Late Jarbidge Bull Tag!!

[MSUcat61]

We rode and glassed miles upon miles in some of the most unique and beautiful country that day. My dad was especially impressed as he had never really hunted outside of Montana. After making a stalk on a group of cows, I ended up at a vantage point that had me glassing up countless elk scattered though the trees on the opposing mountain. On our ride up the hill to get a closer look, five bulls came boiling out of the trees in front of us. I quickly dismounted and took aim, but as each bull filed by, I could see they weren't quite what we were after; three raghorns, a spike, and lastly a small six. My dad having never hunted a limited entry unit was a bit dumbfounded on the idea of passing up branch-antlered bulls, but I knew we would find better. After tying up the horses another bull stepped out of the trees at 100 yards but was a small raghorn. Then we snuck into position to glass the big herd. We sat and looked over 70 plus elk with several bulls, but again, nothing worth putting a tag on. As we picked apart the mountain, more and more elk kept appearing but no big bulls. As we sat glassing under a mohaganey tree, a grunting noise and breaking branches started coming from the aspens below us. We were completely at a loss to its source until a rut crazed mule deer pushed a doe less than 50 yards from us. As we got back to the horses to make our way back to camp, I spotted another herd of 40 at the head of the canyon. The wind was bad and they started to spook as we closed the distance to get a better look. One six-point bull was clearly worth a better look, so I took off and ran around the mountain downwind of the herd and climbed and ungodly steep hillside to get into position for a shot. The herd was still on the move but a cow call stopped the big bull and turned him back towards me. Luckily for this bull, he wasn't quite what I wanted.

Pics from day one:

After getting back to camp and discussing the issue of the dying bull near camp with our camp neighbors, they had a satellite phone and contacted NDOW to explain the situation and get the green light before they shot it in the head with their pistol.

 

[MSUcat61]

Day two saw us headed to a similar location but we approached the ridge from a different direction. Again we immediately found elk. A large herd was moving out of the open and into a stand of timber on a distant ridge. We turned up numerous small bunches of cows and small bulls closer, but no lone big bulls. We made a move on the large group, but as we rounded a small knob, the canyon winds were blowing 180 degrees from the direction it had been blowing as we snuck up the otherside of the ridge. Needless the say the elk started getting antsy so after. I got into position as the elk filed through the aspens and onto the open hillside. One bull was clearly bigger than the rest and after so many failed attempts in just two days of hunting, I decided this six-point was good enough for me. As the fates would have it, I could have shot every single cow in the bunch, but the bull kept a line of mohagany trees between me and him until he sprinted over the top of a rocky crag like it was flat ground. At this point the elk may have well have been on the moon, as there was no way of getting to where they'd crossed into.
Pics of day two:
And just to add to the tale of the dead bull near camp, we ran into some guys who started asking us a bunch of questions about the dead bull. One guy seemed pretty keen on taking the head but we told them NDOW wanted to take a look at it. They booked down the trail as we continued to look at some elk in the spotter. As we got to the trailhead, their truck was blazing away down the road with the cut off head in the back of their pickup. Whatever I guess...

 

[MSUcat61]

Day 3 & 4 had us doing much of the same. Riding long distances and glassing up lots of elk. Just lots of cows and young bulls. (If one thing is for sure, this herd in the Jarbidge is continuing to grow. It seemed every single cow had a calf!) My dad was recovering from a surgery and though he wouldn't admit it, I could tell he was wearing out. To complicate things, one of the horses started to go lame on one foot. Thus, even though we hadn't taken a bull, my dad had to leave with the horses. After taking down camp and shuttling the horses back to trailer, he headed back to Montana.

