Sportsman's Quest

Getting a hunting tag can lead to some serious adventures in the wilds of Nevada

I waited many years to draw a coveted tag for a Mt. Charleston elk.

They had shown themselves to me many times, while deer hunting or hiking. Then one summer day, the awaited letter arrived. I had drawn not only an elk, but also a deer tag in the same area and just prior to the elk opening.

The Mt. Charleston herd has numbered as many as 300 according to Department of Wildlife surveys. They are found on both sides of the Spring Mountains, but because of food, water, and other habitat conditions, they spend most of their time on the east side.

Drawing both tags is about as lucky as you can get. I would hunt deer during the early season and scout for elk at the same time.

Every weekend and many afternoons would find me hiking Wheeler Pass, Carpenter Canyon, and both Lee and Lyle Canyons. The main herd and the concentrations I was looking for were found in the Cold Creek area, so this is where I focused my efforts.

I was able to track the healthy animals during the early season and saw lots of cows and a few good bulls. Twice I was able to observe the lead bull, a nice 5 X 5 on the edge of a clearing. They had a pattern, feeding early in an old burn and then going deep into the trees to bed down for the night.

I kept clear of them for most of the deer season, occasionally glassing for the big bull from a safe distance. I even gave up a shot at a nice mule deer, fearing I would spook the herd, as I waited for the opening day of elk season.

The March nights were getting colder as the season opened and the elk were beginning the rut, signaled by the distinctive (eerie, but beautiful) bugling of the bulls.

I was ready, having invested in an assortment of calls and tapes to practice the art of "calling them in." I thought I sounded pretty good and often heard answering calls, but I think most of them were saying "goodbye."

Perhaps they were not sure of this strange new elk who had entered their domain. This is when they were supposed to come in my direction, or even challenge and attack me.

The instructional videos I had also recently purchased assured me of this. What was wrong? Was my imitation of a "macho" bull too intimidating? Was my lonely cow call sounding too anxious?

Maybe I was mistakenly making the "ugly cow" call. I tried everything, but usually found myself alone on a mountain that earlier was full of sound. This herd just didn't seem hospitable. I finally gave up and went back to my favorite tried and true method of hunting, "spot and stalk."

It was hide and seek during the final week of the hunt. I had narrowed down, once again, the pattern. The large bull had shown himself earlier in the week, but gave me the slip twice. That's why he was large, I guess, and obviously more clever than I.

As often happens, it was the final day, I caught the herd on the trail traversing the opposite hillside about a mile and a half away.

I knew where they were going and made for a place I anticipated they would cross to an opening.

The young bulls and cows were leading, followed by the big guy coming cautiously behind.

He would move off the trail into the thick tree line and then return to the trail, often stopping as the others moved forward. He knows the game.

First, a large young spike bull came into the clearing and then as if given the "all clear" sign, twelve to fifteen cows came out of the brush, then another young bull. They all lingered, eating the evening grass and feeling safe. The old bull could be heard as he cautiously made his way to the others and stood in the shadows, but clearly visible.

This was my chance, I watched and waited for a clear shot, but as it came I couldn't help but admire his beauty and grace.

Knowing this would definitely turn into a trophy mount, which my small house, and my budget, would be strained to accommodate, I swung my scoped rifle to the left and dropped the first long spike bull.

He would better meet my need and fit my freezer. After all, there is no such thing as "shoot and release." I knew I would see "him" again (I haven't) and, well, maybe next time.

As expected the meat was tender and delicious, and I had begun to feel this was my herd.

I still feel that way and you can, too. It's all about becoming part of nature and your surroundings. You don't need a tag to do it and the quiet, peaceful challenge of observing, and knowing, will make you better for it.