Elk Hunters from North Missouri

Missourians On Safari

Lots of folks go out and about the country and the world to chase game. We made this page to be a place they can post their trophy photos and tell their stories. We are also looking for information on local chapter of The Rocky Mountain Elk Foundation. If you have any information about the chapter send us your contact info.
If you have elk photos you would like put on this page send them to us.
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HUNTING

HUNTING LAND
FOR SALE

Kevin Suttmoeller, D.O.
with a nice bull from
the Meeker, Colorado area
he shot this year. 300 yards!
That's a lot of Bull!

Bear of the Fire
By Smith Dewlen

Smith Dewlin sent us these photos of the bear he got in Northern California. He was disapointed when he got home from this trip and the photos of his bear did not turn out. There was one photo taken at the meat processing shop. He asked if we could combine this photo of the terrain he hunted and the bear and him. This is what we came up with.

The bear was taken in Northern California, in 1999. Mt. Shasta National Forrest. With A Ruger .44 mag and Cor-Bon 280 gr ammo. The bear ranks #5 in the SCI record books for being taken with a handgun. Nose to tail: 7' 3" Weight: 440-460 est. live. Skull measures: 20 7/16"

Wow. What a bear. He was huge. He would be mine. Just a few yards away, he was looking down at us. The tree blocked the best of shots. Decision time.

I had traveled to Northern California to hunt Black Bear. The arrival at Redding, California had awakened me to the reality of the fires that had raged in October of 1999. The ground was black, just like the asphalt runways were. The trees possessed no green and stood as black forms, naked against the clear blue sky. The air was pungent with the odor of the ash. Indeed the fires became a reality. The drive into Redding was continually steeped with the same devastation. Houses were in various stages of ruin. I was being driven by Kenny Penland, of Penland Guides and Outfitters. He informed me that he had spent the last two days fighting the fires that threatened his home. Indeed, the area as close as 15 feet from the house was scorched. That was over and now he was ready to hunt.

The next morning Kenny picked me up from the motel and we headed north into the Mt. Shasta National Forest, near Burney, California. This area had not felt the ravages of the fires and was a sight to behold. We arrived at camp, where I met Kenny’s brothers and partners, Randy, to whom I had spoken by phone several times, Danny, my favorite (since he was the cook) and Benny. The setting was delightful and the creek nearby murmured softly.

I quickly stored my gear and we were off. I rode with Randy as we cruised the back trails in search of tracks. After a few hours, Randy had found large tracks. One of the Dogs was removed from the truck and checked the tracks. His nose told him that they were fresh, at least fresh enough.

Five dogs were put on the trail and they were off, making their special kind of music. Randy radioed the others to let them know the situation. All headed in the direction of the dogs and their staccato vocalizations. As time slipped away, so did the dogs. Their voices faded and were gone. Only the radio collars kept track of them. Moving toward the radio signal, we were again within the range of sound. Kenny said, that they were still on the trail. Several time over the next few hours the sounds were lost and again found.

Something else found us during the day. Unwanted troubles. Kenny’s Ford had flat tires. Benny’s radio would send, but not receive. Randy threw a carrier bearing on his truck, while negotiating the trails and rough “roads”, yeah, right. Roads, not hardly. The bear was also a problem. He apparently refused to tree. We had gone some thirteen miles from the first track and how the dogs had lost the trail.

Limping along we picked up the tired dogs. That is all but one female. She was not to be found, regardless of the calling and searching. So we headed back to camp, one dog short.

Back at camp we discovered that our missing dog was there. She had been picked up by friends of the Penland brothers. They knew where we were camping and the worn out dog was also limping. Her right front foot was cut and bleeding. Medical attention was administered as we discussed the course of action for the morrow. It would be an RR&R day. Replace, Repair and Relaxation day.

We handled the fixes that were needed and spent the evening enjoying Antelope steaks, Kenny had taken an Antelope and offered the steaks for the meal. I prepared the steaks while Danny fixed the rest of the outstanding meal. After eating we spun yarns and told jokes. The penland’s make me feel like one of their brothers. As we talked a truck pulled in. Friends had arrived and the comradeship was soon felt by us all. One of the friends also used a Ruger .44mag and Cor-Bon Ammunition, as did I. My load choice was the 280 grain softpoint the Cor-Bon offers. The friends choice was a 305 grain Penetrator for his Ruger. St the new arrivals were preparing to leave, they offered to return in the morning and assist in getting me a large bear.

Up before the sun, we ate a hearty breakfast and soon were joined by those from the night before. Off again, in search of tracks in the first light of day. Today would be the day.

