As I moved along the well-worn game trail, my eyes searched the forest depths. The fresh elk tracks were leading me into a deep, wooded drainage. Every few yards I stopped and listened. In camo clothing and face paint, I had become one with the forest. Only movement would expose my presence. As I continued toward the bottom of the ravine I decided to try my elk call. If an animal answered, I would plan my stalk. Leaning my bow against a tree, I pulled the diaphram call from my pocket. At the same time I grabbed the hollow grunt tube that hung from a string around my neck. Blowing the call into the tube gave it a throaty resonance of a bull elk. I imitated the call of an inquisitive, satellite bull and waited for a reply. After several minutes and no answer, I called again. This time I added several cow elk mews. There was an immediate answer - a deep, hoarse bugle. The bull was in the bottom of this drainage and only 200 yards away. I grabbed my bow and started down the game trail. Moving like a shadow, I closed the distance by 100 yards. Kneeling in some brush I cow-called several times, each time at a different octive, trying to sound like a herd of cows an calves. I had scarcely finished calling when a bull returned a bellowing bugle, followed by several grunts. At 100 yards the sound sent shivers down my spine. I carefully eased from tree to tree, watching for movement or anything that resembled the colors of an elk. As I neared the creek bottom I could see a shallow pool the shade of rich, dark chocolate. As I inched closer, it became evident that elk had recently used this wallow. My feet unexpectedly slipped off the spattered grass and disappeared into the wallow. With a sucking sound I pulled myself free, and with mud-covered boots I backed away.
Topic: Dream Bulls (Read 269 times)
