The weather radio kept giving us gloomier and gloomier reports of rain and snow, but other than cold with some clouds, the morning looked good. I wanted to see if I could explore further back of the saddle.

I was tantalized by the place. The local guys with years of experience in our area had chosen that as their first choice for opening day, so it must hold some potential. Craig's elk had come from the adjacent meadow on the western branch of No Name Creek and I was hunting the eastern. There were no roads into the area, the road hunters could not see over the ridge, and just north of it the forest was closed to everyone, roadhunters and hoofers like me as well, since the Butte Water District owned it. What was there not to like? I had seen as many elk there as the other guys had seen elsewhere (namely, none), the access road was flat so I had a chance to pack something out if I got it, I had not seen anyone there since opening day (the other guys in our group saw hunters or heard shots from their areas), I was getting to know the terrain. David's Meadows and Table Rock for me.

My records do not show when I got up, but I think it was not too early. The forecast of rain had kept me in bed initially. The dawn showed serious overcast but no rain or snow, so I made my mind up to go out. It was elk season, right? And I was here to hunt elk.

I decided I was overburdened with gear, so I shed the bear spray (I am not sure if anyone carried theirs for long) and my shoulder holster with my .45. The first day I could hardly move my arms, so I also shed the insulated wool shirt and cotton camo shirt. I was still wearing silk underwear, down vest, down coat, & parka, and although the days were cold and trying, I was not cold.

I drove Bill's Bronco (he was kind enough to keep lending it to me) to the same spot and parked. Craig had given me a hard time about not just climbing up from the road directly to the saddle. It was only 120 vertical feet, he complained. My thought: if the level way allows me to hike easily and in the dark, taking only ten minutes, why fall over a sagebrush or build up a sweat right out of the car? Certainly there would be other ascents where that would occur later, so why rush it? Different strokes for different folks (but I did note with evil glee when he went out to my area later on, he used the road; he was cussing at the wind at the time so loudly that I could hear him 750 yards away!)

This is a view of the saddle. The road in the foreground is the Highland Highway, looking west, towards camp. The access road that I hiked out is barely seen on the hillside to the right. The arrow is a half inch above the saddle between the east hill (closer one) and the west hill (farther, with trees on its backside, away from the road).

The road going out to the saddle and then to the meadows seemed to be a lot shorter, now that I knew the way. I got out to the first meadow quickly, saw nothing but now also could move more quickly through the less huntable areas and get right to the area where I could take in more territory, still being on the lookout for any motion in the trees as I went. I hiked over to the second meadow, the one with Table Rock. There was nothing there, but rather than cross over to where I was the previous day, I decided to move west along the forest edge on the close side and see what was beyond what I had been able to see from my hideout. This was the western arm of the three meadow arms. It would take me to new territory and closer to where Craig got his elk. The meadow was narrower there, so it would provide more cover to any forest elk who wanted to be able to hide while grazing on meadow grass. I knew any bull would be likely to be as secretive as possible, and who wants to only retrace yesterday's unproductive hike?

I was able to move absolutely quietly along the meadow, about 20 feet back from the meadow's edge. The rain-soaked twigs and the marshy turf were quiet, not at all like trying to walk over all the downfalls and twig trash as I has to contend with the first day. There were some dead branches underfoot, but sparse enough I could avoid most of them. There was plenty of tree cover for me, but I could still see. I kept glassing every five feet or so, as I was in no hurry. I wanted to move as slow as a shadow. I wanted to just ghost along the marge, checking out each foot of new far side as it came into view and as far ahead on my own side as I could. I was not tying to get anywhere: I was already in the best hunting area I had seen, the wind was in my face (I knew that elk have an excellent sence of smell and continually checked the wind direction), and it was dry.

For a while.

The area looked great and I could move quietly, with a combination of perfect cover and perfect viewing area, but the clouds moved in and it started snowing. I ignored it for a while, but when it started snowing so hard that the day was dark and I could not see the 100 feet to the far side, I thought I might need to head back. I was in no rush, and planned to hunt as I wound my way back. I reversed course, now hunting looking back at where I had been hiding the previous day and up the other two arms of the meadow. It was quiet and still: I saw nothing.

When I got back to the end of the path where it came into the meadow, I was a bit worried that I might not find it, if the snow was too deep. While it was accumulating in the meadow, I could see my markers from before and the path was free of snow just a short way back in the woods. The snow seemed less in the forest, but by the time I got to the first meadow, I could see it actually had slowed considerably. I found a partly sheltered spot and staked out the meadow.

The snow falling in Meadow 1

In about half an hour the pace of the flakes picked up and I could not see far into the meadow. I was getting wet, as my partially sheltered spot under a lodgepole was not very sheltered.

I hiked back along the access trail and the snow thickened a lot. I decided I should pick a better place to shelter and let this wave pass.  None of the lodgepoles were very big here, and they were pretty scrawny as far as needles go, but I spotted a very tall and thick Engleman spruce and headed for it. The ground under it was clear of any snow and the soil had built up under it so it was above the marshy meadow. I just backed into it, pushing with my pack until I was against the trunk, with branches all around me, and waited. The snow was falling all around but not on me. I enjoyed the beauty of the spot, snow falling, little clumps of grass growing, decaying bits of wood all over. There were no birds out now; they were sheltering, too.

After another half hour the snow lessened and I moved out, not hunting now but trying to make time to the car. In ten minutes I  passed over the saddle and out onto the exposed face of the mountain, a sage slope. The wind picked up and the snow swirled. It had not slowed down as much as I thought it had. I was rather exposed, so I looked around for some shelter. Down the slope toward the road, there was a cluster of what I thought might be redbud trees. They were really more of a shrub, with multiple trunks, not the single trunk of a true tree. Their tops were broad and thick, full of leaves, and reminded me of an umbrella, which is exactly what I was looking for. I hustled down to the grove and tried to hunker down there, but the snow seemed to be expert at finding a path down through the umbrella of dry leaves.  There was a small spruce there as well, so I moved over to it and backed into it, with the valley laid out before me. This was a great spot. I was out of most of the wind, I was out of the snow, and I had a commanding view of the only way for the elk to move over the saddle into the meadow country. Perfect! The heck with the snow, this was fine.

I stayed there quite a while. When the snow got so thick that I could not see the hillside or the valley, I just closed my eyes and went to sleep. I would wake up every once in a while. If the snow was clear I would glass the hillside. If not, I would just go back to sleep. I was dry and warm, I had some food to eat, and who knows? An elk might try to make a break for the next valley in the cover of the snow.

I stayed about an hour and a half. Nothing was moving anywhere in the valley, and when clear I could see the better part of a mile. I decided to move along again. I went up the hill to the road and was in the car in ten minutes. Moving keeps you warm, but sitting in the Bronco with no heat chills you off pretty quickly. I drove back to the cabin.

The rest of the guys were wimps and were already there, the snow scaring them away from elk hunting and the beauties of snowfall in a lodgepole and spruce forest at 7000 feet.

Next: David's Tuesday