The Montana Success Story- Part Two

Bearman with a nice Montana bull on a do it yourself public land hunt
                          Bearman with a nice Montana bull on a do it yourself public land hunt

Yesterday I posted the first part of the Montana Success Story where we read about “Bearmans” first mulie harvest. The story only gets better! Please enjoy “Bearmans” recount of this awesome Elk hunt.

Elk season is a mythical window of time that calls to me all year.  From the day the season ends until the day it opens again I am constantly hiking, scouting, and dreaming of my adventures for the season to come.  This season in particular has been a roller coaster ride to say the least, and not just the kid’s roller coaster, but the really high go upside down kind of thing.  September bow season is my favorite time of year without a doubt.  The weather is perfect, scenery is fantastic, and the bulls are singing.  As far as I am concerned there are few things more pure and exciting than a bull elk screaming at daybreak on a calm fall morning.  Fortunately, I got into that familiar scenario multiple times in different locations throughout the season.  Not only did I hear elk, but I had some close calls; really close; head to head at 3 yards close.  Talk about an exhilarating experience.  Then there was the lowest of lows where an animal was wounded and not recovered. Even after all possible efforts have been taken to ensure that the animal is not immediately dead; the possibility always exists that he will die eventually.  Anyone who has hunted long enough knows this awful feeling and can just hope that the animal heals from a non-lethal shot.  Needless to say, bow season ended with mixed emotions, some great memories, and lessons learned. 

A week between seasons and it was rifle time.  After five weekends in the bow hunting woods with no meat to show for it, I was ready.  My rifle was dialed in, shooting a clover leaf at 100 yards and four inch group at 300 yards.  Opening day I returned to my favorite bow hunting area and saw a few elk but from over a mile away and no way to get in on them in time.  The following day I put my rifle to the test on my first mule deer buck which performed flawlessly.  Very satisfied to have a buck tag filled, I felt less stress to pursue a bull until the snow started sticking.  With one week between daylight savings time,  coaching Junior High football after teaching Shop at the high school, I decided to take some friends out hunting and try to have them fill their deer tags.  The plan was to put them on what I thought to be the better spots and I would circle below and try to push some deer in their direction.  So with no real intention on hunting too seriously I set off to break in my new boots and exercise my rifle.  A few miles in I jumped some does that ran back uphill towards my hunting companions.  At that time I stopped and contemplated the strange gut feeling to change my course that I have felt on many successful hunts before.  Without hesitation I turned off the trail and slowly wandered down through an old logged out area of timber with some old ponderosa pine trees mixed with new fir tree undergrowth standing about ten feet tall.  I still hunted down through the area until I broke a stick under my boots when I stopped. Looking out about 150 yards on the edge of the cut I spotted something tan behind a small fir tree.  Bringing up my scope I could see the definite outline of an elk butt and hind leg frozen in place listening to the stick I had just broken.  The elk had not yet seen or smelled me so I cow called a few times to make me seem like one of the herd.  Sure enough the elk turned his head showing me that he was in fact a bull.  A few minutes later he started to walk again.  Now I could see that he was in fact a legal bull with at least a four inch brow tine but had no shot opportunities through the timber.  The first available shooting lane was nearly 100 yards in front of were the elk was headed.  If he stepped out there it would be roughly 225 yards and I would be ready.  Three cows seemed to appear out of nowhere right in that spot and looked very uneasy.  The wind began to hit my neck and the cows must have got a little whiff of me and turned back into the timer out of sight. Meanwhile the bull was approaching the opening where I would hopefully be able to make a shot when he stopped to look at his cows.  I thought, “Oh no he’s going to follow those cows and be gone for good.” He only needed to take two more steps but he looked like he wanted to change his mind so I cow called one more time to get his attention.  It did the trick.  I was sitting down with rifle rested on my knee. He looked back uphill out of curiosity and when he walked two more steps to get a better look I sent a bullet down range.  Now twenty cows joined him and were running through the clearing.  I racked a round, found him in the scope, fired and watched him drop.  I could still see him alive with his head up so I quickly finished him off with a neck shot.  My after work tromp through the woods had just ended with a magnificent creature on the ground. 

Well it didn’t end there.  Anyone who has ever killed and elk knows that the work really starts when the shooting stops.  I got it gutted out as the sun finally sank behind the mountains and headed back to the truck to meet the other two and tell them the story.  There’s a song that says, “…you find out who your friends are”, but I think Tracy Lawrence left out a verse about finding a pack crew when it’s miles from nowhere and dark out.  Being the lucky guy I am it only took an hour and there were four of us with bikes and pack frames ready to roll down an old gated road.  The date was October 27th with clear skies, temps in the low 30s, and a big full moon.  For me, the memories of the pack out have been comparable to that of some of my best hunts.  Four guys brought together by the common love of hunting headed through the woods with mountain bikes and only the light of the moon casting shadows through the trees.  The whole time my dog Angel running beside us as part of the team. This if for sure a memory that I will not soon forget. Tagged out and time to make summer sausage!”

