Hunting E-L-K is H-A-R-D!

Elk hunting is hard! Actually, maybe I should clarify. It's not hunting elk that is difficult. Climbing mountains in the dark, walking ridges, witnessing the rising of the morning sun, feeling the snow flakes of the season's first snowfall on your cheeks, cementing relationships with family and friends--that's all good! It's closing the deal by punching a tag and filling the freezer that is hard. Take my 2015 season, for example--four months of seeking, hiking, scanning, descending, searching, climbing, patience and, in the end, strenuous, exhausting physical exertion.

Opening day found me with a friend decked out in our camo while toting our bows in the mountains above my house. An especially hot summer left what was usually a small, trickling stream of water bone dry. Because of that, we saw no elk. We didn't even see any sign. What we did see, as a fog bank rolled in over us was a huge, lumbering black bear crossing the trail about 60 yards in front of us. We stopped and watched as it barreled down the mountainside into a stand of trees. Only a few minutes later our sense of smell went on full alert. "Animals!" We couldn't see them but we could smell them. Or at least we could smell where they were. As we crested a hill onto a small saddle we saw what had been a mucky wallow with tracks all around it, however the moisture was gone and so were the animals who used it--or so we thought.

As we cautiously approached the wallow, a small black head popped up from behind a bush. It was a black bear cub a mere 25 yards from me. After the smile left my face, and after the little fur ball high-tailed it out of there, my stomach turned tight. I looked back to my buddy and we both started looking over your shoulders. Where was mamma bear?

"I think we ought to get out of here," Chris said.

I agreed. If that was indeed mamma bear we'd seen only a few minutes earlier we did not want to be caught between and her cub. Such confrontations can be deadly. We continued our hike only to see yet another bear on the mountainside about 100 yards below us. This was not mamma bear nor was it baby bear. This was a yearling. In a matter of just 10 minutes I had seen almost the same number of wild bears I'd seen in my previous 13 years of living in Montana. And I loved it!

A few weeks later I headed to Anaconda (Montana) where a friend from the outdoor industry invited me to take part in a week-long elk bow hunt. Mike had a small home reserved for our party of seven. We hunted some private timberland in the foothills above some grassland. We saw elk each and every day of my five days afield. The first morning, I spotted a group of elk making their way up the mountain toward us. Mike and I looked for a place to set up. I was behind a tree and could not see much of the landscape below me. Mike watched two cows come to within 30 yards of us but because of my positioning, I could not see them. Mike also watched a the antler tips of a bull pass behind me. Again, I never saw it. Elk 1, Mark 0.

On another day, after a hard morning of hiking about five miles, we were casually walking off the mountain about 11 a.m. when we saw movement on the far side of the draw. We watched a young bull quickly push about 8-10 cows up the mountain. We were in the wide open with no place to hide. I immediately dropped down to my knees and had an arrow on the string. The elk would come no closer than 60 yards. I had told myself I would not take a shot beyond 40 yards as I considered that my effective range. Any attempt beyond that may result in a poor result and a wounded animal. That is the last thing I wanted to happen.The elk continued to scurry up the mountain. Elk 2, Mark 0.

Just before dusk on another evening, after another day of hard hiking, I decided to settle down at the base of a fat pine tree. It offered me the opportunity to see to my left, right, below and partially above me. Mike was some 50-60 yards away. After waiting some 25 minutes or so I caught a slight movement out of the corner of my eye. Sure enough, elk were coming down the mountain about 50 yards above me. The wind was such that they could not smell me. Unfortunately they looped around me to the point that I could only see movement through the trees and instead of jumping over a lower log portion of a fence below me, they jumped just out of sight. I listened as animal after animal made the leap. Then, just 32 yards almost straight below me a cow elk stepped out from behind a cluster of trees. I had not seen her but she saw me. And then the eternal stare-down began. It had to be 90 seconds later when I slightly moved my left foot. She immediately turned, bounded over the fence and was gone. Stare-down over. Elk 3, Mark 0.

