JavaScript is disabled
Our website requires JavaScript to function properly. For a better experience, please enable JavaScript in your browser settings before proceeding.
Messages
14,015
Reactions
57,152
Opening day of the 2008 modern firearm elk season in Washington State was unseasonably warm. I had shed some layers and was down to my t-shirt as I hiked into an area I had scouted throughout the summer. I had dreamed of the big-bodied Roosevelt bulls I had seen over a summer. I had made several trips into the area to study the herds and I was confident in my chosen area. In the morning gloom of the pending sunrise, the increasing light revealed a pumpkin patch of blaze orange-clad hunters that had the same confidence in this piece of real estate that I had, which sucked. Being 25 at the time with a matching lack of patience and corresponding bad attitude about the situation, I decided to head back to camp.

My dad was with me on the trip, more as company than anything. At this point in his 60s, he had killed his fair share of game and was more excited for us just to hang out. He didn't mind going back to camp because it meant breakfast and dad loves to eat. He made bacon, eggs, and toast (much more effort than I'd ever expend while cooking for myself on a hunt) and we pondered our next move.

We decided to head down into the timbered creek bottom hoping to ambush elk as they were pushed from the clearcuts by the pumpkins we had encountered in out "honey hole". My dad suggested we walk down some reclaimed roads that paralleled down a hillside toward a drainage that eventually would meet the the Cowlitz river. The idea was that the elk would get pushed into the timber by the other hunters.

These roads were part of a pattern of grown-over clear cuts with trees that had reached nearly thirty feet in height. Underneath the canopy, was an abundance of green leafy plants and very little brush or low branches. Though it was completely wooded, It was easy to see a hundred yards or more toward the more brushy creek bottom.

We hiked up a gated road and found fresh tracks leading into the old clearcut. My dad told me to take this trail and he would walk further in and we would set up downhill and wait for elk to be pushed out way. The walking was quiet and easy. My gaze was low under the branches. I walked several yards to the side of the elk tracks to keep my scent off the trail. I became more excited as I found several fresh piles of droppings.

While I should have been paying more attention to what was going on around me, I continued down the hill, blissfully unaware as I gazed at poop like it was some sort of precious metal or gem stones. The wind shifted slightly and I got a whiff of musty wild animal. I froze. As my eyes raised from the ground, I saw several sets of dark legs followed by tan bodies. I had stumbled into a small herd!

The rifle I was carrying was a Winchester Model 70 Classic. A new version of the controlled-round-feed design that Winchester notoriously abandoned in 1964 to save a few bucks. It was chambered in 30-06, loaded with four gleaming brass cases full of a stiff charge of Hodgdon's 4350, topped with 180gr Nosler Partitions.

Not one to have a chambered round while hiking, I slowly eased the bolt back and picked up the first cartridge. The bolt on this rifle was smoother than any I had ever seen, sounding like it was on rollers. The gentle shoulders of the 30-06 case gave no resistance to the action and the bolt slid home and locked. I silently flipped up the scope caps set the safety to the mid-point, making the rifle safe but allowing me to manipulate the bolt or quickly disengage to fire.

I scanned for heads with antlers (conveniently hidden by the lowest tree branches). I became careless with my footing and stepped on a dry branch that snapped so loud that elk split in several directions through the timber at the sound.

I saw a lone bull run toward a clear lane in the trees that was eight feet wide, giving me one chance if it were to have the required three points to be legal. The rifle came up like a fine shotgun and I pushed the safety forward on instinct. The crosshairs settled into the lane as I prayed for antlers. My prayers were answered as his head emerged into the lane revealing at least double eye-guards and a fork, meeting the 3-point minimum. The bull crossed into the lane to my waiting crosshairs. I saw his front shoulder and pulled the trigger, sending a Nosler through his ribs immediately behind his front quarter through both lungs.

The bull hit the ground hard with a "thump". I cycled the action of the Winchester smartly, sending the spent case at least ten feet to my right and totally removing any chance of a jam (a virtue of controlled-round-feed actions).

I knew the bullet had gone where I had intended and knew the elk was hit fatally. However, I wasn't surprised to see him try to get up. Elk are tough and its never a bad idea to shoot until they are down for good. I sent one more Partition into his neck for good measure.

I walked up on him with a rifle at the ready, just in case. Truthfully, I wasn't quite sure what I had killed. I knew he was an elk and had enough points to meet the minimum. To me, thats all that mattered. Hunting public land during modern firearm season in Washington is not for the picky. He was an even raghorn 5x5 that sadly, may have grown to be a special bull with a symmetrical rack.

