Snipe Hunt

I went looking for ducks and ended up on an honest to goodness snipe hunt.  I brought back two Wilson's Snipe.  Just enough for lunch.

Cleaning them is accomplished much like cleaning doves.  Cooking them is fairly simple as well.  We got a box of fancy rice, situated the cleaned snipe in the rice, added water, covered, and threw in the oven for 45 minutes at 400.

The result was delicious.  If you've never had snipe (I'd never had them before today) I highly recommend it.

Not So International Expo

I was thinking about spending $30 and taking my family to the International Sportsmen's Expo.  Then I realized that I'd spend most of my time oogling things I'd never own or really need.

Instead, I ended up taking the family a little further down the road to Golden Gate Canyon State Park.  Seventy dollars per year gets me into every state park in Colorado.  I got to show my son tracks made by various animals and spend time with my family in the Colorado Rockies.

I think I made the better choice and got the better deal, even if we didn't bring home rabbit for dinner.

First Time

The next several days of of hunting involved going into the high places looking for bull elk.  No one had any luck finding a legal bull.  Several of us saw a big 2X2 bull, but he didn't have brow tines and therefore wasn't legal.  On Tuesday the snow started flying.  Against better judgment we all went out hoping that the snow would let up and we could find elk.  I gave up sure that I would be the first one back in camp.  As it turned out I was the last.

On my way back into camp I saw a weasel, completely white in his winter coat carrying his lunch, a small vole.  When he saw me he dropped the vole (already very dead) and ran off.  To this day I
wonder how many other people on the planet have seen something similar.  If someone were to ask me why I enjoy hunting so much, the story would likely involve Mr. Weasel.

The next day broke with clear skies and the possibility of tracking elk in the fresh snow.  I finally got to hunt the West side of the mountain and took my wife with me.  She had hunted hard and not too far up the mountain ran out of steam.  She elected to sit in a good spot, overlooking a decent amount of the mountain.  Not coincidentally, she was sitting where I had killed my first elk on the mountain.

I chose to hike higher up the mountain, following the trail past the archery hunters' blind, higher and higher until I cut elk tracks.  I followed  the tracks until, for some reason, my gut told me to leave them and walk out towards a rock outcropping.  As I reached the outcropping, I heard and then saw the elk that I had been following.  He was 50 yards away, but his head was hidden behind some brush.  He had no idea that I had dropped in below him, and was feeding peacefully.  Unfortunately, due to his feeding and the brush between his head and me I could not tell if he was a legal bull.  After about three minutes of watching him both through my rifle scope and binoculars I finally decided he was legal.

The next 30 seconds were tied up in me figuring out how to make a clean shot.  His shoulders were hidden behind the brush.  I was forced to take a shot further back on the front side that angled towards his back shoulder.  Having selected my shot, I shouldered the rifle, took off the safety, monitored my breathing, and squeezed the trigger.  I almost did not believe what happened next.  I immediately ran the bolt and chambered another round, fully expecting the elk to take off running.  Instead, he took two steps and dropped.

I waited to see if he would get up and move, but after several minutes I couldn't contain myself and started making phone calls.  I called my father-in-law, my uncle, and my wife telling them that I had an elk down.  Finally my heart rate slowed enough that I could approach the elk.  I came up to him with the safety off in case he had not yet expired.  As I neared, it was clear that my first and only shot had done the job.

I quickly gave thanks to the elk and the mountain, then I got to work.  In short order had him gutted.  My wife showed up and then my uncle and father-in-law.  We quartered him and with the help of the snow, had him down the mountain and into camp.  My first bull gave seven families three elk to share.  My freezer is now full and I have to figure out how to mount the antlers of a 4X5 elk.  I have been blessed with elk for the last four years.

Well Then I'm Happy and Sad For You

The new/old gun I mentioned in the last post is a High-Standard R-102.  It had been my grandfather's gun.  My grandmother recently passed away.  It wasn't entirely unexpected.  She had suffered a stroke and then been in and out of the hospital.  While my mom and aunts were cleaning the house and putting things in order they found the gun.  It was up on a shelf, exactly as my grandfather had left it, with nine rounds in the cylinder.  I wouldn't have expected it to be any other way.

My grandfather carried the .22 on his hip often when we were out in the woods together.  He used it on a couple of rabbit hunts we went on.  When I carefully took aim and shot at the grouse, it occurred to me that this was likely something my grandfather had done many years ago with this same revolver.  Unlike my grandfather I sailed the first two shots right over the grouse's head.  On the third shot I aimed slightly lower and hit my mark and the circle was completed.

It isn't a terribly pretty gun.  The grips are plastic.  It isn't worth a lot of money, and the finish is worn and scratched.  What it is is a tangible connection with my past, my mother's past, my grandfather's past.  I wouldn't part with it for anything.

