The end of the line: A bugling bull, falling off Laverene and the ride out

Editor’s note: This is the final part in a series of first-person stories by Daily Inter Lake outdoors reporter Scott Shindledecker which detail his 10-day hunt in the Bob Marshall Wilderness.

The sound of rain hitting the tent was music to my ears. It was a product of a cold front which moved through the upper South Fork drainage.

My belief, as well as others in camp, was colder temperatures would bring the elk of their heat-induced funk.

Light rain still fell as Tyler and I rode out of camp. But the rain gear did its job as we passed through the young and dense stands of Ponderosa pines which originated from the 2003 Bartlett Creek wildfire.

When we got into the timber, Tyler bugled and it was quickly met with a response from the real McCoy. He bugled and cow called and I called a bit too.

The bull was hot! It didn’t come running in, but it made its way toward us. I envisioned areas where I hoped it would pop out and present a easy shot.

But most elk don’t grow to a good size by just walking out in the open when we try to mimic them. The bull stayed up the hill from us as blowdowns kept him hidden.

A few cows flashed to our right, helping to turn the adrenaline up a few more notches.

I was having a tough time seeing the bull, but Tyler assured me he was legal, probably a 5x5. The dance between me trying to get a view of the elk and it wondering where this other bull and its cows were reached a standstill.

I sure wished there was a cow decoy out in front of us! I don’t know if it would have made a difference, but I’d had similar experiences with wild turkeys staying just out of range or sight when there was no decoy in view.

Finally, the elk stopped and I could see a patch of gray hide through a blowdown. I couldn’t see the front or hind legs but I was looking at the part of its body where I wanted my bullet to hit.

He was uphill, about 200 yards from us. I knew it was a tough shot, but it was all he offered.

He didn’t react to the first shot. I fired again and this time he moved out of sight.

Tyler thought I hit him and we shook hands and shared big smiles, but we had to find the bull before there was more celebrating.

We marked my shooting spot with orange flagging and headed up to where we thought he had stood. The bull was gone and when we found some kicked up dirt, I realized how far he had been from us. I still felt good about the shots.

We looked and looked, spending about two hours trying to find any evidence one of my bullets had connected. We circles and trailed up and down the side of the ridge, just hoping for a sign or him piled up in a blowdown. But there was no blood, no hair, nothing. Just a small area where the elk had exited the area.

The thrill of having those elk come in was mixed with the disappointment of not putting him on the ground. But the excitement still outweighed the negative emotion by a large degree.

It’s not the first time I’ve missed and it won’t be the last. It’s part of hunting.

We rode back to camp, but in keeping with the theme of the day, the ride was eventful, too.

As we passed through the burn, I ducked under a half dead tree that curved down. I had ducked far enough the three previous times to not get caught, but the last time it caught the handle at the top of my day pack.

As I struggled to free myself, the top of the snag didn’t let go and I was quickly on my back! Tyler had realized my predicament as I was struggling and he was off his horse quickly.

“Are you OK?” he asked. I was up on my feet quickly and said I was alright.

But I know I bruised some ribs after hitting the ground because it took a few weeks before I returned to feeling normal.

We made it back to camp and for all intents and purposes, my hunt was over.

When Butch and Toby returned, he reported a miss on a 5x5 white-tailed buck at close range. He didn’t have covers on his scope and blamed the failure to connect on a water and fogged-up scope.

I’ve been there, too.

I spent the last day packing, fishing and taking more photos. I feel like I should’ve taken more, but the wildfire smoke limited those chances until the end of the trip.

We rode out Tuesday and it was uneventful until a pair of big grizzly tracks appeared on the muddy trail about halfway from the trailhead. The bear had walked on the trail for quite a distance, but we never saw him.

The ride wasn’t as difficult on the return. A week on horses toughens you up a bit.

We said our goodbyes and loaded gear in our vehicles.

I must admit it felt good to slip into the soft, but firm, front seat of the vehicle.

Scott Shindledecker may be reached at 406-758-4441 or sshindledecker@dailyinterlake.com.