I’ve made a lot of friends in the vibrant hunting communities of Utah and southern Colorado, but I almost always hunt alone. The older I get, the more comfortable I’ve become spending cold nights by myself on the side of a mountain and slashing through thick underbrush in search of trailheads in the dark. In that way my recent hunts — even the unsuccessful ones — have been more fulfilling than ever.

During the 2008 season I learned that doing it my way doesn’t have to mean doing it alone. When elk hunting it helps to have a good friend or two by your side, particularly guys who know a lot about hunting in the mountains.

I first tried elk hunting with archery gear when I lived in Colorado during my early twenties and, although I got close to a few animals I never closed the deal. And I thought I might not get the chance again once I moved back home to Michigan in ’98. Five years later, here I was again in the rocky mountains.

Utah’s mountains are big and rugged in places, but they somehow don’t compare to the vast Colorado mountains, blanketed by thick timber except for the peaks, many of which rise above 14,000 feet, compared to Utah’s tallest mountain at just over 12,000. Utah however has more trophy elk in the record books than Colorado. At least I’m pretty sure Utah can claim more bulls above say, the 400 mark. Maybe not more than New Mexico . . . I do know that Utah truly is an elk hunting paradise and I was lucky enough to draw a coveted bull elk tag for the limited-entry Central Nebo unit.

I knew the area pretty well, at least a small part of it anyway. I had seen some big bulls during the two other times I’d been there, and each time I killed a cow, so I naively assumed all I had to do was find another group of cows in the same area and the bull would pop out somewhere. On my second day, I had passed up an easy, wide-open shot on a nice six-by-six bull after a few of his cows charged out of the timber, searching desperately for a lost calf they had just heard mewing.

After another week went by I began to think my decision to try for a bigger bull was a bit greedy. Although I’d been hearing the eerie, high-pitched screams for days I couldn’t seem to get within bow range. Even more worrisome was the gradually rising temperature; I was afraid those bulls would zip their lips altogether.

Sometime during the second week of the hunt as I scarfed down a much-needed french toast breakfast at a diner in town, I thought about that morning’s hunt, which included a couple of close encounters with bulls. Replaying it in my head drove me crazy. Bottom line: I needed good elk hunting tips, and I needed them NOW.

. . . But I want to do it on my own! Public land. Fair chase. Backbreaking, All-American, Tough Guy D.I.Y. BABY!

It was a hard thing to do, but after much deliberation I put in a call to my friend, Scott Stone, who knows the area well, and knows how to talk to elk.

“What am I doing wrong?” I asked. “Should I use the cow call? Should I sit on a wallow? Should I be bugling more? Should I strap on my running shoes and chase the screaming bastards down?”

I explained to him how bulls had responded to my calling, but time-after-time when I closed the distance, the wary old beasts would move another five hundred yards up or down the mountain. It was a maddening game that was testing my patience, while costing me thousands of calories I’d rather not have to replace again with unheated military food and powerbars. It didn’t seem to be working the way I’d seen on all the TV shows. Time was running out.

Scott had a permit to kill a spike or cow in the same area, and my call gave him the perfect excuse to take the next day off work. I told him were I was camping.

“I’ll meet you at 5:30 a.m.” he said.

Late that night, weary from days of hiking, I set up my one-man tent near a horse corral along the Nebo Loop road. The air was cold. Those bulls would be screaming soon. I had spent all year dreaming about elk hunting and now that I actually was elk hunting I felt as if each day a new wilderness dream emerged before me. And if I were a pitchman for (or wanted to get sued by) the Drury Brothers I might go so far as to say I was Living the Dream Season . . .

I was about to crawl into my sleeping bag and read my nightly dose of Ralph Waldo Emerson, when I had the urge to shoot my bow. I needed a confidence-builder, so I grabbed my foam target from the truck, flipped on the headlights, and shot five or six arrows from thirty yards. The first couple hit left about six inches, so I moved my pins a couple clicks left, and then shot a couple bull’s eyes before hitting the sack. Little did I know how important that sight adjustment would be.

I slid into my bag and into Emerson’s brilliant essay, Nature, picturing myself standing among the aspens at sunrise, the “transparent eyeball,” he talks about, perceiving everything while not being seen, not being anything. Erased among the leaves. Tomorrow I will transcend the dulled senses of modern man and attain a state of pure perception, a holy communion with rocks, grass and branches . . .

Scott was pretty excited to test out his calling skills and if anyone had elk hunting tips for Mt. Nebo it was him. The previous year he spent over 20 days there with a friend who passed up almost every decent bull Scott called in. When the guy finally took a shot, he missed, and never did fill his tag.

Going into our hunt, it’s safe to say that Scott had some demons, emotional baggage — whatever you want to call it. Maybe I could help him make up for last year’s failure. I was determined to exorcise his demons.

But how was some meat-hunter from Michigan going to close the deal on a trophy Utah bull in just one day?

The next morning Scott showed up with his friend, award-winning taxidermist Jimmy Lynn, who would be video-taping the hunt. I could only hope the pressure of being on camera would help me focus during moment of truth.

As the sun slowly rose, we headed down a trail from the top of the Nebo scenic byway, having left my vehicle at the bottom of the trail, some five miles down the hill.

Once we were a good mile in, we cut a few hundred yards due west, where we did some bugling, and inspected a well-used wallow Scott knew of. We heard a couple of bulls to our north, but the only action we had the first couple hours of calling was a small raghorn that walked up to Scott from behind. Jimmy and I never saw the bull, even though we were only twenty yards from Scott; a perfect example of how quiet these huge beasts can be.

