Just like that, it’s winter.
A bit abrupt, I must say, although no one asked me about it. Over the weekend, it was gorgeous, at least until you got above 8000’ or so, when the air took on a noticeable nip. Not to complain, you understand.
Although I could easily complain about this arctic air mass that’s moved in now! The National Weather Service thinks it’s going to be +5F here in the morning (it actually hit -1!). Not to mention; we got ~5” of snow last night, with the lower layers melted into ice, and it looks like the start of an ice cap or something.
In fact, we’ve had quite abundant precipitation here this fall, and one might think we’re facing a winter for a change, but who knows?
That’d be my luck, to have two or three hundred buffalo lined up to skin, and have it be the worst winter on record. But no, I’m not worried about that because as luck would have it, I ran into a guy I know at a trailhead (loosely defined) just after dawn Saturday, who just might be as good of buffalo skinning help as one might ask for, and is interested & apparently available. Yes, it really is a small world.
We’ve departed from a few obscure trailheads lately, which is the way I like them. This is a matter I’ve given no little consideration in recent weeks, as we’ve repeatedly been forced to make decisions based on sometimes incomplete information, and in cases, in completely the opposite direction as indicated by folks who should know.
Who knows, though? We haven’t shot any elk yet, although we’ve had a couple of moderately epic adventures in attempts to, and could have shot a truckload of them by now, except then we’d have had to buy that helicopter, which doesn’t pencil quite yet. Not to mention those pesky motorized use prohibitions (which we endorse wholeheartedly).

No, I like my horses just fine, thank you, and we like to think that we’ve grown beyond shooting those smaller bulls way up high. At least, with little to no snow on the ground, we have. As we’ve learned, retrieval can be just no fun at all under those conditions, and I tell you what, scenic photos are one hell of a lot easier to carry than elk quarters.
October is getting to be a fairly predicable routine around here, though. One I’ve grown quite fond of, actually. We work like beavers during the week (which we try to restrict to four days, at least twice). The first weekend is the antelope opener.
It’s hard to explain the attraction antelope hunting holds, although personally I’d find it way easier than other lunacies like fly fishing, say. At least the way we go about it, it’s an extremely unique adventure. We’ve been moderately seriously pursuing trophy antelope for a few years now, in an area that occasionally produces a record book speed goat. We hunt a pretty significant swath of country, and no, I’m not saying just where although it’s no big secret and hey, go look at the record books yourself and good luck.
We hunt several private ranches we have permission on, including a strikingly large one where we’re the only antelope hunters allowed.
What can I say? I get along good with people, over sustained periods of time.
Besides that, though, we hunt several large Block Management properties, and there’s no end of BLM and State land. So we look over a lot of antelope, you understand. Put stalks on a considerable number, which occasionally go awry but more often than not end in a shake of the head and another interesting hike.
We’ve taken a number of pretty good ones, and had near misses on a few bigger than that, but on this last trip I finally laid eyes on a Really Big One. Couldn’t close the deal, alas, and didn’t have the time to hang around a few days. Next year, though, we just about have Kim talked into joining us, in a wall tent/golden retriever camping extravaganza on the Yellowstone (oops! careful…) including days of antelope hunting. This would be part of a 25th anniversary week, followed by our annual trip to Chico Hot Springs. We’ve rented a chalet, & are having the kids there one night, and as vacations go I am thinking that week just might be hard to beat.
And then after a few days frantic work you can go elk hunting! Ah…
Back to antelope hunting, though, shortly after my stalk on Mr. Big went awry, we came upon a buck noticeably smaller than quite a few Cody had already passed on. This one, though, was not as smart as your average antelope, and hung around in close range long enough for Cody to decide to go with his new stainless Blackhawk .357 single-action revolver. Not many antelope get taken with what is basically a somewhat souped-up cowboy six-shooter. Or any other sort of hangun, for that matter, but particularly not one like his.

