By the 1950s, most traditional elk hunting areas had reopened. Herds were stable or increasing slightly, and the elk hunting status quo changed very little up until just a few years ago. Oh, there were some changes. Utah opened elk hunting, and more recently Nevada did as well. After decades of careful nurturing California was able to reopen tule elk hunting on a limited basis. There have been limited elk hunts held in such unlikely places as Kansas, Kentucky, and Nebraska, not to mention Michigan and Oklahoma. The demand for tags grew until license quotas, first-come-first-served, were established in some key elk states like Montana and Idaho, while other states—Arizona, Wyoming, now Utah and Colorado—went to drawings for tags. Basically, though, elk hunting has changed relatively little in the last 40 years. Until now.
Right now, thanks to a series of mild winters and reasons most biologists don’t quite understand, elk populations are exploding. This is a relative thing; if the herds in Kansas or Nebraska exploded it wouldn’t be much of a conflagration. But the herds in Colorado, western Wyoming, and western Montana have exploded. Jack Atcheson, the Butte, Montana booking agent, is probably the most avid and possibly the most experienced elk hunter in North America. Jack tells me he’s seeing more elk than he remembers as a kid—elk literally all over the place in his native Montana and adjacent Idaho. This is not without a price, by the way; Atcheson also reports that he no longer sees mule deer at all.
Colorado used to be the court of last resort for elk hunters. When you missed the Wyoming and Arizona draws, got aced out in Idaho and Montana, and couldn’t afford New Mexico’s private land tags, you could always buy a Colorado elk tag right over the counter and go elk hunting. But in Colorado that’s all you really expected—to go elk hunting. Sometimes you could see elk . . . but nobody really got elk, did they?
Look again. Colorado now has well over 200,000 elk, with bull/cow ratios on the rise. A couple more warm falls (which reduce the harvest) coupled with mild winters and 300,000 elk could be possible. Right now Colorado has a young, growing herd with few places holding a lot of big bulls—they will follow, but it takes seven to ten years for a bull elk to grow his best antlers. But in good country in Colorado today you will see plenty of elk, and good numbers of branch-antlered bulls. In the fall of 2001 I hunted with Lonnie Vanatta at Cross Mountain Ranch, in the Flatheads west of Steamboat Springs. Over the years I have hunted elk in some very good places, but I have never seen more elk, or more bulls, than I saw in that country! Again, this is not without a price. Mule deer herds have nosedived in many areas, especially in the west where elk densities are highest. Colorado used to have a stable elk herd of 100,000 or less—and back then they had a half-million deer. We can’t support over 200,000 elk and a half-million deer, and right now the elk are winning big-time.
Why, after literally decades of stable conditions, is the explosion happening now? I simply don’t know, but it appears that we can look forward to quite a few years of really fine elk hunting. However, we do have a real problem with most elk herds on public lands, and that problem is a genuine scarcity of mature bulls. Sometimes of bulls, period. We in the magazines, me included, have talked about monster six-point bulls for so long that elk hunters have come to believe their manhood is in question if they go home with less.
Reality is there aren’t enough six-point bulls to go around. Right now, as elk populations explode and, quite literally, threaten the very existence of our mule deer, we need cow elk hunters and we need “any legal bull” elk hunters. And there’s nothing wrong with that. Elk may be plentiful right now, but they’re still extremely wary and gifted with supernatural senses. Any elk taken in fair chase—especially on public land—is a fine trophy. Any bull so taken is a great trophy. They’re not all going to be six-pointers—and we as elk hunters can’t afford for them to be.
I’ve used interchangeably the two most common terms for the American version of Cervus elaphus: wapiti and elk. “Wapiti” is probably the most proper name, since it comes down to us from the Indians (Algonquin, I believe). “Elk,” though more commonly used, is really a total misnomer since it comes from the Swedish word for the Scandinavian moose, elg. To this day, when you speak to a European about “elk” you must be very careful to determine whether you’re conversing about moose or wapiti!