Nightly dinner in the wall tent

My second-to-last day would feature the best heart-stopping elk encounters I'd ever had. Already up in the mountains well before sunrise, Mike and I glassed the hillsides looking for an type of movement. Before the sun broke over the horizon, we spotted a small pocket of elk a good mile and a half away. We took off on foot hoping to at least cut them off if they decided to head to the high country. As we came out of a draw and approached where we thought they had been, we found them. The only problem was they were on the wrong side of the fence on another landowner's property. There I sat behind a small tree in the fog just 52 yards below a nice bull. It had no idea at all that I was there. Mike backtracked and began cow calling. The bull did not show the slightest bit of interest. Why not? Because he had his own harem with him. I sat there for quite some time, again with an arrow on my string, just hoping he would hop the fence. Then, spooked by someone or something on the other side of the fence, the herd started to run. While the lone bull remained in the same position, I watched 1-2-3-4-5...how many bulls and a bunch more cows run away just behind him. Finally, he too turned and dropped over the horizon.

Mike and I walked out of our hiding places and just smiled from ear-to-ear. We had put on a great stalk and only a fence line kept me from a really good chance of sneaking a bit closer to seal the deal. Still, it was an awesome encounter. Elk 4, Mark 0.

Wayne van Zwoll &
Mike Disario

From there, we headed into the timber hoping to catch up with that herd or hoping to find another. At the edge of small clearing we heard a bull's bugle. Mike set up about 60 yards behind me and began to cow call. I was tucked behind a small pine tree but I had great sight-lines. I could see the bull's hooves. He was about 75 yards away but again on the wrong side of the fence. The showdown continued. Mike cow called and the bull screamed his head off. Mike called and the bull answered, however it would not fully show itself nor would it approach the fence. We probably sat there a good hour or more. The man-to-elk-to-man conversation lulled at times but the bull remain engaged. Elk 5, Mark 0.

In the midst of this dialogue I heard a chirp from the hill above me. I watched a lone cow elk come trotting out of the trees into the wide open. I was now fully exposed and could not move. She stopped at 54 yards and stared directly at me. I didn't dare flinch. She continued to come directly toward me and stopped at 32 yards. She was in range but was looking straight-on at me. I needed her to turn so I could see her vitals. Mike cow called and she pivoted to take a look. She was now broadside but, again, unfortunately for me, her movement placed her body directly behind a large slash pile of wood. The vitals were covered up. I could take a shot but it would be too high on the body meaning it would be a risky shot. I hoped she would take just two steps out. Instead, when she decided to go she spun around and headed straight up the hill. I watched her rear end until she disappeared into the woods.

Why did the slash pile have to be there?!?

Mike and I again came together to whisper about the experience. He was waiting for me to launch an arrow but, from his angle, he didn't know the slash pile was the problem that it was. We headed back up the hill hoping for another encounter. Elk 6, Mark 0.

We came across a small pond and spotted a small bull on the other side of the fence. I set up back in the brush on the far side of the pond. Mike set up well behind me hoping to call the bull over. He bugled and the bull responded. It came up to the fence line some 30 yards away but again would not make the leap. Instead, he turned and ran off to keep his cows in line. Elk 7, Mark 0.

My final morning offered one final opportunity. We glassed the small finger ridges below where we saw one lone cow. She wasn't in much of a hurry so we watched and waited and watched some more. After 45 minutes or so she started to head up the mountain. We looped well above her hoping to find the spot where she would jump the fence onto our property. I set up back inside the middle of a fat tree. I broke off the branches around me to ensure I had room enough to draw. A log portion of the fence designed for wildlife to jump over was a mere 25 yards below me. I was ready. With an arrow on my string I decided I would draw back as a test without releasing the arrow to ensure I had enough room to make the shot. For whatever reason, my bow would not pull back. I thought to myself, "Maybe my body is too exhausted from waking every morning at 4:30 and going to sleep nightly at 11 p.m." But that made no sense. I had more than enough adrenaline in me to compensate for a lack of sleep. I tried it again and my bow exploded. The arrow flew off somewhere and the string came completely off one of the sprockets. My bow hunt was over. Elk 8, Mark 0.

