“Breath.........Breath...........” The whispered words quietly drifted on the thin Rocky Mountain air, weaving their way through the boughs of the fir tree that separated me from my son Ian and outfitter/Master Guide Todd Jones. Jones’ words of wisdom and guidance coached Ian through his first shot, the first shot at the first elk of his life! I knelt behind cover in the snow anxiously waiting..........anticipating.........

For three years running the Wyoming draw had denied me the opportunity to chase bull elk in this most beautiful state. (A possible record for not being drawn I am told!) However, two years ago Todd Jones, owner/outfitter of Paintrock Adventures advised me to apply for a cow tag as a second choice. The result was a cow tag for the year 2000 and a fabulous adventure with Ian accompanying me as a “guest”. We brought home a young cow elk that fed our family for the year. The last steaks were cooked and eaten just prior to us leaving the mountains in northern California for Wyoming.

This year the Wyoming draw had granted both Ian and I elk cow tags. Such is the luck of the draw but we would be hunting elk in the most beautiful area of the world. The promise of hunting elk again in the Wyoming Rocky Mountains filled us with excitement and anticipation.

It was two days after Thanksgiving and the pickup was loaded. We said goodbye to our wives and departed from our homes before sun up in the western Sierra Mountain foothills, fighting a snowstorm that was building with intensity as we approached Donner Pass. Cresting the spine of the Sierra Mountains we descended into Truckee, California confident that the storm would end soon. As we approached the Nevada border it became evident that we were heading east with the first major storm of the winter. Strong winds and snow accompanied us into the evening as we witnessed several accidents and many spun out vehicles. It was time to give it a rest as we pulled into Logan, Utah to put up for the night.

Morning greeted us with a foot and a half of snow on the ground and more coming down hard. 4 wheel drive was the order of the day while second and third gear brought us to Jackson, Wyoming where we spent the next night. Morning finally brought an end to the storm and we made our way to the Trails End Motel in Dubois, Wyoming.

Soon after checking in, there came a knock at our door. Greeting us was Todd Jones wearing that cordial, cowboy smile beneath a grizzled beard, his Stetson askew and creased from too many miles on the trail and too much abuse in the Dodge pickup.

Todd is the owner of the very successful Paintrock Adventures. His outfit offers quality Rocky Mountain wilderness pack fishing trips and hunting expeditions for elk and mountain lion.

Jones is not only a highly professional outfitter who demands the very best of his personnel but he is also a Master Guide himself. One of those rare people that has the sixth sense, animal sense! Of all the guides with whom I have hunted, there are only two that would wear this mantle of Master Guide.  One is Todd, the other is Texan, author, TV and radio personality, Herman Brune. I am sure that there are others out there but these are the only two whom I have been fortunate enough to be with in the wilderness.

Generally, hunters spending hard earned cash should be wary of outfitters who also proclaim to be expert guides. Experience has taught me that outfitters and guides are usually different animals, it is difficult to be both. However, Jones fills the bill comfortably. Also, if I ended up in dire straights during a wilderness adventure, I’d be perfectly confident and comfortable in the company of this bearded relic of the old west. Of course, most hunters are paired up with a capable and talented professional Paintrock Adventure guide. But, if you are fortunate enough to spend time in the mountains together with Todd, hold on to your hat because you are in for a real treat.       

Between seasons Todd runs his Wyoming ranch. This cowboy is the real article, a link to the history of the old west. It is humbling (and a lot fun) to be in his company.

It is not a stretch to imagine this character sitting at the saloon poker table a hundred years ago, smiling and pleasantly talking the local bad actor into holstering his Colt’s revolver, all the while convincing the bad guy that he really did win that last hand fair and square! Of course, Todd would be talking over the brim of his cup and from under the brim of his Stetson, sipping strong, black French Roast coffee (a weakness of this cowboy!)

Tomorrow’s plans were discussed and then we all settled in for an anxious night’s sleep.

It was well before dawn as we finished the last drop of French Roast and climbed into the Dodge pickup. The diesel droned along the miles of washboard ranch road that finally ended at Todd’s corral made of temporary panels. The horses whinnied in anticipation of the alfalfa flakes which would warm their bellies in the predawn darkness. Our breath hung in the frigid air, our words visually frozen in time. The horses were fed, watered and saddled. We mounted up and were off, winding our way up the mountainside. Adventure lay ahead!

