My Own Piece of Montana

My "driveway"

I still pinch myself! I get up first thing in the morning to take the dog outside only to watch the sun pop up above the mountains and spray down rays of sunshine through the branches of my own personal forest of towering Ponderosa pines. It's truly a glorious thing.

I really never thought I'd have my own 10 acres of Montana, (actually it's soon to be six acres-that's another story for another day) but now that we do I absolutely love it. There's really nothing like the smell of being in the woods in the mountains. A passing rain shower only enhances the senses.

Vegetation in the mountains is vibrant, colorful and brings life to everything--especially in the springtime. My favorites are the mighty Ponderosas. I love watching them sway in the breeze. When I'm hunting I love to take a break by sitting down and leaning against a pine tree on a mountain ridge to scan for animals and to just take in the landscape's beauty. We are fortunate to have hundreds of pine trees on our place which are a perfect compliment to the many wildflowers on the forest floor.

And seeing all the wild critters is a big, big bonus! After all, that is what Montana is all about. Right after we arrived at the new property, a serviceman claimed he saw a mountain lion walking across our place. If true, it's certainly not hard to see why. We had a whitetail doe that raised her three fawns in our neck of the woods. Last year, a big fur ball of a black bear ran across the dirt road right in front of my truck a mere 100 yards from our property. Just this spring, we saw a black bear sow climb down one of our trees some 40-50 yards off to the side of our home. Her cub shimmied down the next tree over. Other wildlife on the property include elk, wild turkey, raccoons, squirrels, and birds of all sorts including bald eagles, turkey buzzards, woodpeckers and an array of song birds. Having the neighbor's horses in our back pasture is a bonus as well.

The bottom line is there's a very calming influence to living out in nature. It's peaceful, relaxing and down-right enjoyable. Living there is a reward in and of itself.

Where we live

Mama bear and her cub

The back pasture

And Then There Were Two

The 2016 softball season feels a little different--not bad at all, just different.

Russ (left) and me

It was back in the summer of 2004 or so that a handful of us got together to form a men's rec league softball team. Russ Thomas, a relatively newly hired co-worker, took the reins as manager. We gathered up some friends and friends-of-friends. The core of the group included Russ, Jay Allen, Travis Munden, Greg "Rabbit" Myers and me. Before long we had a full roster and started a long run of spending our summers together in the same dugout and on the same diamond.

Not long after our inaugural season together, possibly our second go-round, Russ lined up a main sponsor that still faithfully sticks by us. That's why we're known to all we go up against as Taco Johns.

We had a lot of good guys, good players (and I mean a LOT) come and go. The first of Taco Johns' founding fathers to leave the nest was Rabbit. Greg moved away several years ago but was temporarily back in town and for a weekend tournament last summer. (Or was it the summer before last?) Anyway, we established ourselves over the years as one of the better teams in our division with one of the better records. I don't know the exact totals but we advanced to the Montana state softball tournament at least a handful of times and placed among the top 15 most every appearance.

And that brings us back to 2016. We're just five games into the new season (with a not too shabby 4-1 record I may add) but like I said, thing are a little different. Jay and Travis left their Taco Johns playing days behind and are no longer with us. That leaves just Russ and me as the remaining original founding fathers still trying to slug our way out of the batter's box. (Okay, still trying to bloop our way out of the batter's box.) And I find myself as the oldest guy on the team by almost eight years.

Travis, me, Russ & Jay (left to right) in what turned out to be our last game together
(Yeah, Travis has a really, really long left arm)

Still, it's great to be back on the diamond. It's great to be out there with the guys. It's great to play.

2011

2011

2015

2016

The Fantasy Slam

I have always loved sports. I love to play. I love to compete.I love playing alongside good teammates. (I love to win, too.)

Perhaps not so surprisingly, I started my professional career two weeks after college graduation by accepting a job as a television sportscaster in Topeka, Kansas. I spent ten years in Kansas before heading west to accept another sportscaster position in Spokane, Washington. After four years there, I'd covered sports on all levels for 14 consecutive years but it was time to move on. I left my sports days behind to move over one seat on set to accept a newscaster position in Missoula, Montana.  

