My original entry for yesterday. Kinda long:

It's 11:30. I have just parked in the middle of nowhere. Not really nowhere, but close to it. All you can see are miles and miles of open sagebrush, along with a couple natural gas wells to the south and west.

We're waiting.

I pour cafe mocha from the thermos (yes, his thermos) into my mug and grab the package of jerky.

Immediately have the attention of two hungry heelers.

Two minutes later, over the east horizon, they come.

Elk.

Twenty-five elk, to be exact. Eleven cows, four calves (three quite small), eight bulls (only one who is impressive) and two spikes (again, one who is quite small).

Residents of the desert. Most of whom have never seen a tree in their life. Most are the standard three-tone colour of elk...dark brown heads and mantles, brown bodies, and the lovely light creamy tan rumps. The one older bull, however, has a body that is almost blonde.

The lead cow is darkest of all, almost black in front, with a dark slate grey body. She and two younger bulls (hers?) have been leading this little herd for the past hour and a half.

It is opening day of the elk season for this area, and I have been keeping tabs on these elk since a little after eight o'clock. They used to number 49. First spotted them from five miles away, on the open flat by the watering hole southeast of Monument Lake. In the middle of four square miles of sage and greasewood that miraculously has few driveable roads.

Two trucks of hunters were watching from the high hill to the south. That was how I found the elk... by watching the hunters.

This is one of the least aesthetically pleasing elk hunts. Open country with large, gregarious mobile targets. And over two miles of road for every square mile of ground. Success here often depends on figuring out where the elk are going to run next, and then placing yourself in a good spot before they get there. Not much stealth or footwork.

Two other trucks are swinging to the north of the elk, trying to do just that. A fifth truck I hadn't seen earlier is much closer to the elk, to their south. Two hunters out on foot, trying a sneak. Gotta give them credit for that. But I'm sitting on the Divide, too far away to see and hear what is going on, even with optics.

We bail off the divide and head northwest. Fast.

We're out of sight of the elk for about three miles. When we crest a ridge, I can see the elk are gone, the pedestrian hunters trudging back to their rig. The two north rigs are speeding east. They will end up on my road, a half mile or so ahead of me. They obviously saw where the elk went, so we follow as they turn north.

A mile north, one breaks left. A mile farther on (these two-track seismograph roads are usually neatly spaced at mile or half-mile intervals) the other also turns west. We keep on to high ground, then turn to watch south.

It is a miserable day out there, the strongest winds all fall. Cold, and kicking up dust and sand. But I hear one faint shot. Soon the elk peak a ridge into my view, headed north again. I count 48 elk. Ten bulls.

Soon three truckloads of hunters whiz by on my road, getting ahead of the elk. But there is another hunter afoot to the west that these folks don't know about.

The elk see him (or her?), and backtrack south. All three trucks turn around and pass me going south. The elk encounter the hunters gutting the bull they shot earlier, and split. Half to the north again, the rest towards our road.

One truck times it just right, turns west, parks and unloads the shooter just in time for the elk to pass by.

A young man, on his first elk hunt. After a bull. Four shots. All miss. At incredibly close range.

I see two of his shots hit. They are kicking up dust well short of the elk. Bet his scope is way off.

Elk scatter to the winds now, as do the trucks. I drive over to intercept the one with the boy. Advise them of where his shots were hitting. His dad or uncle thinks he's justing flinching.

Ooookay.

Go over the hill to check the folks with an elk down.

Turns out to be neighbors, just finishing their gutting. I pull teeth while he cleans his hands and does his paperwork. They ask for help loading the elk.

Most folks would never ask, but I know them. Have, for a lot of years. And she's worried he'll have a heart attack doing it himself. We cut the bull in half (Had to show him where! Been hunting how long and you don't know where to split a body in half???) and load it up.

Now the left pant leg of my jeans is drenched with elk blood, from knee to boot. (And through the socks.) Heelers were thrilled.

The live elk have all vanished, along with most of the trucks. I check a couple close by, and then follow one to the north. They turn south on a side road, hoping to find the elk in some hummocks.

They won't.

I know these elk, and head father north and then due west. And found the dark cow and her 24 followers. They're moving west, just below the crest of a ridge, just out of the wind. And just out of sight of everybody to the south. Would like to keep tabs on them, since the best way to check elk harvest in this wide open, well roaded country is to just watch the elk until hunters show up.

But they're following the ridge, The best road in the country trails along the top of that ridge. If I drive it, I will end up herding them in front of me.

They're only five miles from the border. Cross the bladed, otherwise nondescript county road and they're safe. Out of the hunt area. If that happens, okay, but no way I want to be accused of chasing the elk out. I divert to a horrid little road that parallels the ridge and try to get ahead of the herd.

I fail. They are still headed west.

Now I tear south to get on a new gas field road, several miles to the south, head west and then north again. I think I know what draw she is headed for. Only a mile and a half from the border, with tall brush, no gas wells and only one terrible road. And that is where we were waiting while we had lunch.

Always nice to be right.

We finish our simple meal of jerky, cashews and coffee while watching the elk settle in. No hunters show up. Should probably try to find the other half of the herd.

Head back to the place where this all started, and run into two trucks, including the one with the boy. They are headed north. Ask if I've seen the elk, and I vaguely tell them one bunch headed north, which they already knew. Driver mentions they usually don't look for the elk. They just look for us, and figure the elk will be close.

Yeah, we knew that. That's why I park miles away to watch the elk, and don't use the radio here (scanners, you know).

They've hunted this area before. Bet they know about the draw with tall brush. As they bounce north, we turn southwest on a brand-spanking new gas field road, hit the county road and turn north.

Fifteen miles for us, seven for them. But we're on bladed roads. We win.

Park by the Christmas tree of an active gas well, trying to look like a field service truck. And watch the draw.

A few minutes later the trucks arrive, over the horizon just like the elk. One breaks south, the other heads into the draw.

And raises the elk.

A third truck shows up from the east, driving the fenceline.

The fenceline that the elk refuse to cross. So they're moving straight west. Towards me. And the border.

The truck with the boy rounds a low hill and sets up an ambush. Two shots as the elk file past. Both in the dirt well short of the elk.

Told you. The scope is off.

Elk get lined up between them and me. Boy wisely holds fire.

The elk are serious now. They hit the fence corner and clear the fence that heads south. The whole herd stops, 50 meters from safety, to wait for one small calf that has trouble clearing the woven-wire fence (hate woven-wire fences). As the calf gallops to catch up, the herd panics and moves west.

At 13:52 they cross the road. Safe, without knowing it. Four minutes later, all I can see are the tips of antlers clearing a ridge as they continue west.

Met the truck with the boy at the gate. They suspect they are on the area boundary, and I confirm that. The boy is disappointed. Dad/uncle says "the scope must be off."

Really?? Who'da thunk?

Visit with the truck along the fenceline, too. Just to be sure they knew where the boundary was. Another boy on his first elk hunt. And his first driving lesson, too, by the look of it.

Then we headed south to look for the rest of the herd. And stopped to give the heelers a run.

You know the rest.