Broken bow

All in all, I had seen more than 50 elk, including at least nine bulls, within 60 yards of me but most were on the wrong side of the fence. Simply put, the planets did not align and I took the long drive back home that afternoon with my broken bow.

Fast forward to late October. It was opening day for the general rifle season. Chris and I took the two-hour drive south to near Sula. Searching for elk, we came across several whitetail deer. Chris had an opportunity but chose to pass. Maybe it was because we were on the top of the mountain and the drag down would take several miles. All I know is we never saw an elk. Elk 9, Mark 0.

Arvil glassing for elk

A few weeks later, Arvil Anderson and I headed south of Darby for a mid-week hunt. We arrived and set up our wall tent before undertaking a brutal straight-down and then straight-up hike to a parallel ridge. I could feel the sweat run down my back under the multiple layers of clothing as we ascended to the ridge line where Arvil had shot several bulls in the past. But these were not Arvil's glory days. We did not see any fresh elk sign or tracks. Having said that, it was an enjoyable hike. The first snow flakes of the season slowly wafted down upon us. The only casualty of the day was my "walking stick," My shooting sticks snapped in two as I stepped on to what I thought was the lip of a creek bank. Instead, my boot continued down another four feet into the water. Luckily, I kept my gun both dry and above me as part of my body fell into the water. It was refreshing. I was laughing but defeated. Elk 10, Mark 0.

Our elk camp

Dinner-time!

That night, Arvil and I enjoyed our Mountain House meals. A heater kept the temperature in the tent well into the 70's, if not the 80's, as the snow continued to fall outside. I had brought two of my son-in-laws heavy duty sleeping bags for the bag-in-a-bag method because I'm not such a fan of sleeping cold which often happens to me while winter camping. The sleeping bags more than did their job. We shut the heater off and turned out the lantern at about 7 p.m. and called it a night. I woke up at 4 a.m. steaming hot. With temperatures in the 20's outside I found myself unzipping my sleeping bags to let in the cold air. Who'd have thunk?!

The next morning, we broke camp, packed up and headed to a different spot. We probably hiked another five miles. We glassed hillsides, walked, glassed and walked some more. We saw fresh mountain lion tracks but no elk. We also saw some monster mule deer which neither of us had a tag for because it's a limited draw area. We also saw a nice bighorn sheep. As we drove out of the mountain in the pickup we chatted how we deserved to at least see some elk. We had certainly put in enough time and hard hiking. It was just about that moment when I said, "There they are!" Sure enough, we saw about 10 elk on a high peak. It would be a hard hike to get there but we decided to do so if we saw a bull. After all, neither of us had a cow tag. We glassed and watched and watched some more. No bulls! Elk 11, Mark 0.

Grateful to harvest a whitetail doe

It was getting late in the season and my time to fill the freezer was running short. I would lose the final week of the season --often the best time for rifle hunting-- because I was heading out of state. I should point out that I did take a whitetail doe with my rifle. I was certainly grateful for that but I really wanted to get an elk.

Me & Barb

I hooked up with Champ and his girlfriend Barb in mid-November. We headed into the mountains just above Drummond. Another day of hiking, this time in six inches or so of snow, on a blustery, frigid day and no success. We saw tracks but no sign and no fresh sign. Elk 12, Mark 0.

That's it. My elk hunting season was over. Or so I thought.

While working in my office just before Christmas I received an email from Montana Fish, Wildlife and Parks. I knew what it was as soon as I saw it pop up on my computer. I had put in for a damage hunt above Drummond six months earlier. My lucky day had come. I had been drawn to take part in the hunt.

The day was December 31. Jace was home for the holidays so we got up well before sun-up to meet with his old high school debate partner and good buddy, Brandon. Brandon and I had actually hunted this area a few times but Brandon knew it much better than I did so I was grateful that he wanted to come along. In fact. Brandon shot his first bull elk there earlier in the season.

