Gore Pass, Colorado Elk Hunt

By Norm Sargent
Outdoors with Norm

I remember the first time I saw the Rocky Mountains. I was moving from Hancock, Maine to the foothills in Fort Collins, Colorado. As we drove down I-70 across Kansas all I could think about was seeing the mountains. Shortly after crossing into Colorado in the distance there they stood, the Rockies. As if it were yesterday I remember saying “my God they are big.” My traveling partner kind of chuckled to herself and responded “that’s nothing, we are a long ways off.” I guess from growing up in Colorado she chuckled at my amazement of the Rockies. Each mile down the interstate brought more and more excitement to me. I was in awe as we drove closer and closer . Finally we had reached Denver. I was speechless at the sights. These were only the foothills to the Rockies also.

I spent the next eight years of my life in Colorado. I never grew tired of the majesty of those mountains. Even though Maine is my home and I would not trade it for anything, I was extremely lucky to have spent some great years in Colorado.

So many great memories come to mind. There were those long horseback rides into heart lake for some outstanding rainbow trout fishing, watching and participating in rodeo events, and top of that list would be elk hunting in those great Rockies.

I remember growing up watching hunting shows, talking with my buddies throughout my life, and dreaming about having one chance to travel west and pursue one of the most incredible animals. So after fulfilling the subjected amount of time to gain resident status it was now my time. I was set up to go head to head with a bull elk. My good buddies, Dan B(Big Dan), Dan S(Little Dan), and Jim had all grown up in Colorado and each had plenty of experience spent hunting elk. I remember marking each day off on the calendar as opening day approached. Just like a kid waiting for Christmas.

During those weeks that seemed like an eternity I remember looking over topographical maps with Jim. The area that they had hunted each year for their entire life was Gore Pass. This year would be no different. I studied the layout of the land where we would be hunting. I studied Gore Pass as if my life depended on it. We had all gone up scouting the area prior to opening day also. With the maps, scouting, and reading about the pass I knew by the time hunting season arrived I would know the layout as well as I knew my back yard in Maine. Gore pass is known for its open meadows. Sir George Gore, a colorful and eccentric hunter and explorer, passed through the area in the 1850’s. The Ute Indians used to camp along Teepee Creek, a favorite hunting area, which Gore Pass remains today for deer and elk hunters.
Still a very clear picture in my mind of the area. I would have to say it ranks as one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen with my own two eyes.

We arrived a couple days before opening day in order to get settled in, do some more scouting, and just get away for a couple extra days. We spent these days glassing the valleys, riding the horses, and just enjoying Gods great outdoors. Sitting around the campfire and sharing stories with each other are probably the fondest memories I have of those times.

Finally opening morning had arrived. With hardly any sleep the night before due to the sheer excitement of what I was about to partake in, I woke early to get ready. None of us took the time to eat much for breakfast. A cereal bar and a mountain dew was my breakfast that morning. I finished up breakfast, got dressed, and gathered all my gear. Then I grabbed my saddle out of the horse trailer. Walked over to my wild mustang and threw the saddle on him. Gave him a pat on the head and asked “are you ready?” As if Tonopah knew what I had said, he shook his head up and down. The rest of the guys saddled up and it was now time. We took a path up along the edge of the woods through a ravine. Once halfway up we broke into two groups in order to cover more area. Jim and I headed off to the north. It was a quick horse ride and we dismounted and set up in order for Jim to call. Jim could really work that call. We continued to call, ride, call, and ride throughout the day. As darkness approached we unloaded our guns and rode back towards camp. It was pitch black dark as we traveled through trees along edges of mountains. Let me tell you I was some glad to have a sure footed mustang as my partner.

Back at camp Jim made a big supper for all of us. The three of them seemed a little disappointed that none of us had any luck. I remember not caring about that. Listening to Jim call, riding Tonopah through the trees and mountains was enough to keep a smile on my face.

The next couple days brought much of the same. Warm temperatures and bad luck seemed to be against us. We had a few responses to our calls and some sightings of cows that kept me holding my head held high. Heck this was a dream for a Maine boy.

On the fourth morning we all decided to not travel as far from camp. We gave the horses the morning off and set off on foot. We passed through a small patch of trees and began to glass a valley. As we all searched the area Jim said “I see one, it’s a good bull.” He showed us all the direction and sure enough there was a nice bull making its way through the aspens.

Each of the guys agreed that I should be the one to shoot the bull as each of them had experienced harvesting an elk. I quickly agreed that worked for me. The bull seemed like it was miles away so I said “are we going to attempt to make our way down to him?” Jim responded with a chuckle and a big “no, your going to shoot from here.” You see being a Maine boy a hundred yard shot seemed a mile to me. Of course we had practiced at distances a lot further than I was used to. I had managed to shoot well at distances this elk was away from us. Just the unknown had me feeling a little timid. So with confidence I pulled my 270 to my shoulder, rested up against a tree, took a deep breath, said a prayer, and BANG let her fly. The bull took off down the hill. Jim said “nice shot!!!! You hit him for sure.” Dan and Dan went back to camp to gather the horses. I sat there almost in tears while Jim assured me there would be an elk waiting for me down there. The boys came back with the horses after what seemed like forever. We quietly and slowly made our way down to where the elk was standing when I shot. Sure enough there was lots of good blood sign. We dismounted our horses and began to travel the blood trail. Then all of a sudden there appeared a huge elk laying on the ground. After a few minutes of jumping up and down celebrating I made my way over to see my elk. I fell to my knees and thanked God for this opportunity. The elk was a nice 5 x 5. A trophy by anyone’s standards.

By the end of the season each of us had harvested a bull. More importantly we had started a tradition that each of us would carry on for the next eight years. Some of those years brought us luck and some the big skunk. One thing for sure they will be years that we will treasure for the rest of our lives. Since moving back to Maine 6 years ago I have not been able to travel out west to hunt with the group. Someday my son, Kolten and I will make that trip again.

Think back over the years of your hunting experiences. What great memories they bring to each of us. The friendships that have come about from hunting and fishing trips. I will always remember those days in Colorado.