Then, as with almost all successful elk hunts, the work began. It had been roughly two in the afternoon when Infired the first shot. The field dressing, quartering, and packing out the meat went until midnight. Sleeping on the ground never felt so good.
 
Last Edited:
nice! elk are like ghosts during elk season to me. ive set up trail cams and figured out their patterns. been in position on opening day well before light and they just arent there! ive also had opportunities with my bow but i foolishly moved right at the wrong second. live and learn!

ive seen some of the largest elk ive ever seen during deer season. the biggest one ive ever seen was standing in the north fork john day river with a cow and a calf. not a care in the world. deer season.
 
nice! elk are like ghosts during elk season to me. ive set up trail cams and figured out their patterns. been in position on opening day well before light and they just arent there! ive also had opportunities with my bow but i foolishly moved right at the wrong second. live and learn!

ive seen some of the largest elk ive ever seen during deer season. the biggest one ive ever seen was standing in the north fork john day river with a cow and a calf. not a care in the world. deer season.

I saw a huge 6x6 up near Colville standing in the middle of the road in public land...deer season.
 
Dad had a friend who invited him to bring family and come hunt for elk on his ranch in NE Oregon. In 2006 we went for the first time. There's a county campground right next to his place and that's where we camped. The afternoon we arrived the landowner gave Dad and I a quick tour of the part of the property we could hunt spikes opening day (they were going to be chasing big bulls in another area). He suggested that we be at the alfalfa field on the opposite side of his property before first light, so that's what Dad and I attempted the next morning.
The plan was to park a rise before the field where I would walk in a dry irrigation ditch to come up one side of the field, and Dad would take a short hike up the hill to overlook the likely exit path. Not being familiar with the property we stopped short of where we were planning so we could get out to look. I got out and left the truck running. Dad got out and inadvertently hit the button locking the doors. Twenty minutes before legal light on opening day, just around the corner from where there "were sure to be spikes". It would be one thing if we had our rifles, but they were inside the truck.
I was eventually able to pry open a rear window and poke the unlock button with a long stick. We were almost on time. Unfortunately there were no elk at the field that morning (in fact, in all of the years we hunted that place I never saw an elk in that field...). We decided to head back to camp and make Plan B. On the way back I decided to get out and walk down to a hidden meadow where Dad could drive around and be waiting on the other side.
After an hour or so I made it to the meadow and had made it almost to where Dad was when I heard what I thought was cow elk squawking. The was coming from the same direction I had come from, so I reversed and headed back. When I saw heard approaching I shot the first spike!
Dad went to get a gate key so he could get the truck within 1/4 mile of the dead elk. one quarter of a mile, but darned near straight up! We drug the spike up the hill with a chainsaw winch with Dad running the winch and me steering the elk up the hill. Dad was almost 75 then and I also had to pack the winch up the hill every time we needed to move it. By the time we got that booger out, hanging and skinned it was time for food and sleep!
All of the hunting trips with Dad have special memories. Especially now that he's gone.
 
2 months scouting before archery elk season my friend and I walked into our normal hunting spot, not 50 yards from the truck, 20 yards off the logging road just inside the tree line there were two big bulls.

8 years elk hunting in SW washington I have yet to even SEE a bull in elk season.
I started last year applying for cow tags.
 
2009, Coastal Elk 1st Season. Invited my Korean GF to accompany me, who was a WA resident and didn't want to get a tag. Though she wasn't technically hunting, she could move more quietly than anyone I have ever seen.
First day, it was unseasonably warm. I just have a feeling the elk are up high and scramble up a rock face. She keeps right up with me the entire way. Five foot, one hundred pounds, moving like an antelope. I'm awed.
Sure enough, up top, we find steaming piles and follow tracks for an hour until we hit a dense thicket we just cannot pass without getting severely ripped up. We head back, move our camp to a quiet copse of trees we noticed that day and then set out again.
We get back to camp after dark, starved, exhausted, happy. I had prepped the meals for this trip. Beers in hand, I cooked and we chatted. She made all kinds of happy sounds as she ate the meal. We didn't make it back to the tent before she decided to go full Monty. We didn't leave camp for the next three days.
 
First time I went hunting was with my dad I was about 16. There was a place, in the hills somewhere between Monmouth and Pee Dee IIRC. We were deer hunting in the early fall.

My dad gave me his rifle, a scoped .30-06 sporterized Springfield. We split up and I walked into small herd of deer and got buck fever, took two shots and missed at almost point blank range - I think because I was so close I shot over the top of the deer I was aiming at. My dad found me soon after and I had to explain I missed, so he gave me the .30-30.

