Monday evening, a friend and I drove out to a spot deep in the Carson National Forest. We didn’t make it in time to hunt, but set up camp and prepared to start early the next day.

We camped about 1.5 miles away from a waterhole, so early Tuesday AM we followed the road in. We found extremely fresh tracks–a large bull and several cows and calves. We also found one of his wallows. They’d already disappeared into the sage flats by daylight, so we explored a little more to see where they may have come from and develop a strategy. We ran across several more groups of fresh tracks–cows (and maybe spikes) and calves. Then we sat the waterhole through mid-day.

These tracks were a little dry and crispy by the time I took a picture of them in late afternoon, but they had been fresh that morning.

Tuesday evening we sat the wallow to no avail, but on the way back to camp we heard a distant bugle. We responded, but he was either too far away to hear us, or we weren’t singing the song he wanted to hear.

Wallow in the Carson National Forest, New Mexico

We sat the water hole early the next morning, but again, nothing came in. We returned to camp a bit early because my friend needed to head back home. Later that morning, I stalked along some game paths and glassed the wallow, to no avail. Nothing fresh.

It had rained unexpectedly during the night, and the roads were muddy. Although the forecast had called for clear skies when I left, a stray swath of monsoon moisture must have been lazing across New Mexico. All that morning the skies were cloudy and rumbling with thunder. To the west, a wall of black clouds was moving in, and the horizon crackled with lightning. I realized if it rained more, I’d be stuck in that remote spot. After waiting as long as I dared, I made a split-second decision, threw my tent in the car, and made a run for it. I hated to leave such a promising oasis in the desert, and it was a hair-raising drive, but it was the safest thing to do. Only a few seconds after I reached the paved highway, the skies opened and it poured hard for several hours. It even flooded several arroyos and small rivers in that area. I certainly would have been stuck.

So, I headed back to my old spot off the highway and waited til the rain stopped. Found fresh tracks and sign, and although I was very careful about the wind before I called, I saw and heard nothing.

A secluded seep in the Carson National Forest, New Mexico

A friend recommended Vibora Mesa, as people had recently seen bulls crossing the highway there. I spent the following morning there, reaching a little nob in the pre-dawn darkness so I could glass as the sun came up. Saw and heard nothing. Later that morning I hiked up to the flanks of the mesa and back down several valleys that led to the highway, but saw no fresh sign. Perhaps just my usual case of wrong place, wrong time.

So I returned to my original spot, and once again found fresh sign. I hunted until dark, with no success.

After the summer rains, Sevilleta Tank was brimming, but with all the standing water, elk had no need to come to a water hole.

I’m not sure if I just didn’t rouse their pre-rut social curiosity enough, or if they were still winding me. There was also a full moon, and judging by the sign, many (but not all) of the elk were moving nocturnally. It didn’t help that there was water everywhere, so they weren’t hitting waterholes or seeps, either. Plus, I’m still a greenhorn–can’t make excuses for that!

Next year, I might try focusing on one area. Although I’d scouted many of these areas over the summer, I’m not sure I got to know any one spot very well by trying to cover so much territory. At the same time, I realized the importance of having a Plan A, B, C, D, etc. to fall back on, so perhaps it’s a matter of time, experience, and of finding an elusive balance.

It was disappointing to be in decently elky areas and not even get close, but that won’t discourage me from trying again. It was great just to be out there. And it’s certainly better than where I was this time last year…