Continuing west, we came up to a small, grassy bench, with scrub oak trees on the north shoulder in a patch maybe a quarter-acre in size, which dropped off steeply into a large section of dark timber.

It is here the mighty Wapiti finds peace and comfort, where he rests in his cool dirt bed, the shady tangle where he shreds the summer’s velvet from his antlers. This is the musky den where he thrashes trees to splinters with his massive cage of deadly lances, his hormonal rage intensifying with the shortening of days. And from this place came the scream of Ol’ Tripod, who apparently wanted every animal in the vicinity to know that this was his zone.

We took note of his message, and crept ever-so-slowly to the top edge of the timber, searching for the quietist way down. Luckily, elk had been running often through this timber, churning up the noisy detritus of dead bark and pine needles with soft, quiet soil, and making our descent into Tripod’s lair pretty stealthy.

The old bull let out another scream-grunt-chuckle, and he sounded about hundred yards away. The wind was in our favor, but there was always the chance that it could swirl back down into the timber, so we had to act pretty quickly.

Jimmy and I left our packs with Scott, who stayed back while we walked down the game trail about twenty yards. Jimmy hung behind me a bit with the video camera as I found a place to kneel down with some tight but reasonable shooting lanes.  We gave Scott the signal, and he laid into his bugle, producing an awesome sound that convinced Ol’ Tripod that a younger bull was in his master bedroom.

The response was ferociously loud and guttural. Tripod sounded close, but we had yet to hear a stick break. Scott called back, throwing in some throaty chuckles. It was after Tripod’s second or third response that I heard some commotion, and I felt my bowstring coming back to touch my nose, as I watched the massive, golden beast walk through my fifty-five yard lane. He didn’t slow down, and my right arm relaxed the bow, again. He turned, coming right at me through a snarl of branches, but I dare not draw on him now. He turned to his left again, going toward my three-o’clock lane, at what I thought was only 16 yards or so.

I’ve always agreed with the practice of “picking your spot,” but as my bowstring came back, I noticed that three of my five sight pins were covering his vitals. A split-second decision: Either shoot him through a small gap, while he’s walking, or wait till he takes five more steps into the next shooting lane which would have put him about four yards to my right, with his nostrils fogging up the lens of Jimmy’s camera. It wasn’t the kind of video I wanted. There was no time for debate, only action. There would be no missing, no branches in way, no wounded beast. My arrow flew through the narrow gap in the trees, and deep into the side of Ol’ Tripod.

My Zen Warrior confidence immediately turned to nausea, and I feared a gut shot. But as he I lumbered off into the timber I could get a better view of the arrow and illuminated nock. It was a good hit. Ol’ Tripod could only manage a few hasty steps uphill before he also knew he was in trouble. Jimmy cow-called to get his attention again, and the bull stopped, but it was far too thick to offer a second shot, and he trotted away, before crashing to the ground a few seconds later.

Had I not made the critical sight adjustment the night before, I believe I would have shot a few inches to the left, leaving Tripod mortally wounded, but without much of a blood trail to follow.

As I realized I’d made a good hit, a flood of emotions grabbed hold of me, shaking me to tears. I was moved by a sorrow of his being gone, to a degree I hadn’t experienced when killing other deer or elk. And I had succeeded in achieving something I had dreamed about ever since I’d first seen a live elk in Colorado, some fourteen years ago. All the miles I’d hiked, all the mountains I’d climbed — they meant something more than just sight-seeing. And all the elk hunting tips I’d read in magazines didn’t mean anything when it came to the moment of truth. No one can be taught how to take the right shot at the right moment and make it count. I’d failed so many times — my shooting, my stalking, my filthy scent riding lightly on the breeze — but not this time.

Most of all I was thankful for the companions I had that day, because I realized that some things, if they are to be done correctly, must be a team effort. In the three hours I’d hunted with Scott and Jimmy, I learned more about elk hunting than I had in all the years I had chased them around by myself.

Had I brought down a good bull like Tripod on my own, getting him out would have been a major chore, which is another thing people need to think about before taking to the woods alone, especially in the early season, when temps are high. Sure, it’s possible to kill one on your own, and many pro hunters strive to glamorize the solo effort. But unless you’ve taken every measure possible to plan for a kill, and unless that plan involves other people and hopefully a horse, you might as well not even bring your bow along.

Is your plan realistic? Do you have extra water and food in your truck, so you can make the additional meat-hauling trips, without collapsing from exhaustion and dehydration? Can you really get hundreds of pounds of meat out of the woods by yourself, before it spoils?

When elk hunting in Colorado, Utah, or anywhere Out West, I carry the phone numbers of a couple guys with horses, as well as the home phone number of the local game processor, in case it’s very late at night and I need to get a dead deer out of the heat. I also make sure my schedule is flexible the day following a hunt, so I can spend time tracking or hauling out an animal, if need be.

Before Scott and Jimmy came into the picture, I had lined up a local guy with horses who agreed to pack my bull out. But Jimmy brought his own mule, Casper, up the following day along with another friend who also had a mule, and we packed out the heavy shoulder and leg quarters in short time. I managed to carry out Tripod’s head and cape, while Scott packed out the back straps and some neck meat.

I suppose the moral of my story is; getting some help when you’re deer or elk hunting doesn’t mean you didn’t do it on your own. You are the one with bow in your hand. And any animal killed with archery gear is a trophy. Taking an old beast like Tripod, on public land, with minimal travel and expenses is something I know I can be proud of.

