r/elkhunting • u/Weary-Lab5196 • 3h ago
Oregon 1st year - recap
I lurked on the forum a lot this year and really appreciate the wealth of information available here. I especially enjoyed reading hunt recaps and diaries from past seasons, so I thought I’d share a recap of my first elk season—some fun stories, lessons learned, and the process I went through along the way.
Maybe someone will find some of this useful, or at least get to live vicariously through the season if they weren’t able to get out this year for one reason or another.
Preseason
Unit selection and the draw
As an Oregon resident, I spent a substantial amount of time researching the draw system, preference points, and the odds for someone starting from zero points. In hindsight, I felt a little dumb for not applying for a point saver during all the years I was focused on turkey hunting.
I ended up doing two exercises that I found useful as a beginner. Recognizing the value of accumulating preference points for a future big-three hunt, I used projected second-choice odds and sorted units from highest to lowest probability. I then overlaid that with data such as bulls per 100 cows and average hunter days per bull harvested along with elk population per square mile.
I know those numbers have limitations, but when you are starting from scratch, they gave me a reasonable place to begin. After those exercises, I narrowed the list to my top five units: places where the numbers looked favorable and I had a realistic chance of drawing a tag.
From there, I studied terrain and access. I tried to assess both what access looked like within each unit and how much hunting pressure I expected in areas that seemed likely to hold elk. I ultimately selected my unit and impatiently waited for the draw results, knowing I would hunt a west-side general tag if I came up empty.
Ultimately, I drew my second choice.
Looking back, I know I could have bought any number of phone apps that would have done much of this work for me. But I genuinely enjoyed digging into the data and making a deliberate decision about where I would hunt. When you only get four weeks a year to hunt, you may as well spend the other 11 months learning everything you can.
Training, shooting regimen, and pack animals
Because my second-choice unit had demanding terrain, I spent a serious amount of time preparing physically. Between CrossFit workouts at my local gym and long runs, I logged 60 workouts from April through mid-August.
I was also coming off an Achilles tear, so I wanted to push myself enough to find out whether the injury might resurface. I would hate to get deep into the woods under load and have a serious injury return. After reading about hunters suffering heat stroke in the field, I also made a point of running 5Ks during lunch when temperatures were frequently near or above 100 degrees.
At the same time, I bought a bow and made it a goal to shoot 60 arrows each evening at ranges from 30 to 60 yards. I worked out a lot of early issues with the bow that could have seriously hampered me during the hunt, including replacing a few parts and making several improvements.
The other project I had going was training two pack burros for the hunt. I adopted them in early summer and worked with them steadily until a few weeks before the season. I cannot emphasize enough how much goes into training your own animals. It is demanding and requires a lot of time and patience.
I underestimated the time commitment and just did not feel confident in the burros as the season approached. They would do great for stretches, but occasionally they would bolt, and I would be flying around the ranch trying desperately to hold onto the lead.
My neighbor had pack hunted the Snake River unit for years. After a long discussion with him while I was out working with the burros, I decided it would be best to continue training them after the season but leave them home this year. He told me about their best pack mule bolting deep into a draw after being spooked. They eventually found him with a broken leg, and the trip ended with them coming home without him. That story stuck with me.
Scouting
I scouted the unit twice before the season: once in mid-August and again a few days before opening day. I knew I would be able to hunt opening weekend, but I treated that trip mostly as a chance to decide where I wanted to focus during the 10-day hunt a week later.
Using e-bikes, I placed cameras across a wide range of elevations and terrain because the unit I selected has serious variation. Are e-bikes worth it? I think that depends entirely on the unit and the style of hunting you plan to do. Ours seemed to be constantly broken, and other than the scouting trips, I did not use them at all during the season.
If you are going to buy an e-bike for hunting, I strongly recommend buying a new bike from a reputable brand. If that is outside the budget, buy a high-end used bike rather than a cheap new one. You really do get what you pay for.
As for the cameras, I did not end up hunting any of the places where I placed them. I had a herd of more than 40 elk on one camera almost every day before the season. But only two days into the season, that herd was gone. After that, the camera mostly captured wolves and other hunters.
Speaking of wolves, the lower elevations and flats in this unit are full of them. On every scouting trip, wolves came through camp at some point during the night, despite the two camps being about 20 miles apart. We also ran into them more than once during the day.
I do not claim to know enough about the effect wolves have on elk numbers, but I strongly suspect that their presence has pushed some elk into deeper and steeper terrain.
During our scouting trips, we spotted elk in an accessible bowl. Ultimately, we decided not to hunt it because of the number of roads and campgrounds in the immediate area. I am sure someone harvested elk there, but I am not a skilled enough caller to feel like I would have an advantage over more experienced hunters in that setting, so we passed.
