MLH
01-08-2009, 01:45 PM
Now I better understand why any elk is a trophy - especially to hunters that spend days, weeks, and years pursuing meat and antlers in the west. We are so lucky to have a chance to hunt elk right here in Michigan. Once drawn for a tag the odds are pretty good for taking one home, but filling that tag can still be a challenge.
Back in the summer, when I checked the elk drawing results, the “Congratulations” that popped up on the computer screen just didn’t register. I closed Mozilla and checked again. “Congratulations” popped up again. A December any elk tag. Wow! Then came the realization that this was a once in a lifetime opportunity. Whoa! So, this would be with rifle instead of bow.
There's not much info out there on Michigan elk hunting ... but the DNR and the guides provide a great starting point. Hunters sharing their experiences online are becoming a great resource, which is why I am going into depth here. Looking back I should have called every guide and booked one right away, along with a room. Scouting during trout and deer seasons would have made sense, too. But me? No-o-o, I put it off.
I drove up for the mandatory Monday meeting in Atlanta and met some guides and the DNR staff. Everyone was helpful. Luckily, I met Preston Casselman. I had talked with his father, Dennis, the week before. Another guide said the Casselmans would work hard to get me a bull but that I’d better be in shape to keep up with Preston. He was so right on both counts. Unfortunately, due to my procrastination, they were already booked with three hunters before me. I would have to wait until Saturday or Sunday to get started, only three or four days before the end of season.
Fourteen inches of snow were expected Monday night so I hightailed it south on I-75. Picked up a carry-out meal close to home. The meatloaf was tainted. Spent the next day and a half semi-conscious in bed and on the bathroom floor. It was Friday before I felt better but still not good enough to drive north. Arrived in Atlanta early Saturday and checked the zero on my Remington 760. This .35Whelen consistently puts 225g Barnes TSX bullets into small groups. It was spot on. I stopped by DNR elk central. Preston had just checked in with his third client's elk, a huge 6x7. He had to repair elk damaged fences that evening so we agreed to head out on Sunday morning. Bummer, possibly only one day with a guide since Preston was called to work on Monday.
I spent Saturday afternoon scouting Area A. So incredibly beautiful. Mountains of sparkling white snow balanced on swaying dark green pines. A couple inches of fresh powder over a solid base. White roads and two tracks curving gracefully through the hills … some very big, very steep hills. I cut my first fresh elk tracks slicing right up one of those big hills. I stood there contemplating the tracks … and the hills … and the snow … and the elk. 400-900 pounds of muscle, hide, and antlers in heavy rolling timber up to a mile or so from a road. Have to bring out everything but the viscera. I survived one heart attack but figured to die in the woods if I had to quarter and haul it all out myself. I’d die happy, but not on this day. Off to the Big Buck for a stiff drink to settle my stomach.
We started driving the roads Sunday morning well before light, looking for fresh bull tracks. Fine misty blowing rain and above freezing temps. Wet. Windy. Miserable. The temps were dropping to single digits that night so the snow would become a crusty, slippery, and noisy mess the next morning. No chance of slipping silently through the woods on Monday. Roads would be packed ice. My best chance was to conclude my hunt that day.
We spotted cow herds twice from the road. We stalked in close to see if there were any bulls hanging around. No luck, but these were huge cows. I seriously considered a big meat cow but decided to push on.
We cut many tracks, all old marks or just cows. I began to understand what big bull tracks looked like. We spotted fresh ones at the same time. Preston made a parking spot and we started hoofing after the tracks through heavy knee deep snow. Up and down and around, hoofing ... and hoofing … and hoofing. A big bull and two smaller elk. The bull was making fresh deeply scarred rubs along his path. That really kept me going.
We bumped a big doe. The elk spooked. They were running. More hoofing. I heard branches cracking in the distance - the big bull tearing down limbs as he made his way through the timber. They were moving fast. We came to a wide pipeline crossing. I was winded. Preston knew the area and thought they might circle back around. He suggested that I stay and watch the opening while he continued the chase. He caught up to them about 20 minutes later but they kept bearing straight away, into remote timber. Smart lead bull. Preston said he was quite respectable. We gambled and lost. It was the right thing to do, but did I blow my best opportunity? Unfortunately, my stamina was just not there to keep up. I blame the bout with the bad meatloaf ... yeah, that's a good excuse.
We ended the day on private land. A line of bulls came out of a tree line and crossed a steep rolling hay field ... heading right toward a neighbor’s corn. We drove flat out down an icy road to find the farmer. The elk do tremendous damage to crops so the farmer was happy to give us permission. We ran through thigh deep blowing snow, staying behind hills to avoid the elk’s vision. We peaked a crest and looked down at the elk. Wind must have been blowing 30+ mph. It felt like blowing ice crystals were cutting into my bare face and hands. It was getting dark.