By either name, our elk is a very large and very strong deer. As part of the Cervus elaphus species, our various races of elk are subspecies of a group that ranges all the way around the world in the northern hemisphere. The red deer of Europe, from the Scottish moors and the Spanish highlands eastward to the Caucasus Mountains are also Cervus elaphus. So are the maral stags of Siberia and Mongolia. These days it’s become more fashionable to call the marals “Asian wapiti”—and indeed these animals are indistinguishable from our elk. The red deer are a bit different in that they’re smaller, darker in color, and tend to have “crown points,” meaning a tight cluster of three or more points at the end of the main beam. Regional differences notwithstanding, all the red deer—maral—wapiti are of the same species. However, the animals seem to grow steadily larger as one moves west to east across Europe and Asia. Our elk almost certainly crossed from Asia across the Bering Strait land bridge, along with much of our present and past wildlife. One could surmise that only the biggest and strongest survived the trek—and our elk have not gotten smaller with the passing eons.
American elk may be the same species as red deer, but by comparison ours are giants. We actually have several subspecies of elk. The largest in body (though not in antler) is the Roosevelt elk of the Pacific Northwest, with bulls often ranging from 800 to 1,000 pounds and more. Our most common elk, the Rocky Mountain subspecies, can get that large; I saw a New Mexico bull peg an accurate scale at 800 pounds—field-dressed. But that’s most unusual. Six hundred to 750 pounds is a good average range for mature Rocky Mountain bulls; elk of the Manitoba subspecies are about the same size. Tule elk are much smaller, the dwarfs of the wapiti tribe. Big bulls seem to weigh about 500 to maybe 600 pounds. A couple of years ago I took a good tule elk just a few miles east of my home in Central California. They may call them dwarf elk, but he was still a very big animal!
It should be noted that these weights are for mature bulls. Cows and spike bulls are at least a third smaller, and younger bulls—the 2-1/2 and 3-1/2-year-old four and five-point bulls that make up most of the bull harvest—are at least 25 percent smaller. Mature bull elk—maybe seven years old, maybe 15 years old—make up a very small percentage of most herds, and an even tinier percentage of the harvest. However, they need to be discussed because they are almost a different class of animal than the rest of the herd. All elk are strong and tough—but a really large bull elk is, in my opinion, one of the hardiest game animals in the world. Anyone who ever said African game is tougher than North American game simply didn’t do much elk hunting!
One of America’s most classic campfire arguments seems to revolve around suitable elk rifles. Most will agree that the .30-06 is fine, but the real controversy settles around whether or not the .270 Winchester is suitable or not. It will do the job, but I think it’s marginal. Again, there’s a big difference between big bulls and the kind of elk normally harvested. The .270 is unquestionably adequate for “meat” elk—but it becomes more and more marginal as you move up the scale to really big bulls. If you’re a .270 fan don’t get sensitive. Just a couple of months ago, in February 2002, I took a very good New Mexico bull—at fairly long range at that—with a single 150-grain Partition from a .270 Winchester. He went down to a heart shot as fast as I’ve ever seen a bull go down. So the .270 will surely do the job. Even so, I think there are better tools for elk hunting!
Rifles and cartridges for elk can be argued endlessly, but my personal preference starts with a .30-06 with a good 180-grain bullet. Better is a .300 magnum with 180 or 200-grain bullet; and better still is a .338 Winchester or .340 Weatherby Magnum with 225 or 250-grain bullets. For fairly close-range work the .35 Whelen is a wonderful choice, a
nd the .338-06 (a popular wildcat cartridge) would be equally good. At closer ranges both of these cartridges offer magnum performance with very modest recoil. I’ve also shot several elk with the .375 H&H, and there’s nothing wrong at all with choosing such a cannon. In fact, I’ve got enough respect for elk that there’s plenty of reason to choose such a gun. The only problem with the .375 is that it doesn’t shoot all that flat. So I’d rate the .338 Winchester Magnum as the best all-around elk gun, an opinion shared by a whole lot of top elk hunters with far more experience than I’ll ever have.