A Bird In the Bush, Now In Hand

Sitting in elk camp on opening day with two elk hung and skinned early left us with some time for goofing off.  We soon had the slingshot out and were putting some serious dents in some cans.  I was sitting at the end of the firing line and kept hearing rustling next to me.  After thinking the squirrels were playing jokes on me for several minutes, I finally saw the source of the rustling.  Not 15 feet away from me were two grouse.

The nice thing about elk season is that it overlaps with grouse season.  I quickly went and got my new/old revolver from the truck.  I walked around so that I had a good backstop, and upon the third .22 round I had ever shot from the gun I had bagged one of the grouse.  It was quickly cleaned skinned and placed in a dutch oven over a bed of veggies.

We covered it and placed coals from the campfire on top, replacing regularly for 45 minutes and dinner was served.

What I Found Walking In the Woods

For the last week I've been walking through the Colorado woods chasing elk.  I have been blessed in the last three years and have brought home a cow elk each year.  This year I did not draw a cow elk tag in the area I usually hunt.  This meant going into the high up places to look for bulls.

I have also been blessed with a wife who has developed a love for hunting.  She did draw a cow elk license, as did my uncle.  My wife and I got to elk camp after a long week of work.  We pulled in long after dark, plopped our sleeping bags in the canvas wall tent we share with my uncle, father-in-law, and cousin.  The morning came early and with it came a plan.  There was construction down in the valley below that was pushing the elk up around 7:00 in the morning.  We downed some coffee and quickly ate a cold breakfast in order to get into place to catch the elk on the move.

I sat with my back against a large aspen tree and watched the ridge above me where the elk might choose to cross.  After sitting for about an hour enjoying watching the squirrels play and chatter, I was jolted by a crack and a boom.  Someone had taken a shot.  I sat tight, hoping that the elk might choose to run past me.  Instead I heard several other shots, all very close.  Soon I could sit no longer and called my uncle.  I was sure that two of the shots were his.  He had a cow down and wanted my help to get in gutted and back to camp.  I found him quickly and started to help.  Several minutes later, my cousin crested the hill and told me that he would help my uncle as long as I went to help my wife with her elk.

I quickly headed over the hill to find my wife with her first elk, a small cow.  Her dad was soon there to help.  As is my wife's way, she insisted on doing most of the work of gutting the elk herself.  She had gotten it close to camp and in short order we had it back and ready to hang.  Fifteen minutes later, my uncle and cousin brought the other elk in, and we had two elk hanging in camp.  It was not yet 2 PM.  An excellent start to the season.

Pictures below the fold.

Sanding Rubber

My wife was recently given her grandfather's hunting rifle.  The Remington Model 721 in .270 was purchased new in 1952.  It has been on many a hunting trip.  Her father used it to take his first deer.  When we got it, it was in need of a little TLC.

There was a small crack at the front of the stock and the recoil pad was the original from '52.  We removed the old recoil pad, watching it disintegrate as it came off.  We then plugged the old holes with dowels and glued the crack in the stock.

We applied linseed oil to the stock and got to work on the recoil pad.  I picked up a Limbsaver grind to fit as I had heard that they were fairly easy to install and worked great.  We mounted the pad and traced out the contour of the rifle.  We then removed the pad and got to sanding.  My wife went first and after a half hour came in covered in tiny black rubber particles and oil.  Apparently finishing the recoil pad would be my job.

I started with dry 60 grit paper on a rotary sander and soon applied oil.  I got the general shape roughed out and switched to the fine stuff.  I got it shaped well, but I had gotten too aggressive and melted the rubber in a few spots.  I brought it back in and started to mount it up, but it was still too big.  Somehow we hadn't scribed the shape quite right.  I tried tried again and got it right.

Then my wife took it to the range and got it right, right from the start.  She was shooting 1-1/2", 5 shot groups at 100 yards with little effort and 20 year old ammo.

A flat shooting 58 year old rifle, full of hunting juju, I'm looking forward to November.

Where I Come From

We don't call them elks.  One, two, four, or a herd of 400, it is still elk.  Not only that, but I have no idea what an Elkette is even though I drove by the sign every day for three months.

While we're on the subject, I will admit to providing false answers to the question of, "What elevation do deer turn into elk?"

I realize how lucky I am to live near these animals, so I try not to bust anyone's balls when someone asks an off the wall question.  There are some questions though, like the one above that demand a creative answer.

The Turkeys Win Again

Both my wife and I had conversations with turkeys this weekend, but neither of us could convince them to come within shotgun range.

I did find this though.

Between that and the other kind of turkeys I found, it was an awesome weekend.