Awesome story Bearman, thank you for sharing. As I said before, this guy is a great example of how to work hard, scout often and put your time in the woods to harvest some quality animals. Thank you for reading and be sure to check out our Facebook and Instagram pages for great pictures.

-Michael

The Montana Success Story- Part One

Bearman with his first Montana Mule Deer
                                                             Bearman with his first Montana Mule Deer

I‘ve learned a lot about hunting and persistence from my buddy “bearman” and since his move to Montana, he has developed to become one of the most successful hunters I know. The guy puts in serious time and loves to walk miles in search of untouched hunting grounds. This past Sunday to Tuesday was his greatest hunting accomplishments to date. Please enjoy Bearman’s awesome recount of his first Mule deer.

Bearman Close up Mulie
Long pack home!

It was a late start to the morning following a strenuous death march the previous day in search of elk.  With high hopes I traveled from my home in Darby down the Bitterroot Valley to meet up with long time hunting buddy Mike Kaplan to cover some new country.  For me, today’s mission was to find a mule deer buck in the high country for the area which I had drawn a permit for.  Deer numbers in this area are low, so to see any is a success in itself, but for us the thrill of new adventures keeps us hiking on.  At mid-morning on an overcast 55 degree calm day we found ourselves hiking higher and higher through steep rock, burn, and timber.  Several miles and several hours into our hunt we came over a ridge to find nine mule deer does feeding across the opposite hillside about 200 yards out; but no bucks to be found.  After watching them for a while, we let them feed over the next ridge before making our next move.  A short trek later we were on top of some radical rock formations overlooking the same group of deer in the next draw over.  With the afternoon slowly ticking away, and near to our estimated turn around location, Mike decided it was time to head back to the truck.  At that point my genetically adventurous spirit took over and told me to look over just one more ridge.  Many times this voice leads me to that ridge or hill, and then another, and another, and another, with an end result of nothing but an exhausted Max; but not today.  Today Mike split back towards the truck as I went one more ridge over.  As I crept out of a heavily timbered gully into a decade old burn and there caught the glimpse of two mule deer butts gently easing over the horizon line 300 yards in front of me.  With anticipation high, my legs and lungs carried me quickly through deadfall and standing tree skeletons uphill in the direction that the deer were moving.  Breathing heavy and soaked with sweat I approached a giant boulder at the edge of a sharp drop off.  Many hours in the field had me prepared to be ready at an instance upon reaching the edge, so with my Remington  7mm-.08 at the ready and pack unstrapped, I peered over the edge of the large boulder.  Immediately I could see ears and eyes focused on me at me 80 yards straight ahead, along with a clearly visible antler! I had one shooting lane about four feet wide with his head, neck, and most of his front shoulder visible.  Although I prefer to sneak a bullet in behind the shoulder as to not waste valuable meat, at this moment I knew I had no other options.  Lying down with the rifle now steadied on a large rock, my crosshairs settled on the deer’s shoulder.  A split second later my ears were ringing from the shot, the empty casing was rolling down through the rocks, and the buck I had just shot at turned into two muley bucks bounding off through the burn and headed deeper into a hell hole of a canyon below. 

The legendNot knowing which buck I had shot at, or being presented another shot at the deer, I watch one bound over the hill on the horizon as the other bailed off left and crashed out of sight.  Heart pounding I headed to where the deer were standing when I took the shot.  No blood, no hair, and an uneasy feeling setting in, I began to walk downhill where I had heard the one deer crash through the deadfall.  Within moments, my worries were turned to feelings of joy when I saw the fur on his large body piled up against a tree.  My first mule deer buck had only run 40 yards with a well-placed 139 grain Hornady to the boiler maker.  I quickly used my one bar of cell service to call Mike and utilize his concrete crew strength to help me with the pack out.  A few hours later we were loading the buck in the truck and soaking up the memories from anther great adventure.  It is not the kill itself but the hard work, beautiful country, adventure, time with old friends, lean meat, and memories that last forever that keep true hunters like us headed to the mountains year after year.”

-Bearman

Thanks for your awesome recount of this great hunt Bearman. Folks, be sure to check out Green Lake Chronicles tomorrow for part of of the Montana Success Story! Thanks for reading and be sure to check out our Facebook and Instagram pages for great pictures.

-Michael