So we took off again, and I walked into small harem of elk bedded down in a bunch of alder. I was about 5 yards from them, it was foggy and dense brush so I was able to walk into them before they or I knew we were each that close. They jumped up and stampeded out of there making a lot of noise, and then nothing - silence.

I've been deer hunting a few times since, a few times, I've taken a few deer and I don't get excited like that anymore. I've been elk hunting too, once over at Tollgate with my dad and some others. I've never seen elk except for the two cows who ran thru the area where we were sitting having lunch - I didn't have a cow tag. I have never taken an elk, much less even had the opportunity to point a rifle at one.

My dad on the other hand, seemed to take an elk almost every time he went hunting, right up until he stopped because he got cancer. He is gone now, and I have his rifle - what I call his elk hunting rifle.
 
Opening day of the 2008 modern firearm elk season in Washington State was unseasonably warm. I had shed some layers and was down to my t-shirt as I hiked into an area I had scouted throughout the summer. I had dreamed of the big-bodied Roosevelt bulls I had seen over a summer. I had made several trips into the area to study the herds and I was confident in my chosen area. In the morning gloom of the pending sunrise, the increasing light revealed a pumpkin patch of blaze orange-clad hunters that had the same confidence in this piece of real estate that I had, which sucked. Being 25 at the time with a matching lack of patience and corresponding bad attitude about the situation, I decided to head back to camp.

My dad was with me on the trip, more as company than anything. At this point in his 60s, he had killed his fair share of game and was more excited for us just to hang out. He didn't mind going back to camp because it meant breakfast and dad loves to eat. He made bacon, eggs, and toast (much more effort than I'd ever expend while cooking for myself on a hunt) and we pondered our next move.

We decided to head down into the timbered creek bottom hoping to ambush elk as they were pushed from the clearcuts by the pumpkins we had encountered in out "honey hole". My dad suggested we walk down some reclaimed roads that paralleled down a hillside toward a drainage that eventually would meet the the Cowlitz river. The idea was that the elk would get pushed into the timber by the other hunters.

These roads were part of a pattern of grown-over clear cuts with trees that had reached nearly thirty feet in height. Underneath the canopy, was an abundance of green leafy plants and very little brush or low branches. Though it was completely wooded, It was easy to see a hundred yards or more toward the more brushy creek bottom.

We hiked up a gated road and found fresh tracks leading into the old clearcut. My dad told me to take this trail and he would walk further in and we would set up downhill and wait for elk to be pushed out way. The walking was quiet and easy. My gaze was low under the branches. I walked several yards to the side of the elk tracks to keep my scent off the trail. I became more excited as I found several fresh piles of droppings.

While I should have been paying more attention to what was going on around me, I continued down the hill, blissfully unaware as I gazed at poop like it was some sort of precious metal or gem stones. The wind shifted slightly and I got a whiff of musty wild animal. I froze. As my eyes raised from the ground, I saw several sets of dark legs followed by tan bodies. I had stumbled into a small herd!

The rifle I was carrying was a Winchester Model 70 Classic. A new version of the controlled-round-feed design that Winchester notoriously abandoned in 1964 to save a few bucks. It was chambered in 30-06, loaded with four gleaming brass cases full of a stiff charge of Hodgdon's 4350, topped with 180gr Nosler Partitions.

Not one to have a chambered round while hiking, I slowly eased the bolt back and picked up the first cartridge. The bolt on this rifle was smoother than any I had ever seen, sounding like it was on rollers. The gentle shoulders of the 30-06 case gave no resistance to the action and the bolt slid home and locked. I silently flipped up the scope caps set the safety to the mid-point, making the rifle safe but allowing me to manipulate the bolt or quickly disengage to fire.

I scanned for heads with antlers (conveniently hidden by the lowest tree branches). I became careless with my footing and stepped on a dry branch that snapped so loud that elk split in several directions through the timber at the sound.

I saw a lone bull run toward a clear lane in the trees that was eight feet wide, giving me one chance if it were to have the required three points to be legal. The rifle came up like a fine shotgun and I pushed the safety forward on instinct. The crosshairs settled into the lane as I prayed for antlers. My prayers were answered as his head emerged into the lane revealing at least double eye-guards and a fork, meeting the 3-point minimum. The bull crossed into the lane to my waiting crosshairs. I saw his front shoulder and pulled the trigger, sending a Nosler through his ribs immediately behind his front quarter through both lungs.