It was a brisk day with temperatures in the teens. Brandon offered to take his truck so we drove into the northernmost portion of our hunting zone. Deep snow didn't allow the truck to go as far as we wanted so he dropped me off. Brandon and Jace remained in the truck while I tromped off into the distance. The plan was I would text them if I saw anything. I probably covered a mile or so when I stopped to do some glassing. Way off in the distance, maybe two miles away or so, I saw one elk, three elk and then more than a dozen. They were on a tree-less snow-covered hillside. Among them were three big bulls. My damage hunt tag was strictly for a cow but it was a thrill to see those big boys out there. I texted the boys and they soon joined me. Our plan was to take a big, looping hike around the elk so they couldn't see or smell us and then come out on the bluff above them. We just hoped they would still be there when we reached our destination.

Do you see the elk?

About an hour later, we slowly eased toward the top of the knob. We didn't know if the elk were still there. If so, could they be 200 yards away or 50 yards away. We just didn't know. Each step I took I strained my eyes hoping I would see dark splotches of elk hide in the snow below. Finally, there they were! I immediately dropped to my knees and motioned to Jace and Brandon behind me to stop. I then started crawling in the snow hoping they would not see me. After covering about 50 yards we got a good view of the herd. There were more than a dozen cows. They were bedded down some 375 yards away. As we determined our course of action, we saw the three big bulls walk out and stop only 275 yards straight below us. We whispered to each other, "Man, if we all had bull tags we could each fill them right now." It was an amazing sight.

If only the three of us had three bull tags (sigh)

We shifted our attention back to the cows. They had no idea we were there and seemingly had no plan to go anywhere anytime soon. Though not a big fan of taking a shot at a bedded down animal, I felt it was a shot I could make. Grandpa Vern's .30-06 boomed and literally a second or more later we heard the "thwack" of a successful shot. The cow stood up broadside as the other elk started to run off. I took another shot and heard another "thwack." She was wobbly and struggling to stand. After ten seconds or so she went down. We continued to watch from afar hoping the hunt was over but she got back up and struggled over the edge of the ridge. We immediately started hoofing it through the deep snow. We arrived at her bedding site. There was plenty of blood. As we crested the ridge we saw her again back down on the ground but her head was up. One quick shot later and it was over.

I dropped down to my knees next to her in the snow. I was extremely thankful and uttered a short, silent prayer of gratitude. There were also hugs and photos with both Jace and Brandon. Though not as big as a bull, a cow elk is still a very large animal weighing in at half a ton. And we would learn that every step of the way off the mountain, across the rolling hills and through the deep snow back to the truck.

I took the shot from the top of the knob just to the right of the patch of trees

After we field-dressed the cow, we started the three-mile drag. Despite the snow, or maybe because of it, the drag was NOT easy. We soon determined we had to find another way. Unfortunately, I'd forgotten my big pack in my truck which was back at the meeting site in Missoula. Brandon had also set out his pack but forgot to throw it in his truck. (Yeah, I know...great preparation, right?) We decided to cut the cow in half. Brandon placed his lone dragging strap around the cow's neck. I went to pull the straps out of my day pack and neither of them was there (ugh) so I undid my belt and attached it to the legs of the cow's back half. Since the front half was a little lighter in weight, I claimed that as my responsibility. The two twenty-somethings would take turns with the back half.

Jace (left) & Brandon

And so the drag began. Luckily it was a beautiful day for a heck of a workout. The sun continued to beat down as temperatures reached into the 20's. Another bonus is there was little to no wind. I found myself in the same situation as the boys. We would grab the strap with both hands, place our arms behind our backs and then lower the angle of our bodies and plow forward in the snow about 30-45 yards or so until our legs burned so much that we had to stop to recover. And then we'd do it again and again and again.

