It was back to work for a few days, and a long few days at that.
I got back to camp the evening of 9/3. The work week was long, but the 4.5 hour commute to hunting camp seemed an eternity as the odometer wouldn’t click fast enough. And as Trooper Scott with the Utah Highway Patrol pointed out, they better start clicking a little slower, or my insurance agent will like his paycheck a little better. Thank goodness Trooper Scott was a hunter and a lover of chocolate labs. He let me off with a warning. He understood.
9/4/2008
Well, the mule deer hunt was over. To this point, I had only devoted the two hunts to elk and had seen 4 bulls, 4 cows and three calves, with a more then perfect shot opportunity. The lure of that same honey hole that I missed that first cow was strong this morning while sipping coffee. So much so, that I finally realized how a trout feels when a Jakes, gold with red dots, Spin-a-lure is presented with in striking distance of his nose. I even mentioned this fact to Matt over our by now ritual of left over Dutch oven biscuits.
I made the same round as I had a few mornings back. Gauge and I made our way to the same stand of clear cut quaky’s as before. The “Primos Hyper hot lip single” made the same serenade. The Same lazy bugle echoed from the same location as before. My spine shivered.
I worked them for while, but they didn’t want to move out of the comfort zone of the other side of the gully. This could mean one of two things. The elk were either getting a little more pressure or it was getting closer to the rut and a new bull had moved in on that stud of a raghorn’s cows. I was left with only one option and that was to see if I could get closer to the heard.
With Gauge in tow, we set out.
I couldn’t hear any elk talk, but felt I was close to the heard. I had left the quakys and now I was set up on the outskirts of a pine forest with just enough oak brush to worry a fellow about finding a clear shooting lane. Just the kind of stuff elk love.
I made Gauge stay down wind of where I thought the elk might be, and moved about 50 yards closer. I tooted the only instrument I know how to play, and that lazy bugle was returned with a little more meaning this time.
The popping branches confirmed I had elk once more heading my way.
Before I seen the elk I fished my camera out of my pocket, and snapped this picture when the bull first appeared. It’s hard to tell in the pic, but this bull will score in the upper 340’s.
I figured that this was a satellite bull. I was calm for a minute, but as I was waiting for a better opportunity to get some closer pictures, cows started talking back and forth initiating a massive increase in my heart rate.
One by one, cows started filtering out of the woodwork while the bull never moved. Next thing I knew he had about 10 cows and I don’t know how many calves in front of him. All heading my direction.
Sorry once again for not getting more photo’s, but from that first cow chirp, Todd the photographer became Todd the hunter and taking photos took a distant back seat.
This was the first time I have ever seen the whole herd worked up while I was calling. I’ve called in several herds of elk before, but never have every single one of them had something to say about it.
Once again, it was a perfect set up. Everything in me knew it was only a matter of time before I was armpit deep in the chest cavity of dead elk.
The bull ran forward of the herd and separated out a young piece of cow elk meat. The others kind of lingered back no further then 40 yards of my position. One step at a time, the two elk, bull and cow, yarded their way closer. 30, 28, 25, 22, 20….. “Ohhh man! Here in about a second, Todd, you will be taking this creatures life…..”
When she was perfect broadside at somewhere around 17 yards, I drew. I hit anchor, found that magical dark spot that covered her lungs, and everything in me read the green light. Everything except those stupid three stooges I like to call my release fingers…..
When my mind said, “release” my fingers held the string and I done one of those famous double pump attempt at a release. Popping the clutch is what I like to call it. When I finally re-hit anchor, the only thing in me that thought this was a good time to release was those same stooped three stooges I like to call my release fingers……
Once again, when it was all done with, I had to give thanks for a clean miss. As an archer, you don’t get very many of those. A clean miss I mean. This was the lowest point in my hunting career and to say I’m disappointed in myself is an understatement.
The walk back to the truck was spent in reflection, cursing my self with every stride. I’ve told this story before here, but back in 2006, I missed a giant Colorado bull. I did the same stupid double pump clutch pop. I really re-evaluated my place in archery.
Ol’ Gauge sensed my disappointment and frustration and when I stopped to get a drink of water and continue with my evaluation under the shade of an ancient pine, he stuck his cold nose on my face, and gave me a lick that started at the shirt line of my neck and ended at my hairline of my fore-head making sure to distribute a good sized portion of dog slobber to my inner ear. “Yuck!” I couldn’t help but to pat him on his head as my other hand tried to wipe the slobber. I also couldn’t help but turn that frown upside down for a moment.
Once I reached the truck, it was back to camp to take my frustration out on the target I had. Whack, whack, whack… One, two, three, the arrows went where they belonged. A hundred times over.
It wasn’t my shooting. It was my mentality. Had I forgotten about the hunter and tried to become a killer? The questions wouldn’t stop, nor would the gut wrenching butterflies. Butterflies my bottom, what I have every time I think of that is not gut wrenching butterflies. This is far more severe. I would say I have the gut wrenching taradactles.
Enough of my sob story. I’m sorry to bore you with what I was thinking. I stayed in camp the rest of the day, and turned to something that makes every fat boy happy, and that’s FOOD!!!
It was to be Dutch oven taters, Dutch oven beer battered biscuits, along with a main course of BBQ’d wild bared boar pork chops complemented with a touch of Devil’s Spit sauce.
And to make sure and reflect and calm down by the hypnosis of a comforting fire,
Todd
Topic: For Love of the Game 2008... Update.. (Read 1674 times)
