Repost of Hunting with a Camera
“With one motion Grant grabbed his gun, spun around into a prone position with the gun resting on the rock, took one breath, aimed and fired one 320 yard shot.”
Hunting with a Camera – A Photographer finds Meaning
By Kevin Krill
I was invited to hunting camp with three of my best friends, not to shoot an elk, but to shoot my camera. I had never been elk hunting before and the images of a dawn patrol at tree line conjured up in my brain gave me goose bumps. I didn’t think we’d get an elk, I was just hoping for some good scenic panoramas. I was in for a surprise.
There was not a lot of discussion at 4:30am but we all knew what we were thinking. We had not seen elk or any signs of elk on our scouting missions but knew the spots we were going to were good ones. So we headed out by foot and headlamp to be in position at dawn. Every photographer knows how important “light” is and how sunrise is usually a guarantee of that perfect soft light to grace whatever it is you are shooting.
Timing could not have been more ideal; it was just now light enough to see (and shoot) and we were in position. It was then that the excitement and adrenaline kicked up a few notches. The light was in transition somewhere between orange and purple, a color you can only find at high elevations at dawn and dusk, and changing by the second. I had my camera out and ready but was not sure if it was ok to snap any pictures for fear of breaching hunter etiquette and making any unnecessary noise. It was still before sunrise but the peaks were now ripe with warm alpenglow. We were being so quiet that you actually needed to just let your snot run out and drop to the ground instead of sniffing. A twig breaking underfoot sounded like a gunshot and made me flinch. I managed a few pictures of Grant hiking up to a gap in the trees against the grandeur of a western view to the high peaks just getting touched with the rich purple light of sunrise among the late fall textures of grasses and rocky slopes. It was a photographic moment of majesty.
The adrenaline buzz finally subsided and hunger was surfacing. Grant sat down facing me and pulled his pack to him for a snack. I was still standing when I noticed something over his shoulder up in the basin. I pulled the binoculars to my eyes to see it was an elk! My heart jumped but I was able to silently motion to Grant over his shoulder. With one motion Grant grabbed his gun, spun around into a prone position with the gun resting on the rock, took one breath, aimed and fired one 320 yard shot.
The elk dropped to the ground and Grant exclaimed “I got it”, it was a 5×5 bull. The elk was hit in the back and was slinking down the ravine and struggling to get up. I didn’t know how to feel at this point. Surprised, excited, scared, sick, awe struck and relieved were some of my choices and I’m pretty sure I experienced all of them in a matter of minutes as we approached the animal. When we got to him he struggled once more and then laid his head on the ground. I was terrified; the animal was huge and breathing through a nasty phlegm of blood and dying in front of me. I was able to get close enough to look him in the eye and pet his snout before he died. I was overwhelmed with a sense of sadness but there was something else. The elk’s energy filled the thin air around me. My mind raced and the lump in my stomach rose and fell with each short breath but never surfaced. As the elk took its final breath we said a prayer and made an offering in honor of the beast’s majesty and life. There was a long moment of silence but Grant could barely keep his excitement under control. As the intensity of the kill wore off the intensity of Grant’s joy increased. He was whooping and hollering like I’ve never seen before. We took a bunch of pictures including the typical elk hunter holding the giant rack. I had no idea that this moment would come so fast; I was facing a process that I can barely stand doing on a fish and could not finish on a bird back in the day. However, it all needed to be done and in the wild you do not simply take your food from the fridge to the frying pan. There is a process and many tasks associated with prepping, cleaning and transporting wild game; I’d just never seen it done with a 600lb animal. I’d never even seen a large animal die, aside from my dog; until today.
I told Grant that I was not sure if I’d be able to handle witnessing the gutting and butchering let alone participate in it. As he began to cut into the fur and skin of the elk I said I’d go look for a way to haul the meat back to camp disguising the fact that I was scared to death and didn’t want to see what was about to happen. I wanted to take pictures of the whole thing but now that it was upon me I wasn’t so sure.
I walked to the ridge and Castle Peak cued itself like a beacon of sanity and took my mind off of the previous events. The mountain scene in front of me let my mind and stomach settle down and I was able to consider getting back to Grant to see where he was at. I had the notion that he’d be done gutting the animal and would be into the red meat. Maybe I could handle that?
