First let me say that if you want to read a story about smart, skilled hunting, stop right now. This story is more likely to impress you with the thick head of the individual writing it. Even now I marvel at how long it took me to catch on.

 

The trip started on Wednesday afternoon. Steve and I packed up and left early enough to arrive at the trailhead so we could at least make it to camp before dark. Lowell would meet us at the trailhead for the hike in. We didn't have but a mile or so to camp, but sunset was nearing by the time we dropped our packs at base camp. We decided for a quick evening hunt, hoping to at least locate some elk for the next day.

 

We began hearing bugling elk pretty quick after we split up. I thought one of them sounded near enough to try stalking before darkness set in. The elk was across a creek and above me, which was perfect. The evening wind was already coming steadily down the slopes. I didn’t waste any time moving in. After approaching to what I figured was several hundred yards, I began cow calling. The bull would respond, but soon it became obvious that he was calling and moving away at the same time. This bull apparently had cows and was taking no chances with them. After playing this cat and mouse game for about a ½  mile up the steep, thick mountainside, I was sweating and about worn out just trying to keep up. Each time I would stop and call, the elk would respond, but move off.  With one last burst of speed I was able to locate the elk and maneuver within range. But the bull had spotted me. Quickly I raised my bow and drew back. Out of the corner of my eye I saw my nock separate from the arrow as I reached full draw. I froze. What was this? A moment passed as I swiftly tried to nock another arrow, but the bull had had enough.

 

As I walked back to camp in the dark, I felt a strange mixture of elation and disgust. I was excited to be getting into the elk so early in the hunt, but at the same time I was disgusted that I had messed up that opportunity. What had I done wrong, I asked myself? I shoot with fingers and I came to the conclusion that perhaps in the heat of the moment I had simply pinched the arrow too hard with my grip index finger while drawing my bow. Back at camp the others were listening to the bugles of several different bulls when I arrived. We went to sleep that night with bugles still echoing through the cool night air.

 

The next day was a clean slate and we were all up early and going with high hopes of seeing some elk. The elk were still calling in the distance. I chased one elk up the mountain until the mid-morning air began to swirl. I circled to the top of the ridge and at midday was trying to decide on my next move. I heard movement in the thick brush behind me. I turned, took a step and froze. A smallish bull was standing not 20 yards away. It had apparently spotted me the instant that I stopped moving. Nervous, it turned and walked away. I quickly side-stepped to an opening in the trees. When it approached an opening, I raised my bow and drew back. My arrow fell from the bow and once again I was left holding only a nock at full draw. Quickly I let down, loaded another arrow and drew the bow, but the bull didn’t offer another shot.

 

I spent a long afternoon going over this whole thing in my mind until it nearly drove me crazy. What was I doing wrong? Was elk fever ruining my hunt? The worst was yet to come.

Steve and Lowell gave me some good-natured ribbing when I got back to camp that afternoon. I was fairly torturing myself with doubt. I had already had two close encounters and I didn’t really expect any more of that sort of luck. That evening my confidence had hit an all time low. But my two brothers, Edd and Jeff, joined our camp that afternoon and infused me with some fresh enthusiasm.

 

There was a likely place not far from camp that I decided to try that evening. It was thick and steep; a perfect elk hideout. On my way up the mountainside I reached a sort of small flat spot that was comparatively open. I paused for a few minutes listening and occasionally hitting my cow call. There was good elk sign here and I wasn’t far from camp either. A short time later I once again heard something approaching, and I was sure it was an elk. I hunkered down in front of a tree and waited. Directly in front of me a cow stepped out and walked straight toward me. I kept perfectly still. My heart was really tearing it up this time, because I could plainly hear the sound of antlers coming through the brush. A bull had to be behind her. For a moment I was afraid the cow would run me over, but at about 10 yards she veered off to my left. Then the bull stepped out.

 

As the cow moved away I came to full draw. I watched in horror as my nock pulled out again and the arrow fell to the ground. The bull stopped perfectly broadside at 10 yards. There I was at full draw with only a nock between my fingers, staring at the biggest bull I had ever seen in the wild. I couldn’t have missed. I distinctly remember his huge, heaving chest so close it seemed as big as a truck. And I couldn’t shoot! This is probably the closest I’ve ever come to falling into some kind of nervous fit. The bull of my dreams at point blank range, a drawn bow, and no arrow to shoot! After the bull had gone, I just sat there in dejection. I figured I had reached a new low in elk hunting. Edd and I met up soon after and I told him I was about ready to leave right then and go home. He told me that the same bull had passed within 30 yards of him in the brush, not offering a shot.

