As the morning clocked away I knew I couldn't stay where I was for much longer. I heard some crackings inside the pocket. Nearer? The bull bugled a round up call and I knew they were now "on the move". This was different. My chance, if I ever had one, was literally leaving.
The bull bugled again and it was plain the elk were coming my way, edging the pocket to take advantage of the easier going. It was no picnic walking up the middle of the snarl. I moved ahead toward the edge of the pocket, knowing my shot distance had to max out with about 10 yards inside the edge, not someplace short of it. The elk would be in that transition line from thick timber to open timber. I was looking into something like this, less the wallow:
I began to see cow elk, a patch of tan here, a movement there. I set my legs and knocked an arrow. My god it was finally going to happen?
Then I saw the bull. My palms were sweating so bad I repeatedly wiped them on my pant leg but the wool wasn't much help. The bull was now just below me and moving up along the edge of the dense timber. The wind was just beginning to clock toward the elk and I knew it was going to have to be soon or they would surely get my wind now. On he came and I did not count points. I knew he was a six-by and my heart rate was already trying to run redline even as I told myself: breath in breath out relax relax relax relax. The bull was coming and then he was broadside. He had to pause to find clearance for his antlers, his head behind timber. I raised ElkMaster, focused on the crease so neat and so perfect and I remember the undulations of his muscles under the tan blonde hair. It was 20 yards maybe and as I expanded into the shot half my mind was saying over and over: finally finally finally.
The arrow was away. The bull must have seen me draw, or something, for he tried to reverse direction but his antlers were still snagged somewhat in the branches of the tree. He was still perfectly placed as the arrow, like some mythical thing, arched across the distance between us as it held course for his vitals.
In that moment I felt an elation only born from hard work and perseverance. I felt rewarded in that private way hunters are when they know they did it right. The arrow was in slow motion. Then it was inches from the bulls side. I remember this clearly like it was just a moment ago. Then it was in the ground under and behind him. He got clear and in thunder and snapping branches charged away down the hogback and crashed into the woods.
What just happened? He seemed mighty spry when he left and something inside my brain was telling me he was untouched.