The Sounds of Autumn

Ka-Whop…Ka-Whop… I looked at Judy in disbelief. Do you know what that is? I asked, and before she could even guess, I said, ‘those are bighorn sheep’. Several more times we heard the rams fight song echo off the badlands walls.

            I quickly pulled up my binoculars and searched the canyon for the combatants, then swung across the ravine to check the cow elk we spotted earlier, and followed the search to the clearing where we anticipated a bull to step into.

            It was elk we were after and my wife Judy had drawn the coveted tag. She had taken many good mule deer in the past, but this would be a much more challenging hunt.

            This evening had started as several others, picking an area we hoped would hold elk and hiking concealed to a vantage point to glass. Our glassing this eve would only show us other hunters, so not wanting to mess them up, we went the other direction. As we walked, I mentioned to Judy on how quiet it was and the dry underbrush made it sound like we were walking on cornflakes. We agreed that we would have to be careful and watch our noise with each step. As we skirted the top of a deep cedar ravine, I squeezed my ‘Hoochie-Mamma’ cow call, in seconds a pronounced ‘mew’ returned.

            The expression on my face was a mixture of surprise and disbelief, we found some elk! Judy immediately knew it was a cow and asked, “Do I shoot a cow?” My response was an emphatic ‘No!’ as she would expect.

            Attempting to close the distance, we backed away cautiously and continued on a different approach. Using trees for concealment, we glassed and called again and again a response, this time from deeper in the canyon.

Judy and I both glassed intensely but looking into the September setting sun made this very difficult. This sun glare would prove to be a real nemesis. I soon spotted a bull and pointed to a cut bank in the shaded end of the canyon and after fighting off the sun glare, Judy spotted him. Moments later a cow stepped into a small opening in the timber.

            This is where the Ka-Whop of the bighorns began to fill the canyon like the background music of a thriller movie. As the bull disappeared into the canyon shadows, I told Judy to set her rifle up on the rock we were behind and focus on that opening. I knew the bull would follow the cow and this may be our only clear shot.

Judy struggled to see through the scope due to the sun glare, in an attempt to help I laid my cap over the front of the scope to shade it just enough to block the sun.

            The bighorns bashing continued for several minutes while we waited for the bull. I searched to see the sheep then watched the cow which was now directly across the canyon. The crescendo of excitement escalated further as the bull stepped into the clearing, “315 yards”, I said, “put your crosshairs right on him”.
            The bighorn head butts were instantly drowned by the bark of Judy’s .300 Win Mag. The bull bucked and trotted into the canyon timber. The recoil of Judy’s rifle knocked my cap off the scope making it impossible to fight through the glare of the sun for another shot.

            “Dang sun! I can’t see!” Judy said frantically. The partial panic, partial frustration was evident in her voice of not being able to see through the cloak of the sun’s glare. 

            I quickly reassured her that the bull was hit and is still in the deep ravine. We would wait a few minutes and re-approach from above where we last saw the bull in hopes to get a better sun angle and another shot. The bighorns Ka-whopped once again.

            Relocated, Judy found the bull standing in the thick timber. The .300 barked again and the bull rolled and rolled and rolled to the bottom. I thought to myself, “Oh my god we are going to work to get him out.” After another minute the bull struggled in an attempt to stand, Judy hit him one final time.

            Words could not describe the expression and excitement on Judy’s face when she turned to me. I couldn’t tell if it was tears of joy or relief, or just sweat coming down her face but hug and kiss of congratulations was never sweeter.

            We descended to the beautiful 6x6 North Dakota bull, did a short photo session, field dressed the bull and hiked out in the dark. At dawn we navigated a route back to the bull trying to find the easiest exit to pack him out.

The chores of skinning and quartering are daunting but with adrenaline push of success made the task was very fulfilling. Judy and our good ranching friend Neal, began packing as I quartered and de-boned. After three trips each we had the meat horns and cape on top of the canyon and soon after, to the vehicle.

            Driving out of the badlands brought a memory of another harvested elk, my elk ten years earlier. Ten years to the date. September 10, 2001 my arrow downed a 6x6 Montana bull. Judy’s 6x6 would be taken on September 10, 2011. Both animals were packed out on 9/11. Is this fate or coincidence? Maybe, or maybe some things are just meant to be. These are the memories you never forget.

On this day, the crunching of underbrush, bashing of horns, the mew of a cow, a Winchesters’ bark, and throw-in cheers of success, and the smack of a kiss, ohh… who’s not to long for the “The Sounds of Autumn”.