When I crossed back over the ridge the scene below me was breath taking. Grant was astride the animal working a knife along the chest as the massive head and rack dwarfed him. The light was shining on the antlers and the outlines of the elk. The textures of the grasses and trees against the snowy peaks were enough for an impressive photograph but the addition of man and beast took it to a primal level. Grant was still working through the fur and only had half of the slit cut that would open the animal along the belly and chest. He was wrestling the beast and struggling to keep the hind quarters open. I couldn’t believe how tough this was, the skin was so tight and tough it looked like Grant was cutting a rug with a butter knife. It was clear that what needed to happen would need my help. I told Grant as honestly as I could, “I’m not sure how I’m going the handle this but I’ll help where I can”. Without hesitation Grant said “good, then take this leg and hold it here”. I took a big breath and stepped closer to the animal and grabbed the right back hoof in my right hand and the lower leg with my left hand. I tried to move the leg into position but its sheer dead weight fought back. I had to set my feet and lean my shoulder into the leg just like a football player working a blocking dummy. It was then that I noticed the elks smell. I must have been too excited to notice during the kill but now it was so thick it overwhelmed me. It was not unpleasant and was even sweet in a way. As I moved from leg to antlers to leg, manipulating the animal from side to side in order for Grant to continue, I became more and more comfortable with my role. I had the feet and legs pressed against my face, neck and shoulders. My hands were now smooth and smelly from the elk’s heavy oils and musk in the fur. I could press my fingers into the soft underside of the hoofs and run my hands through the heavy, soft and long fur of the neck. As I bonded with the beast, Grant continued cutting. By now he had the skin peeled back and was starting the gutting process. Grant had the genitals isolated; the lower guts semi exposed and was working on the upper half. It was then that I had to get my hands dirty. I held my breath and reached in to find that touching the guts was like the first time ever touching a snake. The organs were dry, smooth, soft and still very warm! After much struggling, a face full of feces from a small pop of the intestine, the guts slowly slipped downhill out of the animal and into a huge pile of balloons, tubes, blood and stink. It was as if another being escaped from its captor. Our work had still just begun and the scavengers were arriving.
The gutting and especially getting through the fur had dulled his knifed down and Grant had become aware that we did not have some of the necessary tools to finish the job; bigger backpacks, his knife sharpener or bone saw. Grant worked on the tenderloins while I humped the two hind quarters uphill and into a snow covered shady spot until we came back from camp with bigger backpacks. The heaviest part of the legs was at the point of connection which was also the goriest. Luckily I had a shirt on with a hood so when the leg went up on my shoulder and leaned on the side of my face I at least had a thin layer of fabric between me and the gore.
When we got back to the animal Grant did not hesitate to continue the butchering. Since the elk had now been dead for several hours there was less blood and goo so it was slightly less gory. I had by now graduated from being scared, disgusted and only able to pinch the skin and fur with the tips of my fingers to being able to grab full handfuls of fur and flaps of skin and muscle. The task went from disgusting to intriguing as I started to study the anatomy of the wild animal and resumed taking pictures.
I don’t know where to begin describing what I saw during the butcher. The whole interior of the being resembles a highly compartmentalized machine with thick and thin lubricating liquids, moving parts, sliding surfaces, ropes and pulleys, structural members and plumbing parts. Some of the guts looked like you could buy replacements for at the hardware store, especially the windpipe. It is essentially 1.5” flexible pvc and looks like the plastic tubes connected to your hot tub. The lungs, once removed, looked like helium balloons that lost their lift and the stomach and rest of the GI/GU was a pile of half inflated playground balls of different colors. The layer between the skin and muscles is half cellophane, half wax paper that, when cut, makes the sound of paper ripping. The layers of white sinew that completely surround each joint looked like a highly space age material similar to Kevlar or carbon fiber. The muscle, aka: meat is endless. Every cut of the knife opened up new areas of thick red meat just like you see in the market deli all wrapped up in Styrofoam and cellophane. It took awhile to get used to it but when I did, my camera never stopped shooting this primal quest for meat.
