By Rob Bettaso

The last thing I put in the truck before leaving was an old pair of boots. We had had a decent amount of early fall rains, and there was a good chance we would get some more during my three days in the field. The soils in the place where I would camp were comprised mostly of sand, but there was definitely the possibility of some clay soils of the type that clump up on one’s boots and make hiking a hassle. Just prior to cranking the ignition, I did one final perusal of my check-list and concluded that I had everything I would need. Looking up at the dark gray sky as I stepped into my truck, I thought: In less than three hours, I will probably set up my tent in the remnants of Hurricane Polo. Quietly, to myself, I muttered “Marco” and headed down the drive and on out of the neighborhood.

Happily, when I arrived at camp, it was not raining, though the skies were still cloudy and the breeze had picked up; suggesting that the forecast of rain would come to pass. Being that it was mid-day, my friends were lounging on camp-chairs under a large tarp-type shelter, having spent their morning hours out hunting elk. After exchanging greetings, I inquired how the hunt was shaping up, knowing that some of the crew would have arrived early to scout, and that others had probably only arrived two days ago: on the eve of Opening Day. Everyone expressed guarded optimism about the prospects of seeing elk, though only fresh sign (tracks and scat) had been observed and distant bugling bulls had been heard.

The crew included four folks (Ken, Mark, Bob, and Mattie) with permits to hunt antlerless elk and one person (Susanna) with a bull tag. Both Lin and I didn’t have tags, and we were along just for the fun of joining our friends — most of whom were retired biologists I had gotten to know during the late 1990s when I had worked in Yuma with the Arizona Game and Fish Department. At this point, all but one of the crew were retired, and most had settled in the Tucson area; though Mark lives in Yuma and Ken in the Phoenix area.

There was one new addition to our group: his name was Leo, and he was a mere three months old and was the son of Mattie and Alejandro (who hadn’t been able to break free of work to join the hunt) and the grandson of Bob and Susanna. Because he had smiled at me when we first met under the tarp, I took an instant liking to lil’ Leo, although I noticed he pretty much smiled at everyone and everything all the time. Despite Mattie having a tag, she obviously could not do much, if any, hunting during the group’s 10-day season. Nonetheless, her upbringing made her as comfortable in the wilds as she was in town, and while everyone acted very casual about having a baby in camp, I found it genuinely impressive that they did so. In fact, without wanting to over-state things, I would have to say that sharing camp with three generations of one family was quite possibly the most hopeful thing I had seen in the U.S. in many years! Maybe we weren’t becoming a society of couch-spuds and mall-rats after all.

In the late afternoon, I joined Ken and Lin in search of elk. Ken took up a position where he had a fairly long view through an opening in the junipers and suggested to Lin and I that we head to higher ground so that we could use binoculars to scan the countryside for small, roving groups of cows and calves that were under the watchful eye of shepherding bulls. I did my best to concentrate on finding elk but was frequently distracted by Sage Thrashers, which were abundant and seemed to be restless in the latter portion of the day as they could be seen perching in the very tippy-tops of the tallest junipers where they clucked to each other like a bunch of hens preparing to roost for the evening.

About 30 minutes before sunset, I was startled by the crack of a rifle that I knew must be Ken’s since the other hunters in our camp had headed off in different directions from the area in which Ken had picked to hunt. Lin and I re-grouped and quickly headed back to where we had left Ken. Because the twilight comes suddenly at this time of year, it was nearly dark when we found Ken, who was following a set of tracks that, despite the absence of a blood-trail, he was sure were the route taken by his quarry. Breathlessly, he suggested that we all dig out our headlamps and split up in search of a downed elk. After about 15 minutes, I nearly stumbled over the carcass of a young and very warm elk and cried out to Ken and Lin that I had found it. We gathered, expressed enormous relief and gratitude for filling the tag, and while Lin set about gutting the elk, Ken hoofed it back to his Jeep, which he was able to drive to within 100-feet of the kill. We drug the eviscerated elk and hefted it up into the back of the Jeep where Ken had laid a tarp to keep things reasonably clean.

