The long ride out of this Wyoming wilderness is a lot less painful when the mules are carrying four impressive bulls and the biggest is yours.
Story & Photography by Mark Kayser

"How far is he?" my hunting partner Greg Sesselmann whispered with a hint of nervousness quivering in his tone. Our guide and outfitter, Tim Doud of Bliss Creek Outfitters, also had that "hurry up" glare as I dialed up the distance of the bull elk using my laser rangefinder. "208 yards," I blurted with digital information flashing before my eye. "Are you comfortable shooting that far with your muzzleloader?" Tim questioned.

Greg didn't respond, but I could see his mind twisting as the now-or-never decision took hold. It's times like these when your mind sorts through technical information like bullet drop or decreasing foot pounds of energy surprisingly easily, all while charged with adrenaline, nature's answer to high-octane fuel. Greg's internal computer was clicking and about to spit out an answer. He'd done the math before the hunt, but pulling off the shot wasn't an "on-paper" equation. We soon knew his decision as the muzzleloader barrel relaxed. Seconds later, the bull completed his decision-making process by disappearing into the pines from where he'd appeared.

Rather than disappointment, we all looked at each other with relief spreading across our faces. Two hundred yards is a handful for a muzzleloader, even the modern in-line Knights we carried. Throw in a super-sized dose of adrenaline and Greg knew it would be better to wait for a closer opportunity. The Wyoming darkness began to engulf us, making our decision to hike back to the horses an even easier choice.

Our hunt started three days earlier at a remote trailhead in the Shoshone National Forest of northwestern Wyoming. This area neighbors Yellowstone National Park and includes some of the wildest and most vertical country in the lower 48.

Greg and I would be hunting with Tim and his partner Doris Roesch high in the Washakie Wilderness Area. Base camp was ten horseback hours from the truck on a constricted, boulder-strewn path that few sane backpackers consider.

The Washakie Wilderness takes its name from Chief Washakie, one of the most notable members of the Shoshone Tribe. It's a vast mountainous country of eroded volcanic flows that have long since been chiseled and carved by wind, water and glaciers into dizzying cliffs, spiraling pinnacles and gorges deep enough to hide a cruise ship. Little horizontal country exists in the region.

Resting between Cody and Dubois, the Washakie encompasses 704,000 acres of raw land, untouched by humans. It's a place where you can still drink from a stream and bump into a grizzly in the process. Besides bear, both the black and grizzled variety, the area is home to Shiras moose, bighorn sheep, mule deer and mountain lions along with an assortment of God's little creatures. It's simply the way America used to be.

The possibility of a grizzly encounter became all too real as Doris began handing out pepper spray canisters at the trailhead. A serious look spread across her face while she explained how to use the spray and their camp policy of always carrying a canister when wandering through camp. We took the information to heart while staring at the ominous peaks in the distance.

Needle Mountain is the highest point in this wilderness and it towered more than 12,000 feet above us as we passed beneath its shadow. Tim didn't think we'd be hunting that high, but he assured us we'd top 10,000 feet nearly every day. Three more hunters joined the group and as I looked at them, it suddenly dawned on me, I was probably the youngest. Several neared retirement age. If Tim thought the older gentlemen were up to the challenge, I should have no problem handling the challenge, even with the possibility of a grizzly encounter.

Six hours later my rump was telling another tale and we were barely halfway through the horseback ride to base camp. My sore rump was somewhat embarrassing since I had rattled on to the others about owning two saddle horses. Sure I ride them regularly, but regularly means once or twice a week, not eleven hours straight. Besides the burning in my thighs and butt, we had to cope with the narrow, no passing zone trails. Much of the ride involved vertical views with the South Fork of the Shoshone valley winding more than 1,000 feet below. Experienced mountain horses are worth their weight in grain, and I worried more about falling out of the saddle than Mr. Ed stumbling off the trail.

Seeing the others in agony and watching Greg shove a stocking hat down his pants to pad his rear added a dose of comic relief, but it didn't ease the pain. But hours later, the bellow of a bull elk in the black meadow near base camp completely erased the pain and my spirits spiked as camp lights appeared through the pines. After being introduced to our wall tent hotel room, Greg and I unpacked and sorted gear, hoping for a chance at the bull advertising in the meadow.

