Hunting Camp 2009
Photo by Kelly Conroy
For reasons not immediately clear to me, hunting season was not also a time for photography. I was wholly focused on the hunting - the strategies, the landscape, etc. - that I could not divert my attention to include much else. Also, I'm not very interested in capturing images of dead animals, let alone sharing them publicly.
It is without such graphic imagery that I report on the wrap-up of this year's big game season, made official at approximately 7:05 AM on Friday, October 16. As I mentioned in a previous post, the season got underway in earnest during the prior weekend, which happened to coincide with very wintery conditions. Just a few days later, I returned to the southern Bighorns to find that almost all of the snow had melted away, and the temperature on the eve of the opening of deer season was near 60F. I arrived that evening with enough daylight remaining to hike out my preferred ridge and scan the likely spots for fresh sign given the dramatic shift in weather. As the light began to dim, and I rounded a far-off point of trees, I spotted a single cow elk in a meadow below. Carefully, I made my way down the slope, easing toward a closer point. There she stood, about 150 yards away, faint in the twilight that had settled over the scene. Though I was well within range, the darkness prevented me from being comfortable with taking the shot. She slowly faded in to the timber; I turned and began the dark two mile hike toward the truck.
The next morning, I was energized to get out and get in to position for first light. As I worked my way out my ridge, I was startled by what sounded like sudden hoofbeats. Just a short time in to the still-dark morning, I had apparently scared off what sounded like a small group of elk. It was much too dark to see anything, though, and I hoped that they perhaps wouldn't go too far down the valley before it became light enough to spot them. When I reached a spot that offered a good vantage of the canyon below, I crouched and waited for the stars to fade in to morning. Before there was even enough light to see clearly, I heard steps in dry grass, and the munching of a ruminant in the junipers below. Shortly, two mule deer stepped out of the trees, ascending to my level toward the top of the ridge. They spread out, and worked their way quickly above me and out of sight before I could see well enough to shoot. I considered my options, but heard another animal still feeding below. I decided to sit tight. Shortly, a third muley worked its way up the slope, paralleling me at about 150 yards. In the moment that I raised my rifle's scope to my eye, there was just then enough light to see the animal. Also, at the same moment, I felt a subtle breath of cool wind on the back of my neck, blowing my scent straight at the deer. With scope trained on the animal's face, it stared straight back at me, it's ears now at attention and body tensed. Faintly seeing that it had antlers, I quickly lowered the crosshairs to the chest, and, just before it sprang away, I pulled the trigger.
Once the deer was packed out, skinned and stored for the evening, I gave myself one more day in hope of an elk. I had resigned myself to having to spend more time later in the season. When Friday morning came, it was all I could do to drag myself out of the sleeping bag, legs and back stiff and sore from hauling a field-dressed mule deer buck over a mile and a half of gently-uphill sagebrush. The air was frosty as I trudged out the ridge, my eyes not fully open and my mind not yet fully awake.
Oddly, an off-rhythm sound began to interrupt my reluctant footsteps. I froze in my tracks, trying to discern the source. It continued - a heavy, panting sound, though quite distant. Accompanying it were the distinct hoofbeats of rapidly-moving elk. Dawn had just begun to creep over the ridge, and I peered through the scope across the canyon. There, roughly 500 yards away, was a group of large bulls, already past me and heading straight away. The leader was a heavy-beamed six-by-six, tongue out and gasping as he led his subordinates to higher ground. I then noticed several more animals following close behind, and then, many more - a herd of elk strung way down the canyon, perhaps 30 animals in all. My mind and heartbeat raced, thinking "How can I get in to position to give myself a chance?"
Anxiety over bad positioning and a missed opportunity began to pound in my skull. Just then, the lead bull and the accompanying smaller bulls stopped abruptly, and made a ninety-degree turn in my direction. My heart rate tripled. They proceeded to quickly cross the canyon toward my ridge, angling slightly toward my position as they headed upslope through the timber. Realizing now that they may be well within range when they emerge from the trees, I got down in to a prone shooting position facing that direction. Moments later, the big bull appeared. As he headed for the crest of the ridge, he paused to gather up those followers who were close behind. He stood broadside to me, in a wide opening, and I reveled in the seconds that I had him in my crosshairs. That "trophy" wasn't what I was after, having limited myself to a cow tag to address the simple desire for meat in the freezer. The bulls, which included the monarch, a couple three and four-points, and a few forks and spikes, milled around nervously as the cows and calves began to join them. I steadied myself for a shot. As the herd began to move across the ridge, a large cow stepped in to the opening. My sight was already on her, and the report from my rifle echoed sharply through the morning cold.
The remainder of the day was spent hauling the beautiful elk out to the truck. This required many trips, each way roughly one mile, loaded down with the quarters of a rather large animal. After adding the previous day's mule deer, I wasted little time in packing up the cabin and heading for Lander.
I'm grateful to have had the opportunity, the experience, and to have the freezer full until next season. My legs, back and shoulders ache, and I have yet to stop smiling. Such is my ideal Wyoming autumn.