Mike radioed that they had seen a large bear cross in front of their truck and the tracks were very large. Mike released six dogs on the freshest track that he had ever run. With the dogs on the hot trail they would be working the bear soon. We moved toward the area. Shortly the hounds were within hearing and they were telling us all that they were the best. They had the bear treed. From the time of the release to the treeing, was only 22 minutes. The hike to the treed bear was a bit of a torture for this lowlander. But, I made it, in another 25 minutes.

The guys that I was with had seen big bears before. All remarked about the size of his head. It was very large. The tree and the limbs blocked the heart shot. The only shot available was to the head and throat. I rested for a bit and sat down with my elbows on my knees and took sight on the rear of the lower jaw. I hoped that the bullet would strike the spine. I fired and the chocolate phase bear plummeted to the earth. A valiant effort by the boar to move from the scene was halted by a second shot that struck the spine at the shoulder hump. He was finished.

The hand shaking and a few treats that I had brought for the dogs ensued. Photos were taken. Again, problems had struck. The camera did not function properly and the photos did not turn out well. This I found out upon having the film processed. Now came the work. Getting the bear to the truck. OK. It was not bad. All we had to do was drag him for a few yards and start him rolling down the steep hill side. He collided with a few trees and had to be pulled away and started again. He ended up within 20 feet of the truck. I guess, you just gotta get lucky once in a while.

When measured and weighed the bear did no have the shrinkage that often occurs. Nose to tail he was seven feet and three inches. Live weight was between 440 and 460 pounds. When the skull was scored for the Safari Club International record books, he ranked # 5, with a measurement of twenty and seven sixteenths. A mighty fine ursus americanus specimen.

BLACK BEAR OF THE FLOODS

By Smith Dewlen

My first black bear hunt took place during the spring of 1997 flooding in the Dakotas and Manitoba, Canada. The raging waters proved disastrous. As I drove north on I-29, the fertile fields had become the beds for vast lakes, The high winds created white caped waves which washed logs, branches, building debris and carcasses near the roadway. There were a few small animals. Most were whitetail deer.

Houses and large barns, with only the roof tops visible were to numerous to count. I-29 was covered in several places with up to 5 inches of the roiling waters. The Interstate was closed as I neared the Canadian border and a detour was required to enter Manitoba. Canadian military were utilized to assist during the devastation. Their presence was seen often. At one point I was unsure of how to proceed to Winnipeg. I stopped at a school that served as a military and Royal Canadian Mounted Police station, for assistance. I asked directions and sort of got them, but my map did not show all the back roads I would be required to travel. One RCMP officer produced an excellent map and traced direction. Then smiled as he said, “Follow me, I’m headed to the highway you need to take.” When we arrived at an intersection, some 70 miles later, the officer pulled to the side of the road. I pulled in behind him. We got out of our vehicles and he told to “turn right and stay on this road” until you get to Winnipeg. We shook hands and parted.

My hat is off, to the ladies and gentlemen that served their country and at least one American so well.

This trip was unusual for me. I had to find a hotel near the airport. On Saturday morning I was scheduled to fly to Fort Wayne, Indiana, pickup my reserved rental car and drive to Celina, Ohio for a wedding. I guess Scott and Alysia were worth it. Sunday morning found me on a reverse trip to Winnipeg. Then into the truck for the 120 mile drive to Fisher Branch and Blind Creek Outfitters. The flights over the flood ravaged areas were unbelievable. Small Islands dotted amidst the waters vastness. The memory is vivid yet.

The trip through Winnipeg and further north continued to show the effects of the flooding. I arrived at the outfitters at mid-afternoon, on Sunday. The wind blew insistently, making the moderate temperature quite chilly, in spite of the shining sun. Another hunter had arrived shortly before me. The other hunter was Ron Takalo, from Orange City, Iowa. After a lengthy get to know each other conversation and the unloading/settling in, we were told dinner was ready. Great, time to eat and I have always said, “Call me anything you want, just make sure you call in time to eat.”

Over the meal and a glass of wine, plans were made for a 12-13 hour stake out of the bait sites the next day. A bit more wine and conversation and it was time to sack out.

Monday morning, brought warmer weather and diminished wind. After a hardy breakfast, we took our backed lunches and even heavenly chocolate cake and headed for the tree stands. The outfitter makes his own tree stands with a safety/shooting rail around it. They were quite roomy and well built. The hunting area had been burned in a forest fire several years earlier. A vast number of the trees were young and densely packed. There wasn’t much possibility of a fire now. The ground was a soggy marsh. We picked our way in to the stand to keep out of deep water.

The stand was in place and the bait freshened. I settled in and was soon reading a book. No activity was expected until late afternoon. However, this proved wrong. Activity was soon at hand. Squirrels came out and chattered almost endlessly, while going about their business. They often climbed into the stand with me and ate most of my package of nuts. Alas, not bear appeared. Ron was also bearless.