I was really disappointed at this point. I really wanted to take a bull with my dad at my side, but the rugged terrain and summer-like weather just didn't cooperate with my plans. I had waited all summer for this opportunity and it all seemed out of reach right now. I made a call to my wife for a little guidance and was able to refocus my goals. I drove back to Reno that night, resupplied, grabbed my backpacking gear, took a much needed shower after a week in the wilderness, and headed back alone.
One tired pony:
One that didn't make it:

 

[MSUcat61]

I arrived at the trailhead at about 2am with my lightweight backpacking gear and enough food to stay on the mountain for 3 or 4 days. I realized it was probably too early start hiking but too late to get any rest, so with no sleep and the light of a full moon I decided to start my long trek slowly up the mountain in the dark. The latest Eastman's had arrived at home while I was out and Guy's article on late season bulls was especially timely as I had a new focus on an area we hadn't reached on the horses. I climbed easily along a steep sidehill that would hopefully lead me to some high mountain pockets that would hold a lone bull. After two hours of climbing, I suddenly decided to stop. I still don't know exactly why I stopped. Be it an imperceptible sound that my subconscious picked up or just hunter's intuition, I stood silently in the moonlight for several moments. Soon I could distinctly make out the sound of cow calls coming from the hillside in front of me. I eased my pack down behind a rock and setup up my spotting scope and rifle to await the sunrise. Scanning through the dark it appeared as though there were hundreds of funny shaped rocks in front of me. Certainly, I thought, not all of those could be elk...

 

[MSUcat61]

I sat freezing my butt off in the cold waiting for shooting light which seemed like an eternity. The cow calls got more and more frequent and now I could hear horns crashing together. Once the sun finally did rise, there were over two hundred elk sitting in my lap. But as luck would have it, the majority of the elk had slipped into a shallow saddle that I hadn't seen in the dark. Rounding the corner into the next drainage, the massive elk herd stretched from the valley below me all the way up the adjacent ridge. I was able to look at every single bull in the herd and found one that was clearly bigger than the rest. He had a goofy down turning brown tine on his right side. I could tell he wasn't a particularly old bull but had great length on his back end. I decided he was the one, but with so many eyes, ears, and noses stretched over half a mile in front of me, getting to him was now going to be the hard part. Thus, I was obligated to wait for the entire herd to feed over the next ridgeline before I could make a move. From this vantage point, I continued glassing for other elk. Low and behold, two six points had fed out of small patch of aspens on a secluded ridge top behind me. A pair of lone bulls was exactly what I was looking for but they were miles away and on the other side of the deep canyon I'd spent all morning walking up. They were completely unpressured and in spot we had ridden past multiple times in the days prior. If the bulls had been any bigger I would have left the big herd for the lone bulls but the bigger of the two was simply not any bigger than the bull right in front of me. I marked them and I figured they would be good backup plans.
My bull on the hoof:
Couple of young bulls fighting:
The pair of 6-points I left as backups:

 

[MSUcat61]

I crested the ridge the elk had fed over only to find a complete tangled mess of blown down timber. Carefully stalking through the jungle, I spotted the elk below me bedded in sun. That's when I spotted three hunters far across the basin making a bee line for the elk. That many elk aren't hard to spot and they had just put themselves where anyone in the basin could see them. Fortunately, I had the wind to my advantage and I knew the other hunters didn't. Struggling through the timber I took the long way around trees to ensure I'd be downwind if the the other hunters spooked the elk. I slipped into a gully and was now in position to look over the elk. There was only one bull for me in this herd and luckily I found him on my side of the herd. Just as I was getting into position to shoot, I heard the crack of the other's rifle. Quickly I scanned the herd to see the bull I picked out running seemingly unphased. I didn't see any of the bulls go down, but there were several in the herd. I still had elevation on the elk so I followed them by contouring over two ridges around the mountain. This put me in a spot where I was within shooting range of every elk as they stood confused on the steep mountainside. I searched for the big bull but couldn't find him. The cows started barking as they milled about. Then from behind a thick juniper bush, out stepped the bull I'd been after. He was running up the face in front of me and I shot. He immediately humped up and stopped running but was still moving. I shot the bull twice more in the chest until he tipped over falling down the steep face and lodging his head in small aspen tree.

