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| Bull Elk |
There
are two shoulder mount elk heads that adorn the front entry way of my
home. These are placed there much to the dismay of my wife, she has even
recently taken to the idea of writing a counter blog title, "A Colorado
Hunters Wife." Despite her protests about the heads, she and my
daughter have named the two bulls, Burt and Elmer. Do not ask me
what the origin of the names is, I have a theory it is some take on Burt and
Ernie that came from the mind of a 4 year old little girl. This story is about
Burt and how he came to be up on my wall.
It
was archery season 2011 in Colorado and despite nearly a week sitting my tree
stand I had yet to even set eyes upon an elk. It seemed that everywhere I
went the elk where not. My hunting partners had reported many sightings
and a few arrows had even taken flight but had missed their mark. I had already
filled my mule deer tag with a small 3x3 buck and was enjoying purely pursuing
elk.
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| My 3x3 Buck |
I
hunt elk a bit differently than most archers. While I will not tell it is
the only way, it has worked repeatedly for me and consistently put me within
bow range of the animals. While some archers prefer to try to call the
elk in, or attempt to spot and stalk them, I tree stand hunt elk over watering
holes and wallows. The scouting time required can be enormous but once
you know an area the payoff can be awesome. In the last five years
I have taken four bulls with my bow, and the odd year out was because I failed
to draw my elk tag. The technique is simple, find water/wallows with a
tremendous amount of elk sign, set your tree stand/blind, and wait. It is
the waiting part that is frustrating for some hunters. Sitting in the same
place for up to eight hours each day can be draining for sure. For
me there is solace of letting the woods return to their natural state and
forget that I am there.
Burt
and I met on Thursday, September 1st, 2011. It was a beautiful fall evening, and
I was stationed 25 feet up an aspen tree overlooking a large watering hole.
Many elk have fallen to our clan's arrows and muzzle loaders on this particular
spot over the years. This year the action had been slow. It was the
magic hour before sunset when the whole forest comes to life with pre-darkness
activity. I heard the lone bugle about 200 yards down the drainage that
was fed from the watering hole. It was not a full challenge bugle, but a
tending bugle; a bull moving his harem of cows. I knew instantly it was a
real elk and not a misguided hunter. I decided to respond with a simple
cow call in the hopes the bull was in the market more female company.
Immediately after I made the call he answered back, this time it was a full
bugle and it was impressive. The forest instantly was filled with the
sound of an elk herd moving. Now elk can be pure ghosts seeming to
materialize out of thin air in front of you, or they can be incredibly
noisy. This heard sounded like a freight train was coming towards me, and
fast. It was clear the bull was pushing the cows up the drainage.
The bull gave me another bugle and this time it sounded much closer, he was
coming and coming in a hurry.
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| Pond and view from tree stand. |
I
quickly grabbed my bow off the hanger stood up from the seat and notched the release
onto the string loop of the Matthews Outback compound bow. That was
all the time I had before the bull appeared. He was what we call a rag
horn, barley passing the 4 point minimal legal requirement. He was at the
head of the column of cows and when he stopped broadside at thirty yards I
resisted the temptation to send the fletched shaft into the side of him.
I knew from experience that the herd bull will often push the cows and I did
not think this was the bull I had heard. The herd slowly filed past me
and walked to the pond for a drink. As each cow walked by, my level of
anticipation increased, had I made the right call? was there another
bull? Then I saw him. There was no need to count points and no
wondering if he was a legal, he was a monster. I could see his antlers
towering above the scrub bushes, and his body was twice the size of the largest
cow in sight. This was the biggest bull elk I had ever seen in a hunting
situation.
I
knew I had to forget about the antlers, if I focused on them I would blow the
shot for sure. I instead merely looked for the biggest elk in the herd as
that could only be him. He walked passed me at 25 yards, but did not
pause for a shot. He then walked out to the pond and stood directly over
the rock I had positioned at 35 yards. There it was, my shot.
Recognizing and waiting for the perfect shot is hard thing to do for some
archers, and I have both waited to long or shot too early. This was it
and I knew it. I picked a spot on the vitals of the bull, pulled the bow
to my anchor point and settled the sights with the 30 yard pin slightly above
the center line. I fought the urge to stab the release trigger and let
the arrow fly. I instead worked through my release sequence, squeezing the
trigger and waiting for the surprise shot. The bull moved before the bow
went off and with luck I stopped the shot before it was too late. He
entered the large pond and walked out to he middle of it to take drink. I
knew the middle of the pond was 50 yards, this is the maximum range I will
shoot at an animal with my compound bow. Too much can happen in the
flight time at ranges past this point. The water line was just below
center of the bull and I knew I still had a shot. Less than optimal, but
I felt if I did not take it, I could lose this bull forever, plus I was still
at full draw. I once again picked my spot and aligned the pins on the
vitals.
The
twang of the string surprised me, I can still see the arrow in
flight. The green plastic nock caught the evening light of the sun and
glowed with green fire. Everything was in slow motion and the arrow
seemed to take an eternity to reach the target. What was perhaps measured
in milliseconds seemed to be hours to my hunter brain. As the range was
great the arrow arched high and then fell towards the bull, I feared I
had missed, until I heard the telltale thwack of the arrow striking the animal.
I
did not see the hit, but he reacted instantly, trudging through the water
towards the distant shore of the pond. I immediately gave the bull a cow
call, while reaching for a second arrow. The bull ran back towards the
draining he came from and paused in front of me at a mere 30 yards. I
began to draw the bow but stopped. There was a bright red spot rapidly
growing in size on the opposite side I hit him on, the arrow had passed
through. The exit hole was in the perfect place for a lung hit, there was
no use spooking the bull any further, he was going to go down and soon. I
focused on calming him rather than sending another broad head into him. I
continued to cow call as he angled up and away from me on the hillside
bordering the drainage. He paused once again before I lost sight of him
and I mentally marked where I had lost sight of him. The cow calling
worked on the herd, while they had spooked at the shot, they now regrouped in
front of me. The little bull even walked towards my tree stand trying in
vain to figure out how a cow elk had climbed up a tree. Meanwhile I could
hear my bull cough from the side of the hill on the drainage, he was not too
far away and more than likely down.
Any
seasoned hunter can tell you about the rush that accompanies a successful
shot. For archers the rush is extreme. I have nearly walked right
off a tree stand into space after a shot as I was so amped up. Whole body
tremors, loss of dexterity, and uncontrollable shaking is common place.
Learning to manage this until after the shot is the mark of a veteran. I
had the shakes bad after this shot. Even if I wanted to climb down and look
for the bull, I physically could not. Twenty minutes later found me better
collected, and following an archery hunting commandment of giving the animal
time to expire.
The
remainder of the evening saw the elk, which was as big as a small horse, carried
out in pieces on the backs of my fellows hunters and I to the nearest vehicle
trail. Months later I had the bull measured by the Pope and Young
Club. His gross score was just shy of 300, but dipped to 280 4/8s after
deductions. While he was entered into the P&Y big game records, I do
not hunt for this. I hunt for that moment. The moment where I
know what it is like to be an animal and truly human. I would be lying if I did
not add that I hunt for food, game meat is big part of my life and I would
greatly miss it.
Closing thoughts this time are from
David Frost. As this tale is about a successful hunt I feel it is only
appropriate. Don't aim for success if you want it; just do what you love and
believe in, and it will come naturally. - David Frost.
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