I, like most people, have a desire to connect with my ancestors on some deeper level. For most people that usually comes down to grabbing ice cream with their grandparents and asking a few questions about their childhood.
Being a full time fishing and hunting guide as well as a massive history buff, I had a different idea. My deep dive into a small part of my family history involves three continents, two world wars, invasive and native deer, a 73 year split, three random sheep and one very steep hill.
The Plan: Hunt Like Harry
Harry Hancock, my grandfather on my mothers side, was quite an interesting fellow. Harry was a consummate outdoorsman, environmentalist, farmer, mountain climber and above all a loving husband, father and grandfather. He had a typical Kiwi upbringing on the family farm near Papakura. On the extensive list of things my grandfather did throughout his life, the time he spent as a government deer culler interested me most. Regrettably I did not ask him more about it before he passed away. Fortunately he documented his life in great detail. He wrote stacks of journals, memoirs and letters detailing pretty much everything. I'm fairly certain that the only thing he did not write about was trips to the loo. After a fair bit of reading and getting photos from old albums my aunts and uncle have, I had a plan. I was going to hunt like my grandfather did.
Buck Mule Deer Tag
The first part would be to get a buck mule deer tag. Here in Colorado all our deer are native and very strictly managed to conserve the population in fairly stark contrast to Harry’s mission of shooting anything with hooves. The Gunnison valley where I live produces quality deer and the unit I wanted to hunt requires a few preference points to get a tag. I had been banking points since I last got a nice buck in 2018. A quick check of the draw statistics showed I had enough points for a tag. Next I needed the rifle.
1917 Lee-Enfield
My uncle Blue actually has Harry’s rifle, however getting it to Colorado is impossible. Thanks to a handful of detailed pictures I was able to discern all the information about his rifle. It is a Number 1 Mk3* Short Magazine Lee Enfield made in 1917 at the Enfield factory in England. Marks on the gun indicate British and Australian service across the two world wars. Surplus military rifles have a long history of ending up as hunting rifles when their service is over. Harry, like most of the deer cullers working for the New Zealand government, was issued his rifle out of inventory the New Zealand government was phasing out. Since I couldn't use his actual rifle I would need the next best thing: one of its siblings. Same factory and same year were the requirements. Since 1917 was the middle of the first world war, rifle production was in high gear and I wrongly assumed it would be relatively easy. Six months, a thousand mile road trip and many hours on the internet finally yielded success.
Prospects
June 2022 had the big game results come out. Amongst a group of friends and my dad, we had drawn five elk tags - four deer tags and most importantly my buck tag. Since I would be guiding pretty much the entire season, I didn't get to scout any but we would be hunting a large migration corridor with new animals constantly moving through.
Two days before the season we got a dose of winter with several inches of snow and temperatures hovering a little below freezing. We set up camp the next morning and in typical Colorado fashion by the time we finished the snow was starting to melt and there were deer walking through camp. Old hunting buddies Doc, Devin and a trio of llamas rolled into camp that afternoon and we headed out to do some glassing. Devin and I went up to a spot henceforth known as the bobsled run as it would result in some vehicular pucker moments throughout the week. We hadn't been glassing long when I spotted a group of elk. Six cows and a bull feeding on a steep slope on the other side of the main creek drainage. The snow had pushed the elk out of the high country and the opening morning was full of prospects.
Opening Day
Saturday morning was chilly as we took two vehicles up the bobsled run with me glassing from a good vantage point trying to guide the others into some elk. Unfortunately the elk were not where we left them. After watching three cows disappear over the ridge I decided to head down the road to check a piece of private property. Arriving at the large center pivot irrigated hay pasture along the main highway I slowly drove along looking for deer. At this spot the west side of the road is private property and the east is public, hunt-able land. The public side is a relatively steep hill with thick ponderosa pine forest, the perfect bedding spot. With the deer consistently crossing back and forth it provided an ambush opportunity. That morning there was nothing worthwhile and an evening hunt around camp was equally uneventful.
Three Sheep
On Sunday dad and I headed straight to the center pivot to see what would come across, stalking one buck to no avail. Late morning we drove up the road we camped along looking for a doe for Doc without success. We left Devin on a glassing knob for the evening and doc tended to camp while dad and I went to the pivot. As we were about to turn onto the highway my dad pointed to three animals walking down the road. I couldn't quite tell what they were but I said “I think they're baa sheep”. Sure enough there were three wool laden domestic sheep waddling down the middle of the road. My dad started taking a video as we were rolling past them laughing at the unusual sight. When we got back to camp Doc and Devin didn't believe we had seen sheep on the road so my dad showed them the video. I was watching the video when in the corner of the screen I noticed Devin’s phone sitting on the hood of my truck. Oops. I asked Devin where his phone was as I paused the video and handed it to him. After several un-kosher words Devin could do nothing but laugh. Jokes about his predicament would last the week.
Elk Spotted
Monday morning dad and I headed to the center pivot driving slowly and looking for Devins phone along the way. At the pull-off we had glassed from the evening before I hopped out to look for the phone. I spent about 10 seconds searching before looking down the highway where a herd of elk was streaming across the road. I vaulted back into the truck and shouted for my half awake and hungover father to drive. To his credit he laid on the gas and peeled out while I dug his rifle and ammo out of the back seat. As he came to a stop below the elk I shoved the rifle and ammo at him.
He stumbled out of the truck jamming rounds into the magazine before hopping the cattle fence and following the elk up the hill. Jumping the center console I got the truck turned around as I heard several shots. I realized my dad was much farther up the hill than I expected and made my way up to him. The hill is much steeper than it looks and even I, who had spent the last month chasing elk with clients, got sweaty getting up to my dad who was cool as a cucumber riding on adrenaline. Unfortunately he had missed and after a brief look for blood decided that was a fact. We hopped back in the truck laughing at what had just transpired and headed down to a road that would lead us to the backside of the mountain the elk had just crested. Grinding our way up the hill we were just topping out when my dad slammed on the brakes. Feeding across the hill in front of us not 400 yards away was the herd of elk. We backed up and very quietly got his rifle and bipod. There was exactly zero cover between us and the elk and I knew my dad wasn't comfortable shooting much past 300 yards. To my amazement the elk didn't seem all that concerned we were there. When elk give you such a gift, make the most of it.
The One With The White Arse
Crouching and waddling across the ridge we got to what I thought was as close as possible. A quick look at the herd revealed a large number of spike bulls which I knew my dad wouldn't be able to discern through his scope very well. I tried to direct him to a broadside cow but there were so many elk moving around that it was nearly impossible. One cow in particular with a brilliantly white butt stood out. As soon as she was clear I whispered “shoot the one with the white ass”. BOOM. I could see her flinch with the shot and the herd began streaming up the hill.
Stay tuned for "Hunt With History" - Part 2
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