Outdoor Hub, The Outdoor Information Engine - A Colorado Elk Hunting Failure Succeeds In Utah

Tanner Colten Moad, 5 years old, is one of the coolest kids I know. The youngest of 4 children of mine, Tanner never stops moving.
Before gun season in central eastern Oklahoma, the traditional bow season usually takes priority. I had taken the first week of bow season off from work in an attempt to tag out early at the request of my wife Lori. In her mind, if I was to tag out early, my deer season would then be “dear” season, with lots of additional chores getting done that get overlooked during each year’s deer season.

As a bow hunter, I was able to harvest a doe pretty quick, and two days later, stuck a nice 8 point that only took two steps before falling over. I had watched that buck spare with a 9-point two days earlier, and was in hopes I could manage to get the edge on one of them as both were very big bodied deer. Well, upon getting the close up view of the 8-point I had just harvested, I realized that half way up one side of his G-2, his antlers were completely broken off. A few of his other tines were damaged as well, which led me to believe that the 9-point he had previously been sparing with, probably wasn’t sparing anymore.

With bow season quickly becoming gun season, my son Tanner, was getting pretty excited about going hunting with dad this year. I had to work the first day of the season, but promised to take him on Sunday. Sunday afternoon, around 3:00pm, I was off to the deer woods and had my little man right there with me on the 4-wheeler. We drove to a spot where not much hunting activity was going on, and climbed into the buddy stand that was located there. The buddy stand had the camouflage netting around its fall protective bars and I knew that if a deer did come in, that the anticipated movements of my son would go undetected.

To my surprise, Tanner, sat quietly in the stand with me, pulled out his binoculars, and commenced to scanning the woods all around. When a squirrel would drop an acorn from a tree, it would hit the leaves, and Tanner would turn quickly to identify what made the noise. He would whisper to me that he thought he heard something over there, or over there, and over there. I know this sounds crazy, but I loved every minute of watching him pay attention to what was going on in the woods around him. Now he was hungry, 15 minutes after we were in the stand. He pulled out a package of crackers and quietly munched on them while looking around. We switched positions about 10 times, so he could see everything. He would ask me questions about all kinds of woods activities and now sat in my lap to get a better view. About 1 and ½ hours in the stand now, Tanner started doing the chicken head. You know, when someone is trying desperately not to fall asleep, but their eyes roll back, and their heads starts popping up. Well, it wasn’t long before “Mr. Energy” was resting against my arm, quietly sleeping.

Soon as Tanner decided to snooze, I elected to stay in the stand since there was only about 30 minutes left of daylight. So I positioned Tanner so he could lay down across the buddy stand seat that was covered with a camouflage blanket, and I would stand up. After positioning Tanner towards comfort, I stood up in the stand, now facing the rear, and spotted a nice buck standing there watching me. I touched Tanner on the face and arm attempting to wake him from his afternoon nap. I whispered to him “Tanner, there is a deer, wake up”. No response. So I looked back up the deer was gone. I positioned my rifle across the stand bars and waited for the deer to exit the brush. Just as I thought, he walked right through the opening in the brush headed for the deep woods. I announced I was there with a mouthed made “grunt”. He stopped and “bang”. As soon as the shot rang out, “Tanner, jumped up, wide eyed and said “Did I GET HIM?. Excited now, he really wanted to know if he got a deer. I smiled at him and excitedly said yes son, you got a big old buck. He jumped up and down in the stand and hugged me, and said “Well, where is he? Let’s go get him.” His little voice was squeaking high and low with excitement. This was his first experience in the deer woods hunting, and man he sure loved it, as did I. We climbed down the stand together, and went to where the buck was standing. I showed him the blood on the ground and explained to him that he should walk beside the blood, not in it, when he was tracking a deer. He started to walk beside the trail when he squeaked again. “I found him, he is right there” pointing. All of these events happening so fast, I wanted them to slow down some so I could savor the enjoyment of watching him. I showed him the caution of approaching a wounded or dead animal, helped him count the points on the antlers, and hugs and pride just rushed through me. After all, this hunt was supposed to be all about him.

He helped me load the deer on the 4-wheeler, and away we went to show the family. Close to the house now, I walked beside the 4-wheeler and allowed Tanner to drive up to the house. Picture this, A five year old boy, dressed in a camouflage shirt and orange hat with vest, driving a ranch 4-wheeler with a rifle in the rack on the front, and a 140 pound 8-point deer strapped to the utility rack in the back, coming out of the deer woods and driving up to the house with his mother waiting for him with a camera. Wouldn’t you be proud? I know I was. Tanner will never forget his first deer hunt, but neither will I. I think Lori, my wife and his mother, took a million pictures that evening.
Not only that, but he beat me this year with his deer. Mine during bow season was 150 pounds, but his rack was bigger. It is good to start them off young.

Send Pictures to:

Todd Krater
U.S. Hunting Today
Managing Editor
todd@ushuntingtoday.com

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By Mac Moad

The first week of October was finally here.  The first three days were spent in my favorite stand watching 3 raccoons in which I had named Larry, Curly, and Moe.  The mother raccoon was slightly bigger than the two younger ones, and seemed curious to every movement surrounding them.  The days here in eastern Oklahoma in October were still in the 80’s with mosquitoes buzzing everywhere.  I was wondering if it were still to hot to hunt and questioned myself again over and over.  Each day so far, I had hunted morning and evening with only a few does showing up.

