Man vs. Elk.  It’s a battle that consumes the minds of thousands of hunters each year.  To me, elk hunting has become a passion and a lifestyle.  I love the challenge and the places that it takes me.  I don’t have a long history with elk, it’s only my third year chasing the wild beast, but it’s something that has become a part of me.  This year I once again drew a Missouri Breaks tag.  After failing to arrow a bull there last year, I made it a goal to return and get redemption.  After 5 grueling days I was without an elk once again.  At that point, the decision was made to swap the open country for the dark timber of Northwest Montana.  I already had a location picked out as I had done some scouting there this summer.  Trail cameras had shown that some mature bulls were inhabiting the area.

We arrived at the trailhead at 5:30AM.  This would be the first time we’d be camping out of our Long Bows, and we were excited to see how they’d handle the challenge.  The packs loaded nicely, and I can say I could comfortably hunt for 3 days out of my Longbow.  We double checked our gear and hit the trail.

For an hour we sliced our way through the darkness and up the mountain.  As we unpacked our backpacks we hoped that soon a bugle would shatter the silence.

The first day and a half of our three-day trip would be spent filming my brother Travis.  He was in search of his first elk with a bow.  The first morning we were able to sneak in close to a bull that had bugled twice.  Unfortunately the thick brush ended any hopes of a stalk, and the bull wasn’t willing to come closer to the call.  We hunted back to camp and devised a new game plan for the evening.

That night was silent and we didn’t have any encounters.  The next morning was more exciting.  Around 9 o’clock Travis cow called a mature 6×6 to 20 yards, only to have no shot and only a glimpse of the bull’s ivory tipped rack.  The brush in this area is so thick that you have to call a bull to within 20 yards to even think of getting a shot.  The tough thing about the area is that if the elk aren’t responding to calls then you might never see an elk.  Your often lucky to see over a hundred yards, and hiking through the brush makes so much noise that you’d think two rhinos had just been set loose.  That afternoon we made the decision to switch locations and try a new area. I now had the bow in hand, and we set off into new territory hoping to find a deadly area to call.

That evening we didn’t see nor hear any elk.  We simply bushwacked.  In timber this thick you just have to explore to find the best areas.  All the knowledge of reading maps and looking at satellite images will only get you so far.  We set up camp on the edge of some serious bear country and fired up the grill, hoping tomorrow would bring us an encounter.

The next morning found us hiking through a thin frost.  We hoped the cold temperatures would fire the elk up.  The game plan was the same.  Hike as quietly as possible and call in the better areas.  After a couple empties the frustration once again began mounting.  The elk were silent and the brush was beating us.  The downfall was thick and the trees tight.  The only sanity for us in some areas was the quality rubs that would crop up in only the nastiest of spots.

Again we would setup and call.  Our wind was good, our concealment beyond effective, and our patience was persistent.

We would wait 20-30 minutes on each stand, and after about 5 of these it was time to return to the truck for lunch.  A sense of failure began to mount.  After two trips to the Breaks and now two and a half days in the mountains it was depressing that neither of us had been able to seal the deal.  Don’t get me wrong, the experiences and time spent hunting was something that I’d never trade back, but the end goal had yet to be achieved.  Soon we began to talk about water sources for the area.  In two years of hunting this spot we had yet to come across a creek, seep, or wallow.  The closest source we knew of was a small pond near the logging road.  We knew the elk needed to drink and began exploring the edges of the pond.  Right off the bat it was apparent that this was a source of water for multiple elk, as two wallows lay just off the edge of the pond.  Further inspection showed tracks leading to the water in multiple places.  None of the sign was extremely fresh, but a good feeling about the area began to creep its way into the back of my head.  As I cruised the tree line I soon noticed a small hole in the edge of the thick timber.  Another hunter had previously broken off some branches to clear a small shooting lane that viewed out into the meadow.  I knew must be a good reason for this and wandered out into the meadow.  A wallow etched three feet into the soil was only thirty yards away.

No elk had used the wallow recently, but it did have multiple sets of fresh bear tracks in it.  I still had my bear tag and this only made this area seem more appealing for an evening hunt.  We decided to quickly explore a new area and think more about it.  After a couple hours of hiking logging roads, we decided that the best plan for the night would be to return to the natural blind just thirty yards off the wallow.  We settled in and hoped that tonight would be the night that an elk decided to return to the pond and freshen up with a nice coat of mud.  We both were ready and optimistic.