Back in “camp”, really a house next to the outfitters home we changed into civvies. Then to the outfitters home and the excellent meal that awaited. Wine and conversation produced the solutions to most of the world problems. We had to leave some for later. Off to the sack, for now.

Around 3 AM on Tuesday morning, I made my way to the bathroom. As I peered out the window, all I saw was white. I can handle the bathroom chore without my glasses, was I seeing right? I retrieved my glasses and checked outside again. I had not dreamed the moonlit white. Indeed there was snow and more coming down. Back to bed, until a decent hour.

Awake again at 7:30. I dressed and checked on the weather. The gray sky was still releasing snow to add to the 5.5 inches already applied to all in path of the storm front. By the time that breakfast was over, the snow had ceased to fall. The wind was mild and the temperature was cold enough to keep the white stuff around for awhile. No bears were seen on Tuesday, not even tracks.

Wednesday morning came in warm. Most of the snow was a memory. As I have heard often in my travels, “If you don’t like the weather, wait fifteen minutes, it’ll change” came to mind. The temperature dropped and the wind reappeared with gusto by the time came to go to the stands. On went the long johns, the thermal underwear, the wool shirt, the vest, the sweatshirt, the insulated bibs and parka. Ron borrowed a pair of Cabela’s Thermostat long johns with a turtle neck top and off we shuffled. All I can say is, “Thank God, I had brought hot pacs.” I remember thinking, “No bear in its right mind would be out in this.” My thoughts returned to me, “Am I nuts for freezing out here or what?” Again no bear came my way. It was just as well that none came. The way the tree was swaying in the wind, I would have missed the biggest bear in the woods, unless it kissed the muzzle of my rifle. I listened to ruffed grouse and watched the antics of a fisher around the bait. Well Rascal Ron, actually took a nice boar, since I loaned him a pair of Cabela’s Thermostat underwear for the hunt, I declared them ‘my lucky pair’ and had inadvertently given him the wrong pair.

Ron’s bear had come to the bait and then looked straight toward him for a second or two. Swiftly, boar changed directions and came loping over the blow downs on a bee line for the tree in which Rascal Ron was perched. According to Ron, it did not take him long to decide that this bear was not in a good mood. The blackie continued his pell-mell approach. The shot rang out and the coal black bear toppled off a log. It was not a record book bear, but a happy Ron was evident.

I wore ‘my lucky underwear’ on Thursday. Considering the drastic weather changes, I had plenty of warm attire with me. There was no need for it at 3:45 PM, when I climbed into the stand. By 4:15 it was snowing again. The temperature was dropping and fast. On went everything available. Shortly after settling back down, I heard noise from my left. Was it Walter, the outfitter, coming back? He had told me that the bear would approach from the right. There was a swollen creek only 60 or 70 yards to the left. Instead of Walter or Ron making the crashing sound, it was three small bears. They appeared to be on a crash heading for my tree. “To small”, I said to my self as I watched them pass inches from my tree. They continued off to my right, in a neat row, like scalded dogs. Less than two minutes later the same sounds reached my ears, again from the left, but a bit louder. As I took up the Marlin 336 in .35 Remington, I looked left. Here came a respectable black bear, running full throttle toward me, until it saw my movement. It came to a sliding halt, gazed up at me and like a circus bear on a small pedestal with feet together, made a 180 degree turn. Instead of running away, the sow attempted to slink off. The 200 grain Winchester Silvertip struck the bear and caused it to roll halfway over against a nearby tree. As she rolled back to regain her feet, the second shot took out both lungs and the top of the heart. She made a left circle out of sight.

Waiting for time to pass, before looking for the bear, seemed an eternity. I replayed the few second repeatedly over in my mind. I knew the shot was good. The time to find my bear finally came. I found an extensive blood trail, she would not go far. Indeed she had traveled only about thirty yards. What a beautiful sight. A full black coat, sparkled as with diamonds, as the evening sun reflected through the snowflakes on the hair. Using caution I approached from the rear. Yes, this bear was mine. My first bear. She will not approach the record books, but man am I happy.

Ron was waiting for me at the truck and had heard the shots. “It was 4:41PM when you shot”, he said as I arrived. An early day, since it is still light a 9:30 or so that far north in mid May. My bear weighed in at 167 pounds and was determined to be a 9 year old that was ready to breed. She must have been chasing off the previous litter. I am ready for another bear hunt. It gets in your blood. I started planning my next hunt when I returned home. I want to use my Ruger .44 magnum for my next bear.

And I did, but that is another story.

http://elkhunt.tripod.com/ recommended by Mike Hines.

List your Elk hunting related items for sale here, photo and text $5.00 for as long as it takes to sell. Advertiser must supply text and photo in digital form. Photo must be no larger than 250 pxl. (largest dimension) and less than 30K.

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