Sorrow…but at least without the weight of lead

Aaron's son the night before the hunt.

By Aaron Kindle

October 28th, 2023 is a now a day of infamy in my household. They say that if you hunt long enough it will eventually happen to you. I have heard that phrase many times but never believed it for myself. Until it became personal on October 28th.

The day started out magically, one of those days so chock-full of excitement and anticipation. My son and I had backpacked in a couple miles, into a unit we had hunted in years past and always found elk, for opening morning. This was the same unit my son had taken his first elk, a place we know and love dearly.

We had to clear fresh snow from our tent and revive a few frozen items but our spirits were high. I had already stopped a few times just to look around and enjoy the scenery, and the precious, fleeting moments with my son. He is 18 now and the world we have known for those 18 years is on the brink of change. Watching him grow into a young man and a highly competent hunter had my heart brimming with pride. I was no doubt, in my happy place.

A meadow in Aaron's hunting unit.

We started by working well away from the tent and away from access points. We went to this area precisely because we could have a pristine experience and we knew there was plenty of elk. Clouds rolled in and out of the trees and offered quick but distant looks across sage hillsides intermingled with Douglas fir and Ponderosa transitioning to Lodgepole on the north faces. It had that cool, crisp feeling with low but obvious scents of the elk woods. We came across a few herds of mule deer with very nice bucks, healthy does, and the young of the year feeding and unaware of our presence. We spent the morning glassing and surveying several promising ridges and gullies but did not cross tracks or see any elk. We decided to work back towards the tent as it sat on the hub of several finger ridges and we could journey into a fresh area by going back that way.

About 400 yards from the tent, and near where we had come through earlier in the morning, we caught sight of a couple elk rumps. We froze hoping they hadn’t detected us. They didn’t entirely spook but became uneasy and slid through the woods at a pace beyond ours. Settling down and taking it slow, we proceeded carefully along their fresh tracks. It was nearing break time and we didn’t seem to be closing the distance so a stop was in order. We hoped that by stopping they would bed down and increase the odds we would find them again. And, we ‘d treaded several miles in the cold and snow so we needed some calories.

These midday stops are a simple joy that always bring laughs, quiet, and a thorough examination of the surroundings. The pauses always spur deep conversations, the pondering of heavy mental loads, and theorizing on what the future holds. We break out the Jetboil, make some coffee, and munch on a variety of snacks. It was during this particular respite that my son spotted a single bull grazing across the canyon. We were in no hurry so we watched him for quite a while. Since he likewise seemed to be in no hurry, we decided to make the stalk to see if we could get a shot.

The stalk involved going down a steep, slick slope and then back up another. Prudence was necessary so we wouldn’t be detected. We executed the approach perfectly and broke into the area where we knew we needed to slow way down and begin meticulous examination of every detail in order to see him before he caught our scent, heard or saw us.

There he was at about 150 yards, exactly where we thought he would be and with no idea we were there. The sun had broken through the clouds. The fresh snow was melting fast and dripping heavily from the trees. I went to my knees and began working to a vantage point to set up for a shot. I got to a good spot parallel the bull on the hillside but the ponderosa and aspens trees, the snowberry, wild rose, and serviceberry bushes obscured a clean view. But I knew that if we waited a bit, the opportunity for a better shot would arise. We simply stayed patient, listened to the Steller’s Jays gawk and the juncos flitter while the bull grazed slowly through the forest.

About a half hour had passed since we first saw him in close proximity and gauging by his direction of travel, I knew the shot was about to materialize. A window finally opened between a couple of large aspens. I had my gun rested on a trekking pole and steadied him in the crosshairs. I slowly pulled the trigger and felt the shot release. The bull did not react in any way, like no shot had been fired or that anything had happened at all. I had quickly chambered another round, and as soon as the next shot presented, I fired. This time I could tell he was hit. My son had been looking through his binoculars and confirmed impact.

Within moments he laid down. I was confident at this point that I had harvested the bull. I began to feel the somber realization coupled with the appreciation and awe of the animal and all the variables it takes to be successful in that moment. My son and I shared a teary smile while we waited for the bull to expire.

I knew something was amiss when he began to lift his head and hold it in a way that looked strong and defiant.

After waiting for nearly 40 minutes in this state, trying to be patient but with growing anxiety, and now not having a clean look at his body, I decided to make a move to get closer and get another shot. I crept slowly on my hands and knees while my son kept an eye on him through the binoculars and relayed hand signals to me as to whether the bull was detecting me. My hands and lower legs were sopping wet, cold, and numb due to the melting snow. I got to within 50 yards but had to go below him due to wind direction. Being below him did not offer a great vantage point but I needed to take another shot to ensure that he didn’t get up and leave, even if it wasn’t ideal. I again leveled my gun, steadied the crosshairs, and clicked off the safety. In that precise moment a small burst of wind came up my back and directly towards the bull. In an instant, he jumped up, wheeled around, and disappeared over the rise. I thought for a short moment about taking a shot, even with him moving, but simply never felt comfortable. I was sure he wasn’t going far, that we would find him shortly. I was wrong.

For the remainder of that day we followed his tracks and what little blood we could find. It was snowing softly and the tracks were obscured but we hadn’t lost them.

