Last week’s column brought you up to a point where I took an early morning stand on the southeast corner of a meadow in Wyoming’s Shoshoni National Forest. I would sit there for the day as it was a likely spot to encounter the cow elk I was hunting. I was ably guided by Joe Hargrave of Dubois. He’s the best. Joe’s Aready Ridge Ranch can be contacted at info@saidcreekoutfitters.com.

As the day wore on, occasional mule deer bucks, some of them trophy caliber, passed in front of me. It seemed as though it would take forever for the sun to traverse the southwestern sky. I realized that elk generally bedded during the day, and I longed for the sun to slip below the horizon – a time when I anticipated possible elk movement. I was yawning, and my head had begun to nod when Joe nudged me. “Roger, shoot!” whispered Joe.

A string of cows was moving in a southwesterly direction parallel to the edge of the aspen grove at a distance of 150 yards. The sun lay on the horizon directly above them. When I brought up my scoped rifle, bright sunlight filled the field. I had difficulty finding the elk that appeared ghostly in the defused light. When I finally fired at the lead cow, I heard the familiar smack of a bullet striking flesh but lost the picture in my rifle’s recoil. The lead cow or matriarch now led her band into the center of the meadow. I wasn’t going to fire again as I didn’t know which elk had been hit. Fortunately for me Joe was on top of the situation and told me “the cow on the left.” I questioned him. He was certain. I fired again as the band fled and my cow slumped to the ground.

Following photos, Joe was masterful with knife in hand. Within 20 minutes he had removed the quarters and back straps. He then slipped his knife between the short ribs on either side of the vertebrae and removed the tenderloins. I had never seen this done before. My only job was to watch for grizzlies. To these bruins, a rifle shot is a dinner bell. Joe then left me with the carcass to fetch the horses. I was admittedly apprehensive about grizzlies, but Joe told me that I had the right to defend myself. Relief flooded me as Joe approached with the horses.

Packing out an elk on horseback was also new to me. Joe’s canvas panniers fit neatly over his horse’s saddle. A front and rear quarter went on each side while the back straps and tenderloins went into separate bags. Now on foot, Joe led his loaded horse and me on my horse the many miles back to the pickup and trailer at the trailhead. I marveled at his stamina.

Though Mike and Jeremy hunted hard, they didn’t get an elk. I gave half my elk to Mike and it was appreciated. Thursday was return to home day. Friday morning I was shocked to discover that the area meat processors were booked for months in advance. Fortunately Delmont’s Blue Bird locker would take mine if I deboned it. That was an exhausting job for this old man, but Betsy and I are now in for some fine eating.

There is no doubt in my mind that biorhythms affect most everything we do. They explain why a professional golfer can win a major one weekend and not make the cut the next. On Saturday November 20th, friends invited me to join their pheasant hunt. Though I thought I was a fair hand with a shotgun, I missed bird after bird. I’d like to think it was a bad day biorhythm wise, but in truth, my eight pound 12 gauge was too much for me to handle. I should have followed the advice I offered two weeks ago.

See you next week with some hunting ideas on taking advantage of the pandemic.