A Week To Remember
Some hunts are more exciting than others. The first week of December 2006 was by far the most exciting week for me in nearly 50 years hunting big game.
The week started out innocently enough with my arrival at Silvertine’s ranch in Northwest Saskatchewan. I was there with cameraman Kelly Veltri, good friend Buddy Boyett, and his friend Aaron from Texas. We had gathered once again at the Silvertine ranch for Buddy to take a rare white elk and for me to take a huge old elk with my muzzleloader.
Unlike the first hunt at Silvertine in September, when Buddy arrowed the new world record estate elk with a crossbow, this hunt was far easier. The snow had pushed the bulls out of the thick stuff and they were located on a ridge near a blind that Steve Rahn had constructed in the middle of his property.
All five of us sat in the blind the first night and sure enough, just before dusk, both Buddy’s white elk AND my non-typical bull traveled up the ridge in the same small herd. It was post-rut and most of the bulls were hanging together. They knew that with wolves in the area they needed to keep together for safety.
Buddy was first to shoot and he took his white elk neatly with his Excalibur crossbow at 37 yards. My bull ran up the ridge and looked back to see what had hit the white elk. Steve whispered to me quietly, “There is your bull. He is THE spookiest bull we have ever seen. If you don’t take him now you may never see him again.” I remembered how tough it was to find Buddy’s huge bull last September, so took Steve’s advice.
I set down my Leica binoculars, snuggled into the Austin & Halleck .50 caliber Mountain Rifle, peered through the 6x Leatherwood Hi-Lux scope and found the crease behind the bull’s left shoulder. I would be proud to say the bullet slipped into the ribs exactly where I had aimed, but I admit that I must have slapped the trigger because it hit three ribs further back.
It did not matter much as the bull piled up less than 40 yards from where he was hit and we picked our way down the ridge to where he lay.
Steve had told me this was “a special bull” and he was right! This bull had 15 points on his right side and 10 on his left! I had never seen such a bull and I am sure my jaw dropped when I first saw him lying in the deep Saskatchewan snow.
The bull’s right main beam split just above a twisted G3 and at first glance the beam looked like a burl you see on a tree that was damaged by a fire. You know the kind that has a cluster of branches coming out of a large bulge in the limb, except this was an antler, not a tree branch. It was hard to tell the difference.
We quickly discovered his G3 branched upwards, not out front, and the main beam ended in a twisted mass of nearly a dozen points.
“Now THAT will be a chore to score,” Buddy commented when he held the bull’s rack in his hands, slowly running his fingers all around the twisted burl and tangled tines.
“I have never SEEN such an elk in all my life,” was all I could muster.
We caped the bull and Steve brought the quad down to haul the meat back to the cabin. When the thermometer hit –29 degrees that night, we were happy to have a nice warm cabin to return to; even if it was in the dark by the time we arrived back into camp.
Buddy’s white elk was a sight to behold and one of the most magnificent elk I have ever seen in my life.
We took turns pinching ourselves to make sure we were not collectively dreaming as we measured the two racks that night. Buddy’s was most likely the largest white elk ever taken by a hunter with a crossbow and if SCI makes this a new category, Buddy will have taken two world record estate elk at Silvertine in two trips this year.
When the measurements of my elk were tallied, we were amazed to find the score exceeded the magic 500-inch mark, easily eclipsing the existing AND pending world record for estate elk taken with a muzzleloader. Since the largest elk ever taken by anyone in the SCI record book was 503 SCI at the time, and my elk scored 508 SCI, we knew we had a truly special animal indeed.
It was hard to get to sleep that night to say the least.
The next morning dawned crisp and clear. We trudged the gentle hills of Steve’s place all day long, sighting the ghost shadows of elk all day long. Since we were filming an episode for the BGA TV show “On The Adventure Trail”, we tried to make sure we got the footage of the kill shot and that was to cost us on more than one occasion.
We settled into the blind that evening, but no elk appeared. Buddy is from Florida and Aaron is from Texas, so they had never even seen snow, let alone hunted in the white stuff. They spent quite a bit of time tightly huddled over the little heater Steve had in his blind, as close as they could without sharing clothing. I sat there and hummed “Chestnuts Roasting Over an Open Fire”, just to keep them entertained, but they failed to appreciate my humor. Hunting with good friends makes these hunts even more special, and that time spent in the blind looking for elk was as special as it gets.
