baja1d
Hard Core 4+
I was surprised that there were no 2026 reports yet. Better late than never I suppose! OTC Archery was an incredibly frustrating, brutal season. The elk were dead quiet after 9/11 and completely noncommittal, and it felt like we ran into moose absolutely everywhere we went. Between the tight-lipped bulls, heavy pressure, and my plantar fasciitis flaring up, I really had to fight for every mile. Still, I found some great ground for next year but couldn't seal the deal! Days hunted: 9/7-14; 9/21-27
1st Rifle was a different story though. Everett (My son) and I hiked into our usual spot a day before the opener. Tuesday night brought the sounds of three or four bugling bulls, but the woods went completely silent the following morning. By Wednesday afternoon, steady rain rolled in, turning into snow around 5:00 PM. We called off the evening hunt, whipped up dinner, and retreated to the archery tent by 6:30 PM. While we both deeply wished we had brought the hot tent, our orange spike camp tarp provided some much-needed shelter from the elements.

Thursday morning greeted us with four inches of fresh snow and a light flurrying. We didn’t see any elk initially, but by midday, the storm cleared to reveal blue skies and bright sunshine. About an hour before sunset, we spotted two apparent day-hunters hiking up from the trailhead. Though they never crossed our meadow, Ev’s was confident he saw a few cows skirting the timber edge across the creek on the east side. As we glassed for them at last light, a lone bull walked out of the west side, just 362 yards from our position. He was moving with a purpose, and we scrambled to get set up. Unfortunately, as soon as he hit the creek, he caught the scent of our campfire and bolted into the timber near where Ev's had spotted the cows.
Friday morning was bitterly cold, leaving everything—including our feet—completely frozen. To make matters worse, I officially ran out of fuel for my stove. Knowing we would have weather I packed in a portable fire starting torch. It works incredibly well, but it burns through gas fast. Once the sun finally hit the meadow, we built a fire to defrost our gear and reused the freeze-dried dinner packages from the night before to heat water for breakfast to conserve what little fuel remained in Ev's Jetboil.
On Saturday, we were up early and positioned in our usual spot before legal shooting light. Deciding to prioritize warmth over standard gear, we both doubled up our socks and wore our Hey Dudes instead of freezing our toes in our stiff hiking boots. It worked perfectly—we were completely warm and comfortable. On a whim, I decided to shift positions to glass the meadow from a new vantage point. Lo and behold, I spotted a bull walking north on the east side of the meadow, just across the creek. At that exact moment, my watch buzzed: green light, legal shooting light!
Ev’s moved fast and got into a perfect shooting position, locking the bull broadside at 217 yards. Then came the “stop him” command, so I let out my normal "mew." He didn't hear it, so I nearly screamed a loud "meh!" The bull stopped in his tracks. Ev’s fired, and the bull bolted. I threw out a couple more loud mews to slow him down, prompting Ev’s to fire a second round before the bull slipped into the timber.
Confident in the initial shot, we set a timer for an hour and went to cook breakfast. At one point during the wait, Ev’s thought he heard him crash. When it was time to track, we picked up his prints but found no initial blood. Eventually, we located the impact site and found frothy blood. It wasn't a heavy trail, and after 200 yards of thin blood leading uphill into a nasty mess of deadfall, a sinking feeling started to set in. But just a few steps further into the trees, we nearly tripped right over him—a beautiful 5x5 bull, shot perfectly through the lungs.
1st Rifle was a different story though. Everett (My son) and I hiked into our usual spot a day before the opener. Tuesday night brought the sounds of three or four bugling bulls, but the woods went completely silent the following morning. By Wednesday afternoon, steady rain rolled in, turning into snow around 5:00 PM. We called off the evening hunt, whipped up dinner, and retreated to the archery tent by 6:30 PM. While we both deeply wished we had brought the hot tent, our orange spike camp tarp provided some much-needed shelter from the elements.

Thursday morning greeted us with four inches of fresh snow and a light flurrying. We didn’t see any elk initially, but by midday, the storm cleared to reveal blue skies and bright sunshine. About an hour before sunset, we spotted two apparent day-hunters hiking up from the trailhead. Though they never crossed our meadow, Ev’s was confident he saw a few cows skirting the timber edge across the creek on the east side. As we glassed for them at last light, a lone bull walked out of the west side, just 362 yards from our position. He was moving with a purpose, and we scrambled to get set up. Unfortunately, as soon as he hit the creek, he caught the scent of our campfire and bolted into the timber near where Ev's had spotted the cows.
Friday morning was bitterly cold, leaving everything—including our feet—completely frozen. To make matters worse, I officially ran out of fuel for my stove. Knowing we would have weather I packed in a portable fire starting torch. It works incredibly well, but it burns through gas fast. Once the sun finally hit the meadow, we built a fire to defrost our gear and reused the freeze-dried dinner packages from the night before to heat water for breakfast to conserve what little fuel remained in Ev's Jetboil.
On Saturday, we were up early and positioned in our usual spot before legal shooting light. Deciding to prioritize warmth over standard gear, we both doubled up our socks and wore our Hey Dudes instead of freezing our toes in our stiff hiking boots. It worked perfectly—we were completely warm and comfortable. On a whim, I decided to shift positions to glass the meadow from a new vantage point. Lo and behold, I spotted a bull walking north on the east side of the meadow, just across the creek. At that exact moment, my watch buzzed: green light, legal shooting light!
Ev’s moved fast and got into a perfect shooting position, locking the bull broadside at 217 yards. Then came the “stop him” command, so I let out my normal "mew." He didn't hear it, so I nearly screamed a loud "meh!" The bull stopped in his tracks. Ev’s fired, and the bull bolted. I threw out a couple more loud mews to slow him down, prompting Ev’s to fire a second round before the bull slipped into the timber.
Confident in the initial shot, we set a timer for an hour and went to cook breakfast. At one point during the wait, Ev’s thought he heard him crash. When it was time to track, we picked up his prints but found no initial blood. Eventually, we located the impact site and found frothy blood. It wasn't a heavy trail, and after 200 yards of thin blood leading uphill into a nasty mess of deadfall, a sinking feeling started to set in. But just a few steps further into the trees, we nearly tripped right over him—a beautiful 5x5 bull, shot perfectly through the lungs.