Both Greg and I had chosen muzzleloaders for our two on one hunt, though I thought we'd have to arm wrestle for dibs on the first shot. Hearing Greg's tales of elkless hunts canceled the arm wrestling match and I graciously offered him first chance since I've had several back-to-back freezer filling years for elk. Besides, he was bigger than I was.

Even with the exhausting ride behind us, we lay awake that evening, fueled by the adventure ahead. Swapping backgrounds, I listened in interest to Greg's life story of success. This hunt was not just an outing for him. He was field-testing products and we'd all help by wearing his products.

A decade ago, Greg and a partner created Scent-Lok, the garment technology that uses an activated layer of carbon to absorb and trap a hunter's scent. I knew that much before the hunt; I just didn't realize he was classified as a rocket scientist when I teamed up with him.

Actually, Greg's expertise lies in the aerospace carbon filtration field. That's close enough to a rocket scientist for me. Scent molecules, receptors and the importance of coconut shells for top grade carbon have me a whole new appreciation for the power of science in hunting.

The next morning we rested the horses and our rears, opting for a daypack hunt near camp. The bellowing elk from the previous evening gave us the slip before shooting light as we still hunted and bugled our way along the meadow. Midday temperatures hovered near 70 degrees and Tim eased us into an active wallowing area for our lunch stop.

Before settling down Tim managed to get a nearby bull to bugle, delaying our sandwich rendezvous. But after several more attempts to coax the bull into a showdown, it was obvious the heat had the same lulling effect of him as it did on us. After the sandwich, we snoozed in the sun before an evening ambush.

After our siesta, Tim pointed us in the direction of camp via an elk highway that ended at the meadow where we heard the morning bugler. Setting up on the meadow's edge, we waited patiently and just before dark our quarry signaled his intentions.

"Did you hear that bull? It's the same one we heard riding into camp last night," Tim exclaimed. Of course we had heard the bull, but we all agreed his location was too far with light fading fast. Just then, a bull above us declared his presence. We didn't speak, but riveted our attention to a trail poking from the timber ahead. The bull spoke on and off during our wait, but it was apparent that sufficient fed held the herd in the timber and Tim called off the wait at the end of shooting light. Three days later our story hadn't changed. In fact, our elk sightings went up daily, but close encounters were as scarce as bona fide extra terrestrials. Other hunters weren't having quite as much trouble with their hunts. Two of the three had already tagged good Wyoming six-point bulls so camp success was creeping toward 50 percent.

After the close encounter in the story's opening and with only two days left in the hunt, Greg graciously gave me the chance to bat. Fortunately, another hunter had filled on yet another good six-point bull, freeing up a guide to take Greg. Tim and I would finish the remainder of the hunt.

Our second to the last morning began like the others with a two-hour ride through a pitch-black forest. The 1,000-foot vertical cliffs weren't a concern, but the possibility of bumping into one of the grizzlies that kept leaving their footprints on the trail did cross my groggy mind. How would the horses react? Maybe I should worry about the gorge below?

"Did you hear that? He's in a small meadow several hundred yards parallel to us on the mountain," Tim whispered as we tied horses in the darkness. A layer of hoarfrost blanketed the hillside and it looked like the heat wave may have been replaced by Wyoming's traditional October weather.

Dawn's arrival helped guide us as we crept closer to the meadow, but when shooting light arrived, our bull had departed. We did manage to call him within a hundred yards, but I couldn't see anything but legs and a brief glimpse of antlers before he shied away with the herd.

The afternoon didn't treat us any better. Right before sunset, a solid 300-class six point pushed a harem of cows through a meadow below us. Tim and I pretended to be marathoners, but the herd beat us to the ambush point and did a David Copperfield disappearing act on an adjoining hillside. Close again, but we couldn't seal the deal.