An hour into the sit and Travis heard twigs breaking to our left. After a long couple of minutes a set of old chocolate horns could be seen swaying between the trees.   He was headed our way and as soon as he stepped behind the last stand of timber I slowly drew.  He walked out at 8 yards and stopped.  I only could see his thick neck and head.  Travis was just behind me with the camera rolling and could see him in his entirety.  A few seconds later a squirrel sounded off behind us; the bull’s head snapped in that direction. At this point he was looking almost at us and soon his head turned directly our way.  We stared at each other for about 10 seconds before the bull decided that we weren’t humans.  He turned towards the wallow and began slowly walking, leaving me only a face full of Texas Heart Shot.  I leaned out waiting for a quality shot to present itself.  At this point I’d been holding my bow at full draw for over a minute.  Between my adrenaline and screaming muscles, I was shaky to say the least and on the verge of letting down.  I knew there was only going to be one chance with this old bull and used my last bit of energy to hold strong.  Finally he turned broadside as he stepped up to the edge of the wallow.  By the time I steadied my shaky pins behind his massive shoulder I had been at full draw for almost two minutes.  His right leg stepped forward, and I released my arrow.  It hammered him behind his right shoulder, and immediately I saw blood flowing from his side.  He dashed into the timber, ruthlessly taking out anything in his path.  About thirty seconds later I heard him crash to his final resting place.  My emotions surged, as I knew that I’d be shortly laying my hands on an amazing bull.

We gave him thirty minutes before grabbing our packs and slowly walking into the meadow.  We could see his tracks exploding from the edge of the wallow.  A few short feet later the blood trail started.

As we walked up on the bull it was apparent that he was one unique bull.  His antlers carried exceptional mass throughout and were degenerated on his right side.  It was apparent that he’d spent some serious time calling this area home.  His left side was thick all the way through and slightly palmated up top.

His body was truly massive.  He was the largest bodied bull that I’d seen.  I was beyond happy with him, and it felt good to finally pull out my 2012 elk tag and put those special two nocks into the waxy paper.

Travis and I couldn’t believe that it finally had all come together.  It was an awesome experience to share with my brother, and he made it twice as special by beautifully capturing the whole event on film.

God truly blessed me that evening.  To even be able to hunt is such a special thing and to top it off by being with my brother and arrowing a bull was truly icing on the cake.  To make things even better, the bull had died only 30 feet off the road.  We were saved the agony of packing him out of the thick forest even though I was eager to break in my Long Bow with a fresh elk quarter.  My dad brought up a tow rope and we were able to pull bull to the side of the road and quarter him.

When I returned home I had a biologist age my bull.  She estimated him at 9 or 10 years old.  He truly was a monarch, a king of his domain, avoiding predators, surviving harsh winters, and staying just far enough away from local hunters.  It was surreal to be able to kill him using such a simple tactic.  I couldn’t be happier and now the preparation for next season begins.  It’s going to be hard to top him, but I’m up for the challenge.

To follow along with the rest of Montana Wild’s season, check out their blog at http://www.montana-wild.com.

Randy Newberg, of On Your Own Adventures, called and asked if I would be a guest hunter on his show for a Montana wolf hunt.  I was excited and thankful that he would call me to join him, especially considering I had zero wolf hunting experience.  Randy and I talked, and we both understood this hunt wasn’t likely to end with much in the way of wolf footage, and even less likely to end with a dead wolf.

But Randy and I both have the same philosophy when it comes to hunting: The odds might be stacked against you, but the odds drop to zero if you don’t at least give it a try.

We spent five straight days hunting for one of Montana’s most elusive creatures.  Our expectations were low, so we were thrilled when we spotted our first two wolves late in the afternoon of the first day. Under normal circumstances, we would have had a shot at them, but the camera guy was unable to locate the animals in his viewfinder, so I had to pass on the shot. I was learning, painfully, that trying to capture the harvest on film adds a significant level of difficulty.

Nonetheless, it was more excitement than we had expected for the first day.

The subsequent four days of hard hiking and glassing in sub-zero weather, left us with little to show for it.  We were fortunate enough to see wolves again, but we couldn’t get within range. When the professional camera guys ran out of time, Randy and I decided we would still try to get a wolf anyway.

