October, 2000. We were hunting on an island in the river. The elk often would cross the island en route from their feeding area to their bedding site. We were in tree stands about 50 yards apart. At about 9:30 AM we were about to pack it in for the morning when I spotted elk crossing the river toward us. I shot the first bull and Dale shot the second - the third, which we hadn't seen was much bigger.
The bulls went out of sight about 75 yards from us and we heard the clash of antlers. That was weird.
When we finally got down we figured it out (we think). The two bulls we shot were OLD (check out the mane on the one in front) and going down hill - aged in their late teens, judging by the teeth. I think the third bull was much younger and when he saw one of the old bulls in sad shape due to an arrow in the boiler room, he nailed him. From the looks of the ground, he was knocked backwards and he croaked.
Turned into a long day hauling two bulls across the river...but I'd gladly do it again. That was quite a spot; I killed 11 elk there with recurves. We lost access to that island three years ago.
Note the broadhead sticking out the off-side (Zephyr, I think) Mine was bigger, but Dale made me eat the oldest one. I didn't have to share it with anyone, but it took me a long time to chew it all!
Topic: Hero Shots (Read 3860 times)