 

That night at camp I took my bow out, thinking to do some target practice in the field nearby. Edd was watching me and said, “Pull your bow back and let’s see what’s going on.” I nocked an arrow and drew back and instantly we realized what my problem was. I had made a rookie mistake. Actually I had made at least two mistakes. The first mistake was changing my arrow rest two weeks before hunting season. I hadn’t had enough time to get familiar with my equipment. My previous rest had been a drop-away. On most drop-aways you nock the arrow, set it on the shelf, and forget about it. The rest will pick up the arrow when you draw. This was not the case with my new arrow rest. Somehow in my mental preparation for taking a shot at the elk, I had missed a crucial step. I had nocked the arrow and drew, without first setting the arrow on the rest arm. The result was that as I drew the back of the broadhead hit the riser, pulling the nock out of the arrow. I felt like a total idiot. This had happened to me three times before I discovered what was happening. That was my second mistake. I should have been smart enough to figure it out after the first elk. I should have more carefully checked out my equipment.  Waiting for two more elk to wander by was stupidity. Now I knew the problem, but I figured my last chance for the year was gone when that giant bull walked within 10 yards of me.

 

Sleep didn’t come easy that night. That bull kept reappearing, tantalizing close at a mere 10 yards. I was so discouraged with myself that when morning came I seriously considered packing up and leaving early. I had plans to leave in the afternoon anyway. What chance was there for me to have yet another opportunity after all the ones I had squandered? But the others encouraged me to stay, and so I did.

 

Edd and I spent a fruitless morning trying to call in a bull as we moved up a ridge. It all came to naught when the wind shifted. Late morning found us hunkered down on an old game trail on top of the ridge, digging into our snacks. I decided I would head back to camp from here. I could get a little hunting in on the way back. As we sat there, talking and munching, we heard a sort of half bugle, more like a scream, coming from across another canyon. Here was an opportunity. I had already made my plans, but could I leave this one last chance? No I couldn’t. I would take my doubts in hand and make one last effort, come what may.

 

Edd decided to stay on the ridge and continue hunting. I quickly descended the steep ridge for the canyon below. It was through the brush and over the creek and then I began climbing up the other side. It was going to be a warm day and I figured soon the bull was going to shut up for the rest of the day. Already he showed signs of less inspired calling. The wind had me worried too. Being on the north slope it was still cool and the breeze was drifting down. But here and there the sun was beginning to filter through the thick trees. Soon the wind would shift. Maybe if I could come up on the elk from the side instead of from directly below.

 

I began using my cow call as I closed the distance. Then through the trees I could see him, a big bull, at least 75 yards away. There was a small gulley between me and the bull and I didn’t see any way of getting closer without being seen. The best I could hope for was a shot across the gulley. Fortunately I had my laser rangefinder handy and I took readings of several trees on the far side of the gulley.

 

The bull was acting nervous. Instead of coming directly toward me when I called he moved at an angle. The problem was a huge growth of brush that he would soon step behind if he continued on this path. I sensed that if I was going to get a shot it would have to be now. As the bull walked behind a tree I had just ranged, I drew my bow. As he stepped from behind the tree I stopped him with my mouth. To this day I don’t know exactly the sound that I made, it was probably some sort of strangled cry, but it stopped him exactly broadside. I held my bottom pin high on his chest and released.

 

In what seemed like slow motion I watched the arrow arch upward and begin to drop toward the elk. Then I lost it. One moment it was there, the next moment I couldn’t see it. I heard it strike something sharply and the elk bolted out of sight. Immediately I began cow calling, listening desperately for something, anything. For maybe 15 or 20 seconds there was nothing but my frantic cow calling. Had I missed? Just then there was another bit of crashing and silence again. Was that the bull leaving? It sounded more like a death crash, but I couldn’t be sure. All I could do is wait.

After I calmed my nerves and my shaking knees a bit, I got on the radio and told the others what had just happened. I told them I really didn’t know what the shot was. I would wait for a half hour or so and then go for a quick look.

 

Steve came up the hill and together we walked across the ravine to where the elk was standing and began looking for any sign. Edd joined us after hiking down from the ridge where we had split up. Soon we found a good portion of my arrow. It didn’t look like I had gotten as much penetration as I should have. Still, with this nagging crashing firmly planted in my head, I walked toward where I had last seen the elk.

 

I walked 50 yards around the brush and there was my elk. I had indeed heard the last crash that this elk would ever make. I can’t describe the emotions that went through me as my mind instantly played back that whole hunt, those haunting three previous mishaps and moments of despair. I stood there and soaked up the moment and the memories.

 

Soon, Lowell, Steve, Edd, and I were dressing the elk out and we had contacted Jeff to bring horses and packs from camp. Finally, we packed the deboned meat, antlers, and cape down to the trail where we unloaded our weary backs and let the horses finish the chore. All the heartbreak and hopes of the previous days seemed gone now. It was as if by the hard work of the hunt and recovery they had been somehow healed. Almost healed that is. The image of that big bull at 10 yards still revisits me sometimes. Maybe someday we’ll meet again and I’ll get another chance. Hopefully the lessons of that hunt will have soaked through my thick head by then.