the horses. Crawling to the edge of the horizon, Howard immediately chambered a round in his 5.5-lb. Titanium Browning A-Bolt. Resting the stock on a pair of shooting sticks, the seasoned hunter squeezed off the perfect shot.
In the mid-1900s, arranging a threeanimal safari was easy enough thanks to widely abundant game populations. Today, however, Elk Horn Ranch is one of the few locations where a hunter can take one, two, or all three of these popular species on a single hunt without having to draw licenses in a lottery. For a fair chase, full-chase Western hunt on foot or horseback, this situation is hard to top. Riding through the quaking aspen of Black Mountain at sunrise as bulls bugle in the distance and the faint scent of black bear twangs your nostrils is an adventure you will never forget.