It’s not over until it’s over

By Kenneth Pizzagoni

The sport of hunting is in my blood.  Although my parents never expressed the desire to hunt, my grandfather and several uncles were hunters.  As a teenager, I hunted small game near my home in Oakland, CA.  However, I was not afforded the opportunity to hunt for big game until the age of 40.

My first experience with elk hunting occurred a few years ago. Ron, my father-in-law and avid hunter, was drawn for a cow elk hunt on the White Mountain/Apache Indian Reservation.  Ron hired an Indian guide named Norman to assist him with locating his elk.  As an observer, I absorbed as much of that hunting experience as possible.   In 2001, I was the fortunate one to be drawn for the White Mountain-Apache early season cow elk hunt.

Prior to the hunt, I spent hours at the gun range firing off boxes of ammunition using Ron’s 30-06 rifle.  In addition to the target practice, I read a hunter education book published by the Arizona Dept. of Game and Fish.  I listened intently to Ron’s tutoring on the finer points of big game hunting.  I tried to visualize how the hunt would transpire: quietly stepping through the forest, tracking and spotting the animal, then preparing for “the shot”.  I’d ask myself, “would I suddenly become inflicted with "buck fever": a racing heart coupled with an overload of adrenaline resulting in an errant shot?   How close would I get to the animal, and would it be still long enough for me to place that bullet in “the kill zone?”    

We arrived at the campground in Hon-dah a few days early to adjust to the high altitude and to relax and enjoy trout fishing at one of the nearby lakes.  The weather was unseasonably warm reaching the 80’s during the day, but nighttime temperatures dropped into the 30’s.  The fall colors were in full bloom and stunningly beautiful; the golden leaves of the aspen trees set amongst the dark green firs and lush pines was breathtaking. 

The day had finally arrived; we awoke Saturday morning at 4:00am.  My mother-in-law and 6-year old daughter would remain at the trailer to catch some extra sleep, but first, they rose with us to prepare breakfast and to provide support.  We dressed in warm clothing and camouflage gear, and then packed the vehicles with food, drink, ammunition and firearms and waited for Norman, our guide to arrive. 

Norman pulled in to the campground at 5:30am, and we were on the road shortly thereafter.  A short, 15-minute drive east on Hwy. 260 and we had arrived at our destination.  It was still dark, so we parked our vehicles and waited patiently for the sun to peek over the horizon.  I lowered the car window to hear a faint bugle in the distance from a bull elk.  The air outside was brisk and invigorating, and the aroma of the pine forest was refreshing.  

At daybreak, we drove our vehicles along the dusty forest road.  Norm and I led the pack in my SUV, while my wife Rena and Ron choked the dust behind us in the pickup truck.  We traveled the maze of unpaved roads and watched alertly for movement within the dense forest.  Norm soon spotted elk on a hill, and I promptly pulled to the side and dashed out of the car with rifle in hand.  As we walked up the mountain Norm pointed up the hill and said excitedly, “Look there’s two or three up there!”  I scanned the area Norm had alluded to, and finally spotted a bull and two cows standing on the ridge.  I raised the rifle to peer through the scope and aimed the crosshairs on one of the cow elk. The group sensed our movement and within seconds had disappeared into the thick wooded mountainside.  Norm instructed me, “You’ve got to be ready with your gun, aim and shoot.”  I replied, “I didn’t realize what little time I had to get the shot off!”

A bit frustrated but determined, I hopped back into the car and we followed the movement of the heard.  We soon learned that another hunter had stumbled across the same group of elk, and after several shots, one of the cows was down, but the other elk had eluded the gunfire and escaped into the woods.  We decided to discontinue tracking this herd and moved on.

It was mid-morning, and we pressed on in search of that prized, big game animal.  We decided to check out another area; one Norm previously had success in.  Before long, Norm had sighted another small herd of elk.  We were soon on foot tracking the herd.  I loaded four bullets into the chamber of the rifle and engaged the safety.  We hiked for a few minutes, and suddenly, a cow elk appeared in plain view about 30 yards away.  She stood motionless, as if in a deep trance.  Without hesitation, I raised my rifle, peered through the scope and fired a shot.  The animal reacted to the gunfire and scurried away out of sight.  Norm shouted, “You missed it!”  I replied, “How did I miss it?”  He said, “I don’t know, but I’m pretty sure you missed”.  I contemplated the shot, and later realized I had overestimated the distance to the elk; the animal was so close, the shot sailed high over the top of my intended target. Norm and I went ahead and check out the area where the elk were standing and did confirm the miss. There was no sign anywhere of anything being wounded except my pride.

That afternoon we encountered one large cow elk, but were unable to approach it for a shot.  I had seen quite a few elk on that opening day; and had a close, wide-open shot.  As the first day of the hunt came to a close, I was somewhat disappointed that I had missed that “easy shot”.  Yet, I fully expected to have more opportunities to fill my tag on day two of the hunt. 

But to our surprise and dismay, the next day we encountered only two elk – one bull and one spike.    After the first day, it appeared the presence of the hunters and the thunderous rounds of gunfire had spooked the elk, and the remaining herds were scattered throughout the reservation – and nowhere to be found.  If I planned to “fill the freezer” on this trip, it would have to occur on day three, the last day of the hunt.

I awoke Monday morning with a renewed sense of hope and confidence that this would be “the day”.  Given the experiences of the previous day, I was not optimistic that we would locate many elk.  But a new day had dawned, the sun was shining bright, and there was still a chance, although a slim one, we would spot a cow elk and be close enough to bring it down. 