But two weeks later, Randy called again, and said he was able to get the camera crew for another five-day window in January.  So we held off for them, and when they arrived, we went back to our old location.  It seemed most of the elk had moved out, and we figured it was likely that the wolves had followed their food. That meant  starting our second five-day hunt at square one in a brand new area. The entire first day was gobbled up by learning the lay of the land. On the second day, we loaded up our Crew Cabs with spotting scopes, cameras, tripods, and the rest of our necessities and cruised to a high vantage to glass as much country as possible.  We did the same on the third day as well.

In the late morning of the third day, I spotted a group of bull elk about four miles away, all of them necks wrenched and looking back. Something had their attention, so I watched. Nothing at first. For ten minutes they stood frozen peering back over their shoulders down the hill below, their antlers curling high above their bodies, full of tension, ready to dart.  And then, 30 yards below the bulls, appeared a beautiful black wolf, lined in silver.  And so began the chase.

The wolf kept its heading, straight away from where we’d been. But three hours and nine miles later, we found ourselves in the one position we’d dreamt of but never thought possible: closing the distance on a Montana wolf, now within shooting range.

The cameras were set. I threw the bipod down on the rifle and readied for the shot.  Randy called out the range at 510 yards. The wolf was on the move, and we yelled to stop it from disappearing into a draw.

“I got him,” the cameraman said.

I settled the crosshairs, and began squeezing the trigger.  At the report of the rifle, the wolf disappeared into the draw.

“You smoked it!” Randy yelled.

I wasn’t so sure. The wolf came up out of the draw, and we could see it had been hit. We shot again, and it went down quickly.

Walking up on this wolf was utterly amazing. It was bigger than I had imagined it would be, and its fur was long and wild.

The odds were stacked against us, more than any other animal I’ve ever pursued, and yet it worked out.  This may be the first wolf ever harvested on film in the lower 48, and it’s quite possibly the first wolf to have ridden in one of the best hunting packs in the world. It quite simply doesn’t get any better than that!

Stay tuned! The hunt will air this summer as part of On Your Own Adventures with Randy Newberg on the Sportsman Channel.

“You going to be able to make it to The Hills this year?”

That’s what I asked Sam as soon as my unsuccessful bow season ended. Sam is my hunting partner of six years, but he’s never around these days, busy training for the 2012 Paralympics’ Cycling events, while traveling the country as a motivational speaker.

“The Hills” is our annual hunting trip, and since Sam grew up hunting, he should know that tradition is everything.

He could only squeeze one long weekend out of rifle season, and it was all we needed to pack up the Sprinter and head north. We drove five hours and talked about where we might find some big Mulies, knowing that in late October, the deer hold high, waiting ’til mid November to head down to the wheat fields to rut. We settled on putting our MR packs, and our legs, to the test and hauled up to a high ridge line where we could set up camp.

The weatherman called for 50 degrees and calm and was wrong as usual. What he meant was 30 degrees with 70-mile-an-hour gusts – not necessarily the conditions you want when camping on a ridge. But we stuck it out like most Montanans would.

Our morning hunts were focused “grocery shopping” with our Mule Deer B tags, while afternoons and evenings were geared up for getting into the big boys. Our MR packs worked great for hauling our gear during the four days we spent hunting and stalking. They were, in all honesty, the most comfortable packs either of us have ever worn.

I only wish I could tell you first hand how great they are at packing out a mule deer.

But the vivid dreams of harvesting record-setting big game were met with the reality that the animals didn’t get our memo, “We only have FOUR DAYS in the field this season – so you better show up!”

Regardless, Sam and I share similar sentiments. It never is about how big of an animal you harvest – but who you’re hunting with. It’s about the lessons learned in the field, and stories shared around camp.

Sam has been traveling to The Hills with his father since he was 12, and I pray that Sam and I can continue that legacy with our own sons. They’ll get to experience for themselves what Sam and I  see every year: mountains sprouting out of nothing, wild places, and the opportunity to explore them in the way the one who created them intended.

Who knows what we’ll get to fill our Mystery Ranch packs with next year. I’ll guarantee you I’ll be dreaming about it for the next 11 months.  Sam, on the other hand, he’ll be dreaming about “Gold in 2012.”

What: The 13th Annual Powder Blast

Where: The Emerson Center for Arts and Culture

When: 6:30 p.m. Friday, October 28

Why: Fabulous Mexican fare, Lone Peak brewskies and live music by The Sierra Padres – all to raise some dough for the Friends of Gallatin National Forest Avalanche Center. Why the heck not?

Tickets: Get ‘em at Northern Lights Trading Company, Timber Trails in Livingston, Grizzly Outfitters in Big Sky, or right here.

