It was before daylight on a windless September morning. I was huffing and puffing my way up a trail following Bear Creek in the Washakie wilderness of northwest Wyoming. This was the second day of what was to be a 10 day elk hunt, and I was brimming with confidence.
Ahead, there was a big park, and in times past, I had seen elk on its edges at first light. This was where my initial attention would be focused on this morning.
I tried not to shiver as I hiked; it was a typical cool morning at 9000 feet, and along with the excitement of the hunt and the temperature, I felt chilly. I pulled the bow a few times while walking, trying to loosen up so that I could be ready if an opportunity came along.
About 100 yards before I entered the park, I decided to bugle. First light was making it where I could make out shapes, and so I thought that if an elk answered, there should be enough light to take a shot. I had not taken the grunt tube from my lips when a bull screamed at me, and the sound came from directly ahead, maybe 150 yards away, which would put him uphill from me and probably in the open sagebrush area of the park. As my heart rate went up, I drew an arrow from my Catquiver and felt for the locator nock, putting the arrow on the string by feel, and started to slowly edge my way forward.
It took maybe 5 minutes to move that 100 or so yards, always looking up toward the hill ahead to see if there was any movement. The bull bugled another time during that few minutes, and the adrenalin was pumping. Just ahead was a steep slope that was about 50 feet high, and I knew that just beyond that the park leveled out, and that was where I thought the bull should be. As I planned my attack, I started to see cows moving on top of the slope, and then there was MR. elk, mingling with his cows. They were all somewhat backlighted by the early morning dawn, and the bull sported some very large and impressive antlers. He was at least a 6x6, maybe more, and very wide and tall. He was maybe 30 yards away, and straight up the hill. I was pumped, and he was the king of his domain.
The arrow was on the string, and I brought the recurve to full draw and let fly. There was a 'whack' sound, and the bull jumped sideways, but did not leave. Confused, I nocked another wooden 'bullet' and let fly again, this time seeing the white fletch go over his back. He stayed, and I loaded up yet again. Completely flustered, I launched another one over his back, and this time he got the picture and decided it was time to leave and take his cows with him, but not before standing in the middle of the park, maybe 100 yards from me, and bugling his head off.
Well, I had heard that 'whack', so I hit something on that first shot. I went up the hill to where he had been standing initially, and there, laying in plain sight, was a sliver of elk antler about 6 inches long. My first shot had been right where I was looking; right at his huge antlers, and the arrow shaved a momento of the hunt for me. It was to be the only bit of an elk that I would take home that year.
Since elk and I have a love/hate relationship, this story is not one of my favorites to tell, but it is typical of my elk hunting exploits over a bunch of years. This only goes to show that an instinctive shooter had better bear down and 'pick a spot', and preferably that spot should not be a bull's antlers.
Topic: Once Upon A Time- Monsters that got away ! (Read 843 times)