That evening we gathered around the dim Coleman lantern and admired the bulls now taking up space outside the tack tent. While retelling my story to the group, Greg rode into camp elkless, toting along a story similar to the one I had just finished. With three six-point bulls for five hunters, Greg and I were severely beginning to threaten Tim's successful track record of nearly 100 percent success for his rifle hunters.

"I've put a lot into this hunt and I'm going to make an executive decision," I stated at dinner that evening.

Tim looked at me as if the high altitude was effecting my brain, then took a bite of elk loin.

"I'm unpacking my .300 magnum and putting the muzzleloader aside. I like the challenge of the muzzleloader, but I also like the taste of elk meat in the middle of February," I said. "That bull today was across the canyon and almost within reach of a 180-grain Nosler. I think we should go back in there with long-range fire power and the attitude he's going to be back," I said.

Tim grinned, nodded and took another bite of elk loin. The plan was set.

The sun hit our backs as we humped the last few hundred feet to our 10,300-foot observation perch. Easing along a rocky hogback, Tim crouched as if hit with a bad case of intestinal cramps, but his finger pointing to the small meadow below told the real story.

"It's a good bull and he's just wandering along the timber's edge," he stated focusing through his binoculars. "If we hurry, we should be able to catch him before he leaves the meadow."

Pivoting around, I dogged him down the hillside like Velcro to wool. As we neared the location, we softened our steps and eased with catlike stealth to the meadow's edge.

"Let's just set up here and wait. We can see most of the meadow and we have several clear shooting lanes," Tim said.

I couldn't have agreed more. Our suits protected us from wandering mountain breezes and the location offered me a flat surface to lie prone, my favorite shooting position. I unfolded my bipod with renewed confidence Looking quickly around the meadow at my shooting distances, I preset the scope and began scanning edges.

"There he is... he's going to come through the opening on the left," Tim prompted.

As I swung my rifle toward the spot, the bull appeared, but in an opening to the right of were I was aiming. A cow had been following the bull and fooled us. In five steps the bull would be gone. Pivoting my rifle to the other opening, I mentally confirmed a big bull in the sight picture and depressed the trigger as he stepped toward the timber.

"You got him! Wow, he's down. Get another shell ready just in case," Tim exclaimed.

The bull dropped on the spot with broken shoulders and even though Tim wanted me to be ready for a follow-up, we both knew he was dead. The size of the rack was surprising - six long points graced each antler and it was clear I would have bragging rights in camp if Greg's unlucky track record kept true to form.

Even the fear of grizzlies claiming my prize didn't wash away the adrenaline-charged success. Still, we kept the rifle loaded and placed pepper spray canisters around the carcass as we dismantled it for packing.

That evening at camp I did earn bragging rights, but I didn't invoke them. Greg had another unlucky day with several close encounters on a bull that would have put mine to shame. I was just happy having a freezer full of elk and a grand trophy.

The pain associated with the long ride into the Washakie was easier to take on the way out the next morning. It's amazing the painkiller qualities a string of weighed down mules decorated with four impressive bulls has on one's body, mind and soul.

If you want to go

Tim Doud has more than two decades of outfitting experience in Wyoming and runs a guide school teaching others the skills of wilderness hunting. Tim and Doris' camp has all the comforts to satisfy any tired hunter, including mattress-lined bunks, heated wall tents, a heated shower tent with hot water, and plenty of hearty, home-style cooking.

Elk licenses for Wyoming are limited and available through a lottery for nonresidents. Prices for 2003 range from $285 to $610 for a variety of nonresident licenses. All include a fishing license. Success for drawing these tags runs from 50 percent for the higher priced tags to 34 percent for the standard tag. The application deadline is March 15 and licenses must arrive in Cheyenne, Wyoming, Game and Fish Department on the stated date, not postmarked as many states allow.

Tim and Doris can help you meet application requirements and deadlines for their elk, moose, bighorn sheep and bear hunts. Contact them at: Bliss Creek Outfitters, 326 Diamond Basin Road, Cody, WY 82414; 307-527-6103; www.huntinfo.com/blisscreek

For Wyoming elk license information, contact the Wyoming Game and Fish Department at 307-777-4600; www gf.state.wy.us