(Art courtesy of Chirs Hunt)
July 17, 2025
By Jim Zumbo
It was the perfect spot for an elk camp. A small creek flowed through a timbered basin surrounded by large open meadows. It was 15 miles from the trailhead and well away from major trails used by outfitters and DIY hunters. A clearing provided a perfect spot to pitch a tent. Our horses would have plenty of forage and water and my pal Bill and I would be only a mile or two away from country that screamed elk. To our knowledge, and by the sign in the area, the spot was not recently used by hunters. An old timer who no longer could ride a horse told us about the camp. He hadn’t been there in five years.
Hunting was outstanding. Bill and I enjoyed a quality experience for several years, especially since it was on public land. Then we made a big mistake. We had a casual friend who had a string of unsuccessful years in the elk woods. We invited him to hunt with us. He killed a nice bull on the third day and was overjoyed.
The following year my pal and I neared camp and noticed a small wisp of smoke wafting above the trees. Moments later we saw people and horses moving about. As we rode closer we saw two wall tents pitched in “our camp.” Four men were busily unloading panniers, including our casual friend we’d invited to hunt with us the previous year.
No words needed to be spoken. We turned our horses and led our pack string into another drainage six miles away where we set up another camp. Bill was angry, as I was. “That place will never be the same,” he said. “Those guys will be bringing their brother-in-laws, third cousins, bosses, and totally destroy it.” And they did. Later, they added three more camps within a few hundred yards of each other.
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Repercussions For years I hunted mule deer in a favorite spot that always produced nice bucks. I met a couple neighbors who had just moved in and, against my better judgement, showed them around the unit I hunted. The following year I found them hunting my honey holes with three other guys. The place was never the same. More hunters were invited and the quality hunting was gone.
It’s not just big-game hunting that’s negatively affected by expanding your party. One of my favorite ruffed grouse coverts was reduced to a mediocre spot when I showed it to a guy who promised not to hunt it without me. He wasn’t true to his word. When I saw him hunting it with two other people the friendship was over. I had similar experiences with a hidden waterhole in the desert that was a dove hotspot, as well as a Back 40 that had tall oak and hickory trees loaded with squirrels.
Is it mean and selfish to stay mum about a good spot? After all, aren’t hunters supposed to be a friendly bunch of folks? We like to think that we’re part of a special fraternity who have the same love of the hunt. True, but some things in life are best unshared if you’re serious about solitude and quality hunting. The quarry typically reacts in several ways to heavier hunting pressure. They often change their behavioral patterns, they may leave the area, they’ll be far more elusive, and, put simply, are shot.
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Most of us enjoy the camaraderie with our companions. This is one of the many reasons why we hunt, but there are times and places where we’d prefer not seeing a vehicle parked in “our” spot, or a deer hunter too close to our tree stand or waterfowl hunters picking off ducks headed to our decoys. Every year more and more hunting land becomes off limits as urban sprawl continues and more “No Trespassing” signs appear. In my way of thinking, it’s only natural for us to protect our special hideaways.