By the time we returned to camp, the other hunters had commenced cooking their dinners, which they kindly offered to us if we wished to participate, though they knew we would first need to at least get the hide off the elk to allow it to cool as quickly as possible. Ken has a very sturdy skinning table that allowed enough room for him and Lin to process the elk, which, once they had built up some momentum, didn’t take them long to skin, quarter, and cut into field-dressed hunks of meat. Lacking their skills, I stood around holding a flash-light on the carcass to make their jobs easier and to just observe, in case I ever decide to put in for a tag of my own and needed to wield a knife, cleaver, and/or Sawzall.

After the meat had been put in game-bags and hung high in the exposed limbs of a dead juniper, Ken worked on cleaning up the improvised butcher-shop while Lin and I had our dinners around an inviting campfire where the others had gathered. By the time I had finished eating, it was time for “bed” and I headed to my cot, which I had set up near to where I had also set up my small, back-packing tent. The clouds obscured the young moon and the stars, and I wondered if I would be able to sleep out or if the expected rain would fall. Sure enough, about an hour after I dozed off, I awoke to raindrops splashing onto my face and knew that it would be very risky to remain outdoors in hopes that it would only sprinkle for a short while. So, I donned my headlamp and moved my sleeping bag and pad from the cot to the tent and then fell back into a dead-sleep until about 5 a.m. when I heard Lin at my tent door asking if I wanted to join him, Bob, and Susanna for a hike to a local bluff so that we could await first light and the hope of participating in a second elk harvesting.

While Mark hiked the lowlands below our bluff vantage point, somebody in our group spotted a herd of eight cows and calves under the protection of an impressive bull. Since Susanna’s tag was for a bull, she and Bob dropped off the bluff, hoping to intercept the herd down below, which had detected Mark’s approach and were quickly making their way up a wash away from Mark’s direction of pursuit. Lin and I remained up high to witness the unfolding events but eventually lost sight of the herd as they made steady and rapid progress up the wash and away from our vantage point. Eventually, we returned to camp to have a late breakfast and later still, welcomed the return of the three hunters who had not crossed paths with the herd a second time but would have many more days in which to hunt. By this time, Ken had loaded up his elk meat into his Jeep and headed back to his home so that he and his wife could begin the final stage of processing and get the meat into cold storage.

Off and on for the rest of the day, Mark, Susanna, and Bob continued hunting, while Mattie, Leo, Lin, and I stayed in and near camp keeping busy with such trifles as cribbage, reading, and watching the clouds roll overhead and the birds flit amongst the junipers. Leo remained his upbeat self, and at any time, one could easily be entertained by simply watching his sweet little face as he smiled and appeared utterly pleased with the wide-open world of our campsite.

My second day wound down with the taunting bugles of bull elk and an absence of rifle reports. The skies did clear though, and so I was thrilled to spend my last night sleeping on my cot while waking occasionally to stare into starry heavens; twice witnessing streaking meteors as they spread their fiery remains into our atmosphere with perhaps a meteorite here and there crashing onto earth or plunging into the oceans or other water-bodies.

When I awoke at dawn, the hunters were already up and out, and so after coffee, Lin and I hiked along a two-track road, watching birds while one of the two camp dogs (in this case, Gus) kept us company. Eventually, six adults, one baby, and two dogs all reunited in camp, and I packed up my meager belongings so that I could return home to make a routine doctor’s appointment. I suggested to my friends that if a person or two remained in camp elk-less and still hunting after mid-week, that they could give me a call and I could easily come back out to keep them company and assist in any way that my limited abilities permitted.



However, by mid-week, I received an email from Lin revealing a wonderful photo of Susanna and Bob, standing next to an impressive bull that Susanna had tagged under heavily overcast skies. A week later, when I talked with Lin on the phone, I learned Mark had also filled his cow tag. Overall, I suppose the big bull had been the most momentous event of the trip, although that doesn’t include the myriad little moments when Leo achieved another crucial milestone in his discovery of this wondrous wild world.