Within 15 minutes we were onto our first herd of elk. The small herd of half dozen elk were across a drainage on the facing slope. We dismounted and wound our way through the young fir trees toward the far slope. As often happens, the elk spotted us and moved off over the ridge. Todd turned, smiled and only two words escaped his lips into the frozen air, “Just practice!” As we retraced our tracks Todd grinned and quietly said “Let’s go find some more!” His attitude built our confidence.

We worked our way up slope trudging through the two feet of new snow that covered the mountainside. The ascent would never have been possible without the horses. Reaching a ridge we gave the horses a break as we glassed the terrain. This was truly a winter wonderland. Snow covered fir trees decorated the Rocky Mountains in picture perfect regalia. The sun was bright, the air frozen and our spirits high in country that touches the face of God. Soon we mounted and continued our ascent.

Breaking into a clearing we startled another small herd of elk. We paused to give them time to calm down then continued on foot leading our horses. Within minutes Todd had us trailing another cow. She led us to the edge of the timber. We stood in awe under the cover of fir trees. There, bedded in the saddle of two snow white peaks at 10,200 feet above sea level was a herd with an honest to goodness 100 elk!

This was it! Todd looked at me and I nodded toward Ian. The agreement was that Ian would be first up. I followed under cover as Todd led Ian to the very last fir tree separating us from the elk. Ian assumed a sitting position. “Breath”................”Breath”..................Todd’s words calmed Ian who was about as full of buck fever as a young man could be! I remember hearing the very same words, years ago as I tried to hold the Leupold cross hairs just behind the shoulder of my second elk.

Ian’s shot was long, with effort the cow moved off only about 40 yards as the herd moved out. The next shot stopped her from going any further up the slope. She hung her head, then lay down. We waited patiently because we new that even a mortally shot elk can travel miles if pushed. We had time to wait! After all, this was just the first day of our hunt!

At this point a very curious thing happened. The herd of elk had headed north over the ridge below the rugged cliffs of the mountain peak.

Moments after disappearing, the whole herd returned following the lead cow, this time heading south around the mountain peak. I had never seen anything like this and I wondered why they had changed direction so suddenly and radically. There were absolutely no other hunters for tens of miles. Had the elk been confronted by a mountain lion? Had a grizzly left its den, motivated by winter restlessness and come upon the fleeing herd? (Contrary to popular myth, grizzlies often break their hibernation at various times and for short periods leave their winter dens.) The mystery was never solved, only the mountains were left knowing the answer.

Finally it was time. Ian and Todd mounted up and crossed the 353 yards to the first elk of Ian’s life. I stayed behind and watched just in case the elk miraculously got to her feet and headed for the next county, I would have a good bearing on the direction of exit. It never happened, she was down for good. When Todd and Ian reached the elk I mounted up and trotted up slope to meet them.

Congratulations, high fives, hugs and thanksgiving made the rounds. The elk was a beautiful, healthy cow. Her hide would make a wonderful trophy and a great blanket to keep Ian and his wife Amei warm through the winter.

Time for work, Todd rolled up his sleeves in the icy air. An absolutely perfect job of skinning was performed meticulously. The elk was then quartered and mounted on two of the saddle horses which now were pack animals.

We faced east and viewed the serene vistas of the incredible Todd’s Valley. In Wyoming, the Department of Game and Fish issue outfitter licenses geographically. This valley belongs to Todd Jones and Paintrock Adventures exclusively. The sky was crystal clear, the thin air like ice as it was sucked into my lungs. Smiling and warm inside we began our descent.

The snow was deep and the going was difficult. Jones led the way, wading through snow up to his thighs. I was last in line after two men and two horses. It was still an arduous task to make headway. But, there was no choice, we had our work cut out for us and it had to be done. That’s all there was to it. Plain and simple, sometimes elk hunting hurts. It’s hard to imagine working up such a sweat going downhill!

I found myself looking forward to the timber where the snow was not as deep on the ground. In the timber darkness much of the recent snow was still clinging to the fir tree boughs high above us.

By now the sun was low in the western sky as we worked our way through timber snags and downfalls. We spotted a small herd of about 20 elk 300 yards across the drainage. We discussed the shot and I just was not comfortable with my options. If I wounded a cow she would be over the ridge and a long night would be before us. I was a happy guy with Ian’s success and I decided to wait for a better shot tomorrow. Todd was satisfied with the decision. What a guy! Too many guides push their hunters into taking bad shots.