To some extent, though, the ideal elk rifle is determined by the hunting conditions. And unlike much big-game hunting, there are really three very distinct periods of elk hunting. The first is the rut, the bugling season.
The bugling season is far and away the most exciting way to hunt elk. Also one of the most successful. It is not as foolproof as it used to be; elk have gotten call-shy in many hard-hunted ranges, and they’ve also gotten real quiet in some areas. Like all rutting periods, the timing isn’t exactly consistent from year to year, so it’s easy to plan perfectly and still miss it. Even so, as I said earlier, the bugling season offers enough of an advantage that there are very, very few seasons left that allow centerfire firearms.
To plan for a bugling hunt you need to think about limited entry areas, permit drawings, guided hunts in Canada—or perhaps an archery or muzzleloader tag. In several good elk states the season structure is so favorable toward archery or blackpowder hunters that serious elk hunters are just plain crazy if they don’t get involved. Just hearing a bull bugle—especially at close range—has to be one of the greatest thrills the outdoors has to offer. It’s a wonderful sound that speaks of pure wilderness. Most of the really legendary elk hunts on private lands and Indian Reservations are held during September, the height of the bugling season—and they’re worth it! A couple of years ago I hunted on the White Mountain Apache Reservation. That isn’t a hunt a gunwriter can afford, but I had a management tag, which is affordable. I’ve never seen so many big bulls, nor so many bulls come to a bugle! The bull I took was a nasty, old, downhill, just plain weird elk with huge spiked paddles at the end of his main beams. My friend Terry Hickson nicknamed him “Old Warclub,” and I’ve never forget the experience!
The next-best time to hunt elk is probably the late season, after the snow flies. Some experienced hunters actually think the late hunt is the very best of all, since the exact timing of the bugling is so fickle, and especially since rifle hunters are banned from so much of it.
In the late season the rut is long since over. The bulls have recovered from their exertions and are starting to move and feed normally again. With winter coming on the elk are starting to get together in herds of increasing size, and of course they’re feeding a lot because of the growing cold. Depending on the area and how late the season runs the elk may be shifting from summer to winter pasture, which usually means they’re coming down out of the high country. However, unless the season is unusually late or the weather unusually bad, don’t be fooled. It takes real weather and serious snow to move elk, and the larger the bull the harder he is to move. Most hunting seasons are long since closed before elk really start to move into winter pasture, obvious exceptions being limit-draw hunts such as the famous elk migration hunt at Gardner, Montana.
The real advantage to late season hunting isn’t that the elk have come out of the mountains, but simply that there’s snow. Tracking snow makes all the difference in the world, especially if the elk are in the timber and you have to dig them out.
The third type of elk hunting is everything else! The bugling season isn’t on and it isn’t late enough for reliable snow—and that often means things are real, real tough. Sometimes you get lucky; you get a freak snowstorm during that “in-between” period, or a late-bugling elk gives himself away. Generally, though, you have to earn your elk (not that you don’t even when conditions are perfect!) You can glass meadows early and late, and, if you must, you can dive into the timber and start digging around. “Cow talk” helps immensely with timber hunting. You may not call in a big bull. In fact, you probably won’t—but you can calm cows you may encounter and keep them from blowing out the whole world.
Another relatively new thing that helps all types of elk hunting is simply this: A lot more elk. Elk hunting is far more successful than it used to be because we have more elk. We don’t necessarily have lots more big bulls, but we have many, many more elk than I was trying to hunt thirty years ago. Sure, we have more elk hunters, too, and that means the licenses aren’t going to get easier to come by. But we’re coming into the golden age of elk hunting right now, and you don’t want to miss these next few seasons. It’s good right now . . . and at least for the near future, it’s going to get even better!
This bull was taken on public land in Colorado at 12,000 feet elevation. This is a limited entry area, requiring a couple of preference points—but well worth the wait.
A good tule elk, taken in open sagebrush and juniper country along the central California coast. The tule elk has recovered significantly in the last 25 years, with hunting opportunity now increasing annually. Just recently, the B&C Records Committee created a new category to recognize tule elk for the first time.