Our family is one of three families (all related) that live on the mountain with about 360 acres of land owned by our families.  Each year we hunt, we always establish the rules.  {8 Point or better for the husbands} {Wives and kids, buck or doe} Now last year I hunted all year and didn’t harvest one deer, but I had seen enough antlers to keep me excited.  Every time Bill and Grover, my brother in-laws, sure let me

know how I got spanked on last years hunt.  Both are avid rifle hunters and tagged out the year I brought home nothing.  I was thinking about this already early in this season while elevated about 18 feet up in my climber.  I wondered, as every other hunter does, will this be my year.  As I looked down from my stand at the raccoons again on the 4^th morning of October 2007, I was once again thinking of how pretty they were and how every day I am in the woods, I look for the highlight of the day.  Whether this was the highlight of the day again, or was an owl going to sit on the limb next to me, a squirrel sitting on my boot, quail leaving a fast trail for a coyote, bobcats on the prowl, turkeys rustling, what was going to be the highlight?

Then, I saw movement directly in front of me.  I was a deer for sure, and no does were present yet.  I had placed my stand in what my wife calls the quiet spot.  High cedars with no brush, not to thick, but perfect for a good bow shot.  A well used doe trail to my right, and another trail coming in from the left, thicker trees to my front.  I could see about 40 yards around me with a creek bed behind me on a down hill gentle slope. The deer in front of me wasn’t spooked or aware of my presence as it slowly made its way directly toward me.  Sun to my back and the breeze in my face, finally, I could see him completely.  “Very nice buck” I was thinking.  As he moved closer and closer, I could count 4 on one side and 4 on the other.  Not sure if I wanted to take the shot just yet, I moved into position just in case.  Standing now and ready to draw, I used the bow as if I was hiding behind its small limbs.  The buck was much bigger than I originally thought the closer he moved to my stand.  20 yards and still coming, 10 yards and still coming.  He stopped, head concealed by a large cedar tree.  I came to full draw and picked my shooting lane.  As if knowing I was now ready to shoot, the 8 point stepped from behind the cedar and moved closer, directly into my shooting lane.  7 yards, I picked my hairs on the buck, just behind the shoulder and quartering down.  I could sense the raccoons to my right and felt a sense of calm, took a large breath, let it out half way, became steady as a rock and released.

{‘Wham”}  I dropped him in his tracks.  I intended to penetrate spine, heart, and lung if possible for a deadly and swift kill.  My broadhead did exactly that.  I stood for a moment and watched the buck lie still and quiet.  Larry, Curly, and Moe were nowhere to be seen.  I called my wife using my cell phone and quietly whispered I had a good buck down, her response to me was “why are we whispering”.  Laughing a little I said, I am in the quiet spot.

After checking the buck in and heading to the processors, I continued to hunt the evening in another stand.  Each day I hunted, I elected to use my climber instead of pre-placed stands used each year.  October the 7^th, 3 days after my first buck of the year, my 14 year old son was ready for action.  This would be his first year bow hunting, and he practiced every day for the last two months.  He was actually quite good shooting the pillow target and 3D’s, in which I was very proud.  Sunday after church, he would be in the woods with me for the evening hunt.  Everything seemed to go wrong.  I found out he was afraid of heights the hard way, but patiently, I assisted him into a lock-on stand with steps, explained the safety belt, strapped him in and climbed down.  I hooked his bow on the bow string and up and away the bow went.  While the bow was being pulled up by my son, I was watching all around me, trying to quiet down the woods, when {Wham}!!!!  My right hand was numb.  I looked at my hand and there was a deep cut to the bone on the top.  My son had almost had the bow in his stand when the bow string slipped.  The bow caught me square across my hand.  Seriously nervous and seeing the blood, my son asked if I was alright and maybe we should just go home and get the hand took care of.  He said he was so sorry and it just slipped, and…………  I assured my son everything was fine, helped him get the bow up the stand, and assured him he was ready to hunt.  “Don’t worry about me son, you just keep your eyes out for the big one.  I will be about 100 yards straight across the creek.”  I pointed with my other hand where I would be, wished him good luck, then started walking away from his stand. After crossing the creek and out of sight from Chase, I stopped and looked at the top of my right hand.  I was hurt pretty good, and I still couldn’t make a fist yet.

Not wanting to leave the woods with my son still in a stand, I elected to set up on a trail I knew of and wait it out.  I pulled off the climber from my shoulder and worried a little about if I could even use the stand to climb or not.  After setting up the stand at the bottom of the tree I picked out, we were going to find out if I could climb with one hand.  It actually wasn’t that bad.  Up the tree I went, got situated, smiled a little at how stupid I was to stand directly under my sons stand when he was raising his bow then shrugged it off as “my stupidity, my fault.” Now situated and seated in my stand, I wondered if I could even draw my bow back with the bum hand.  So, I stood up quietly, drew the bow and wow, man did that hurt.  I sat back down and thought once again, I hope a big buck goes by my son instead of me this evening.  Not real sure I could even draw again.

45 minutes later, about 6:05pm, I caught movement from over my right shoulder.  Yep, you guessed it.  It was a buck, but a very small buck.  Knowing that early in this season the bucks were still traveling together, I stood, turned and prepared.  Sure enough, 5 yards behind the 4 point, was a small basket 8 point.  Immediately I decided not to shoot this small 8.  To my surprise, directly on his heals was a really nice 8 point.  Now I was getting excited.  By the way, the first buck in front had walked directly under my stand and was now in front of my stand.  I drew slowly, aimed center mass of the shooting lane in a gap in the brush.  The small 8 point buck walked through the gap, and then “There he was”,  A fine 8 point standing in the gap.  Once again, I picked my area of hair behind the shoulder, quartered down, controlled the breathing, paused, and slowly squeezed the trigger release.