The next weekend, as previously mentioned, was our anniversary weekend at Chico. We can’t agree how long we’ve been doing this, but it’s something over twenty years of our 24-year marriage, so yes, you could say we like it. In fact, it’s on the very short list. The best restaurant in Montana, a range of unique accommodations from rustic to luxurious, and of course that hot water… The view is not bad, either.
And then elk season opens. We have had a couple of truly epic adventures. You can’t imagine how much it pleases me that my son has grown into the best companion a fella could get on these ventures. We think alike, he’s good with the horses (one smashed rifle aside), has a keen eye for game, and is fun to be around. He goes further than I do, now. Not by much, and thankfully he’s over the idea of shooting little bulls way up in there (9600’, yesterday, with elk everywhere you looked.)

Opening weekend, though, the best-laid plans were yet again foiled by Mother Nature. That or the National Weather Service!
We’d planned to go way up high. I took a packstring load of hay, and the tent, etc. up to an “intermediate” campsite a bit over 8000’ the prior Wednesday. A most enjoyable day trip, it was. These ponies are darn fine mountain transportation, I tell ya…
26-year old Bo carried me and led the string up a truly hairy spot we pass through occasionally like he was half that age again, and youngster Buddy continues to cement his reputation as the most level-headed, best-looking horse around. Disregarding that one episode in the deadfall where Cody’s rifle stock got broken…
Anyway, the plan was to head back in Friday night, and move camp up to the South Pole on Saturday. Except the unpredicted Friday storm materialized, and just like a remote snow sensor that’s just about in sight (across a big canyon or three, though) indicated, we arrived to 15” of snow. Way up high; forget about it.
So we dropped down into the adjacent canyon instead, which includes the aforementioned nasty spot in the trail, and then the rifle-breaking deadfall, but then we left the horses on a nice ridgetop. Strung on a line between two trees, on a nice flat spot, with a bit of the finest, organic and certified weed-free hay they were in fat city indeed.
So were we, as we hiked across a canyon or three, and narrowly missed crossing paths with what I have a strong feeling were some decent bulls. Oh, we saw lots of elk (mostly on private land), but if a fella made a point of being way in there at daylight…
Those considerations sort of faded not long after we got back to the horses, though. There we sat, about 2:00 PM on a nice sunny afternoon, having more or less decided to pull out, go home and tend to business/school for a few days, when a pack of wolves tuned up, less than a quarter mile away.
And, they went at it for fifteen or twenty minutes! A veritable serenade, if eerily ominous, rated somewhere between damn impressive and profoundly disturbing.
It’s a good thing they don’t eat people, and oddly enough, my horses weren’t even disturbed. Oh, they were interested, but it didn’t freak them out. The legends have faded, I guess…
We never did see the wolves, although after we mounted up and were underway again (after an unplanned detour through the steep boulders when the trail disappeared) we shortly came upon some most impressive tracks. Three sets, near as we could tell, which matched the distinct voices. That one was deep.
If we had wild bison there, we’d have the full complement of native species. Not only that, they appear to flourish. Where we were; that could come to pass. If recent negotiations bear fruit, the door is open.
The November 7 election has some bearing on that. I’ll leave politics out of this, except for brief mention to urge you to vote, regardless of beliefs. Obviously, my vote will be going to those who might perhaps see how to embrace this sort of unbelievable opportunity, served up on a silver platter by Mother Nature.
No, I am not about staying the course. Not if the course has led into a box canyon of incompetence and corruption.

So that was quite an experience in itself, but we decided to go somewhere else this past weekend. Where I’d have gone initially, with better forecasts… Predictably enough, we got into loads of elk, once we got above say, 8000’ or so. Well, there are those big herds of thousands out in the valley, not to mention antelope everywhere you look, and deer and raptors, waterfowl, wolverines and grizzly bears and yes, the odd wolf. Not as odd as they were not long ago, though.
I think Montana’s model for wolf management, such as it is, shows real promise.

We’re going to have a few of them around. At least in these wilder landscapes, which praise the Lord, we are not short of here in Montana. But we’re not going to let them spread unchecked. In places like the Madison Valley, where some fairly extraordinary steps are being taken to prevent wolf/livestock conflicts, sometimes a few wolves will be taken out. What may transpire sooner than later, is public hunting. Oh, yes, you shoot at them when opportunity presents, and well… maybe we wouldn’t hear any more of those afternoon serenades.
Hard to say…