You do the math. Three miles divided by 30 to 45 yards at a time equals a four-hour drag. I stayed just ahead of Jace and Brandon because I knew if they ever passed me I may never catch up. There were several times when I stopped to gasp for air bent over with my hands on my legs just above my knees, allowing time for the fire in my calves and thighs to cool a bit, when I looked back to see both Jace and Brandon sprawled out in the snow gasping and yet laughing and carrying on. It got even more demanding as we hit the flats which, at times, became rises. Even when we finally made it down to the "road," the going got even tougher because of the deep tire ruts in the snow which made the going even more difficult to navigate.

The drag was truly one of the most physically draining, satisfying, excruciating, enjoyable bonding workouts ever. (A pinch nerve in my neck that led to two weeks of that "pins and needles" feeling in my right hand later confirmed that.) As the three of us triumphantly sat on the tailgate of the truck, with the 500 pounds of elk loaded in the bed behind us, we just soaked it all in.

"That was the best!"

"Yeah, how cool was that?!"

"Man, this was the best hunt ever!"

After appeasing our previously raging appetites with a burger and fries lunch at the Wagon Wheel Cafe in Drummond, I found myself reflecting back on my hunting season during the drive home. The latest, successful outing could only be summed up as a H-A-R-D-fought victory. Elk 12, Mark 1.

That is a final score I am more than good with.

Father-son-elk

Freezer = full!
#MissionAccomplished

Do I Believe in Miracles? YES!

I can tell you exactly where I was and what I was doing 36 years ago today. I was in the downstairs living room of my parents' home back in Kansas, sprawled out on the shag rug carpeting. My folks and siblings, those who were in town anyway, where there too. We watched on TV what has been (and always will be) the greatest sporting moment of my lifetime! The upstart U.S. Olympic hockey team beat the mighty Soviet Union in what will forever be known as "The Miracle on Ice." That night remains one of my all-time favorite hockey memories.

Only 41 days earlier, I watched the American team in person. The squad. as part of its pre-Olympic tour, played and defeated the Tulsa Oilers 7-4 in Wichita's Kansas Coliseum. I don't remember a lot about the game except that it was a full house and the crowd was loud. (Because of back-to-back sellouts in a "non-hockey town," Wichita landed a minor league hockey team the next year.)

My ticket stub

The Olympic team went on to finish out its tour with an overall record of 41-17-3. In fact, the final game of the tour was a whipping as the Soviets rolled to a 10-3 victory in Madison Square Garden. But just 13 days later, the Americans would shock the world in front of a rocking Lake Placid, New York crowd.

Every time I see the video, wherever it's posted, the excitement and memories of the greatest upset in sports history come rushing back.

Do I believe in miracles? Heck yes!!

On the Right Path: A Missionary Again

Italy 1983

There are several decisions that shaped the direction of my life, The most important (and best) decision I ever made was asking Lori to marry me. Luckily, she said "yes" and we'll celebrate our 30th anniversary later this summer.

The other most important decision I ever made is one that shaped me personally, spiritually and emotionally. It solidified my faith and placed me on a path that I have faith will lead to living eternally with God. And that was to serve a full-time missionary for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (Mormon church) in southern Italy. The innumerable lessons I learned during my 19th and 20th years of life still resonate with me and always will. I loved wearing the missionary name tag. I cherished it. It was an honor being set apart as a personal representative of Jesus Christ and teaching others about His gospel.

Lori and me (2015)

Fast forward to 33 years later. Lori and I were living in Lolo (where we were members of the Stevensville Stake) when we received a phone call from a member of the Missoula Stake presidency. That seemed kind of odd since we were not in Missoula's jurisdiction, so to speak. We were asked if we would serve a church service mission as a couple. Specifically, we were asked if we would oversee implementation of the first Pathway program site in Montana. "Sure," we said. "What's Pathway?"

We learned Pathway is low cost online continuing education program administered through BYU-Idaho designed to help adults age 18+ work toward a college degree. Originally launched in 2009 in just three locations, there are now more than 15,000 students located in 42 states and 39 countries around the world. It entails three semesters that cover four courses: Life Skills, Math, English and the Book of Mormon. Students who obtain a "B" average in those classes can carry their low cost tuition rate into the remainder of their online college careers--assuming they remain with BYU-Idaho. They can also transfer to another school or program and have the credits transfer with them or obtain a certificate.

