DO THE LEGWORK
It was mid-October, the morning of the third day of rifle elk season, when I opened the tent flap to 3 feet of snow. “We need to get off this mountain,” insisted my buddies, Tom and Bob. We’d yet to see a single elk, and the snow was still coming down hard.
We packed up camp and traveled 18 miles on horseback, reaching the trail-head moments before dark. Later we’d learn 7 feet of snow fell in that storm. Our August scouting mission into this secluded paradise 9,000 feet up in the Rocky Mountains had revealed loads of elk, but they were gone by rifle season.
The following year, Bob, Tom and I returned, this time during archery season. All three of us tagged big bulls on opening day, and we repeated our success the following season.
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