Cost: $30 per person.

We’re stoked to be a major sponsor of this event. Thanks Friends of the Avalanche Center!

What: After 2 years of filming, Sweetgrass Productions brings their ski epic, ‘Solitaire,’ to Bozeman.

When: 8 p.m. Tuesday, October 11

Where: Emerson, 111 South Grand Ave.

Why: See for yourself…

Click here to view the embedded video.

How: Tickets. $10 in advance, $12 day of. Available at Northern Lights Trading Company or buy online here.

Mike drew a prime moose tag this season, and he was out scouting some new country. At first light, he saw a fine herd of elk, but his main goal was to find one of the big bull moose he knew hung out in these hills.  Eight hours later, just before dark, he decided to wander a ways over toward the elk – four miles to be exact. A couple of cow calls, and suddenly a satellite bull was in his lap. He released an arrow at 35 yards, the razor-sharp broadhead did its work, and he heard the young bull hit the ground.

It was late and dark with no cell service. He hurriedly gutted his elk in prime grizzly country, and grew rightfully nervous on the hike out. With the smell of blood on his hands, he jumped at every shadow.

He remembered the landowner’s words when he asked for permission: “Have at it son, but watch out. There is an ornery griz in there. He chased us in our quads and almost ran our hired hand through a barb wire fence.”

He’d spilled the guts and the meat was cooling, and as he headed for cell range, he thought about whom he could call to come help him pack it out. It turned out to be a long list, but as a testament to what kind of man he is, he only needed to make two phone calls. I am honored to have received one of them.

Those two calls netted him three helpers, and early the next morning, four of us assembled in the dark at the trailhead for couple hours of hiking and hauling. We had four cans of pepper spray and some slightly stronger deterrents in hand. I was packing a slug gun, and a buddy had his defender loaded to the hilt. The last thing we wanted to do was give the statisticians more maulings to count.

As we headed through the dense underbrush, we could hear elk bugling not far from the kill site. Mike had made a perfect shot and got out of there without spooking the herd. A great bowhunter, friend and father, he always has a long list of friends ready to pitch in. Mike’s generosity in helping out others and the fact that he is such a good guy puts a bunch of people at the ready when he needs a hand.

Our Mystery Ranch packs out-hauled our friends’ pack frames by a wide margin. They’re so comfortable and easy to load that for a little while, I worried more about Mike’s friends sneaking into my garage and taking my pack than I did about any bears in the area.

Of course, they were friends of Mike too, so there was nothing to worry about. We made it back to the trailhead without any incident with bears, and the fellas said they couldn’t wait to get home and put their packs up on eBay.

Do you ever get called to help your friends pack out meat? Who do you call when it’s your animal?

When: Thursday, September 19th, 7 to 11 p.m.

Why: Mystery Ranch is proud to sponsor “Perfect Moments of Shred,” a photo fundraiser for the Aaron Robinson Plant a Seed Foundation. The night of snowboarding-inspired photographs will be a celebration of the life of Aaron Robinson, a Montana-based snowboarder who died while snowboarding in Chile this summer.

The show will feature a curated collection of iconic photographs from the snowboard world that have never been available for public purchase, until now. This limited edition series features work by the following internationally respected photographers: Jeff Curtes, Tim Zimmerman, Andy Wright, Mike Yoshida, Jenna Low, Scott Serfas, Oli Gagnon, Liam Gallagher, Colin Wiseman Scott Sullivan, Frode Sandbech, Reid Morth, Matt Georges and Chris Owen.

Proceeds from the event will Benefit the Aaron Robinson Plant a Seed Foundation, a Whitefish Based non-profit started after Aaron’s untimely death, which will help carry out Aaron’s dream of providing underprivileged children the opportunity to experience a passion and love for snowboarding.

Click here to view the embedded video.

To we o’ the Seven Seas, it be all about the booty. Whether ye be collectin’ booty from a boarded ship, or haulin’ a few belayin’ pins to the crow’s nest to keep on the lookout for e’er more booty, ye needs a good sack. To that end, The BOOTY BAG be a fine, seaworthy scabbard o’ good portent. It’s been known t’ ferry prized possessions t’rough the most violent o’ squalls, while keepin’ pilferin’ fingers off yer loot.

If ye wants t’ call this treasure yer own, ye can navigate the digital seas from here, ’round Cape Shopping Cart, and into the Check-Out Lagoon. OR, ye can try yer scurvy luck at this here’s contest.