Several bulls were feeding together in a valley, out of the wind. Two 6x6’s, a 5x4, and some younger bulls. One busted us and they bolted out of the corn and stopped on a knoll. Only one stopped broadside, the 5x4. No time to be picky. Crosshairs were low behind his front shoulder when I shot. No reaction, he just started slowly walking. Preston said shoot again. The others bolted. I fingered the trigger just as the bull dropped. We looked at each other, realized the first shot hit home, and then ran toward the bull. We pushed our way through the corn and hit chest deep snow. It was like hitting a wall and seemed to take forever to climb through. Preston got there first. Seeing him standing next to the elk made me realize how large they really are. The bull breathed back some life so I put him down with a final shot. Preston headed for the farmhouse. I said a short prayer and thank you, bent on one knee beside the elk on that cold, wet, wind-blown white knoll. The blood in the snow went from red to black as the dark came over us. I could see blurred lights from the farmhouse, but there was only the sound of howling wind. It seemed so very far away. Surreal. I had filled my tag.
My gloves and my facemask were in the truck. I was just wearing a light jacket, so started moving around to stay warm. Seemed that Preston had been gone a long time. The roar and headlight of a snowmobile coming down the road was welcome. I knew help was on the way. Cold, wet, biting wind, deep snow, and a black night, and here was a neighbor pitching in. Preston also rode up on the snowmobile, with a tow strap to drag the elk back to the farmhouse. Without the sled and the helping hand, it could have been a very long, very hard night bringing that elk out.
3-1/2 years old. 450 pounds field dressed. If you want to see a picture you have to stop by the Sparr Mall, in the one corner town of Sparr, MI. After that long day I cared more about a warm, dry, cozy chair and a beer than about getting pictures. It’s a pretty telling photo - a cold, damp, wind shorn, and tired, but satisfied, hunter with a soaking wet antlered elk. Preston’s son, Brock, is also in the photo. He’s all smiles. A future elk guide? Let’s hope he takes after his father and grandfather.
I am so thankful for the experience ... for the good people I met ... for a great guide … for the excellent job and hard work by the DNR … and for the tasty healthy meat. I also got some decent antlers that will actually fit on a normal size wall. Now I have an itch for western elk hunting. Though, I would still love to tag along on an early season Michigan hunt – this time taking photos. Elk are truly majestic and fascinating animals. I feel blessed.
Misc. Costs:
Guide: $400-$800 (Canada Creek Ranch guides just ask for a fair donation). Some ask for payment upon presenting a fair shot. Some want payment up front.
Professional meat processing: $200
Hide tanning: ~$400 (~$200 for a cape)
Back in the summer, when I checked the elk drawing results, the “Congratulations” that popped up on the computer screen just didn’t register. I closed Mozilla and checked again. “Congratulations” popped up again. A December any elk tag. Wow! Then came the realization that this was a once in a lifetime opportunity. Whoa! So, this would be with rifle instead of bow.
There's not much info out there on Michigan elk hunting ... but the DNR and the guides provide a great starting point. Hunters sharing their experiences online are becoming a great resource, which is why I am going into depth here. Looking back I should have called every guide and booked one right away, along with a room. Scouting during trout and deer seasons would have made sense, too. But me? No-o-o, I put it off.
I drove up for the mandatory Monday meeting in Atlanta and met some guides and the DNR staff. Everyone was helpful. Luckily, I met Preston Casselman. I had talked with his father, Dennis, the week before. Another guide said the Casselmans would work hard to get me a bull but that I’d better be in shape to keep up with Preston. He was so right on both counts. Unfortunately, due to my procrastination, they were already booked with three hunters before me. I would have to wait until Saturday or Sunday to get started, only three or four days before the end of season.
Fourteen inches of snow were expected Monday night so I hightailed it south on I-75. Picked up a carry-out meal close to home. The meatloaf was tainted. Spent the next day and a half semi-conscious in bed and on the bathroom floor. It was Friday before I felt better but still not good enough to drive north. Arrived in Atlanta early Saturday and checked the zero on my Remington 760. This .35Whelen consistently puts 225g Barnes TSX bullets into small groups. It was spot on. I stopped by DNR elk central. Preston had just checked in with his third client's elk, a huge 6x7. He had to repair elk damaged fences that evening so we agreed to head out on Sunday morning. Bummer, possibly only one day with a guide since Preston was called to work on Monday.
I spent Saturday afternoon scouting Area A. So incredibly beautiful. Mountains of sparkling white snow balanced on swaying dark green pines. A couple inches of fresh powder over a solid base. White roads and two tracks curving gracefully through the hills … some very big, very steep hills. I cut my first fresh elk tracks slicing right up one of those big hills. I stood there contemplating the tracks … and the hills … and the snow … and the elk. 400-900 pounds of muscle, hide, and antlers in heavy rolling timber up to a mile or so from a road. Have to bring out everything but the viscera. I survived one heart attack but figured to die in the woods if I had to quarter and haul it all out myself. I’d die happy, but not on this day. Off to the Big Buck for a stiff drink to settle my stomach.
