The trip had a bad start when Steve had prior commitments and was unable to go. Jody had overslept and didn’t arrive until 7:50 in the morning, and already were getting a late start. Now, at 8:15, we were pulling out of Burger King where we had bought some sort of prefab breakfast sandwich because I had decided we wouldn’t need a lunch.

Leaving Milton-Freewater I stomped the gas pedal to the floor, my truck raced up Milton Hill at break neck speed of 45 mph.

My hope of ambushing a bear on the hillsides above Looking Glass Creek faded fast. Knowing we would not be able to reach Luger Springs on the Jubilee Lake road because of snow, that left the long trek through Elgin, out through Palmer Valley and up Mottet Creek to the turnoff. I figured at least a two hour trip.

I was a little off, we parked at the end of a seldom used logging spur on the boundary of the National Forest and Boise Cascade at 10 a.m., 15 minutes early.

As we started through the thicket on the north side of the canyon my hopes faded to nonexistence. Surprising as it was for the time of year, the ground was already dry and we were unable to move without sounding like a freight train. Even with those conditions, I had decided to continue, if for no other reason than for a walk in the mountains.

We continued down the face of the canyon until we reached the maintenance road they had punched through in the 1960s when they strung the power transmission lines across the Blue Mountains.

As we crossed the road we began to sidehill down and west, watching the open ridges in front of us as well as watching openings across the creek on the south side of the canyon.

My thoughts had now turned cougars. With the day warming to around 75 degrees, we might have a chance of seeing a mountain lion sunning itself on one of the rock abutments across the canyon.

We continued down and west until we hit the remnants of a spur from the road above, where we started back up to meet the main road.

Part of the way up we encountered a thick growth of huckleberry brush. As I thought back, pushing our way through the waist high brush must have been where we picked up the hitchhikers – ticks. These arachnid will hitch a ride on anything that passes, and we must have walked through a city.

As we began to follow the road in the long loop that leads back around to Luger Springs, we surprised some elk feeding on the hillside above us. Three were spooked enough to make a mad dash across the road and head for the safety of the canyon below.

We watched them disappear into the trees, then moved forward to the spot where they had crossed the road. We became aware of a strong musk smell that indicated one of them might have been a bull.

As we followed the road it went back into the forest and turned east. Here we picked up some company in the form of a hen turkey that walked almost to the campground with us on the hillside above the road.

Reaching Luger campground we turned southeast and followed Eagle Ridge Trail back down the hillside. About a quarter of a mile from the trailhead was where our trip turned worthwhile. As we approached a large meadow we could see elk feeding just above the tree line on the hillside below us. With the wind blowing up from the canyon below us it became obvious they were unaware of our approach. As we kept moving down the trail more elk appeared until we counted a dozen.

We moved to a spot on the trail between two trees and began to watch and count elk as they grazed. After awhile one elk looked in our direction. It became nervous and moved down the hill slightly, but because of the lack of movement, and not being able to pickup our scent, it eventually went back to eating. As we watched, more of the herd appeared until I had finally counted 20.

After 10 minutes or more we decided we needed to start moving back to the truck. With our first movement the herd erupted, racing downhill to the cover of the trees. If you have never seen a herd of elk take off in unison when spooked you are missing a sight that sportsman relish. Even if the bear hunt was doomed from the start, it was that moment that made the four mile walk and the long ride home worthwhile.

Frank Dixon is a press operator for the East Oregonian and is an avid big game hunter and reloader in his spare time.