One of the exciting things about serving this part-time 18-month mission is my name again appears on a missionary name tag. And even better, Lori is my companion. (It goes without saying she is BY FAR the best-looking missionary companion I've ever had--no offense Hopkins, Harris, Whited, Ensign, Spendlove, Teuscher, Smith, Kezos and anyone else I may have missed.)

Lori and I oversee the age 31+ class. We meet weekly in one of our church buildings in Missoula.

Right now, we are halfway through the second of three semesters, meaning our students are halfway through their overall Pathway experience. It is inspiring and empowering watching a group of folks who have all become friends stretch themselves and learn together.

To me, the Pathway program is yet another avenue that God has provided for his children in order to help them become more knowledgeable. You know, more like him. To have the opportunity to witness and take part in such a learning and growing experience first-hand--isn't that what being a missionary is all about...again?

Facebook: It's NOT What It Used to Be

I long for the good old days. Not back when I was a young kid. And not when I was a teenager either. I long for the good old days of just five years ago. I first joined Facebook in 2011. It's not so much that I want to return to an old job or where I used to live. I just wish Facebook is now what it was then.

I admit I was slow to join the social media party. Heck, I resisted it. But I finally gave in because management above me urged me to do so. As soon as I set up an account new friend requests came pouring in from old friends I hadn't heard from in decades. I caught up with their lives and soon started seeing photos and reading tales of many things I'd missed out on. It...was...awesome!

Fast-forward to 2016 and Facebook is larger and more used than ever. As of the late 2015, approximately 1.6 billion people were on Facebook. That's about 22 percent of everyone who lives on earth. That's crazy!

Having said that, I believe Facebook is a shell of what it once was. Let me explain by setting the table, so to speak, I have both a personal page and a professional page but the place where I spend most of my time when I'm on Facebook is doing outreach on my work page for the Rocky Mountain Elk Foundation, because that's a component of my job. When I joined RMEF in late May 2012, we had about 25,000 "likes." Just this past week, we rolled over the 420,000 "like" mark. The growth has been tremendous and we hope to keep the ball rolling so we can reach more people to spread the word about the good conservation work RMEF is carrying out.

One thing I've noticed by being logged in to Facebook --and all of social media for that matter-- all day on a daily basis is how people's attitudes have shifted. It used to be that folks would post a photo or leave a personal comment and they were mostly positive. Today, many people use Facebook as a sounding board. And it's not just that either. They go on rants, point fingers and some are even into name-calling. There are people who hate Democrats, hate Republicans, hate government leaders and/or presidential candidates, hate cops, hate cop-haters and the list goes on and on.

We all have different opinions. I'm fine with that but nowadays there's this attitude of "I'm going to make this in-your-face post and you better go along with what I believe or I'm gonna spew hate your way" or "you better believe what I believe or you're stupid." What happened to civility? What happened to decorum? What happened to respect? We can disagree about our political or religious views but we don't have to be over-the-top, in-your-face about it if others don't like it. I've hid posts of several Facebook friends on my timeline because they just pound the same anti-this or anti-that or conspiracy-this or conspiracy-that message every day.

Can we go back to the good old days? No more hate posts. No more impersonal memes. Just friends treating each other like friends?

Wait, did I just go on a personal rant? Sigh...

Back on Track

I love to write. In fact, I guess you could say I've been a professional writer my entire professional adult life. I like to blog too. At the urging of management back in my TV days, I created my own blog site and drummed up about 40 blog posts --personal, professional and otherwise-- over a three year period.

But when I transitioned out of the broadcast news spotlight, my blog pursuits transitioned from this one, my On the Mark blog, to establishing a new blog for my new employer, the Rocky Mountain Elk Foundation. The fun thing is that Elk Tracks, as it's called, is thriving with nearly 900,000 page views after three and a half years. Oh yeah, and then there's the RMEF Youth Blog. It's also doing well.

And that brings me back to this blog. It's time to get back on track. Why? Why not? It'll be fun.