After several hours and an hour into darkness we made the decision to return to camp. We were now over three miles away from the tent and needed to reset.

The long walk back was quiet and somber. I hadn’t lost hope but doubt had definitely creeped in. I coursed through my brain replaying the scene repeatedly, wondering what I should or could have done differently. I was patient and methodical, I had taken a good shot. I couldn’t think of anything I would have done differently, except perhaps shoot him when he stood up to increase blood on the snow even though he was moving and I had no shot at his vitals.

We resumed our search in the morning but bad luck struck again. The bull’s tracks led us back the direction of the truck and even further east so we made the decision to pick up camp and get to the truck where we would drive some of the distance to near where we last left the tracks. When we parked the truck there was no snow on the ground but when we returned, eight inches of snow had covered the two track. I carried chains and was prepared to deploy them for this very situation but did not want to lose time putting them on. That proved to be a bad decision as we slid off the steep road and had to spend more than an hour digging out the truck. We were lucky to get it out at all.

The aftermath of digging the truck out.

We eventually got back on the elk’s tracks and spent the rest of the day following the bull. It had snowed a bit more and the tracks were difficult to find. On several occasions we spent 20-30 minute stints circling the same small area looking and relooking, deciphering which tracks were which, until we finally found a slight hint of snow obscured blood and moved forward. As the day wore on, the melancholy began to set in thick. I began to accept that we were not likely to find him and my season was going to end in disappointment and sadness. We had covered roughly seven miles over two days when the tracks led into an area where numerous other elk had also trodden. It was there that we completely lost his distinct tracks. I accepted I was not going to recover him and that my season was over.

Through tears and hugs my son and I burnt sage and promised the elk gods to do everything in our power to never let this happen again. A group of ravens passed overhead and I thought about them eventually finding our elk. It gave me a glimmer of hope through the despair that even though we would not derive our sustenance from this elk, many other critters would. It also connected me to my personal history that led me to stop using lead ammunition while hunting.

My son was two and my wife pregnant with our daughter when I last harvested an elk with a lead bullet. The bullet hit part of its shoulder so I worked to trim around the bloodshot meat. A friend called during this process and I explained what I was doing. He asked me if I had seen the work the Wisconsin Dept. of Natural Resources was doing studying the way lead bullets fragment and spread throughout animals. I had not heard about this but immediately looked it up. I found x-ray images of pig cadavers that had been shot with lead bullets. There were lead fragments throughout the body cavity.

My mind immediately leapt to my pregnant wife and young son. Had this same bullet fragmentation occurred in the elk I was processing? Had I been inadvertently feeding my family lead tainted meat? It is common knowledge that lead is particularly harmful to children and pregnant women. A dread fell over me. Would I have to stop hunting if I wanted to avoid ingesting lead? From that moment forward I have only used non-lead products in my hunting and fishing pursuits.

In the years since, I have become an advocate for hunters and anglers to switch away from using lead products while in the field, particularly at times when either parts of the carcass will be left behind or if there is a chance some or all of the targeted animal will not be recovered. Examples include upland birds that may have been struck by a pellet or two but not died or were not recovered, or a fish that was hooked with a lead jig but snapped off the line, or a big game animal whose entrails will be left behind after the harvest or, in my now very personal case, an elk that has been struck by a bullet but not recovered. I have personally harvested numerous big game animals with copper bullets of several types and have been impressed at their efficacy. I have found some of the mushroomed projectiles in my harvests and keep them beside the ivories as mementos, recalling successful days afield each time I look at them.

On October 28th I was using copper bullets. As I think about those ravens, the foxes, the goshawks, the eagles, the martin, all the critters I love, I am proud that even though I had the unfortunate experience of failing to recover my elk that day, I do not have to live with the thought that when these and other scavengers did find my elk, they would be subject to harm from ingesting lead. I can also take comfort knowing that my family and I, nor anyone we share our harvest with, is ingesting lead.

As I hearken back to the multitude of people who have told me that, “if you hunt long enough, it’s bound to happen” when referring to my lost elk this season, I think about how many critters may have eaten those lost animals and experienced cognitive decline, slower reaction times, premature death or even acute death - all documented effects of lead poisoning on wildlife. I think about how easy it is for one to simply use non-lead shot, bullets or fishing products and how widely available and cost effective they are now. I think about how nearly every hunter and angler I know simply loves wildlife of every species, whether they hunt or fish for that species or not. I contemplate the American sporting community’s long and storied history of rising to each conservation challenge, creating solutions and policing ourselves, and making the world a better place for myriad wildlife throughout our history. And I know that we can, and we will, rise to this new challenge and lead the way.

Aaron packing out the previous season's bull.

Through a simple act - using non-lead tackle and ammunition - we can carry on our sporting traditions and conservation ethos, and eliminate harm to other creatures we love and respect. And by doing so, we can chart our path and determine our sporting future rather than have it determined by those who would like to see the end of hunting and fishing.

I revel at knowing that scavengers visit the remains of the animals I have harvested. I appreciate they are able to utilize and prosper from the life-giving nutrients. And I’m am grateful they are enriched rather than being harmed by my actions. While I will certainly carry the weight of the elk I lost this year for a long while, at least it doesn’t also come with the heavy weight of lead.