No longer covering sports on a day-to-day basis as a profession allowed me to become more of a fan again. It was refreshing. And that's when I was introduced to fantasy sports. To me, it was a perfect way to keep up to speed on some of my favorite sports and teams without having to dive in the deep end and track every trend, statistic and happening on a daily basis.

That was 2004. Since then I drafted scores of fantasy teams from the NHL, NFL, MLB and filled out a batch of NCAA basketball tournament brackets. I don't always fare so well but I don't do too badly either thanks to 22 league "championships" from my 80 teams. But it wasn't until earlier this year that I finally racked up my personal version of the fantasy slam--consecutive basketball, hockey, football and baseball fantasy wins.

And it's a good thing I checked that off my bucket list because after checking tonight's latest standings, my 2016 fantasy baseball team just got smoked again and I dropped into 11th place in a 12-team league. Oh well, bring on football season!

A Good Deed

It was a simple outing that left me with a good feeling.

I needed to go downtown to the Missoula County courthouse during my lunch hour to get 2016 license plates for my son's car. Before I left, I realized I didn't have any change. A co-worker said I wouldn't need any since the old meters had been overhauled with new units that now took debit and credit cards.

After I parked I stood in front of the machine, followed the directions, entered my license plate number, pulled out my wallet and prepared to pay. Hitting the "quick pay" button would allow me to pay for the 30 minutes I needed. I put my credit card in the slot but nothing happened. I tried again with the same result.

At about that same time a bearded man in a Carhartt jacket said something like, "So that's the new set-up huh? How does it work?"

I told him he needed to know his license plate number but that the machine apparently didn't allow the payment of a small amount with a credit card even though there was a slot for it.

"Do you have any change?" he asked.

"Only a nickel," I said.

"Here you go," he said.

"Thank you," I replied.

He gave me 50 cents and returned to his vehicle to get his license number. I inserted the two quarters, received a receipt and entered the county courthouse. Moments later, he entered and took a number to do some title work which usually takes much longer than just updating tags. His number was called a good 15 minutes before mine and I smiled as he quickly exited with his approved paper work.

To me it was only fitting that someone who had just done a good deed could be in and out of the courthouse in a matter of mere minutes. I was grateful.

Arrowhead Stadium or Bust! The Ultimate Father-Son Getaway

The date was June 5, 2015. Just two days earlier, my son Jace returned home from serving an honorable and successful mission for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in Western Australia. We gathered in our living room as family and friends to celebrate his 21st birthday which was just six days earlier.

I'd known for quite some time exactly what present I wanted to give him.

You see, Jace has been a Kansas City Chiefs fan his entire life yet he had never seen a game in person. I had attended multiple games at Arrowhead Stadium during my sportscaster days back in Kansas.

To be honest, there is no place quite like Arrowhead. It's been known as the rocking-est, loudest stadium in the National Football League for several decades. In fact, I remember spending one particular game on the sidelines at Arrowhead. By the time it was over I was just exhausted. It wasn't so much from carrying a camera on my shoulder for three hours as it was to have sound waves from the roar of the fans pounding my body play after play all game long. All in all, it's just a glorious place to take in a game.

Turkey Bowl reunion with my buddy John

When in Kansas, gotta get a Sonic slush

I flew out to my folks' place in Wichita the day before Thanksgiving. Jace had worked the previous three months in Texas so he met me there. We had a great visit with my family. In addition to my parents, Kerry's family was there as was Amy's as well as Lacey, Matthew and Paul. We played games, shot baskets next door at the church, ate well and laughed a lot! Jace and I even played a little Turkey Bowl football in the rain with my old buddy John Bazzelle on Thanksgiving morning. It had been way too long since I'd been back home and it was awesome to be back.

Hanging with the fam

Cute little Paul

The "kids" table

The "grown up" table

Playing H-O-R-S-E with Kerry & Jace in the old church gym

Like son...