We started driving the roads Sunday morning well before light, looking for fresh bull tracks. Fine misty blowing rain and above freezing temps. Wet. Windy. Miserable. The temps were dropping to single digits that night so the snow would become a crusty, slippery, and noisy mess the next morning. No chance of slipping silently through the woods on Monday. Roads would be packed ice. My best chance was to conclude my hunt that day.
We spotted cow herds twice from the road. We stalked in close to see if there were any bulls hanging around. No luck, but these were huge cows. I seriously considered a big meat cow but decided to push on.
We cut many tracks, all old marks or just cows. I began to understand what big bull tracks looked like. We spotted fresh ones at the same time. Preston made a parking spot and we started hoofing after the tracks through heavy knee deep snow. Up and down and around, hoofing ... and hoofing … and hoofing. A big bull and two smaller elk. The bull was making fresh deeply scarred rubs along his path. That really kept me going.
We bumped a big doe. The elk spooked. They were running. More hoofing. I heard branches cracking in the distance - the big bull tearing down limbs as he made his way through the timber. They were moving fast. We came to a wide pipeline crossing. I was winded. Preston knew the area and thought they might circle back around. He suggested that I stay and watch the opening while he continued the chase. He caught up to them about 20 minutes later but they kept bearing straight away, into remote timber. Smart lead bull. Preston said he was quite respectable. We gambled and lost. It was the right thing to do, but did I blow my best opportunity? Unfortunately, my stamina was just not there to keep up. I blame the bout with the bad meatloaf ... yeah, that's a good excuse.
We ended the day on private land. A line of bulls came out of a tree line and crossed a steep rolling hay field ... heading right toward a neighbor’s corn. We drove flat out down an icy road to find the farmer. The elk do tremendous damage to crops so the farmer was happy to give us permission. We ran through thigh deep blowing snow, staying behind hills to avoid the elk’s vision. We peaked a crest and looked down at the elk. Wind must have been blowing 30+ mph. It felt like blowing ice crystals were cutting into my bare face and hands. It was getting dark.
Several bulls were feeding together in a valley, out of the wind. Two 6x6’s, a 5x4, and some younger bulls. One busted us and they bolted out of the corn and stopped on a knoll. Only one stopped broadside, the 5x4. No time to be picky. Crosshairs were low behind his front shoulder when I shot. No reaction, he just started slowly walking. Preston said shoot again. The others bolted. I fingered the trigger just as the bull dropped. We looked at each other, realized the first shot hit home, and then ran toward the bull. We pushed our way through the corn and hit chest deep snow. It was like hitting a wall and seemed to take forever to climb through. Preston got there first. Seeing him standing next to the elk made me realize how large they really are. The bull breathed back some life so I put him down with a final shot. Preston headed for the farmhouse. I said a short prayer and thank you, bent on one knee beside the elk on that cold, wet, wind-blown white knoll. The blood in the snow went from red to black as the dark came over us. I could see blurred lights from the farmhouse, but there was only the sound of howling wind. It seemed so very far away. Surreal. I had filled my tag.
My gloves and my facemask were in the truck. I was just wearing a light jacket, so started moving around to stay warm. Seemed that Preston had been gone a long time. The roar and headlight of a snowmobile coming down the road was welcome. I knew help was on the way. Cold, wet, biting wind, deep snow, and a black night, and here was a neighbor pitching in. Preston also rode up on the snowmobile, with a tow strap to drag the elk back to the farmhouse. Without the sled and the helping hand, it could have been a very long, very hard night bringing that elk out.
3-1/2 years old. 450 pounds field dressed. If you want to see a picture you have to stop by the Sparr Mall, in the one corner town of Sparr, MI. After that long day I cared more about a warm, dry, cozy chair and a beer than about getting pictures. It’s a pretty telling photo - a cold, damp, wind shorn, and tired, but satisfied, hunter with a soaking wet antlered elk. Preston’s son, Brock, is also in the photo. He’s all smiles. A future elk guide? Let’s hope he takes after his father and grandfather.
I am so thankful for the experience ... for the good people I met ... for a great guide … for the excellent job and hard work by the DNR … and for the tasty healthy meat. I also got some decent antlers that will actually fit on a normal size wall. Now I have an itch for western elk hunting. Though, I would still love to tag along on an early season Michigan hunt – this time taking photos. Elk are truly majestic and fascinating animals. I feel blessed.
Misc. Costs:
Guide: $400-$800 (Canada Creek Ranch guides just ask for a fair donation). Some ask for payment upon presenting a fair shot. Some want payment up front.
Professional meat processing: $200
Hide tanning: ~$400 (~$200 for a cape)