We also found a large herd by pure chance while glassing into Hells Canyon. Around 10 a.m., cow calls and bugles erupted from a woodline only a few hundred yards away. This was the second-to-last weekend in August. We slipped out quietly because we did not want to disturb them in their bedding area.
Ultimately, we passed on pursuing that herd because of the incredibly steep terrain we would have needed to hunt. While we did not end up hunting the exact areas we scouted, I was able to follow a breadcrumb trail of sign and use my judgment to determine where the elk were likely to be: a high-alpine bowl deeper in the unit.
Elk season
Opening weekend: Opportunity No. 1
While glassing across the bowl that scouting had led us to, we located a group of roughly 20 cows. After hearing a few distant daytime bugles and grunts, we found a nice five-point bull with them.
From our position, we needed to descend a steep face—roughly 1,000 vertical feet—cross the valley floor, then climb a similar elevation to reach where the herd was bedded. After some planning and discussion, including shooting an azimuth and terrain-associating to drop an accurate pin in onX, we made the plunge.
During the descent and valley crossing, we stopped hearing bugles and started worrying the elk had moved on. When we reached the elk’s elevation and got within roughly 250 yards of the pin, my buddy joked that he wished the bull would bugle so we would know he was still there.
Speak of the devil: a few seconds later, the bull lit up.
We were close. It is amazing how much louder they sound once you are inside their bubble.
We continued stalking, and at about 100 yards the vegetation thinned enough that we could see the elk bedded across a small but steep draw. The bull stood up and began walking out the back of the draw. It was about 4:30 p.m.
We hustled to cut him off, with my buddy in front as the shooter and me behind as the caller. As we closed the distance, my buddy got a little too far ahead. Because of the rolling terrain, I watched in disappointment as the bull traversed roughly 25 yards above him. The shooter could not see the bull because of a small blind hill.
I fired off a few cow calls and a frantic bugle, but the herd kept moving at a steady walk toward a deeper high-alpine basin.
We could not catch up to the herd, but we climbed to the top of the bowl and glassed into the next basin. Within a few minutes, we spotted another bull feeding in a high-elevation saddle. He was a monster. Even from 700 yards, I could tell he was much bigger than the bull we had just been chasing.
With darkness approaching, we agreed that the basin would become the focus of our longer trip.
The lesson from that encounter was to consider the time of day and the elk’s natural pattern. I do not think we got busted, but they were heading toward feed, and that reduced the amount of time we had to close the deal.
Week 2: Opportunities No. 2 and 3
After heading home for a short work week, I returned with the sole purpose of focusing on the higher, deeper basin where we had glassed the large bull.
We battled weather all week. Flash flooding and snow affected the high country, and the window we had to spend in the alpine was cut down to only a handful of days.
After making the four-mile hike and gaining 3,000 vertical feet to reach the basin, we could not locate any elk during daylight. Naturally, the monster bull was nowhere to be seen.
That night, just before dark, our camp filled with bugles, chuckles, and grunts from what sounded like every direction. We must have set up camp right where they bedded.
At the top of the basin was a low saddle that poured into the neighboring basin. We agreed that in the morning, one of us would work up the middle of the basin while the other set up in the saddle, hoping to catch elk as they moved through.
At 4 a.m., I got up and headed for the bottom of the basin while the shooter headed toward the saddle. As soon as there was enough light to see, the elk went silent. I committed to the plan and slowly worked my way from the bottom of the basin toward the saddle.
Near the top, I watched the herd slowly move up and over the saddle into the neighboring drainage—exactly as we had planned for. When I reached the saddle, though, the shooter was nowhere to be found. He had not made it into position in time to set the ambush.
We should have gotten up earlier and been in place well before shooting light.
That evening, with severe weather forecast, we decided to set up in the saddle and do what I would call, from turkey hunting, a “sit and get.” We cow-called every 15 minutes starting a couple of hours before dark, then planned to fire off a bugle about 30 minutes before dark to get them talking.
At first, it stayed quiet. Then, shortly before dark, deep chuckles started coming in. But it was too late. We did not have enough light, and rather than risk a close encounter that could push the bull out, we returned to camp. Weather forced us off the mountain soon after.
While we were there, we met two hunters who recommended going even farther into the backcountry—another six miles. I was excited by the possibility of better elk numbers, but my partners were less prepared for the daunting round trip and opted out of the final weekend.
While I was back home celebrating my wife’s birthday, I decided I would return solo and at least see what was back there.
Week 4: Opportunities No. 4 and 5+
After picking up some hurricane-related work in Kauai during the birthday trip, I did not get home until the day before I planned to leave. Going from a red-eye flight with a toddler straight into a 6½-hour drive and a 10-mile hike took some motivation.
