I hunted down the ridge a long way, and although I enjoyed just being there, solo, on a spectacular day, I was disappointed not to find any elk tracks.  consoled by not having found any wolf tracks either.  the elk must be hunkered down low, I turned back off the ridge and over to Rye Creek.  all the way off the mountain, and still having not cut any tracks, I was thinking it was time to bail out and go to the place of Plan B. Just then, I came upon some mid-sized bull tracks, heading back up theMy old friend and hunting mentor, Henry Blagden, had once told me, in his drawled out and highly experienced voice, "Glen, any bull's a good bull."  This seemed particularly apropos, as I was on the shortest elk hunt of my life, and there didn't seem to be a whole lot to pick from.  So I headed back up after him.  were on a south facing slope, the day was progressing, and the snow wasIn several spots, the tracking got tough.  I noticed that on his route, I was starting to find increasing amounts

showing me where you guys are hanging out this year.  Up and up he went, with me in trail, repeating the 3500 foot climb I'dtuscany leather laptop backpack bangkok already made that morning before daybreak.  alienware vindicator backpack 18 buyJust below the very topeberlestock rucksack test of the mountain, his track was joined by a small herd, and among these were some big bull tracks.  This guy'll be better for giving the pack a workout, I thought, so I switched to him. The elk were moving around the backside of the mountain, into the deeper snow, and escaping the warming sun.  skirted their trail, a little uphill, and kept my eyes focused on the farthest reaches that I could make out in the thick lodgepole forest. 

I kept up my very slow, patient pace, begrudging the long warrrurump sound that each of my footfalls made in the melting snow, in the otherwise utterly still place. After a little distance, and a little time, I sensed something andMoving my head a little sideways, I saw through a gap in the thicket what I was looking for.  A shift of my head brought a big bull into view, looking up my way through a slot in the timber, and no doubt wondering what all of the warrrurumping was.  slipped my rifle out of its Backscabbard a little while before, knowing that I was near the endgame.  The gun was in my right hand, and that was the one that I figured the bull couldn't see, so I slowly shifted it up until I was looking at him through my Leupold's crosshairs. I could just see his front section and head bracketed in one of those long aisle ways that are peculiar features of logdepole stands.  Horns going straight out sideways from the head

were lost in treebark on either side. Branch-antlered bull, I said to myself, he'll do. Squeezing the trigger, I dropped him neatly with my .300 Win Mag. Once I got up close to him, I found that his rack wasn't going to make the but I've shot enough trophy bulls to not feel compelled to do it every time that I go hunting.  I just drew a quiet smile as old Henry's words slowly drifted their way back through my mind, aaany bull's a good bull.  Besides which, he was a big-bodied old boy, and packing quarters and filling my freezer were what this hunt was all about.  So I settled in, and got to work.  With the elk skinned, quartered, and hung, I took all of the prime meat, some extra, and the rack, and headed off the mountain.  This is the second reason thatI'm not the kind of hunter who'd want to climb all the way back down, or for that matter wouldn't want to go 100 yards, to get a pack frame to carry my game.  I want to put it into the

thing that I'm wearing, and I want the thing that I'm wearing to be compact, comfortable, and then, of course, to get a lot bigger when I'mCarrying a heavy pack is another time that it's nice to have the Backscabbard for your gun.  there, you don't feel it, and even with a full load in the pack, you can reach back like you're scratching your neck, and grab your gun and pullThere's nothing else like it, period. Like most of my days of elk hunting, this one ended in the dark, with me in the middle of nowhere and a plan for getting backThe easy thing about hunting in this country is that there is always one way home -- down -- but you just have to be careful which way down you pick, lest you find yourself in for some nastyOr a long walk out from the bottom of the wrong side ofAnyway, I picked the right way, humped on out of there, and staggered into my camp a few hours later.  lay ahead the next day, I gorged myself on elk meat and any other food

that was handy and easy to prepare.  Then I slept as long and hard as I could. The next morning, I drove my rig down to where I thought I'd have the shortest hike.  The trouble was, and I knew it well from other elk I'd packed off this mountain, that the only way back up there was up the wall of Fortress Ridge.  That's what I get for living in Idaho and shooting an elk on top of a mountain, I guess. But it keeps me in shape.  So, a hard half-hour climb up a 50 degree slope brought me to the knife edge of the ridge.  the walking was easier, the views were spectacular, and the elk wereAnother smile to myself.  I hadn't come this far down the ridge in my exploratory sweep the day prior.  have shot one a little further down from the top.  On the way up, I heard what every elk hunter loves to hear.  my kind of place.  The Wild West, if only a small remnant of it. On both trips up and back down again, through the day and into the night,

I was serenaded by several different bulls.  a late season rifle hunt, long into a cool-weather fall, and long after I figured the rut ought to be over.  All the way up; turned out to be a long way.  That elk was further back there than I thought.  I looked at my watch.  way this was going to be over before dark.  I picked up the pace, got to the kill, shoved chocolate and water into my body, and eased a rear quarter into my Just One.  if I put a quarter into a plastic bag, it not only keeps my pack cleaner, but helps to get the quarter into the pack.  I set the pack on the ground, face down and expanded, and lay the quarter just uphill from it. Then I slide the quarter in, like slipping a big fish into a net. I know for a fact that it's a rare elk or moose quarter that won't fit into the meat compartment of the pack.  But for you Phil Shoemaker-like, schoolbus-sized bull moose killers, you can use the triple compression strap system and the Flex Chassis to strap anything,