I made the decision to do an afternoon hunt in an area close to town because access was quick and easy, and I was still feeling the strain from the night I spent in the truck. Due to a lot of hunting pressure in this area, my confidence wasn't very high, but I've shot quite a few elk here in previous years, even with the pressure.
Arriving at the parking area, I was pleased to see it void of trucks, kind of like showing up to your favorite sports bar on Sunday for an early game and there's nobody at the bar and the big screen has the Packers on. Score!
I changed into my camos, grabbed my gear, and headed uphill. A series of parks run North along a deep ravine for about a mile or so with dark timber lining the edges that drop off into a small creek that still flows, even into September. The tall grass in the parks is golden brown with shoots of green sprouting up through the shadows of the taller stems. Elk love this; young green grass to feed on, dark cover to escape into, and water.
As I skirt the edge of the park, trying to stay within the shadows of the ponderosas towering over the crawling juniper that seems to frame the park like artwork, my internal dialog bounces from overwhelming doubt of this area having any chance at all the elk haven't been run out, to the realization that I've shot literally 5 elk in this very spot over the past several years, even with having just as much pressure from just as many hunters. The more encouraging voice hammers home the theory that elk are on the move either by human pressure or bulls herding up cows and taking them to safe places to hang out until they become receptive. You just have to get out there and put yourself in the best position, based on past experience, and the least favorable vantagepoint for shooting elk, from my experience, is on the couch.
I get to the top of the second of three parks and enter a small line of trees that act as a barrier from one park to the next. On the edge, I notice a large fire-ring made of red rocks with a burnt tin can half buried in the ash.
"F'n people," I whisper to myself.
I turn on my GoPro as witness to the egregious offense, pull off my bugle and bow harness, and begin pulling rocks away from the obviously contrived form of the circle to spread them out more randomly as nature had intended. I don't like running into this kind of stuff in the middle of the wilderness and I'm sure others wouldn't like it either. If the architect of the pit won't take care of it, I will.
Literally after the second rock I move, I hear something that resembles a bull bugling within 100 yards from me. The problem is, it's the absolute worst bugle I've ever heard; so bad that it's unfathomable that anyone would ever blow a bugle like this intentionally out in the mountains because one, it would absolutely blow out any respectable elk within earshot and two, (and maybe more importantly,) it would be an absolute embarrassment to any hunter that might be heard by his/her contemporary. Nobody would be caught dead sounding like that.
I look off into the timber where the retched sound came from and see a juniper tree, about 30 feet high, shaking as if there's a man trying to climb it. The man would have to be way too big to actually gain any elevation as I hear branches snapping as he tries repeatedly for a beginning foothold.
"What the f...." I whisper again, "is this guy doing?"
Finally, it hits me like a whisp of musty elk sent smacking you in the nostrils while walking through the timber. This isn't a dude. It's a fricken bull elk! And he's 75 yards away. His attention is squarely placed on destroying this poor juniper, so he has no idea I'm even here. This is going to be easy. I'm not even nervous because in my mind, the bull in already dead.
I grab my bow, nock an arrow, and slowly creep into the timber towards the bull. At some point, I range the tree he's punishing. Fifty-three yards. I can see about a third of him and he's broadside. I could shoot but it's not ideal so I take a few more steps. Then a few more. I've got him at 45 yards but now I have no shot. I move again...
"Shit," I say, out loud as I hear the obvious sign that I've been busted.
It's the sounds every hunter sneaking through the timber hates to hear--the sound of heavy hoofs pounding the earth and dry pine branches snapping as the cow and the calf elk, only 20 yards away, have wheeled and headed down-hill in a panic. They don't dart back and forth like a deer, avoiding obstruction. They just want to create distance and they trample just about anything in their path and in seconds, they are gone.
I look back to where the bull was and he is gone too.
"Shit."
I was so fixated on the bull; I didn't notice the two other elk standing just a few yards away. Tunnel vision screwed me.
I head back to the fire-pit and finish the job of reclaiming the natural order, (or dis-order,) grab the rest of my gear and keep walking the ridgeline to where the bull was walking when I last saw him. He actually just walked off as I recollect. I didn't hear him busting out. He didn't go the direction of the cow and calf, so I theorize a scenario where the bull is separated from his property, (I know that's sexist, but we are talking about the natural world, and it is what it is,) and eventually, they will reconnect. The way they do this is by calling each other until they reunite. My plan is to get in the middle of that and be the cow.
I walk a few hundred yards to a place with some openings I could potentially shoot from and do my best to sound like a lost cow elk. I imagine what she might sound like as she looks for her man. (I know, it's a little cheesy but these are actual thoughts that run through my head.) I sound whiny and lonely in my calls. Pathetic. At some point I bugle like a smaller bull that may be witnessing the distress and is now trying to move in on the bigger bull's territory. This all sounds like a good strategy in my mind.
Somewhere in the first couple minutes, I actually hear the bull grunt at me from about 150 yards away and I feel like this could actually work. Probably a more accurate message I should have taken from the grunting bull was, "really dude? You think we're all stupid?" Twenty minutes later, I'm convinced that my little version of this elk romance novel is not only making me want to hurl but also isn't being bought by the bull either.
I decide to head out to the edge of the park to see if maybe I've attracted other elk in the area. As I creep through the timber, I notice a pine squirrel and think I should probably get some B-roll for my Vlog I'm thinking about producing. I turn on the GoPro and start filming the squirrel as it frantically engages in the business of stalk-piling provisions for the upcoming winter. Something causes me to shift focus from the squirrel to the park.
"Shit..."
Standing 60 yards out in the park, facing me, a 5-point bull is studying me trying to figure out what I am and what the hell I'm doing. Coincidentally, I'm trying to figure that out too. I took my focus off the task at hand and onto some little annoying squirrel and because of that, busted...again.
I was almost behind a large pine when I noticed the bull and was able to slip out of site as smoothly as Tom Cruise in Risky Business as he glides, half-naked, across the living room floor lip-syncing to "Old Time Rock and Roll." Now the bull and I are engaged in an intense game of peek-a-boo. (If you look closely to the pic above, you can see the bull as it stepped out and is in plain sight. He's 74 yards, which is doable for me, but the opening is not conducive for a shot. With the trajectory needed to cover the distance, I'm sure I would have hit a branch.)
In a few minutes and the bull became bored with the game and walked off. It turns out, there were actually two bulls, which became evident as I watched them pick their way back through the new growth of an old clear-cut and disappear into the thick timber.
There are many lessons to this story for all you elk hunters and to those searching for their own truths and personal growth. I'd like to share some of those with you, but I need to get back to the woods, so I encourage you to explore those lessons for yourself and share how much of an idiot I am for screwing up these prime opportunities. And while you do that, I'm going to go out to see how many more chances I can screw up.
Keep 'em where they live....
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