Author -: Travis Tweet
3000 feet of elevation up; 200 feet down in a steep gnarly draw; and 5 miles back, you would expect to be alone in the elk woods on a Monday morning at 6 am. Not me! I have this uncanny ability to run into weirdos while I am hunting. From tweakers to blacked out alcoholics and potheads, they all seem drawn to me as soon as I step off into the woods. If I don’t run into a crazy, I am honestly shocked and little disappointed. This has happened to me so often, that it is not weird anymore.
This elk season started like any others. I got to the trailhead the night before opening. After a night of getting rained on while sleeping in the bed of my truck, I was up before the roosters; itching to begin the hunt. Even though there was a car parked at the trailhead, I was confident that I wouldn’t be running into another hunter where I was going. All morning I bow-hiked up a mountain, just to start hunting.
I started working into a trashy draw. It was steep and strewn with blowdowns. Deep in the woods, I heard rustling and trees breaking in the distance. Slowly, my dream of shooting an elk was moving in. This was it! I thrashed bushes and lightly cow called. The elk in this area are very call shy, so I avoided bugling. Yard by yard it came in. With heart pounding and bated breath, finally, there it stood, a large hairy hippie in cargo shorts and crocs. He was accompanied by skinny raggedy companion in flip flops.
In utter shock I asked, “What are you doing?” Taking a drag of his joint the big man stated matter-of-factly, “Looking for Sasquatch.” He and his buddy then walked past me into the forest. I stood there in the haze of his joint, wondering what I was going to do now that all the elk will have been blown out. Just as I committed to hiking out to another spot, I heard a log crack and raking about 200 yards away. Quickly, I went back to thrashing. Slowly, an elk made its way across the draw and on to my side of the hill. The bull went silent, and it was nowhere to be seen.
Again, I was thinking about hiking out when a monster scream erupted in my face. My sphincter tightened and my heart started pounding out of my chest, for the second time in 2 hours, there stood a big 7×7 bull, 40 yards away. I drew back on my bow and my pin settled on its vitals.
My vision narrowed, breathing slowed, and calm settled throughout my body. Just as my shot was about to break, a truck rattles by on the road above me, with a bugle emitting from the window. The bull spins swiftly and runs out of my miserable little life. An opportunity to shoot my first elk was ruined by a guy who cut a lock to road hunt. Road warriors always find away. Even though this was a brutal shot to my gut, on the hike out my thoughts were occupied with Big Foot Hunters.
I couldn’t wrap my head around these two individuals who were smoking weed and were clearly unprepared for the backwoods. They didn’t have hiking boots on, were not carrying water nor food, and were wearing t-shirts and shorts. It was cold, wet, and really early in the morning. They had to have left the trailhead in the dark without a headlamp. As I was nearing my truck, I started to get concerned that I might have to call Search and Rescue for those two ragamuffins. Exhausted, hungry, and foot sore I dropped my pack off on the tailgate of my truck and slammed a Gatorade.
As my bearings slowly returned to me, I noticed a hooptie Camry parked nearby. Smoke filled the car, and those two idiots were laughing their asses off as they passed a bag of Cheetos back and forth (This stereotype was hilariously true). Relief washed over me as I realized they made it back safely.
The elk woods are insanely tough place to hunt. There are mountains of elevation to climb. Gnarly draws a hunter has to dive into. If you are lucky enough to kill an elk, you have to pack out hundreds of pounds of meat. These issues are compounded by our own community. Hunters constantly make it harder on each other by crowding each other out. Good hunting spots are far and few between. We put so much emotion, money, and effort into the chance to kill an animal. A great way for hunters to coexist in the shrinking habitat is to work together. One way to do so is to talk to each other at the trailhead. Agree to hunting areas and keep to those sections. I have not always been the best at doing so, and I am working on that.
Interactions with non-hunters in the woods have always been a puzzle that I couldn’t solve. I don’t understand why they would be out there while people with weapons are sending projectiles all over the place. I know we have to share the public space with them, but they often don’t recognize the same rules that hunters play by. I have had trail runners blow stalks (This happened to me the day after this encounter). I have had guys walking their dogs right through my turkey decoy setup miles away from the nearest trail or road. I’ve also come across a guy taking a nap in the middle of clearcut. It’s hard not to get mad at them, but we really don’t have a leg to stand on when it comes to these situations. It’s like holding an Atheist accountable to Christian beliefs. They operate in a different paradigm. The best we can do is to portray ourselves in the best light and share our experiences with them.
American Bowman
Travis Tweet