By now it was well into the afternoon. I had been following these elk all day over miles of rugged terrain with no sleep. I was completely exhausted and yet absolutely exhilarated and satisfied with results of all my hard work.

 

[Iron Mike]

Great story MSU! Cant wait for the finish! Very well written. I feel like I am there with ya!

 

[MSUcat61]

After tagging my bull and taking some pictures. The other hunters finally got up to where my bull lay. They were less than pleased to see me with the bull. They said they had shot at the same exact bull. They tried to claim they "double lunged" him two ridges back. I felt terrible that this was the situation that we had found ourselves, especially considering we were the only two tagholders hunting this entire area that day. But the fact was that my bull was moving just fine and was actually running uphill two ridges over from where they originally shot. I shot three times and there were three holes in him. One through the middle of his heart. All my shots were fatal and he humped up on every shot. There was no blood trail leading to where I got him. If they were shooting at the same bull, she missed. It's easy for me to see it this way but convincing them was another story. I one point I thought one of the guys was gonna try to fight me. I offered up the other bulls I had marked but they dismissed this and just stomped away. It left a pit in my stomach, but I also didn't feel I did anything wrong. Perhaps Eastman nation can chime in here on your thoughts about this type of situation. I can definitely empathize with their point of view and would absolutely be frustrated if I was in their shoes.

 

[MSUcat61]

The immensity of a dead bull 6 miles from the truck while you're all alone is certainly daunting. After gutting him out, the last of the day's sunlight was about to fade. I packed up the heart, liver, and all my gear before heading back up to where I had left all of my camping gear and pack frame. As I sat to rest on a steep ridgeline, a blue grouse alit upon a nearby tree branch. In the fading sun, he sat dumbly looking in my direction. After struggling to get shots at wild flushing blue grouse above Lake Tahoe all September, I could have easily potted him off the branch but I was plenty content to simply take in the lovely view. I made it to my cache of gear before it was completely dark but thereafter the moonless dark of night consumed everything. Knowing that steep cliffs and a god-awful canyon bottom lay below me, I tried as best I could in the dark to retrace my path along the sidehill I had come up in the morning. However, being that I could only see as far as my head lamp, I soon found myself going down the wrong ridgeline. Nothing looked familiar and I couldn't see far enough ahead to make any drastic changes to my path. I ended up in the bottom of the steep, brush-choked canyon I was trying so hard to avoid. Exasperated, I set my heavy pack against the mountain to take a break and then switched off my headlamp. As I sat dripping sweat and covered in elk blood, I heard a splash in the stream below me. Switching on my headlamp, I could suddenly see a large animal sitting on its haunches 30 yards in front of me on the other side of the stream. Just below the large figure, even closer to me, were two smaller animals. My initial reaction was that this looked like a sow with two cubs. But I knew there were no bears in the Jarbidge. Then the large animal prowled forward and its big long tail was easily visible. Lion! Now the two small animals had become three and then four. They were climbing around on the rocks and tree trunks and seemed to be playing in the water. I then realized these were raccoons. Soon I could see eight or more of these guys milling around between me and the lion, mere feet from where the lion stalked silently above them. I watched in pure amazement as one of the raccoons got a little too close. In a flash, the cat had snagged the little guy right in front of me so quickly and efficiently, that I never even heard a sound. The others below hadn't even a clue that one of there fellow brethren had just turned into kitty food. They continued to splash around lackadaisically as I could hear the bones crunching in the cat's mouth. My mouth was agape as this entire tableau unfolded at spitting distance. It is legal to shoot a mountain lion in the dark with lights in Nevada, and the thought certainly crossed my mind, but for whatever reason I just watched and appreciated this incredibly rare glimpse of nature. I've seen extremely fresh lion tracks and had cats walk on top of my tracks but this was the first time I'd actually see one and it sure put on a show for me.