{Wham} I dropped him in his tracks.  I intended to penetrate spine, heart, and lung if possible again and sure enough, the broadhead did the work.  Can you believe this, 6 yards, another nice buck on the ground, just laying there.  I stood in amazement, I was shocked.  This was a really nice buck, pretty wide and may score as well.  The odd thing about this was, “dropped in his tracks.”  The very thing every hunter hopes for is to find the deer, or even better a swift and clean kill.  Well, not only did I find the deer three or four days ago, I found this one too.  I was like a dream.  Two 8 point bucks, both bow kills, both in the same week, both dropped in their tracks. I realized after a brief moment of silence, that my hand did not hurt anymore, and to make things even better, my son was on this hunt with me only 100 yards away. The two bucks that were in front of this one, there would be a good chance Chase saw them or even may get a shot.  But what will always cross my mind is how big was the buck that was still coming in from behind the buck I harvested.  I saw him jump when I released.  I climbed down and walked to Chases stand, walked cautiously up to the side of him and told him we had a good buck down.  Excited, he said he saw two bucks running and asked how big my buck was.  I told him, “well, I don’t know really, maybe you should help me track him”.  Chase was so excited when he walked up to my tree, buck in plain site.  “Man, I’m gonna get me a buck like that” I went to retrieve the 4-wheeler, we loaded the deer and headed to the house.  I was kind of in a hurry as the darkness was starting to set in, and I still needed to check this buck in too.  Arriving at our home on the mountain, my father stepped out on the deck and observed our approach.  My father had just come in from out of town that day to visit us for a week, so that was kind of cool him seeing me bring in another deer.  He was a big deer hunter with hunting skills that I always admired.

As far as the wife goes, she was so excited.  Not so much that I had gotten a nice buck, but that I had gotten two nice bucks with a bow in the first week of hunting season.  She rubbed it in real good to her two brothers whom still hadn’t harvested anything.  The next morning, as I watched the brother in laws roll out to the woods to deer hunt, I told them the same thing I always told them.  “Good luck and I hope you get a big one” Every bit of this is true, and I honestly believe this will be hard for me to beat next year.  After all, now my season just went from deer season, to “dear” season.  Being tagged out in the first week of bow season is a sure sign that honey-do’s will be a major part of the rest of my season.

This is a warning to outdoor users about a potentially deadly biological event that could result from one’s curiosity to poke at and kick through scat from wolves, coyotes and foxes. Of course not everyone knowingly does this but many hunters, trappers and simply the curious, want to know what these animals have been eating.

Back in the end of November I gave you a link to a story, “Of Wolves and Worms”. That story introduced many of us to the subject of worms being found in wolves in the Greater Yellowstone area.

According to a new study out in the October issue of the Journal of Wildlife Diseases, three-millimeter-long tapeworms known as Echinococcus granulosus, are documented for the first time in gray wolves in Idaho and Montana. And the authors didn’t just find a few tapeworms here and there… turns out that of 123 wolf intestines sampled, 62 percent of the Idaho gray wolves and 63 percent of the Montana gray wolves were positive. (Ew!) The researchers wrote: “The detection of thousands of tapeworms per wolf was a common finding.” (Again… Ew!!) This leads to the interpretation that the E. granulosus parasite rate is fairly widespread and established in the Northern Rocky Mountain wolves.

There is discussion about how some think the worms ended up in the wolves in this region but the article tends to downplay any serious concerns people should have from coming in contact with these tapeworms and the eggs they leave behind.

In the comments section of the article, Will Graves, author of the book “Wolves in Russia: Anxiety Through the Ages“, left his thoughts on his own research discoveries about the dangers to humans of these parasites.

In the first paragraph in my letter to Mr. Bangs dated 3 October 1993 on the DEIS (Draft Environmental Impact Statement) which was titled “The Reintroduction of Gray Wolves to Yellowstone National Park and Central Idaho,” I warned about the damages and problems wolves would cause to Yellowstone and other areas by carrying and spreading parasites and diseases over larger areas. Some of these parasites are damaging not only to wild and domestic animals, but can also be dangerous to humans. One of these parasites is Echinococcous Granulosus and Echinococcus M. Since 1993 I have been working to tell people what I have learned from about 50 years of research on the characteristics, habits and behavior of Russian wolves. From that research I came to the conclusion that one of the most serious consequences of bring wolves into the US would be the wolves carrying and spreading around damaging/dangerous parasites and diseases. I did my best to explain this in my book titled, “Wolves in Russia – Anxiety Through the Ages” edited by Dr. Valerius Geist. Details about my book are in my web site: wolvesinrussia.com.

After several years effort, I finally recently obtained help from the U.S. Department of Agriculture, Parasitic Research Center in Beltsville, MD. This research center will try to conduct research on the blood taken from wolves in our western states. Oneparasite they will be researching is to determine if wolves carry and spread the parasite Neospora Caninum around. It is established that coyotes and dogs carry this damaging parasite.

I remember that about two years ago there was a report about one wolf carrying Echinococcus Granulosus in Montana.

Much more research is needed about the danger wolves bring to our environment. Some of the parasites carried by wolves are dangerous to humans.(emphasis added)

Around this same time that Will Graves posted his comments, he contacted me by email and asked if I could somehow be of assistance to him in obtaining blood samples from wolves taken during the Idaho and Montana wolf hunts. The word went out quickly and hopefullyGraves gets what he needs to help him in his research. This can become extremely valuable information for all of us.

