Issue link: https://www.e-digitaleditions.com/i/401545
S P O R T I N G C L A S S I C S 1 1 4 H igh on the ridge above our land I heard the shot, just as daylight broke the moonless night and ushered in the first elk hunt of the second season. The crack echoed from down the valley – toward the Starner's land or perhaps beyond. Jack Allen, my godson, likely fired the shot. An hour later I finished a brief hunt, spent mostly admiring the aspens that had just begun their autumn transition, and headed back home to put the coffee on and start breakfast, knowing the stories would arrive with the hunters. These days I really do not have much kill left in me. As I had suspected, the early shot had been Jack's. Catching a large herd moving across Starner's land just at daylight, he picked the biggest bull, waited for adequate light, and took a shot that he originally estimated to be about 200 yards but later determined to be closer to 300. Randy, hunting higher on the Starner property, had heard the shot also, concluded it belonged to Jack, and moved down the valley to help. They had found a little blood and tracked it through the confusing tracks of the herd. A nearby neighbor told them he had seen a bull "wounded in the left hindquarter" move through a lower meadow and disappear across distant fields with the entire herd. After looking for another hour and finding no blood they came home, my godson visibly discouraged but committed to looking for it again after breakfast. I have hunted with Jack since he was old enough to tag along. He's a serious, committed, and ethical hunter. I trust his tracking skills and instincts for finding a wounded elk. Still, I've tracked more than a few in my day across these mountains of southern Colorado. L ate in the morning Jack led me to the log where he had rested his rifle and to the spot where the bull had been standing – well over 300 yards and downhill. We found blood – small drops and clearly not indicative of a chest shot – and tracked it until it we lost it the jumbled tracks of the herd. Circling what we believed to be a large enough half moon, we found plenty of earlier tracks from the wandering herd but no blood. We returned to the lodge and ate lunch – South