Elk hunting with Josh

So, this morning I was lying there in bed. Trying to be still. I just can't sleep much past seven or so. So, I knew the baby had Stacey up late (and puked on her) and Stacey is really tired. But I lay there, thinking about things. One of the things that went through my mind (and why wouldnt it?) while holding Ms. Kitty up next to me was the elk hunt where Josh and I went with my father-in-law on the bow hunt. It was a couple of years ago. Maybe three or four. Not germaine really. Anyhow, Clint is my father-in-law. He's really a great man and I have a lot of respect for him. But see, he's always making fun of my bow. I have a bow that is not less than 20 years old. Over the years since I've married Stacey, we've gone out to maybe two archery shoots and practiced less that two or three times together. This was the first ever hunt we've ever been on together.

We were going down to the Gooseberry, near Salina, Utah. Clint was bringing his travel trailer, and Josh and I were to be guests along with Scott who's Clint's long-time hunting buddy. Anyhow, within the previous weeks, months and years, Clint has always seen fit to pretty much discount my bow. I think I paid 90 bucks for it around 1989. It's a Bear. A Whitetail II model. It's a simple compound bow, with a 75lb draw. It shoots the old 2117 arrows and a hodge-podge of old-school Satellite broadheads (see also, "Cheap"). I tell you what, I dont spend a lot on my gear. When I was a kid, I'd buy two dozen arrows each season. Practice with one dozen, and hunt with the second dozen. Usually, I can get two or three seasons out of the same two dozen arrows. Anyhow, I shoot about a 30" draw, with no over-draw, no trigger system, no peep sight. It's pretty bare bones. Just four pins of brass design which actually have different color fingernail polish to make them stand out. I'm that dang cheap. Anyhow, Clint continually tries to get me to purchase a new bow at a minimum of $500 bucks, usually $700 with another $300 bucks in accoutrement. Money a young father of four just doesnt have as a priority.

Anyhow, we'd scheduled four or five days. Days 1-3 were pretty uneventful. We'd gotten up to the hunting areas in my mind almost at the tail end of prime hunting time each morning. I was getting frustrated with the pace with which we were moving. So on the later-half of the third day, while we were out riding on the four-wheelers looking over a canyon, we finally spotted from 1500 yards away a single elk. So, that evening I asked Josh if he would like to put on some more miles and we'd hike over to the bluff and see what we could find. Well I'll be honest, Josh impresses me EVERY time we hunt together. I think at the time I think he was seven. Well the kid just doesnt complain. You can hike him over hill and dale and he'll keep pace the best he can without murmuring. Anyhow, we drove the ATV down to the trail head and then headed out across the little valley and into the treeline. On our way in we saw some older sign and it made me feel like we might even see an animal that day.

Well we hiked up to the end of the tree line and walked along a ledge. It was steep and hard-going, but Josh was in his usual top form. Well we walked up on a ledge of sorts that was really a cut in the side face no more than maybe 20 yards across. There was a nice manicured trail and we decided to cut across the side-face on the trail making our way up the canyon. We walked for maybe ten minutes and heard our first bugle. See a bugle, for the uninitiated, is probably the second greatest sound in the world. I'll tell you the first greatest sound in the world someday when you're a little older. Anyhow, a bugle, is a bull elk's way of telling the world he's pissed off, but interested in finding a nice lady friend or six to keep time with. It happens in the fall when they go into rut. I will honestly tell you one of the greatest things in life, is to have stand on a mountain on a crisp September morning and hear the deep throaty call of a bull elk in rut. It sounds like "EEEEEEEEEEEooohh ochh ohch ocohchhc " and when you add in the surreal nature of where you're standing, and smell the elk scat, the deep mountain pines and the rustle of the aspens giving way to the beginning of Winter's call, it's insane. It's truly one of the most incredible things you can experience. Additionally, when you see these 700-900 lb animals up close, blissfully unaware of your presence, raking the hell out of some poor tree you get a real feel for exactly how wild these animals are. The deep brown eyes blazing with anger, his fore and hind legs tensed ready to crush an opposing bull smelling his muddy coat rife with urine and earthy power, it's crazy.

Anyhow, we heard this bugle ahead of us. I immediately took a knee, knocked and arrow and listened to a distant retort to the bugle. Another bull was talking trash. Challenging our bull. It's important to note that female elk, "Cows" talk too. They have a "mew" that they do. You can often stop a bull in his tracks with a soft mew because he's so blind with rage at trying to find a gal-pal that he'll sit up and take notice. Anyhow, there are calls for all that, and a whole library of techniques on how to do it which frankly are just too much for me to handle. All I know is bulls bugle and get pissed, and cows mew and calm things down. It's that simple.

So, as we're sitting there, debating on how far away the first bugle was, I looked up, and diagonally down and to our left a young spike bull was walking toward us on a parallel trail. Of course, the moment which I am about to describe is the best moment and the entire reason you are even in the field to start with. He was walking, head down, at about seven miles per hour. They are so large that their natural gate keeps them moving on the hop. Anyhow, he walked between three trees on the trail and I drew. I knew without even guessing that this animal was dead-to-rights at between 17-20 yards. He was so close that if I had really wanted to I could have hit him right in they eye. I have no doubt that I can hit anything inside a 2" circle at 20 yards, a 4" circle at thirty yards, an 8" circle at forty, and I'd hit him in the chest at fifty yards. So, suffice it to say, he was pretty much already in the freezer it was just the formality of getting him into packaging.