In the meantime, Dr. Valerius Geist, professor emeritus University of Calgary and Dr. Charles Kay, of Utah State University, who holds degrees in wildlife ecology, environmental studies and wildlife biology, exchanged thoughts on the discovery of worms in Yellowstone wolves in emails I received.

Well, Charles? What else is new? What did we warn about, how we were censored as alarmists………………………
And yes, a colleague assured us that all that is not a problem for us, but for some native types. Nothing to worry about, really. Remember how, early on, we put out a warning – do not kick dry wolf feces or poke about in such looking for evidence of food habits. Do not handle wolf feces as it will disturb the tiny Echinococcus eggs that float up like little dust cloud to envelop you, and you are very likely to ingest some of that “dust”. This know-how, which we older Canadian types carried away from our parasitogy lessons was poo-hood by some American colleagues. Wolves are after all, harmless! Remember the question we posed: is it really such a great idea completing ecosystems when the progression is herbivores, carnivores, finally diseases and parasites?

It is not my intention nor that of Drs. Geist and Kay to attempt to instill unnecessary fear in people but to educate, as it was back in the day before wolf reintroduction. There are very important lessons and warnings that all should heed and take into consideration when in the woods or maybe even in your own back yard.

Dr. Geist emailed me the other day and asked me if I would be kind enough to post this information so that anyone and everyone will be aware of the potential for some very serious health issues.

Urgent: could you make a point of it that now, that we know that the majority of wolves are infected with Echinococcus, that all hunters control their curiosity and not poke about in wolf or coyote feces to find out what these predators ate. these feces are saturated with tiny, lightweight Echinococcus eggs that rise like dust plume from the disturbed feces and envelop the poking hunter. If the air-born eggs are ingested, the an infection is possible, and having Echinococcus cysts grow inside oneself is not a desirable condition. Trust me!

He followed that up with more information about the dangers.

As to the pathogenicity of Echinococcus granulosus: Yes, I noticed that Foayt, leaning on Raup’s research in Alaska, toned down the dangers from this northern form. My understanding based on what we learned from an old, experienced parasitologist at the University of British Columbia is that it’s nothing to fool around with. It’s serious! In my career as a biologist in touch with the north, I have heard nothing else. I have not, however, done a recent literature search. Foayte’s assessment may be on even though it conflicts with mine. Either way, getting an Echinococcus cyst of any kind is no laughing matter as it can grow not only on the liver or the lungs, but also in the brain. And then it’s fatal.

There is however, another much more alarming angle. Echinococcus multilocularis is a nightmare, and much more virulent than Echinococcus granulosus of any strain. We cannot encapsulate this cyst, and it grows and buds off like a cancer infecting different parts of the body incessantly. Were some of the wolves infected with multilocularis? Coyotes and foxes carry it and it has been spreading. Do canids in Idaho, Montana, etc. have it? It’s found in Alberta. Regardless, now is the time to send out an SOS to ALL outdoor users. Hold your curiosity in check, do not poke into the feces of wolves, coyotes and foxes. If you do you will release clouds of Echinococcus eggs which will envelop you, and you may ingest the eggs, bring the eggs home and endanger your family. This is nothing new to me and I have lived with this constraint on my curiosity for over 40 years. This is just a know how that maintains your personal and your family’s safety. Also, never feed uncooked offal to your dog as it may become infected with Echinococcus and infect you and your family. Echinococcus cysts love to be in lung and liver, and if consumed by dogs you have a health hazard on your hands. And such cysts now grow in deer and elk where you live. Somebody should take a second look searching out Echinococcus multilocularis.

You and I probably have no idea in the world whether these worms exist in the woods we hunt, trap, hike, etc. but good advice given by Dr. Geist should tell us it’s not something we should mess around with. Squelch the curiosity to dig in the poop and just assume there could be hidden danger.

I want to take a moment to thank Will Graves, Dr. Val Geist and Dr. Charles Kay for caring enough about the rest of us to be willing to share their findings and experiences.

The Utah bill is at:
http://le.utah.gov/interim/2009/pdf/00001506.pdf

Utah news stories about this are at:

http://www.sltrib.com/news/ci_13818284

and

http://www.abc4.com/content/news/state/story/Utah-to-Feds-Keep-your-laws-off-our-guns/x9NOL-GMukKofxGgxcmo8g.cspx
or HERE

The list of states with introduced FFA bills includes: Alaska, Texas, Florida, South Carolina, Michigan, Minnesota, Ohio, and Pennsylvania. Kentucky, Virginia, Oklahoma, and Colorado are poised to introduce FFAs. Quite a few other states are intending to introduce in the near future. See:
http://FirearmsFreedomAct.com

Gary Marbut, president
Montana Shooting Sports Association
http://www.mtssa.org
author, Gun Laws of Montana
http://www.mtpublish.com

Things I am looking for, but not limited to.

•    Gear: Clothes, utility tools, ATV’s…
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•    Best Duck Blind or Hide…
•    You, family or friends dressed for the hunt…
•    Where you hunt

All I need is a digital picture in any PC compatible format and a description of the picture.  You can make the description as long or short as you would like.  If there is a story behind the picture we would love to hear about it.

Send Pictures to:

Todd Krater
U.S. Hunting Today
Managing Editor
todd@ushuntingtoday.com

Note: If you want a picture posted and do not have a digital copy I would be willing to scan it for you.  Please contact me for details.

