Yes, son. That was an Elk.

Hunting season was always a big deal. We took hunters from all over, and these guided hunts were pretty much off-limits to youngsters wanting to tag-along. However, kind of late in the season, a special hunt for elk by some hunters who were more on a vacation than a serious hunt came up. We departed dark and early for the Squaw Peaks the next morning.

Well, elk were pretty scarce in those days, and not easy to find. As the day wore on and no elk; 8 year old me became progressively more bored. By afternoon I was tagging along, but hunting was definitely not my prime focus.

We, at last, came to a small rock face that my more experienced self now knows was a bedding place complete with a shallow wallow. I was paying no attention to any of this and started playing with some small rocks and pebbles while Dad stepped forward to survey the small aspen grove below.

Quietly, Dad jacked a shell into the chamber and started to sight on the elk below. That, of course, did grab my attention! Not thinking at all about elk I chimed out “Daddy, Is it an elk!?” The crash, crash, crash of the departing elk answered that question!

Dad didn’t explode or yell, but I knew he was angry. I never got the “I told you so,” but I did get told I couldn’t go on the hunt the next day because I had to learn how to be quiet on the hunt.