We hit the trail and the temperature was dropping fast as the sun rested on the western most mountain range. A half mile further down the mountain we spied another herd of about 25 elk on the other side of the drainage.

Positioning myself I had an acceptable window of opportunity through fir branches 25 yards in front of me and between the leafless aspen trees on the far side of the drainage. One cow after another passed through this window as I waited for the right one. Finally, there she was! A young cow about two or three years old. Ian had gone for size, I wanted the very tenderest meat. Jones gave a cow call and the young one stopped broadside right in the narrow window of opportunity looking toward us 200 yards away, trying to figure out what kind of animals we were.

The cross hairs were held firmly behind her shoulder, my left elbow braced against my knee as I sat in the deep snow. Slowly and evenly I squeezed the trigger of my Sako .338 Winchester Magnum. As soon as the magnum sounded, the young elk moved off with the herd behind the stand of aspen.

“She may have gone over the ridge,” Todd’s words froze in the air. “Are you sure?” “Yeah, she may have gone over the ridge with the rest of the herd.” We all knew what this meant. We could be tracking the elk for hours in the darkness. Still sitting in the snow , disappointment captured me as I ran the sight picture over and over in my mind. Solemnly I whispered to myself, “I know I hit her!”

“Dad........Dad, come up here” urgency gripped Ian’s voice.

“There’s an elk standing under that fir tree in the saddle,” Ian was 20 yards up slope from my position and he had a better vantage point of the action. Todd and I joined Ian putting our binoculars on the cow.    “She’s hit,” Todd said, his keen eye picking up the body language of a young cow that let the herd run over the ridge without her. She lowered her head, then she lay down on the pine needles underneath the sheltering tree.

What had really happened? After being shot, the young elk had mixed with the herd, walked 20 yards to the fir tree which was hidden from sight in our original position. All we had been able to see was the confusion in the herd and then they were moving over the saddle and into the next drainage.

Satisfied and happy, the .338 had once again shot true to it’s mark!

The sun had fallen behind the western mountains and the deep darkness of the moonless night would soon be upon us. Decisions needed to be made. We had only one saddle horse to take a rider up the far opposing slope. The decision was made and in the wink of an eye Todd swung himself into the saddle and was weaving through the trees and blowdowns working his way down the slope, across the creek and galloping up the almost verticle slope on the far side of the drainage.

Through our binoculars we watched as Jones made quick but expert work of the job in front of him. We had decided to gut the elk, place branches on top of her and return in the morning. It was our only choice as two of our horses were already heavily laden with elk quarters.

Todd returned in short order and reported that the young elk had taken a perfect lung shot behind the shoulder, the bullet passing through both lungs and exiting on the far side. Gotta love that .338!

The wonderful thing about hunting Todd’s Valley is that there is a very healthy herd of resident elk and the drainage also receives migratory elk from the famous Thoroughfare. The elk are there for you if you have the heart to challenge the altitudes where they live.

The hard working outfitter and the contented hunters gripped their lead ropes and lead their horses toward the trail head. In the frigid darkness we reached the corral under sparkling stars. The pachyderms were brushed, watered and fed. Wearily we climbed into the Dodge pickup. As the ignition key was rolled forward the engine only moaned. Miles from the nearest rancher’s cabin, our hearts sank. It would be a long walk under the moonless sky. Opening the truck’s hood Ian spied a battery cable hanging loose from battery number two! The cable had been worked loose by the washboard ranch road. Securing the cable, turning the ignition key, the diesel roared! What a relief, smiles all the way around! (All of Paintrock Adventures equipment is in good working order! A loosened battery cable is testament to the rugged road to the trail head.)

Back in Dubois we made it in before the last restaurant closed. We picked up Todd’s uncle Don, who had scored a nice cow the day before and we all headed on foot to the Cowboy Cafe.

Don is a character of the first degree. When the waitress cordially asked us “How you boys doing?” Don seriously replied, “What are you, a doctor?” Well, I suppose that could have gotten us into some trouble in this small joint full of hardened family ranch hands and friends of the waitress but as Don worked his cowboy charm around the cafe everybody smiled and relaxed! Todd glanced around from under the brim of his Stetson, cautiously grinning beneath his beard, a twinkle of humor in his eye.

On the walk back to the motel Ian noticed that Don loved the cold and had a quick pace while cruising in the sub-zero temperature. He coined Don’s gait the “Dakota Shuffle!” Don has a passion for ice fishing in North Dakota and is quite at home when the temperature drops below