Elk Fever Antidote

Thomas Baumeister, Montana FWP Hunter Education Coordinator

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As I get into my car, the digital clock reads 4:03 p.m. It is Sunday, the last day of the general elk-hunting season. That gives me until 5:13 pm to accomplish what I’ve not been able to do for nearly five weeks. It’s time to hunt elk one last time for the year.

This has been an unusually tough hunting season for me. The energy I typically devote to elk hunting has been diverted to remodeling my house, preparing for a new baby, work obligations and a volley of other unanticipated interruptions.

Today is no different. The flu hit our home and everyone is resting feverishly in bed. But, by afternoon a familiar restlessness overcomes me and I roll out of bed and into my hunting gear. I have to go, I tell my wife and she just nods her head.

My destination is an elk hideout just a few miles up the road from my home on the outskirts of Helena.   It’s not a secret spot by any means, though it requires patience and some delicate maneuvering or the elk just disappear.

Only a few minutes later, I park my vehicle and begin the steep hike. The sweat begins to pour from my body as it copes with the fever and the extreme climb.

I’m asking a lot of myself, and by most standards my behavior defies reasonable explanation. What it seems to boil down to is a deep inner drive, a passion for elk and the hunting of elk that eludes even my otherwise analytical mind. I simply love to hunt elk.

The sun slips lower and the snow is getting deeper. I’m only halfway up the hill and I know I need to increase my pace. In my mind I imagine elk feeding in the grassy opening ahead of me, I feel myself willing them to be there.

It’s close to 5 p.m. when I slowly approach the small opening and immediately spot a golden orange rump not more than 200 yards uphill. I bring up my binoculars, which promptly fog up. Is there a bow-tined bull out there? I can’t tell.

I keep peering uphill but, other than a spike, there doesn’t seem to be a bull in the bunch. It’s getting very late and I feel strangely light headed. Weakness from the fever is setting in. It’s time to go back I think, regaining my senses as I lose my strength.

Suddenly, a young bull blows out of the cover not more than a hundred yards away. It quickly catches up with the rest of the herd as it disappears over the horizon on the far side of the park.

He could have been mine. It’s 5:06 pm.

As I retrace my steps, exhilarated and somehow at peace, I shake my head knowing full well that I’m not the only one carrying out this ritual as twilight descends.

Maybe only another elk hunter could understand.