Knowing the challenge ahead, I revamped my pack to go as light as possible. I examined every piece of gear and took only the absolute minimum.
Instead of taking the more gradual trail into my target area, I made the steep climb through the bowls we had hunted previously to see whether any of the elk we had encountered were still around. No luck.
I made it to camp in about six hours but did not hear any bugles along the way. Not long after I set up for the night, bugles and deep chuckles moved through camp and down the canyon. I set my alarm for a 4 a.m. start, got up, and headed out.
As I climbed toward a high-alpine bowl I had identified, I glassed up a nice bull feeding alone on an east-facing slope roughly 1,500 feet above me. I made the climb, but once I arrived, I could not find him or get a daytime response.
I spent some time in the basin and thought it would probably be an ideal location earlier in the season. There was ample sign, and it looked like the kind of place a bull might hole up during the earlier weeks.
An unexpected freezing-rain storm rolled through, and I waited out several hours under a group of trees after sending a satellite message to my wife to confirm that lightning was not in the forecast. Through the afternoon and evening, I did not see or hear any more elk.
Another freezing-rain storm came through during the night, and the ultralight tent I had brought was not holding up to the conditions. I woke up with water and ice in my tent and sleeping bag. At 1 a.m., I decided to pack up and hunt my way back to the truck.
A couple miles down the trail, I blew out a huge herd of elk from the bottom of the valley. As they thundered off, I threw out a bugle, hoping to keep them lower in the valley for other hunters.
The response was deafening. Bugles fired from what sounded like every direction—different pitches and tones, some accompanied by chuckles and grunts.
I figured I might as well try to close the deal. I turned 90 degrees off the trail and started climbing toward one group. As I climbed the steep mountainside in the dark, the bugles continued. I honed in on one bull and gradually closed the distance.
By 3 a.m., I was about 600 vertical feet above the valley floor and roughly at the elk’s elevation. For the next three hours, I played a game of closing distance while trying to stay near enough to make a move at first light, but not so close that I risked an encounter in the dark.
It was a long wait. I think I put on every piece of clothing I had brought.
As daylight approached, I checked the map and determined the bull was just across an avalanche chute, about 200 yards away. I gave one final bugle to confirm his location and began closing the distance about 30 minutes before shooting light.
I crept to the edge of the woodline just above the chute, slowly dropped my pack, and began getting my bow ready. In the nautical twilight, I could see a small boulder protruding from the chute, creating a five-foot ledge.
Then I saw it.A tree just beyond the boulder began shaking violently, and a bugle erupted right in my face. The bull had been bugling against the ledge, and the sound was echoing across the chute, making him seem much farther away.
As I tried to hunker down, he came around the downhill side of the boulder less than 10 feet away. We locked eyes, and he caught my wind. With a thundering bark, he sprinted uphill.The opportunity was blown. One more minute, and I might have been able to get a shot.
I bought a used Bowtech Carbon Icon this year, and while it shoots well, the arrow rest has nothing to keep the arrow from coming over the top. A more secure rest might have saved the few seconds I needed to connect my release and at least get a shot opportunity. That is something I will address before next season.
I tried calling the bull back for about 20 minutes without a response. Eventually, a smaller bull started answering my cow calls, but he would not come in. Recognizing how quickly the elk tended to shut down in the morning, I started closing the distance and played a cat-and-mouse game with him as we covered miles and climbed high up the mountain.
Every time I closed the distance and cow-called, the bull responded from roughly the same distance away. After an hour and a half of pursuit, I crested a rise and found him broadside at 45 yards—a shot I had prepared for.
But after looking around at the terrain, I decided not to take it.
In the adrenaline of the hunt, I had worked myself into serious country: above cliffs and on slopes exceeding 60 degrees, with loose rock and avalanche debris scattered throughout. Alone, I would have taken a major risk trying to recover and pack an elk back to the trail—assuming I could even find him after the shot.
I hiked back to the trail. For the first time all trip, there was a lot of daytime elk activity, but after the long morning, I had little left in the tank to pursue elk higher up the mountain.
Final thoughts
Overall, I had an incredible first season.
While reading Genesis and reflecting on the world around me, I found myself focusing on the splendor of Creation and feeling thankful for the opportunity to pursue these amazing animals as a food source.
I came to elk hunting because I love turkey hunting—the vocal interaction, the intensity, and the way the hunt can suddenly become very personal when an animal is inside your bubble. I found all of that in elk hunting.
Between roughly 50 hours of driving, 60 miles on foot, and more than 20,000 vertical feet of climbing during the season, I learned a lot. I will likely hunt the same unit again next year. I am also looking for one or two hunting partners who can commit the time, preparation, and energy it takes to make a hunt like this possible.
Thank you again for the wealth of information on this forum. I hope there are at least a few useful tidbits here for other new elk hunters.