US Hunting Today reserves the right to refuse any picture for any reason as well as edit it where appropriate.

Whether hunting public or privateland, the fundamentals of calling elk remain the same.

By Michael Waddell

We heard the bull bugle at first light and snuck into his core area. When I hit a lick on my bugle, the bull simply came unglued and stormed our position like a tank, crashing through brush and small lodgepole pines like they were atchsticks. Before we could react he was in our lap and we were pinned down, myself hiding behind a camera, too afraid to even touch the tripod for fear of my shaking hands would run the footage. All I could see of my partner edged against a stunted pine was the tip of his undrawn arrow shaking uncontrollably on the rest. Before a shot presented itself, the bull smelled a  rat and disappeared as quickly as he arrived.

While this experience didn’t result in a dead elk, it did hopelessly addict me to calling them. It seems that in all walks of life, be it the animal kingdom or humans, communication is a key ingredient for all social interaction. However not all living things communicate to the same degree. If you ask my wife, I am sure she will tell you I lack in the communication department, in fact I am sure she believes I don’t listen to her at all, but when it comes to communicating with animals I can barely shut up. Of all the animals I love to communicate with elk rate right at the top. By nature elk are very vocal. The uninitiated often simply think of bulls bugling, but cows, calves and bulls make all sorts of noises year around. If you encounter a larger herd of elk while you might not hear a thing from a distance, if you get close you will hear lots of subtle vocalization. Most of the time these are sounds of contentment, but depending on what’s happening the vocalization reflects it. Elk can convey contentment, danger, curiosity, or a cow in heat. Bulls for instance only bugle primarily in the rut, but they also communicate to establish a pecking order. After spending a considerable amount of time chasing the mighty wapiti, I’m convinced every elk in the herd knows each other by sound alone. This happens with the cows as well as the bulls and based on my evaluation somewhere in this mix is the deadly secret to calling elk archery-close.

Imitation Is The Sincerest Form Of Flattery

It seems that the more vocal a herd the better the odds are for success at calling them. Some cows call subtle, while others are loud-mouth ladies actively looking for a date. By listening it gives you a better opportunity to imitate the particular tones and intensity of the herd. By calling we are automatically intruding into the social club without an invitation. The closer we can sound to a known elk, and match that intensity the better the odds are of filling a tag. Even though we may sound like an outsider to the herd, luckily for us, love crazed bulls are not looking to be intimate with just one or two cows they are looking for all the love of every cow in the world, so taking advantage of their sexual frustrations and promiscuity is what we aim to do. It doesn’t take a world champion elk caller to trick bulls within range. By simply paying attention to the herd and understanding simple elk rhythm, tone and more important volume when calling, a hunter can depend on an elk call to be a valuable asset to dulling broadheads.

Public Versus Private Land

Since I started hunting elk 16 years ago, on private as well as public ground, I have realize that comparing these two different types of ground are like comparing night and day and it is all about the amount of pressure each receives. Generally speaking private ground bulls are way easier to call than public ground animals, but this is not always the case. Some private land does get a lot of pressure, which can make for some pretty tough calling duels with elk that can serve you up a humble pie every time you bust out a call. While conversely some public land either through sheer remoteness or hard-to-get tags is like calling the best private land in the nation. Hunting un-touched land and cow calling to bulls that have never heard a Hoochie Mamma would obviously be nice and it wouldn’t take long working over these uneducated elk to start feeling like an elk calling pro only to be deflated the first time we went to the national forest and mixed it up with bulls so well-known by local hunters that they have knick names. However, regardless of where you hunt the basics of calling remain the same. Start with mastering the cow call and all its various inflections. Your basic reed type calls are the easiest to learn as well as get proficient with. You will find two kinds; both are bite down reed-type of calls, one being enclosed and the other having an open reed or reeds. These calls make a very realistic sound and before your wife can run you out of the house you will master the basics.  I rely heavily on the cow call and think most of the time hunters are better off sticking with it over a bugle no matter where he is hunting. But learning how to make a basic bugle is important, especially for locating bulls at a distance before getting close and working him with your cow call. In addition, sometimes it is the bugle that finally provokes a dominant bull to commit, especially during the early season when bulls are still sorting out their peckin’ order.

Earning Your Public Ground PhD

Lets face it, unless you have deep pockets much of the private ground in the West is pretty much off limits, so you have to learn to hunt public land. This is not a bad thing as public ground comprises millions upon millions of acres across the West and happens to have some of the biggest bulls found anywhere. While it can be tougher than private, once you learn how to hunt it you won’t be disappointed. Over the years, one of my favorite places to hunt is the Gila National Forest, in New Mexico, and even though this is a trophy area tags are fairly obtainable through application. In the Gila, the trophy potential is off the chart, sporting some of the biggest bulls in the country, but just because the big ones live there doesn’t mean thatyou automatically make one call and they come running to get in the back of your truck. These mature jokers have a PhD in avoiding hunters. Over the last six years I have hunted this area religiously and have had the opportunity to shoot some nice bulls all by using elk calls as an aid to close the coffin. Notice I said, “as an aid”, meaning the call was just one thing in a bag of tricks to help smoke these monarchs. My biggest bull that came out of the Gila was a 378 P&Y bull that had earned the name Professor because he always seemed to take you to school when you applied too much pressure. However, this bull was vocal and would bugle his butt off. He also seemed to be fairly easy to find, not only by his gnarly, raspy bugle that set him apart, but frequently he could be found early in the morning in a large meadow just south of a particular water hole that always attracted a large herd. The Professor was not the only bull in the area that had large headgear, but it was The Professor that seemed to call the shots. I had caught this bull in the open several times, but calling seemed to really make him uneasy when you were in close. The Professor however would bugle hard to distant cow calls and seem to be whole heartedly interested, but had a sixth sense when you moved in for the attack. Final we decided to have a caller stay behind as we worked him coming off the meadow at daybreak. By doing this we could keep him interested and bugling as we stalked in closer. The caller always was no closer than 80 yards behind me. While the caller kept him occupied, I slid within 50 yards and gave him a G5 Tekan right behind the shoulder. This hunt was really a stalk, but the call and caller had a big part to do with his demise. Once we started quartering the bull up, we found a piece of an old arrow lodged just below the backstraps, so obviously someone had him in close before and gave the Prof and education, which explained why he was so wary.