This huge-bodied bull with unusual antlers was taken as a “management bull” on the White Mountain Apache Reservation, possibly one of the best places in North America to hunt elk. This bull is almost certainly an old-timer with regressive antlers.
Much great elk country can be reached by backpack—but make sure you’re in shape. Packing out an elk is very serious business especially at high altitude.
MUSK OX — North America’s Most Under-Rated Game
The Little Arctic Buffalo isn’t the Most Difficult Animal to Bag—But He’s Unique and Uniquely Beautiful, and the Country He Lives in Provides its own Challenges
Excepting the few guides and outfitters who pursue them, I seriously doubt that any modern sport hunters are genuine experts on hunting musk oxen. They are interesting and attractive trophies, and since they’re a bona fide North American game animal a fair number of sportsmen pursue them. But I doubt that a great many hunt them more than once, and I doubt that anyone hunts them on a regular basis. I am certainly not an expert on musk oxen—but I have hunted them twice, once in fall and once in spring. I suspect that gives me twice the experience of most people who have hunted this animal. To tell the truth, I’d kinda like to go again—so I guess that makes me a real fan of this strange beast!
The Latin name of Ovibos moschatus means “musky sheep-ox,” which comes pretty close to describing the creature. Biologically he possesses some characteristics of the sheep clan and some of the wild oxen. Like most folks, I tend to simply call them “musk ox” in any number. Technically, however, “musk ox” is singular and the proper plural is “musk oxen.” In appearance he’s actually very similar to our bison, and must be a cousin on some level.
However, there is no real comparison in size between a mature musk ox and even a half-grown bison. The extremely long hair—all over—makes it natural to badly overestimate the size of musk oxen. They look as big as buffalo—but it’s all fluff. Bulls from harsher environments such as Alaska’s Nunivak Island and Canada’s offshore islands rarely weigh more than 600 pounds, including all that hair and the wonderful horns. Bulls from the mainland are indeed larger, but 750 pounds live weight would be a very big musk ox. In other words, they’re actually about the same weight as a bull elk!
That long hair that fools you is one of the neat things about this animal. The outer hair is long and fairly coarse; single strands can be as long as 24 inches. Underneath this is a layer of fine wool, called qiviut first by Greenland Eskimos and now by most everyone. This wool obviously protects the animal from its extreme environment, and in years gone by was collected for use in sweaters and such. I have a mounted musk ox head, and it’s actually one of the most striking game mounts I own. At first glance it’s h
uge—but you can stick your arm into that hair almost to the elbow from any angle. My second musk ox, by the way, was done like a closed-mouth bear rug, with the head attached. That’s a particularly interesting way to preserve a musk ox trophy—but you sure don’t want to stumble onto the horns in the middle of the night!
Legend has it that the closest you could ever come to getting hurt by a musk ox would be to trip over one in that fashion. This is simply not true. I would not go so far as to classify a musk ox as dangerous—but they have the equipment and often the temperament to turn tables on the unwary. Their classic circular formation is a primary defense against wolves—but it’s not a static circle. Part of this formation is for individuals to make short charges from the circle, then retreat. Bowhunters, who occasionally approach such a circle within, well, within wolf range, have had to do some fast scrambling!
Bulls often group together in twos and threes—and can be quite protective of each other. It was exactly this scenario that the great sheep hunter Otis Chandler ran into a couple of years ago. They had shot one bull, but its buddy wouldn’t leave. Chandler took a charge from the second bull and was hammered badly. Getting to help, immobile on a sled with a shattered shoulder, must have been a cold and agonizing ordeal.
That’s just to say that, as with any wild animal, you can’t take chances. It is not to say that the musk ox is akin to the Cape buffalo! He’s also very easy to spot. In winter a herd stands out from miles away, like pepper sprinkled onto salt. Even in summer musk oxen are easy to glass in their wide-open terrain. Now, that glassing can take some time. Especially on the Mainland, where they range widely over huge country, finding a bull can take days. But most generally a herd is found. Musk ox hunting is probably the most universally successful hunt in North America.
Fair Chase in North America Page 5