After the skull and rack were removed we moved back down the animal to get the neck meat and start on the front quarters. Since it was getting late and it was just the two of us to carry 200 lbs of meat we needed to make another plan. The random steaks and meat were placed into big game bags and we humped the two front quarters into the shade of a tree. I grabbed one bag of meat to place into my backpack but was surprised to find out that I could not lift it high enough to get into the pack; about knee level. Meanwhile Grant was tying one of the hind quarters on to his pack frame. We each helped one another get our packs on our backs and started downhill.
I had the meat on my back and my camera strapped to my chest. The sun was getting low and the clouds were suggesting that there was a beautiful sunset brewing. I was very excited for the hike down as we would be in the soft light soon and have incredible views of the surrounding high peaks. This is what I came for. In between grunts and tripping over the clump grasses of the frozen tundra I managed to jog around Grant looking for the ultimate lineup of foreground, middle ground and background. I felt like the little dog in the cartoon following his big buddy the bulldog; excited and proud to be hiking along side of my friend Grant.
The light was fabulous and I kept shooting. We wrapped around on the contouring trail and headed into the sunset with Castle and Pearl Peak looming over us. We took only one real break where we each took a “look Mom” shot for the families and friends before we arrived back at the truck as the light faded through at least a dozen shades of pinks and purples.
We arrived in camp to find the other guys mumbling and grumbling about not seeing a damn thing, not even a track. It was hard to conceal our excitement. Steve and Kevin calmed down and we started sharing the story of the hunt and kill and of other hunts and kills over the hum of the lantern. Grant hadn’t even washed his hands of the blood and guts yet; he was having too much fun ranting and raving. We were all prepared and accepting of this and Grant deserved to gloat a bit. I think what really got him was when I mentioned he needed to work on his breathing technique and body position while butchering because there were times when I thought he was either going to blow a lung of his own through hyperventilation or slice off one of his own front quarters. By the time we got back to the meat being stored in the shady snow it had attracted some varmints. We watched a beautiful red fox take the small bag of tenderloins from the first cuts of meat. There were several other scavengers present as well including Gray Jays, Ravens and signs of Coyote. Grant was disappointed but also proud of the fact that his kill would be feeding many of the animals in the area. I had visions of the circle of life being completed and we were the missing link.
During the final stint of butchering Grant worked on his Ch’i, catching himself hyperventilating, apologizing to me and then slowing down to deep breaths and correct body position. I decided I’d start a “yoga for hunters” class when I got back to Crested Butte. I was taking pictures of the backdrop where Castle Peak perfectly framed the scene of Grant finishing up the front quarters. The light looked like it had gone black and white. Maybe it was because the clouds had now moved in or maybe it was because I was now delirious from the two days of adrenaline ups and downs.
In another hour we had everything butchered and packed into the bags. The antlers, skull and a small bag of meat sitting right on top of the skull we tied to the external frame pack. As Grant lifted the pack to his back and began to walk away I was again blown away at the scene in front of me. A man, his elk rack and meat on his back with the grandeur of the Rocky Mountains surrounding him. The clouds had broken a bit, there was filtered light streaming down to the tundra and it was snowing gracefully. Grant was hiking along a shallow ridge that put him in the skyline. I again had to run, skip and trip though the grass and rocks to stay in line with the peaks and sky putting Grant in the foreground. I took some winners and then fell in behind the proud hunter and his prize, legs torched. Walking behind him allowed me to stare at the skull and antlers with a sense of completion. I knew how proud Grant must have felt of his accomplishment and the rack was his trophy. It towered over him and outward to the sides making it look gigantic. As we rounded the hillside and through the meadow where we first began the hunt Grant came into the light and the view of the mountains to the west. I was spent from running around to get photos but could not help myself from adding more to my collection of images. I could not shake the awesomeness of the scene.
Back at camp we found the other two hunters still grumbling that they were skunked again but they got excited when they saw the elk rack in the back of the truck. There was a mixture of celebrating and cursing as we all relived the events of the weekend. As the weekend drew to a close my mind was filled with a rich and vibrant series of scenes not to mention the images stored on my CF cards. What is not told in the pictures is the emotional imagery found only by being part of the hunt, kill, death and cutting open of the beast. No picture can describe the feeling I had to be involved in the event, the physical exertion needed or the comradeship of the friendships we strengthened. This will not be my last Elk Hunt.
