Ok, for the record I am going to bed a little late so I can set the record straight...
Greg and I did indeed arrive about 2 hours before sunset so we dumped our gear in the camper, I changed out of my traveling clothes into my hunting gear, we grabbed our rifles and headed out. It was a bit of a drive to where Greg wanted to scout but it was through a part of the state I've never been to, no I won't tell you where, so I enjoyed the drive. And I like hanging out and BS'ing with Greg. We are both pretty good at BS...
We arrive at the scout spot and drive as far in as the roads and the street tires on Greg's wife's truck will let us. Yeah, he don't even own his own truck. He has a Prius or some such... Needless to say it is muddy. And it's that slick as snot, built an adobe house caliche mud. We walk a good 3/4 of a mile across the flats to get to the ridge and I great a foot from the mud caked to my boots. It was heavy, nasty stuff that you had to shake off every 10 or so steps. The pull across the flats was a decent little work out, but we reach the base of a little knob on the ridge and motor up it to reach the top.
We are only maybe 100 feet above the flat but from up there we can see for miles. The ridge and table lands behind us are dotted with cedar scrub thickets that are perfect for mule deer and elk. We set off in a lazy meander through the scrub running silent. Greg is 6'3 and 260? pounds of mostly muscle, though he is getting pudgy in his old age. And fit as a fiddle. I'm 5'9 and 220 pounds of angry fluff. You'd never believe that two buffalo such as us could move quiet, but let me tell you, when we engage silent running it's pretty impressive. We pick our steps quickly and move with a purpose, not fast, not slow. Just cruising. Avoid the dry grass and twigs and glide along. No talking, just glances and hand gestures. Man we are in the zone.
We weave our way maybe 1/2 mile along this ridge line through dense scrub and brush and see very little sign. At one point we stop and I can smell elk. Heck, I can taste them on the air. By golly there are elk in this thicket somewhere! But they are masters of their environment and most likely slip away around one clump of scrub as we approach. No matter, I'll catch one that's a little too slow...
We nudge out on to this little bald spot that is loosely fenced by cedar scrub. A nice little hiding spot with a clear view of a draw and ridge to our side. Greg whips out his trusty cow call, which as any real hunter would know is bloody useless in November, and commences to mewing and chirping. Being the man-ape/ child that he is, Greg soon gets bored and begins to make duck calls and other noises with his kazoo. Yeah, right, that'll work.
Next think I know, I am hit smack in the shoulder by a bowling ball. Nope, that's just Greg punching me while whisper yelling "DUDE THERE'S A BULL RIGHT THERE!" Now, being that we are a two man out fit and he was scanning his side of the redoubt, I was busy scanning my side to ensure we had a full 360 coverage. I was not, as some have insinuated, staring at the sky. I swing around to where man-ape is pointing to find only more scrub. I inform Greg that while elk are indeed brown and tan, that particular elk is actually just more scrub. Mumbling in Swahili, which he does when he is grumpy, he plods off down he side of the draw with me following, sure that we will find only more scrub.
We climb the far side and low and behold, elk tracks. Good sized ones, and fresh. You could see where he came out, danced around and then turned back and headed into the scrub. I assume he responded to the flirtatious love calls of a lady kazoo duck and was seriously dejected to find a common North American Bald Ape. We headed into the dense bush on his heels and I could here him kicking rocks and breaking twigs not too far in front of us. Thanks to the soft ground we were able to cut his sign easy and stay on his trail. He began a slow left turn back in the direction he came from but soon left the thicket and broke into a open field trot the likes of which we could never keep up with. By that time the light was gone so we headed back for the truck all the while Greg accusing me of day dreaming while a decent bull got away... and that little man-ape grew up to gut shoot a bull which landed in a creek only after his buddy shot him two more times.
And know you know the rest of the story.
Good day!
I'm off to bed. I work again tonight.