The next morning found us back in the blind. It was just too crunchy to have five of us stalking through crusted snow. We sat for a while, and then Steve spied several elk coming up the ridge. Aaron and guide Ryan, who finally got to hunt with us, both arrowed two fine bulls. Aaron’s bull should make the record books as the largest Roosevelt elk taken with a crossbow.
We had taken some great elk, all in three short days and all from the same blind. With the weather as cold as it was, and with the combined ages of all the hunters exceeding the two century mark, it was fun to sit in the blind, watching for elk and telling jokes that can only be told when men sit around a fire, even if the fire comes from a little space heater.
The time spent together that snappy December morning meant more than the elk and the elk meant a lot. Everyone has their own measure of a successful trip, but no one could ask for more than we experienced.
Kelly and I headed out to get support footage for the show as the sun had overruled the clouds for the first time in three days. Just as we neared the cabin we heard shouting and soon the quad rambled over the hill with three men riding it. I knew that spelled trouble because the man on the back was Steve and he usually drove, not rode the quad.
One quick glance at his ashen face and my fears were realized. We learned his caping knife had slipped as he cut through the elk's heavy neck hair and Steve had buried his knife three inches deep into his thigh, narrowly missing a major artery. Aaron had been there with Steve, along with Ryan, and they kept Steve from slipping into shock and passing out, which he did briefly. We administered first aid and then quickly rushed him to the hospital in Turtleford, where they gave him several stitches and sent him home. He had severed a ligament in his leg, causing him immense pain. Little would he know that within 24 hours he would tear out all of those stitches while running to save the life of his client.
The next day also started out routinely enough. Buddy had chosen to take a bison with the crossbow and neatly slipped an arrow into the finest looking bull I have ever seen. Like bison are wont to do, this one refused to acknowledge his pending demise and led us on a four-hour sneak and peek of the entire ranch, giving us the slip more times than we would have liked, until Buddy slammed another arrow into the bull.
This is where life got interesting for us all. I made the first of several mistakes and decided, in the name of the time left before dark, that we needed to get this on film; however, the bull was not close to dying. We set up an ambush point along a finger of trees and I motioned Buddy, my cameraman Kelly, and Steve to take up residence there, while I stayed on the bull’s trail to make sure he did not double back. My plan was for him to run past the cameraman, Buddy and Steve and we would complete the TV show within minutes.
Sometimes exuberance is a deadly tonic, especially when mixed with lack of respect of a wounded animal and a touch of disregard for common sense. That combination spells instant disaster and I was about to cross over the line into “no-man’s land”.
The bull hung with another bull and the two of them headed into a small patch of woods. The first bull cleared the other side and walked right past the trio waiting for Buddy’s bull to follow. He hung back some, so I quickly snapped a couple of photos and began throwing frozen sticks towards him to move him along. I got too close too fast, and instantly the bull wheeled and lumbered towards me in a full blown, all-out charge!
I did not have a rifle and had no possible chance of outrunning this bison; something only a fool would attempt since bison can outrun any man alive. Their preferred method of dispatching idiots that tread too close is either hooking them or ramming the unfortunate soul till they are slammed into the ground. In that case, your hat, boots and remaining clothes can conveniently be buried in the same box, and the box does not have to be very large at all.
As I later relayed to my wife, my odds of surviving that charge were about 10% at best. I knew my only chance was to somehow outsmart the bull until Steve could close the 80 yards from his spot on the other side of the woods. With his bad leg and 16 inches of fresh snow on the ground, I knew help might not arrive soon enough.
Luckily, Steve had been around bison for years and recognized I was in trouble before I did. He was already heading for me when all hell broke loose. His quick shooting literally saved my life, but not after the bull had nearly hammered me into the earth.
I won’t relate how the scene unfolded as I have already done so in my editorial on page 10 of this issue. Read the details there, but let it suffice to say that I was VERY lucky indeed that the good Lord saw fit to give me another chance here on Earth. Otherwise, I would be telling the story to my deceased father in Heaven, instead of writing about it here for our readers.
As I drove home that night, the somber mood of the day overshadowed the euphoria I had experienced only two days before, so mixed moods were in store for the long drive home.
“Some week,” Kelly sighed as we unpacked our gear after 17 hours on the road.
“Yeah, same time next year?” I asked.
My wife and kids all smothered me on the front lawn as I parked the truck. Holding my family never felt so good.
Publisher’s Note: The bull officially scored 508 5/8” SCI, making it the pending World Record Estate Elk with a muzzleloader. The bison will be mounted, along with the tree that saved my life.