So, this beautiful animal, with spikes about 18" long stops at a cant at maybe 17 yards. Using my twenty yard pin and with tunnel vision I threaded the arrow deep into his chest. I heard a "thunk" and saw him wheel down and jump off the trail. In his haste I saw the arrow buried high in the chest and protruding no more than 8" out of his chest cavity. I immediately stopped, marked the spot with the GPS and orange tape and proceeded to hyperventilate while reliving the moment again and again with Josh. I was "STOKED" to say the least. The reality of taking a bull elk with my son, on his first bow hunt with me in such a manner was just too much to take in.

I counted the thirty minutes while we walked over to where he dove off the trail. By the way, that's the longest thirty minutes of your life. You can't immmediately chase an animal after you shoot him with a bow, because he needs to bleed out and lay down and die. If you start chasing him immediately, he'll jump up over and over and you'll lose the blood trail. If you let him lay down, he'll usually travel less than a couple hundred yards and you'll find him after an extensive (and again intense) search looking for bloodlets on the fauna and ground. The tracking usually takes place when your buddies show up and you cut concentric circles looking for blood and culminates in the moment of discovery. Well, Josh and I started looking for blood and didnt find a drop. What we did find, was an incredibly torn-up trail that cut diagonally down into the tall grass. I went up and down and up and down that trail until the last possible moment of daylight looking for a single drop of blood. To no avail. I was sick inside.

Well, we finally realized it was time to get off the mountain. Josh was getting nervous as the fleeting rays of sun began to settle on the mountain behind us. We had quite a bit of defeated walking to do back to the ATV.

We got back to camp, recounted the story to all that would listen and settled in for another sleepless night. I hate to waste game. I hate it with a passion. I believe that ethical hunting demands you do everything you can to find animals that you hit and harvest them. I believe they are a blessing and should be treated with great appreciation at the opportunity God has given us to harvest them accordingly. So this animal was the second animal in my life I've ever lost and was assuredly dead somewhere.

Well the next day came and went with little or no incident. I'd hit the first one on Friday, and Saturday was pathetic. Sunday there was a light misting rain, and I asked Josh if he wanted to go back up where we'd hit the first one. This time we came in from the other end of the trail and walked toward the trail where we'd hit our bull. I was feeling pretty defeated and I just wanted to sit beside the trail with Josh. I had seen a giant pine that was about 20 yards off the trail. There was about a 30 yard wide by 50 yard long flat spot we could watch and sit out the drizzle while we commiserated on the final day's hunt.

Whenever I sit, I start to mark off mental distances to certain objects. 20 yards to that stump, 35 yards to that tree, etc. As I was doing this, and making a nice little sitting area for us, I heard a snap immediately to our left on the side face. Turning, and looking over the top of Josh, I saw a spike bull walking through the high tall grass. He was at once about 25 yards from us, and closing the distance fast. I whispered to Josh to crouch down and move out of the way and drew my bow. The bull stopped, looked right at us, and then started walking toward us again. His chest was half covered in the high grass, and when I walked the pins across his chest it filled the 20,30, and 40 yard pins. There was no way he was much more than 15 yards away. I let the arrow fly and it burrowed deep into his chest. He wheeled around, and I knocked another arrow. He started to run back the way he came, and I asked Josh to do his, "mew". Josh did, and the young bull stopped. However there was a tree across his vitals and I couldnt let the second arrow fly. Finally the bull got nervous and made a move forward. However his rear end dropped out from under him and he kicked violently to get up. He got up again, staggered, and then proceded to tumble over and over down to the trail. Start to finish first arrow to death was probably 30 seconds. It was incredible.

Seriously, I was in shock. Two days before, Josh and I had lost a bull, and here we were, standing over a 700 lb animal. A 33 year old man and a seven year old boy. Now what? Well I tried in vain to get anyone on the radio. Finally I field dressed him and then sat on a rock. Blood up to my shoulders. Me and the boy. Sitting there. With this giant animal. So finally I decided I would cut him in half just below the ribs and start down with the rear quarters. I cut off his legs below the hock and cut slits behind the hock for my hands to slide through. I towed him down the mountain, Josh carrying my bow and losing arrows along the way. Finally about 500 yards down the hill, we ran into Scott. I have since that day found a deeper appreciation for the work a man can do in his mid-fifties. Scott was a God-send that day. We got the rear end down with considerable effort. I would say the rear end was in excess of 300lb. We went and retrieved Scott's ATV and recovered the rear and went back for the one front quarter and the tenderloins out of the back-strap. We had everything worth taking off the mountain and back on the ATV by 1:00.

Well, back at camp I had the dubious honor of telling Clint how my twenty yhear old, ugly, marred, and less-than-sexy bow had killed another bull. See, I still say, I really dont care how much you spend on gear. No matter how shiny it is. It doesnt matter how much you spend. You of course must start with quality, but all the bells and whistles dont mean squat if you never even see the animal. I think I taught my boy some things that trip. Things about ethical hunting. Things about enjoying the outdoors. Things about the animals themselves. But most off all, I think at seven years old he understood. It aint the price of the magic wand, but the magic within. If you can't shoot, you cant shoot. I dont care how much that bow costs. If you stick to the fundamentals, then all the add-ons in the world are nice-to-haves but you should really focus more of your efforts on educating yourself, and practicing with your gear.

I enjoyed that hunt. It will live on forever in my heart. Not because of the animal, but because of my son. For that time which to me is priceless. For the opportunity, which I consider golden, to teach him the value of things, and instill in him how much I love him and how, with dependable gear, and a can-do attitude, you can make things happen in this world.

Gotta run now, time to get ready for church.