As I’m sure you’re all aware, I went Elk hunting this weekend. This was the second and last weekend of the hunt. The first weekend we saw plenty of Elk, just no spikes. And for those of you unfamiliar with Utah’s hunting rules, you have to draw a Limited Entry tag to kill large bulls which is something I’ve been trying to get since I was 14. Since I have other things to say I won’t get into my frustrations on the Utah draw system. So anyway we were out hunting. My dad and Luke (that’d be my brother in law) left Thursday night so they could hunt Friday and at least have a good idea of where we should start on Saturday. Well instead of finding where the Elk were they knew exactly where the Elk weren’t. Nikki and I headed up Friday right after work and I was trying to be optimistic. My cousin, Megan, had killed a spike on opening morning, but other than that we had only heard of a handful of people getting their animals. She also reported that she had seen others but couldn’t do anything about it. Anyway, Saturday morning comes around and we’re up and on the horses nice and early. In the moonlight we can see the trail just fine and a little bit of the horizon. As we approach the top of a small ridge we see a silhouette along the horizon of a large body. After waiting for it to get a bit lighter we discovered that it was a bull Elk but too large for any of our tags. So we kept moving and saw a bunch of Deer and a few more Elk, but again there were no spikes. Well I got late in the morning and we headed back to camp for a bit of rest and some food. When the evening hunt rolled around, we headed into a different area and ran into a herd which we never could get a good look at. Well the Elk spooked and ran over a ridge, down a canyon and they were gone. We hadn’t seen hardly anybody out there, which was a sharp contrast to the first weekend where there were hunters every 1/4 mile or so. Soon, we heard someone in that direction shooting, and shooting, and shooting some more. I think they took like 8 or 10 shots before it went quiet. Either they totally missed or they were trying to make hamburger while the animal was still alive. So we were kicking ourselves for sending the animals right into the only other hunter on the mountain. So we go back to camp feeling pretty defeated, and awfully hungry. We ate and went to bed without really making a plan for the morning. There is something about the last day of the hunt, after 2 weeks of getting up early and not finding anything you can even try to shoot at, that tends to leave you… less than motivated. To make matters worse, the alarm clock (the one that sounds like a jack hammer right next to your head and no one can possibly sleep through) decides it doesn’t like its job anymore and takes an unannounced trip to Tahiti or something. So we wake up late, fortunately it wasn’t noon or anything. We throw the saddles on the horses, grab our guns and orange and we’re off. Again we saw the same bull in the same place but just kinda kept riding. We didn’t really have a plan, or even a rough idea of where we wanted to go. So we decided to go back into the same area we were in last night in hopes that they were dumb enough to head back there. We tried a couple of sneaks through the trees, and didn’t see anything, and i mean ANYTHING. This was a pretty bad omen because we’d at least seen deer or birds or the occasional chipmunk before, but this time there was nothing. I started thinking about what my cousin had previously said about seeing a big black bear up in that area a few weeks earlier and wondering if that was the reason there was nothing around. So we kept plugging along, like you’re supposed to do when it’s the last day so you can at least say that you tried your best. We decide to get off the horses and walk through one last area before heading back for breakfast and packing up. As I get into a clearing, I notice there are sounds coming from across the canyon. (the kinds of sounds that only larger animals can make when their being careless about their foot placement). I heard Luke mentioning that he saw some deer over there so I didn’t think too much of it. However, being that we’ll be up there next weekend looking for deer, I decided to look and see if I could find any horns. I didn’t see a single deer. I did, however, see a cow Elk headed up the hill directly towards my dad’s position. So I hop on the radio and tell them that I have Elk spotted and that dad should get into a good position to see animals running near him, and Luke should head into the area I’m in so he can help me look at the Elk. They were in some thick Quakies (or Quaking Aspens to those of you who don’t know the lingo, a.k.a. Oaties if you’re Nikki and confuse them with Quaker Oats) and beneath the trees was about 4 feet of undergrowth crap that was pretty thick too. It took a while for me to see that there was an entire herd there instead of just the one cow. Soon they were milling around on the hillside and I could see them a bit better through some openings in the cover. With perfectly stable hands and my breathing totally under control I start identifying each animal and eliminating it from the shootable category. Without warning, I see one of them pick up its head and notice it has horns. Not only did it have horns but they weren’t very big. The vague hint of a possibility that it could be a spike begins breathing again after having died from lack of stimulation over the last week. Then reality sets in and stifles that hint back into its grave. I’m thinking to myself “No way, it’s got to have more than that. I can’t possibly be that lucky on the last day of the hunt”. So I start concentrating on it a little more, wanting to prove it wrong so I can move on to the others that I haven’t looked at yet. With my hands totally steady, breathing still under control, I look intently across the canyon at this animals head. As it eats, lifts its head repeatedly, takes a step, and goes back to eating again, it hits me that it is unmistakably a spike. For those of you who have never had “Buck fever” I’ll describe it to you now. When you were once calm and collected, you are now shaky, breathing hard and your heart is pounding. None of these are desirable when attempting to make something the diameter of a pencil fly 250 yards (750 feet) and hit an area the size of a volleyball. After a moment of this panic, I think to myself “What am I doing? It’s only a spike and I have made hundreds of shots just like this! Just calm down and take the shot”. So I get control of my breathing, heart rate, steady my hands and settle in for the shot that’ll be heard around the… canyon. So I place the shot right where I need it to be and start to squeeze… BANG! And nothing. None of them budge. BANG! Still he just stands there. BANG! I can’t believe they aren’t spooked. BANG! Ok now I need to reload and they are starting to head up the hill a bit. So I throw 2 more rounds in my gun and pull up to see if he’s dropped yet. Nope BANG! This time he takes a few steps forward and lays down. COOL! He’s down and I’ve just got to wait a minute and he’ll loose consciousness, then we’re in business. The rest of the herd is just standing there not knowing where the shots were coming from and not knowing which way to run. Then the spike stands back up, and I’m thinking to myself “No freaking way! I can’t possibly be missing this many times!” BANG! This time he drops like a rock and the herd bolts. After the dust settles and the herd is out of sight, I tell Luke where he was and have him guide me over there by radio because it’s thick enough that if you’re not within 15 feet or so, you’ll never see it. So I get to it and start field dressing the animal taking note of the fact that it looked like there was only one visible entrance wound. Upon seeing that I start questioning my shooting, the yardage I estimated, and all kinds of factors that would have led to me missing 5 out of the 6 shots. As I clean out the inside of the animal, I can see much more clearly what had happened. There were at least 4 separate exit wounds and at least 3 distinct entrance wounds. Turns out I’d only missed once, and the rest had gone right where they needed to go. The vitals were pulverized, and I have no idea how he managed to withstand that many direct hits and keep on walking. This was the first Elk I have shot at with the Barnes X bullet and I am not impressed at all. I have killed several others with 2 shots or less using the Nosler ballistic tips, and I am considering switching back based on this experience. Barnes has one last chance to redeem them selves on the deer hunt.