Five sunsets from this day, we’s openin’ the Mystery Ranch Chest o’ Treasures t’ one lucky urchin.

WANT TO GET YOUR GEAR-GRUBBIN’ HAND INTO THAT CHEST??

RUN YER ROT BELOW, in yer best Pirate parlance, with what kind o’ booty ye’d haul in the BOOTY BAG. We’ll scribe yer name on a crab and set it loose in the factory. First crab t’ pinch the staff wins. Or perhaps we’ll just use Random.org t’ do the winner pickin’…

“He’s one of the best pack sewers and designers… ever,” says hunting guru and Mystery Ranch marketing director Mark Seacat.

Ray Baker, rockin’ the mutton chops, is photographing the trip. We’ll post his photos here when he gets back.

MEET BRIAN TAI: He’s an experienced firefighter who started consulting to build fire packs in 2004, and joined the Mystery Team in 2008. These days, he heads up sales development and marketing for our fire line.

Brian Tai does some explaining at the basecamp in Ashford, WA.

But this week, Brian and Ray will need more than superior sewing and selling skills to survive. They’re currently climbing the 14,411-foot Mt. Rainier with wounded veterans Derrick James Ford, Eric Andrew Cowan, and Gilbert “Mag” Magallanes as part of Camp Patriot, the organization that takes disabled vets on outdoor adventures.

Seeing as Ford and Cowan have each had a leg amputated, and Magallanes survived the blast of a 2000-pound bomb with multiple injuries, the folks at Camp Patriot certainly could have picked an easier mountain. But for the fifth year in a row, this organization has been putting wounded vets on Rainier to give them a sense of adventure and victory.

The guys have to earn it.

The Camp Patriot Climbers on the Muir Snowfield, with Rainier’s summit looming ahead.

Rainier is the most glaciated peak in the lower 48, with 26 major glaciers grinding at its flanks. When moist frontal systems sweep in from the Pacific and collide with the mountain’s massif, violent storms can result, with precipitation and gales to sweep the ice clear of tents, equipment and the occasional unfortunate climber.

Rainier’s 13,211-foot shoulder drop gives it more geographic prominence than K2, and climbers must ascend more than 9,000 feet from the parking area at Paradise. Once on the summit, they look down upon the mountain’s two volcanic craters. Geothermal heat radiating from those craters has created the largest glacial cave system in the world, with two miles of passages winding down through the ice to reach the highest crater lake in all of North America.

Camp Patriot climbers on the ascent to Camp Muir, the last camp before their summit push.

Though he lives and works in the shadow of Rainier, Ray has never reached its summit. He did try once, but being pressed for time, he and a buddy attempted to push from Seattle to the summit in a single day.

“Our legs were fine to keep going, but we just couldn’t stop puking. Altitude sickness will do that to you,” he says, laughing.

Ray doesn’t think altitude will be much of a problem this time around, since he’ll have more time to acclimatize. And he probably knows what he’s talking about, since he’s no nube when it comes to high, frozen peaks. A couple years ago, he and a handful of other Ranchers headed to Alaska and climbed Denali.

But even with his experience, he says, “It’s going to be a lot of hard work. I think I’m in reasonable shape, but I haven’t been training.”

Brian is an avid skier, but says he’s not much of a mountaineer. Still, he’s “not too worried about the physical aspect of climbing Rainier.”

The mountain won’t be Brian and Ray’s only challenge. They are there to serve the veterans of Camp Patriot, and neither of them knows exactly what that will entail, either physically or emotionally. They are, however, determined to do whatever is needed, and seem downright excited to get to know the men who have sacrificed greatly for their country.

“I’m just going into it with an open mind,” Brian says. “I’m really looking forward to the stories and getting to know these guys in this context.”

“I want to get to know the guys,” Ray echoes. “But I don’t want to be too prying. I don’t want to cross lines or boundaries I’m unaware of,” he says.

Curtis Fawley, lead guide (far left), arrives at Pebble Creek with two of the three climbing disabled veteran’s and other guide support members.

Ray and Brian have given Mystery Ranch Backpacks to the veterans and volunteers to carry while making the climb. They were scheduled to leave from Camp Muir, 10,080 feet, at 12 a.m. this morning to make the final summit push. The forecast called for showers and a chance of thunderstorms, and the snow level dropped to 9,000 feet overnight.

If the weather permitted, and all went well, Brian, Ray, Derrick, Eric and Mag are standing at the summit as we publish this post. Check back soon for more updates.