 

[MSUcat61]

Seeing a lion a bow range in dark while covered in blood can do more than a little to your psyche. As I left the cat to its own devices, the hair on the back of my neck was certainly raised as I rounded the dark corners of the remaining canyon. At one point, I caught a pair of eyes shining back at me, but they soon bounded away attached to nothing more than a mule deer. Soon after that I had reached the main trail and was more than relieved to be out of that forsaken canyon and walking on a real trail. As soon as I reached my truck I immediately fell asleep in the front seat. The next day I was up early and made the 6 mile hike back to the kill site, finished boning out the bull (which by the way is very hard to do completely alone), and started getting the meat off the mountain. I knew I had to make 4 trips alone to get everything out. The first quarter I packed completely back to the truck, but after climbing that steep mother-effing mountain again, there was no way I was ever going to climb it again. It had snowed about six inches overnight, so I tried fashioning a sled out of the bull's hide, but it failed miserably. So I resolved to leap-frogging the quarters back. I know that this is actually the same distance as just making complete trips, but for whatever reason it made me feel like I was getting more accomplished by leap-frogging. My goal was to get everything to the trail by dark and right at sundown, I had all three quarters and the head on an actual trail. From there, I started making goals of hiking each quarter for 30 minutes without stopping. I was so hot and sweaty that I was only wearing a light fleece and wool long underwear but when I stopped to take a drink, my water bottle had started freezing through. I hadn't a clue it was that cold and can definitely see how one could get into trouble fast. On my last load out, I finally had enough of the trail and strapped on the last two quarters at once and trudged out the grueling 100 plus pound load the final leg. I just kept thinking this whole time that this would have been a single trip with the horses. I figured I had just hiked over sixty miles in just a couple days. Once back to the truck the adventure didn't seem to quit. All the snow that had fallen made the already precarious road out, even worse, forcing me to chain up all four tires for miles of back roads before hitting dry ground. By this time, it was almost a day past the point at which I told my wife she would for sure be getting a phone call. Luckily she hadn't called in the cavalry yet, but I was even more fortunate she decided not to kill me once I finally got home.

 

[MSUcat61]

After drawing this tag, I had really set my sights on a much bigger bull, but even though I wasn't able rustle up Ole Mossback, I couldn't be happier with the elk I got and how the hunt turned out. Ultimately, what I thought would be a horseback elk hunt with my dad evolved into a solo backpack hunt with some experiences that I could never have imagined. The time spent with my old man was invaluable and I'll cherish this trip forever.

And thanks to everyone on this forum for all your help and encouragement.

Euro mount back from the taxi's:

 

[ceby7]

Awesome story, that lion encounter sounds crazy. Congratulations to you!

 

[Kodiak32]

Great story, very well written and great bull!! Sounds like one hell of an adventure!!

 

[Gr8bawana]

Congratulations on a great hunt and a great bull. I've hunted in Jarbidge before and that is some rugged country, a lot of it is too steep
and rocky even for horses.

 

[cowboy105]

Awesome story..... Looking forward to hunting that country myself someday.

 

[Hilltop]

Great story! Appreciate you sharing it with us.

 

[velvetfvr]

Awesome man! The hurt bull, the hunters trying to take this bull, the lion all make this thing awesome to read. Gonna be a story you'll never forget

And I would've told this hunters to shove off, you saw 3 clear hits, bull wasn't hit prior to you hitting him 3 times. They missed and didn't hit it. What makes me wonder, did they hit another bull but try and take this one, since it was the biggest?

 

[2rocky]

MSU I'd say you filled the adventure quota on this hunt. To me that is worth more than inches of antler. You got to hunt with your father, see hundreds of elk, witness the savagery of nature, the greediness of man (Twice), and have an up close encounter with an apex predator. YOu pushed your stock and yourself to the physical brink and survived.

That my friend, is a True Trophy Hunt Experience. Right up there with this CM Russell Painting.

You have lots to be proud of and this is the type story, I'd rather read than a 400 inch bull shot on opening morning.

 

[NDHunter]

That's awesome. Great story and pictures. I'm surprised you didn't get a shoulder mount!

 

[missjordan]

Great pictures and story! Thanks for sharing!