By Raymond Oelrich
The week started out innocently enough with my arrival at Silvertine’s ranch in Northwest Saskatchewan. I was there with cameraman Kelly Veltri, good friend Buddy Boyett, and his friend Aaron from Texas. We had gathered once again at the Silvertine ranch for Buddy to take a rare white elk and for me to take a huge old elk with my muzzleloader.
Unlike the first hunt at Silvertine in September, when Buddy arrowed the new world record estate elk with a crossbow, this hunt was far easier. The snow had pushed the bulls out of the thick stuff and they were located on a ridge near a blind that Steve Rahn had constructed in the middle of his property.
All five of us sat in the blind the first night and sure enough, just before dusk, both Buddy’s white elk AND my non-typical bull traveled up the ridge in the same small herd. It was post-rut and most of the bulls were hanging together. They knew that with wolves in the area they needed to keep together for safety.
Buddy was first to shoot and he took his white elk neatly with his Excalibur crossbow at 37 yards. My bull ran up the ridge and looked back to see what had hit the white elk. Steve whispered to me quietly, “There is your bull. He is THE spookiest bull we have ever seen. If you don’t take him now you may never see him again.” I remembered how tough it was to find Buddy’s huge bull last September, so took Steve’s advice.
I set down my Leica binoculars, snuggled into the Austin & Halleck .50 caliber Mountain Rifle, peered through the 6x Leatherwood Hi-Lux scope and found the crease behind the bull’s left shoulder. I would be proud to say the bullet slipped into the ribs exactly where I had aimed, but I admit that I must have slapped the trigger because it hit three ribs further back.
It did not matter much as the bull piled up less than 40 yards from where he was hit and we picked our way down the ridge to where he lay.
Steve had told me this was “a special bull” and he was right! This bull had 15 points on his right side and 10 on his left! I had never seen such a bull and I am sure my jaw dropped when I first saw him lying in the deep Saskatchewan snow.
The bull’s right main beam split just above a twisted G3 and at first glance the beam looked like a burl you see on a tree that was damaged by a fire. You know the kind that has a cluster of branches coming out of a large bulge in the limb, except this was an antler, not a tree branch. It was hard to tell the difference.
We quickly discovered his G3 branched upwards, not out front, and the main beam ended in a twisted mass of nearly a dozen points.
“Now THAT will be a chore to score,” Buddy commented when he held the bull’s rack in his hands, slowly running his fingers all around the twisted burl and tangled tines.
“I have never SEEN such an elk in all my life,” was all I could muster.
We caped the bull and Steve brought the quad down to haul the meat back to the cabin. When the thermometer hit –29 degrees that night, we were happy to have a nice warm cabin to return to; even if it was in the dark by the time we arrived back into camp.
Buddy’s white elk was a sight to behold and one of the most magnificent elk I have ever seen in my life.
We took turns pinching ourselves to make sure we were not collectively dreaming as we measured the two racks that night. Buddy’s was most likely the largest white elk ever taken by a hunter with a crossbow and if SCI makes this a new category, Buddy will have taken two world record estate elk at Silvertine in two trips this year.
When the measurements of my elk were tallied, we were amazed to find the score exceeded the magic 500-inch mark, easily eclipsing the existing AND pending world record for estate elk taken with a muzzleloader. Since the largest elk ever taken by anyone in the SCI record book was 503 SCI at the time, and my elk scored 508 SCI, we knew we had a truly special animal indeed.
It was hard to get to sleep that night to say the least.
The next morning dawned crisp and clear. We trudged the gentle hills of Steve’s place all day long, sighting the ghost shadows of elk all day long. Since we were filming an episode for the BGA TV show “On The Adventure Trail”, we tried to make sure we got the footage of the kill shot and that was to cost us on more than one occasion.
We settled into the blind that evening, but no elk appeared. Buddy is from Florida and Aaron is from Texas, so they had never even seen snow, let alone hunted in the white stuff. They spent quite a bit of time tightly huddled over the little heater Steve had in his blind, as close as they could without sharing clothing. I sat there and hummed “Chestnuts Roasting Over an Open Fire”, just to keep them entertained, but they failed to appreciate my humor. Hunting with good friends makes these hunts even more special, and that time spent in the blind looking for elk was as special as it gets.