...like father

The Saturday after Thanksgiving, Jace and I drove the Cav north toward Kerry's place in Overland Park. On the way there, we were attracted to a massive Scheel's Sporting Goods store. It was so big that it had a ferris wheel inside of it. We also found a couple of other attractions that allowed both Jace and I to throw down nearly identical reverse slam dunks right in front of the University of Kansas student section at Allen Fieldhouse. To cap off our visit, we found some pretty sweet $20 KU and Wichita State hoodies.

Yeah, it's a BIG store

After an enjoyable evening with the Kerrys, we awoke to a rainy day with temperatures in the mid-30s. We stopped at Walmart to get some plastic ponchos and then headed toward the Harry Truman Sports Complex. After finding our parking spot, we walked over to Kauffman Stadium--home of the world champion Kansas City Royals. I was decked out in my Royals gear so we took a few photos before making our way to Arrowhead Stadium.

Champs baby!

We arrived well before game-time because that's exactly what Jace wanted to do. We watched both the Chiefs and Buffalo Bills take the field for pre-game warm-ups. We even saw Bills' kicker Dan Carpenter, who had a highly successful college career at the University of Montana. We had seen him play there before he advanced on to the NFL. We went down to the front row and were only 20 yards or so from him. We yelled for him but he did not acknowledge us until we shouted "Go Griz!" Even then, he only nodded.

Here come the Chiefs

Soaked, but lovin' it

Not quite the 50-yard line but pretty darn close

Our seats were perfect: section 101, row 26, seats 1 and 2 on the 42-yard line. The rain continued to fall at a steady pace. Because of that, some fans stayed away but Arrowhead was still rocking. Like all the other fans, we also stayed on our feet the entire three-and-a-half hour game. There was really no reason to sit down. The rain was constant and our seats were drenched. Our short-sleeved ponchos kept the rain off our bodies but our arms and gloves were soaked. We didn't care though. We screamed every play the Chiefs were on defense. It was our contribution helping the team..

This was a big, big game with huge playoff implications for both Kansas City and Buffalo, and boy did the Chiefs deliver. Kansas City fell behind 10-0 before ratcheting up the defense and then outscoring the Bills 30-12 over the last three quarters to take a 30-22 victory.

Post-game & soaking in the victory

The next morning we started the Kansas City-to-Montana drive home in the Cav. Our goal was to make it to eastern Montana in one really, really long day so our second day would be much easier. The only thing is Mother Nature did not cooperate. Temperatures dropped and the steady rain turned to snow. We had no choice but to go as far as we could because I had to catch a plane to Las Vegas in 48 hours for work.

The Cav's silouette

The farther we went, the more intense the snow became. We found ourselves forced to reduce our speed from 75 miles an hour to 60 to 50 to 45. At times, we followed the snow plows. At other times, we passed the plows and kept on going. Little did we know that we were in a blizzard warning as we cut across Iowa into South Dakota. We later learned that Sioux Falls, Mitchell and other towns along the way set single-day records for snowfall.

After awhile, it became abundantly clear that if we didn't pull over, we may spend the evening stuck in the Cav in a snow drift. We called ahead and reserved a room in Kadoka (where?) in west-central South Dakota, some 400 miles shy of Billings.

We set our alarms early the next morning. It took us about 25 minutes just to cover the 80 yards from the parking lot to the road. Things didn't get much better from there. We gassed up and the "little car that could" worked as its own snow plow as we struggled down the on-ramp onto I-90. The interstate was no better. In fact. it was much, much worse than the previous night. Somehow we made it one mile in the deep snow to the next exit. We got off the interstate, somehow made it off the off-ramp and returned to our motel. We had left our key in the room since we didn't think we'd return so we were locked out. Jace contacted the manager who supplied us another key and we climbed back into bed and went back to sleep.

We awoke some 3-4 hours later only to find the snowplows had been out and done their job. Snow was no longer falling and it wasn't an hour or two until we were again traveling 75 miles an hour. There was no snow on the road as we cut across the corner of Wyoming into Montana. From there, we later stopped in Bozeman before making it across the rest of the state and arriving home at about
11 p.m.

Cav = the little car that did

All in all, it was a victorious father-son trip to always remember.

To me, this photo says it all!

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