What a beautiful morning up in my little honey hole. The first snowfall of the season and the thought was that the elk should be doing their thing; chasing cows and talking to each other. Having a guide trip on the books for Thursday afternoon, I took the bow for a walk that morning.
I was in this spot a couple nights ago before the weather changed and nothing was happening. This was the first day of the season I felt the conditions were good for getting into them. The plan was to hike into a ravine falling off a park where elk had been hanging out last year where I shot my bull. I know their route they take off the park and into the ravine so I thought I could get in there before light and have the advantage.
I was a little late so about half-way in, I started seeing silhouettes of sporadic trees in the park above me. I pushed on a little harder and was glad I had left the final layer of clothes in my pack. My breathing was heavy and I could feel the sweet beading. I stopped for a second to catch my breath and to survey the top of the opposite ridge when I heard a faint whistle. They, (the elk,) had started talking without me.
I had walked past the elk in the dark and now with the emerging light, they started moving down the ridge to their bedding area moving parallel with me. The bull was trying to coral his cows and get them moving before it got too light. With his calls, other bulls chimed in and the drainage seemed to light up with three different bulls letting each other know who's, who.
I glassed the park and in the dim light, picked up a few cows. They were feeding there way along the ridge-top. I kept glassing and there he was; a big 6 following close behind giving nudges to his ladies to get on down the ridge. It was decision time.
I wanted to get down the park and into a spot to head the heard off so I dropped my pack and busted up the ridge through the trees. I could hear the bulls talking back and forth and this guy was starting to get pissed. His bugles were turning into growls. I was trying to be careful but at the same time, I was hustling as fast as I could to get in front of them. As I peaked out from the tree line, I saw a couple cows a hundred yards away but no bull. He bugled again--he was past me already.
I busted back down the ridge through the trees and back on the trail I was heading up when I first saw the elk. I was going back to the original plan; to head around the ridge on the trail and get into the ravine where they were heading. From there I could use the trees and the terrain to my advantage to get in close. I could also keep this bull fired up by cow-calling like I was a straggler in his harem. That really pisses them off and it keeps them talking.
The plan worked. He did keep talking and was easy to pin-point. I snuck through the trees and down little draws until I felt like I was getting really close. His bugles and growls echoed through the trees. He was getting pretty fired up. I snapped an arrow out of my quiver and knocked it. I found a good place in a little bit of brush and dead spruce trees and got a little more aggressive on the cow call. His bugles turned to chuckles and growls but he wasn't turning back. He had a plan too and he was sticking to it. I felt like I was losing him.
Just then I saw movement in the trees about a sixty yards in front of me. A smaller bull, who had been silent and just hanging far enough away from the heard as to not get his ass kicked by the six, turned back to investigate. He was coming in fast; looking for the straggler cow. I ducked down to a knee looking for an opening where he might clear and give me a shot. I'm a meat hunter. I don't need to shoot the heard bull and this guy was the perfect three-year old that is just big enough to produce a lot of steaks and just dumb enough to buy what I was selling. Here he comes.
I picked out a lane through the brush and figured he would be about 25 yards out when he passed through. I got ready and he kept coming but when he hit the lane he turned to face directly at me. He kept coming; 20 yards, 15, 10...he stopped.
As he got closer, I got lower and tried to hide behind my bow. I thought it might break up the shape of my face just enough for him not to make me. He stopped at 10 yards. His head was down but his eyes were fixed on me. He froze. I was already frozen. We were engaged in a stair-down and neither one of us was going to give in. What seemed to last for minutes was really only about 30 seconds and he decided to make his move.
Not totally sold on what I was, either a lost cow or a hunter; he turned and took a few steps and stopped to look back. He was only 12 yards away and now broadside. Still on my knee, I drew my bow back, lifted it and stood up. My top pin found a spot just inches behind his front shoulder and my finger was on the trigger. I was at full-draw and at that distance, no way I could miss. Unfortunately, I was aiming at him right through a dead spruce tree.
I literally had about three seconds to decide if I was going to take the shot or not. My heart told me I could sneak an arrow through. (For all you golfers out there, trees are ninety percent air, right?) My brain, however, took over and in those three seconds I went from shoot to not shoot and the bull spun, bolting off. I was bummed but I knew I did the right thing.
I dropped my bow down releasing the string and grabbed the cow call and let out a whinny me-eeeeew. The bull stopped and turned back. He still wasn't convinced I wasn't a lost cow. It might be his only chance to hook up so he started back to get another look. This time he was trying to get down wind, which meant he went up the ridge and got above me. At about 50 yards, he stopped and looked. I couldn't get a clear shot so again, we were in a stand-off. With me calling and him dropping his head and pacing back and forth behind some trees, we played this game for about 15 minutes.
At some point I felt like something was watching me so I looked back behind me. A cow had snuck up and was standing in a clearing 40 yards away. She wasn't looking at me so I turned and drew back my bow. She was broadside and showing a good shot at her vitals. I placed the pin just behind her front shoulder and eased my finger on the trigger of my release. I let the arrow fly...
Once the arrow get's released--just after the click of the trigger and snap of the string, you listen for one of two things: the hollow sound of the arrow going through the chest cavity or the undeniable twanging sound of it ricocheting off tree limbs. I heard the latter. Somewhere in the path of the arrow, a limb deflected it, sending it off target and out of sight. The cow took off.
I didn't shoot an elk Thursday morning but the hunt was a success. Bow-hunting isn't just about the kill. I had gotten close; real close--close enough to hear them breathe and smell the musky sent of a rutting bull. I tricked them enough to, on many other days, seal the deal. It just didn't happen this day but it will...or maybe it won't this year but on this day, it definitely was a success.
Keep 'em where they live...
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