The Double Team

As this old bull showed, hunting with a partner can work extremely well. It not only puts the hunter out in front of the call, but it gives the hunter a chance to move and adjust the angle based on where the bull might be approaching. Likewise, the caller has the flexibility to move as well and apply a lot of different calling techniques. The double team plan worked again on another hunt. It had been hot and the bulls were only bugling early and late. As soon as the sun would rise the elk woods would turn in to a ghost town.
Just after daybreak on the fourth day of our hunt we heard this bull bugle. He hit it only two times, both very weak and he sounded like the littlest rag horn in the land but with no other game in town we went after him. Getting as close as possible to where we thought the bugle came from I eased up and sat down by a pine stump while my buddy moved back and to my right about 40 yards. Neither of us were very optimistic about our chances. My buddy made one or maybe two very soft cow calls on a two reed diaphragm then he started raking a tree and rolled a few rocks. We sat there for possibly 10 minutes in silence, then out of nowhere appeared a wide 340 inch 6 x 6 coming directly to us, at 25 yards the bull let out a soft chuckle, looked over his surrounding and kept walking in the direction of where the last rock had been rolled, which led him 16 steps from my pine stump. By now I was at full draw waiting for a broadside shot. When the arrow left my bow, I knew we had killed a call shy monster by keeping it low key and staying patient. Needless to say, I was never convinced by the two times he had bugled earlier that he was a shooter. This was a lesson in itself. Never judge a bugle until you can see what is making the sound.
The most exciting way to bag a bull elk is to get him in close, and the best way to do that is with a call. Confidence in your call is critical, because if you’re insecure about using your call there is a good chance you will spook elk. Have confidence in your calling ability and become just another elk in the herd where you are hunting. Find a call that works for you and not what works for some else. Think like an elk and do as elk do. Realism, rhythm, and volume control can make the difference between bringin’ them in or running them over the next ridge. And remember its not always about calling, it can be just patiently listening to the sounds around you and applying minimal calls, while practicing good woodsmenship, and stalking skills that could help you put that monster on the back of the truck.

By Michael Waddell

Opinion by George Dovel

George Dovel is Editor and Publisher of The Outdoorsman.

In 2003, North America’s foremost wildlife scientist, Dr. Valerius Geist, made the following observations:

“The miracle of North American conservation is that it is basically a blue-collar system, grounded in the political and financial support and the active participation of large numbers of middle-class citizens who bring their basic honesty and decency to bear on important issues. This is just the opposite of the elitist system that has existed throughout Europe for centuries and is spreading like cancer around the world today, even right here at home.

“Because of the democratic nature of American hunting and wildlife management, and the demands for accountability it implies, our system has worked miracles in returning wildlife to a continent that, just a hundred years ago, saw the near-extinction of most big game animals and other wildlife. In my mind, this represents the world’s greatest environmental achievement of the last century.”

In 2006, representatives of the Western Association of Fish and Wildlife Agencies (WAFWA) adopted and agreed to fund the “Public Trust Doctrine in Fish and Wildlife Conservation.” This was essentially a doctrine reaffirming that wildlife is the property of the people, held in trust and managed for them and by them, and that hunting shall remain a democratic process available to all of the citizens who own the wildlife – not just the wealthy.

Yet WAFWA and the state wildlife agencies are exploiting the wildlife by selling it to the wealthiest hunters and excluding less affluent families from equal opportunity to harvest the wildlife they jointly own. The so-called “North American Model of Wildlife Conservation” is ignored in their rush to promote wolves and agendas that destroy the wild game sportsmen spent more than half a century restoring.

A week or so ago, in an exchange of emails between scientists and other concerned outdoorsmen like me, Dr. Geist wrote the following observation:

“I may be permitted to take this opportunity to comment on another matter, namely the futility – in the long term – of narrow conservation efforts such as those of the Wolf Recovery Foundation.

Best regards
Val Geist

Whether you are a hunter or fisherman, a natural resource manager, or just a citizen who is concerned about the ongoing depletion of our valuable wildlife resource and our way of life, I urge you to contact your State legislators and express your concerns to them. Write letters to the editor, call in on talk radio, and do whatever you can to energize your fellow citizens.

Remember English philosopher Edmund Burke’s warning, “The only thing necessary for the triumph (of evil) is for good men to do nothing.”

And when your efforts are criticized I urge you to remember this:

“He who fears criticism is hopeless. Only those who do things are criticized. To hesitate for fear of criticism is cowardly. If our course is right, be not afraid of criticism; advocate it, expound it, and if need be, fight for it. Critics always have been and always will be, but to the strong-minded, they are a help rather than a hindrance. Take your part in life’s stage and play your part to the end.” Thomas Jefferson

Posted by Tom Remington