The next morning found us back in the blind. It was just too crunchy to have five of us stalking through crusted snow. We sat for a while, and then Steve spied several elk coming up the ridge. Aaron and guide Ryan, who finally got to hunt with us, both arrowed two fine bulls. Aaron’s bull should make the record books as the largest Roosevelt elk taken with a crossbow.
We had taken some great elk, all in three short days and all from the same blind. With the weather as cold as it was, and with the combined ages of all the hunters exceeding the two century mark, it was fun to sit in the blind, watching for elk and telling jokes that can only be told when men sit around a fire, even if the fire comes from a little space heater.
The time spent together that snappy December morning meant more than the elk and the elk meant a lot. Everyone has their own measure of a successful trip, but no one could ask for more than we experienced.
Kelly and I headed out to get support footage for the show as the sun had overruled the clouds for the first time in three days. Just as we neared the cabin we heard shouting and soon the quad rambled over the hill with three men riding it. I knew that spelled trouble because the man on the back was Steve and he usually drove, not rode the quad.
One quick glance at his ashen face and my fears were realized. We learned his caping knife had slipped as he cut through the elk's heavy neck hair and Steve had buried his knife three inches deep into his thigh, narrowly missing a major artery. Aaron had been there with Steve, along with Ryan, and they kept Steve from slipping into shock and passing out, which he did briefly. We administered first aid and then quickly rushed him to the hospital in Turtleford, where they gave him several stitches and sent him home. He had severed a ligament in his leg, causing him immense pain. Little would he know that within 24 hours he would tear out all of those stitches while running to save the life of his client.
The next day also started out routinely enough. Buddy had chosen to take a bison with the crossbow and neatly slipped an arrow into the finest looking bull I have ever seen. Like bison are wont to do, this one refused to acknowledge his pending demise and led us on a four-hour sneak and peek of the entire ranch, giving us the slip more times than we would have liked, until Buddy slammed another arrow into the bull.
This is where life got interesting for us all. I made the first of several mistakes and decided, in the name of the time left before dark, that we needed to get this on film; however, the bull was not close to dying. We set up an ambush point along a finger of trees and I motioned Buddy, my cameraman Kelly, and Steve to take up residence there, while I stayed on the bull’s trail to make sure he did not double back. My plan was for him to run past the cameraman, Buddy and Steve and we would complete the TV show within minutes.
Sometimes exuberance is a deadly tonic, especially when mixed with lack of respect of a wounded animal and a touch of disregard for common sense. That combination spells instant disaster and I was about to cross over the line into “no-man’s land”.
The bull hung with another bull and the two of them headed into a small patch of woods. The first bull cleared the other side and walked right past the trio waiting for Buddy’s bull to follow. He hung back some, so I quickly snapped a couple of photos and began throwing frozen sticks towards him to move him along. I got too close too fast, and instantly the bull wheeled and lumbered towards me in a full blown, all-out charge!
I did not have a rifle and had no possible chance of outrunning this bison; something only a fool would attempt since bison can outrun any man alive. Their preferred method of dispatching idiots that tread too close is either hooking them or ramming the unfortunate soul till they are slammed into the ground. In that case, your hat, boots and remaining clothes can conveniently be buried in the same box, and the box does not have to be very large at all.
As I later relayed to my wife, my odds of surviving that charge were about 10% at best. I knew my only chance was to somehow outsmart the bull until Steve could close the 80 yards from his spot on the other side of the woods. With his bad leg and 16 inches of fresh snow on the ground, I knew help might not arrive soon enough.
Luckily, Steve had been around bison for years and recognized I was in trouble before I did. He was already heading for me when all hell broke loose. His quick shooting literally saved my life, but not after the bull had nearly hammered me into the earth.
I won’t relate how the scene unfolded as I have already done so in my editorial on page 10 of this issue. Read the details there, but let it suffice to say that I was VERY lucky indeed that the good Lord saw fit to give me another chance here on Earth. Otherwise, I would be telling the story to my deceased father in Heaven, instead of writing about it here for our readers.
As I drove home that night, the somber mood of the day overshadowed the euphoria I had experienced only two days before, so mixed moods were in store for the long drive home.
“Some week,” Kelly sighed as we unpacked our gear after 17 hours on the road.
“Yeah, same time next year?” I asked.
My wife and kids all smothered me on the front lawn as I parked the truck. Holding my family never felt so good.
Publisher’s Note: The bull officially scored 508 5/8” SCI, making it the pending World Record Estate Elk with a muzzleloader. The bison will be mounted, along with the tree that saved my life.
By Raymond Oelrich
