Dana Gleason and Luke Buckingham at the Official Ribbon and Tie Cutting Ceremony!

Moving into a brand new building this January was quite the event!  We captured the three day process through the camera lens… it only took 10,369 photos stitched together to make this video!

Dana had more fun than should be allowed... check it out!

Did you win?!  Watch the video to find out!!!

This essay appears with permission from the RMEF in its entirety and as originally published in the July/August 2009 issue of Bugle Magazine. Please become a member of the Rocky Mountain Elk Foundation. Help protect the wild places where free ranging wild elk call home. Learn more at http://www.rmef.org/.

Download the PDF.

Saturday June 20th 10 a.m. to 5 p.m.

The Mystery Ranch Parking Lot is located in Bozeman Montana.

The Address is:
34156 E. Frontage Rd.
Bozeman MT 59715

50%-70% off. Hundreds of packs to sell. Hourly Give Aways, Free Hotdogs.

One of a kind Dana built prototypes and Mystery Ranch U.S.A Built 2nd’s will also be sold.

The best discounts will be available on CBMR packs and frames.

Here’s an example….. our Foliage CBMR Orion’s will be selling for $215.00….. and we have close to 50 total. These will go fast.

I’m sorry if you can’t attend!!!  This sale is limited to packs sold in person from the sales event. I suggest calling a friend in Montana if you can’t make it!!! Sale is limited to stock on hand. Saturday only. All purchases are final, no returns no exchanges.

See you there!!!

The bugle had been lingering in the background since jolting me awake at 1:24 a.m. I was growing impatient watching Andrew finish his breakfast.  It was time to go.

We had glassed this bull and his 30 cows last night as they fed into a timber and sage covered meadow across the canyon.  Exactly the situation we had been searching for, we sat down our packs and made camp.

Andrew enjoys another meal from the Jetboil! Photo by Mark Seacat

While eating dinner, we watched as the herd began feeding their way toward the upper portion of the meadow.  Above them, a brief ridgeline separated the herd’s meadow from a dark tract of timber that ran on for miles.  In the mid-morning tomorrow, the elk would likely disappear into this area to bed.  We knew catching up to them in the heavy timber would be difficult.  Our best chance was to be above the herd at first light.

Andrew was still working on his breakfast as we began wading across the river.  We were late, but the ridge leading us to the elk was direct and we made good time in the breaking dawn.  Twenty minutes before shooting light, we dove off the ridge to our left, directly into a steady headwind.  We still had a couple hundred yards to close when the bull screamed for the first time since breakfast.  As Andrew promptly veered off to begin calling, I paused momentarily to nock an arrow before continuing quietly in the direction of the bugle.

At shooting light, just 50 yards in front of me, I watched as the bull moved hurriedly between his cows on the outer edge of the herd.  Barely acknoledging his presence as they fed amongst the sage, the cows only briefly glanced up as the bull fired bugles in the direction of Andrew’s calls.  I knew I needed to get above the herd immediately, and by using the sparse trees in the meadow as cover, I moved quickly toward the ridgeline.

Soon I had connected with a game trail that would put me directly above the herd.  As I neared the upper ridgeline, I spotted the bull moving through the trees below me at 25 yards out.  While he passed behind a large tree 15 yards away, I drew my bow.  At 11 yards he stopped completely.  He stood there for a moment, quartering slightly away and bugled once more.  I held my spot and released.  Twenty minutes later, Andrew and I were walking up to the first elk I’d ever harvested with a bow, an unmistakable red arrow adorning my quiver.

A good sign. Photo by Mark Seacat

After taking some photos, we quickly began the process of field dressing and quartering the bull.  Less than an hour later, we had a large pile of boned meat and four quarters sitting in front of us.  I asked Andrew, “Do you think we can carry all of this out in one load?” “I don’t know, but I think we should at least try it,” he replied.  For a moment I just stood there watching as Andrew began loading his Crew Cab, these were going to be some heavy loads…

Hindquarter, Front Shoulder, and Head. 150 plus pounds! Photo by Andrew Crow

Negotiating the final obstacle... Photo by Andrew Crow

Mark Seacat on the Cassin's Cowboy Arete. Photo by Andrew Crow

My sleeping bag looks more like a frozen loaf of bread this morning and less like the slightly lofted down sack I had once considered satisfactory for this adventure…. The word synthetic comes to mind. I definitely didn’t get the best sleep last night, and the spindrift has built up outside to somewhere around 18” and counting. Condensation from last night’s breathing has grown to extraordinary levels on the walls, and to be honest, each time someone bumps the tent, it’s hard to tell which side of the silnylon I’m on.

If we had any food, we wouldn’t be headed higher in weather like this, but we don’t, and it’s not something worth worrying about now.

A tough thousand feet later, the lack of calories and long gone comforts of base camp living have crept up on me. I’m forced to relinquish the post holing to Andrew only minutes after relieving him from the same arduous task. One look tells me he’s not 100% either, but we have little choice, and he’s stronger today. I am relegated to slowly following his tracks in the snow. Where has my power gone? I feel completely drained. Every few minutes I scan the storm clouds for any signs of relief, but nothing appears. Four hundred feet higher, I’m slumped over my ice axes; Andrew waits patiently at a rest, silently observing my progress. I’m suddenly feeling much worse. The vomiting begins and I watch helplessly as the energy I will need to continue disappears into the snow.

Andrew looks upon my display in disbelief, I feel like I’m letting him down. We’re far past the technical difficulties, but I’ve just reached my personal crux. I wipe my mouth and nose with an arm and the puke immediately freezes on my jacket. “Are you okay?” I hear his question, the real answer is no, but my only choice is to say yes, yet nothing comes from my acidic lips……

Looking to my left, there’s no option for traversing to safer ground. We must go up, period. I reach into a pocket and grab out two of my remaining GU’s. Andrew asks if I’m okay once again in a tone I’ve never heard before from a climbing partner. I open the two packets simultaneously and drown them both with my little remaining Perpetuem. I take a deep breath and with as much confidence as I can exude, tell him, “Okay, I’m ready.” We don’t waste any more time mincing words, continuing our ascent into the storm clouds.

Five hundred more feet pass and we climb out of the clouds and into a magical scene. The entirety of North America lies below this cloudbank. Nothing but sunshine and blue skies surround us now…… We’ve just entered into the blue room.  Our spirits are lifted, our confidence boosted, and we seemingly skip from the horn to the summit and back. No one else is above 17,000 feet on this mountain but us today, and we break trail all the way to fourteen camp.

Andrew Crow summits via Denali's Cassin Ridge. Denali, Alaska. Photo by Mark Seacat