We decided to revisit the same location elk were spotted two days earlier.  I had confidence that the elk from this area, if not already hanging in someone’s freezer, would still be lurking there.  For the first few hours of daylight, we traveled those same roads, but spotted no elk.  I asked Norm, “Where do you think the elk would go once they were spooked?”  He said, “They may have moved up to higher ground.”  I asked him if we could go after them on foot and hike up to their bedding areas.  He agreed to change strategies, so we made our way to one of the mountains where Norm and his sons had spotted a big elk earlier in the year. 

We arrived at the mountain, parked the car and began the steep ascent up the mountain.  Norm located fresh tracks on the way up, so we decided to follow them.  At the midway point, we spotted two cow elk near the peak about 100 yards away.  They were standing behind some tall evergreen trees so I wasn’t able to set up for a shot.  We tiptoed quietly up the hill to gain a better angle, but discovered we had lost sight of them. We continued on until we reached the peak, but the elk were nowhere to be found.  Just then we heard a couple of shots fired from the base of the mountain, and it was apparent that our approach to the animals had inadvertently forced the two elk down the mountain and into another hunter’s line of fire.  “Someone just received an early Christmas gift!” Norm said.  Tired and dejected, we stumbled back down the mountain realizing that another opportunity had slipped away.

We decided to hunt until noon, and by then if I had not filled my tag, we agreed to call it a day and go home.  The time was 11:00am, and at that point I was relieved to have spotted a few elk and discovered a new pattern.  The theory was the herds of elk had eluded the hunters and escaped to higher ground.  As a last ditch effort, on our way down to the highway, Norm decided to try one last spot.

As we traveled the rough, mountain road, there were doubts in my mind whether the hunt would end successfully.  It would be another year or longer before I would have another chance to be drawn.  When you total up the costs of the tag, the guide, lodging, food, etc. these elk hunts become quite expensive.  If I were lucky enough to be drawn again, would I be willing to spend hundreds of dollars for another opportunity at one of these magnificent creatures?

Suddenly, Norm motioned over to my left, “Stop, elk to your left!” he exclaimed. I glanced up to the area Norm had pointed to and located a couple of elk about 250 yards up the mountain.  Norm led the way, pausing every 10 yards or so to peer through his binoculars to ensure the animals had not fled.   As we approached, I identified two cow elk standing a few yards apart from each other.  We stepped closer, and out of the blue a large bull elk darted past the two cows and out of sight.  I was anxious and my heart pounded as Norm whispered to me, “Go ahead and take a shot!”  I raised my rifle and gazed through the scope.  Both animals, now 70 yards away, stood motionless and stared down at us as if sensing danger.  I aimed the rifle until I had one of the cows in sight, pulled the trigger and…nothing!  Quickly, I looked down at the rifle and was shocked to realize I had forgotten to take the safety off! 

I flipped the safety lever, glanced through the scope and fired a shot.  “You hit it!” exclaimed Norm.  I went ahead and sent another round at the elk and Norm said,  “You missed”.   I waited a few more seconds for the animal to calm down, and fired again.  “OK, she’s down”, said Norm. 

I turned to Norm, and shouted, “Yes!”  We gave each other “high five’s” in celebration of the moment, and then walked up to view the elk.  We approached the animal to ensure it was down, and I looked over at Norm.  He had a puzzled look on his face. He said, “Now the work starts.”  I asked, “How are we going to get her down the hill.”  Norm’s estimated the elk weighed 500 - 600 lb. I then tagged the elk and Norm said, “Grab one of the legs and we’ll start pulling her down.”  With the rifle in one hand, I leaned down and grabbed one of the elk’s legs with the other hand and began to pull, as did Norm. The animal barely moved a few feet, but we kept pulling.  We had made little progress, so we stopped and rested.   

The weather had become increasingly colder, and the dark clouds threatened rain.  Out of breath, I gasped, “We’d better go back down to get help before this storm hits”.  Norm asked me to take off my vest to mark the location of the elk and to signal other hunters in the area this was our elk.   Hurriedly, I ran down the steep hill with Norm following behind.  On the way, I reached down to clear logs, rocks, and other debris from the path.   

When I reached bottom, I looked back to the area where our vehicles were parked and spotted Rena and Ron leaning against the truck, patiently awaiting our return.   As I approached the vehicles, my wife turned and pointed towards me and shouted something to Ron.  Then she began running towards me.  As she approached, she shouted, “Did you get it?”  Like a referee signaling a score in a football game, I raised my arms in the air and screamed, “Touchdown Raiders!”  (Growing up in Oakland I had become a huge Oakland Raider fan).  We hugged to celebrate the joyous moment, and Norm, who had caught up with us, reminded us we still had a lot of work to do.     

The four of us embarked on the trip up the hill to retrieve the animal.  The rain that had been falling had transformed into snow.  Even with the assistance of four adults and some heavy rope, it was a great challenge to move that large, lifeless animal down the mountain.   Norm and I were in front holding the rope like a team of horses, with Ron and Rena in the rear each holding a leg and pushing forward.  It was a slow, grueling descent, but each arduous tug by the “team” inched us a closer to the bottom.  We dragged the animal far enough down the hill so that I could drive my 4x4 up the dirt path and tow it down the remaining 50 yards to the road.   

After regaining our composure, photographs were taken of the four of us posing with the elk.  We field dressed the animal and loaded it onto the bed of Ron’s pickup truck.  As we drove back to camp, the events of the day felt surreal to me.  Only hours earlier, it appeared doubtful that I would have the opportunity to harvest an elk.  The odds were stacked against me; it was like playing in the fourth quarter of the Super Bowl, trailing with two minutes remaining and no time-outs.  It called for a miracle drive to score the winning touchdown.  Somehow on that day, on that final drive, my team prevailed and we were victorious!