108 PETERSENÕSBOWHUNTING 09 • 2019
Onward & Upward
We push our burning legs higher
into the mountains, up to the thin-
ner air and better visibility. Hunting
above treeline seems to be the logi-
cal play since the dry climate and
early season has the elk sworn to si-
lence. If you can’t hear them, at least
try to see them.
We continue to follow a worn
game path that looks more like a
well-maintained hiker’s trail than
something made by four-legged ani-
mals. It eventually dumps us into an
excellent position to glass the valley
across the way, all the while giving
us a chance at a stray elk wanting
to commit suicide-by-bowhunter
below.
We see a few cows and their de-
pendents roaming around in the
distance, but nothing worth getting
up for at this point. Clouds start to
back up behind the formidable wall
created by the mountains, amplify-
ing the already heavy mood. Little
is said. Contrast is lost as the clouds
swallow up the sun.
We glass frantically, knowing
that with the shadows growing we
stand a much better chance of pick-
ing out elk. As if on cue, Joe says,
“Got some: the same two bulls we
saw yesterday, over there in the ava-
lanche chutes.”
The bulls were too far away yes-
terday, but at the rate we’ve been
blowing out herds, these prospects
just made their way to the top of our
hit list in a hurry.
“Man, that’s a ways up there,”
Joe says, binoculars still to his eyes.
“That’s a good distance to have to
pull an elk out.”
“Two elk, you mean,” I respond.
“Huh?” Joe asks.
“Two elk,” I reply. “There are two
legal bulls in there, so we’ll need to
pull two elk out.”
“Yeah ... slow down there, big
dreamer,” Joe cautions. “Let’s wor-
ry about getting one on the ground
first. The way things have been go-
ing, we’ll be lucky to get up from our
seats here without spooking them.”
Joe’s right. The elk are well over
a mile away, but at this point in the
hunt, it seems like a cricket fart will
be enough to push them to the other
side of the state.
“All right. Let’s make sure the
thermals have taken hold before we
do anything,” I say, still glassing the
countryside in case we need a back-
up plan.
The clouds look to have settled in
like an exhausted man into his Lazy
Boy chair — they aren’t going any-
where. The thermals switch earlier
in the day due to the lack of sunlight
baking the valley. It’s game time.
“I think we can get in pretty close
to them before having to play our
hand,” Joe says as he starts to pack
his bag.
“Agreed,” I answer as I shoulder
my pack. “We can use that dark tim-
ber to get to about 100 yards, then
we’ll call to them — a little greeting
bugle to let them know they have
new neighbors moving in, and some
light raking to emphasize the point.”
We work our way 1,200 feet down
to the valley below. Rocks kick out
from under our feet, illustrating just
how close the contour lines are here.
This is brutal country, and it loves to
remind me every chance it gets.
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