I EASED over rocks in the frozen creek, bewildered by the loud tapping sound just upstream and around a bend. I’d never heard anything like it before in the outdoors. I inched along at a snail’s pace and peeked around a bush. There was a big bull elk 50 yards away striking the ice with its front hooves, obviously trying to get a drink. My wife, Madonna, was two steps behind me, and I motioned for her to slip up to my position. Too late. The wind had shifted, blowing our scent directly to the elk, and it lunged into the timber.
Dejected, we continued hiking up the creek bottom. There was no trail and, in places, the blowdowns in the drainage were impenetrable, requiring us to climb the steep,…