The bull hit the ground hard with a "thump". I cycled the action of the Winchester smartly, sending the spent case at least ten feet to my right and totally removing any chance of a jam (a virtue of controlled-round-feed actions).

I knew the bullet had gone where I had intended and knew the elk was hit fatally. However, I wasn't surprised to see him try to get up. Elk are tough and its never a bad idea to shoot until they are down for good. I sent one more Partition into his neck for good measure.

I walked up on him with a rifle at the ready, just in case. Truthfully, I wasn't quite sure what I had killed. I knew he was an elk and had enough points to meet the minimum. To me, thats all that mattered. Hunting public land during modern firearm season in Washington is not for the picky. He was an even raghorn 5x5 that sadly, may have grown to be a special bull with a symmetrical rack.

Then, as with almost all successful elk hunts, the work began. It had been roughly two in the afternoon when Infired the first shot. The field dressing, quartering, and packing out the meat went until midnight. Sleeping on the ground never felt so good.


(Beavis & Butthead laugh) Heh, heh, heh..... you said, "stiff load".


:s0108:
 
(Beavis & Butthead laugh) Heh, heh, heh..... you said, "stiff load".


:s0108:

8E48E86C-A1D4-4683-8B1C-0BDD3ED6C206.jpeg
 
Elk hunting with dad east of LaGrand a few seasons ago, driving back to camp near dusk on FS road and at the intersection with a secondary road, off in the brush is the largest mulie I have ever seen. This guy just stood there and didn't have a care. 5x5 perfectly symmetrical.

Same unit several years before that, we both had spike tags. We're driving to our afternoon hunt site and hear bugling outside the window, come to a stop and get out. See 2 massive bulls running side by side down the hill, across the road and down a very steep ravine. They were each 6x6 at least, with racks that went down the length of their backs as they ran with their heads lifted up.
We just stood there, mouths open.
 
First season in Colorado 2009, muzzle loader, were hiking the rim above the ranch, neighbors warned me there were massive bulls in the valleys behind us. We bad scouted for several weeks and knew about where we wanted to set up. Cold rocky mountain air, a hint of snow slowly comming in higher up, perfection. Were in the right spot for animals to start moving down out of the higher elevations and right past us. My Cousin takes off down the inside of the valley were hunting, and I stay up higher towards the rim affording me a better view, but a longer shot. About 2 pm, we hear the sound of large animals moving, and sure enough thks monster bull steps out of the trees and starts moving to the stream with a harem in toe. I watch and wait, and i see cousin has also spotted them and is now static with his front stuffer Hawkin replica up and ready! It seamed time stood still and those elk slowely moved along the stream toward us, almost like a dream really. When the bull was in range, i saw a large gout of flame and huge amount of smoke as that Hawkin spoke to the mountains, that bull dropped where he stood and his harem scattered to the 4 winds! Im sitting there leaning on the downed tree in a trans like state, wow, the first Colorado Rocky Bull I have seen up close, and now he is down. I slowely came out of it and noticed more animals moving diagonally across the valley, and jumped up and started down my side, no way I could make a shot at that distence, even with a "Modern" smokeless, so if I was going to fill a tag, i. Needed to move quick and quiet! About an hour and starting to really feel the strain, i found a likely spot to sit and wait, about 40 min later, out steps more elk, but no horns. Needs to be a 4 point or better, and im not seing any, CRAP! I decide to wait any way, im tired from the quick step hike, my anckles are killing me, so im not going any where for a while. Its getting late, and the sun is going to be setting soon, so im thinking to my self that I better call it a day and go help my Cousin. Just as soon as i stand up and kind of stretch, here comes the biggest Rocky I have ever seen, must have been following his gals, i grab my Thompson Black Diamond, slip a #11 Cap over the nipple and cock the rifle! Closer, closer, just a little more, the front sight is square on the front right shoulder, waiting.............K-Boooooooom! SMOKE AND FIRE! That big 465 gr solid in front of a 145 gr charge of Tripple 7 did its job and Mr. Bull Dropped almost in his tracks! Reloaded and primed and slowely worked my way over to him! What a magnificent animal, huge. Brow tine, asemetrical 5x6!
Needles to say, we camped on our animals and did our work, by the time the sun came up next morning, we had two elk to pack out! Sucks to be us right! ROCKY MOUNTAIN HIGH!:)
 

Upcoming Events

Tillamook Gun & Knife Show
Tillamook, OR
"The Original" Kalispell Gun Show
Kalispell, MT
Kids Firearm Safety 2 Class
Springfield, OR
Teen Rifle 1 Class
Springfield, OR

New Resource Reviews

New Classified Ads

Back Top