September approached at a snail's pace. If you ask my wife, Emily, she’d tell you my entire camp was packed by the back door in March. All summer, I checked weather.com regularly, hopeful rain would fall, but it didn’t. 2007 was one of the driest springs/early summers on record. I worried that the water tanks would dry-up and the elk would be in bad shape. Fortunately, August monsoon rains were intense and relieved the scorched ground with good moisture.
I pulled in five days prior to opening day hoping to look over a good part of the unit, which is mainly covered in lowland juniper, pinyon pines, and grass prairies with elk occupying every square mile of it. My first morning while scouting, I stumbled across too many other hunters in the elk hotspots. A recent personality test labeled me as an extrovert; I disagree. So naturally I packed up my gear and headed towards plan B, the most remote terrain in the unit, where perhaps I wouldn’t have to see or talk to anybody. I smiled with sparkling hope and life as I drove by another unlucky juniper that fell victim to a testosterone-filled Arizona bull.
I spent four days scouting up in my new remote location with just one other pickup driving through. I looked over 30 different bulls; most of them in the 280-310” range, a handful in the 320-330” range and just a couple in the 340-360” category. In this region, elk depend on good grass and water-tanks (potholes) to survive. The moisture and grass is crucial for bulls to grow antlers to their full-potential. If a drought occurs, the sparse nutrients available are used to keep the bulls alive and their antler growth suffers. The bull’s antlers suffered from the earlier drought. I noticed most of the top-ends of the antlers (the fourth and fifth points) were stunted. I wasn’t going to let this get me down from my high hopes of finding a bull with great fourths that I could dub “Swords”. As time went by, this isolated land soon became familiar and home to me. This is where I would kill my bull.
Tim Grosch, a good friend and native Nebraskan, arrived in camp the day before the hunt with a big smile. What in the world is more exciting than the jitters on the eve before a big hunt?
Opening morning finally arrived. The dry morning air seemed warm with a tang of sage. The pink rays of the morning sun brought with it the splendid sound of bugles. Tim and I swiftly closed the gap to take a peek at each bugling bull before they would move off through the thick junipers. One bull was a great 6x6 with 20” thirds and nice fronts but short in the back, a legit 340” bull. His large beams rested against his rump, bugling in the early morning sun; it was a picture right out of a magazine. I whispered, “How could I pass up a bull like that?” Tim replied “Well you better decide if you want him, he’s pushin’ those cows this way!” I scooted behind the closest juniper root just in time to have a cow almost run me over. The bull was in close pursuit and stopped 25 yards broadside staring me down. His large body heaving in exhaustion, I pulled back and placed my 30 yard pin right behind his shoulder, “THWACK!!” I shouted subconsciously… as I lowered the bow and arrow to watch the bull continue to chase the cows. I could have killed a very respectable bull by 6:30 opening morning!
The day was eventful with several close-encounters with nice bulls even though rutting activity wasn’t in full-swing yet. We made it back to the truck after dark. The weather pattern was consistent day in, day out: still and cool until 7:30 AM, then 20 mph southwest winds and 90 degrees until 6:00 in the evening, when the wind and temperature would lessen. It didn’t leave much time to truly hunt effectively.
The next morning we were back in the same area as the night before. The bulls were rutting halfheartedly with an occasional bugle here and there. The usual southwestern winds began to pick up and warmed the morning air. From a good vantage point, we sat in some shade and glassed, cow-calling occasionally. I pulled my fresh cow urine in estrus gel from my pack and smeared a smidge on Tim’s belt (a practice I accomplished several times during the hunt). Tim turned towards me bug-eyed, taking a big whiff like he just got served some homemade berry pie… “Ya smell that Mike? We’re close!” I nodded my head. Tim hit the side of my leg, “I hear something coming.” From nowhere, a small 4-point bull ran right down wind 10 yards from us. The bull got a good whiff of the urine gel. His nose flared and his eyes gleamed, kind of like Tim’s when he’d smelled it.
“Mike, I got elk!” Tim revealed. A herd of cows was moving through some pinions a half mile in front of us. A real nice bull brought up the rear. If the rut wasn’t on, the other bulls had forgotten to tell this guy.? Through the muddled heat-waves in our binos, I saw the perfect roundup. A cow puncher couldn’t have herded these cows any better. He was a legit 350” bull, which was my target on this hunt. We quickly got downwind from the herd as they found a nice heavy clump of junipers to bed in. I decided I would slip as close as I could into the herd and wait for a broadside shot…even if it took all day; Tim would stay back and wait for events to unfold. I slipped on my wool booties to dampen the clatter of my clumsy steps and began the stalk. I slithered within 60 yards of his cows. I dared not creep any closer. I nocked an arrow and waited. For an hour, I watched the bull strutting around his cows and waited for him to present a shot.
Unexpectedly, another bugle upwind caught the attention of the entire herd. The intruding bull, which I never got to see through the thick junipers, came in quickly and raided the herd taking several of the cows. The original herd bull didn’t have the guts to protect, therefore he took his frustration out on an innocent, vulnerable juniper; branches were flung high into the air like confetti. The remaining cows sensed his irritation and didn’t want to be around such a grump. The lead cow escorted the small herd, including the bull, out of the trees across the grasslands, and out of my life.
I was thwarted that I was so close but yet, so far from getting a shot at the bull. We walked over and gave our condolences to the lifeless juniper and headed towards the truck. We had only walked a few hundred yards and Tim nosed the air, like a wirehair on chukars, “Ya smell ‘em?” I looked at his belt and nodded. The area really looked elky: elk beds under every tree, fresh rubs, and fresh sign littering the ground. Could this be where the antlered rustler brought the stolen cows? “Tim, try your darndest to sound like a sexy cow”. It was 12:30 and 90 degreees hot. Tim scooted downwind of me and called loudly battling the wind. Abruptly, under the juniper canopy elk legs danced towards us approaching on a dead run! I pulled back my bow just in time to see a young 6-point run 30 yards from us kicking up dust. He ran right past us in search of the hot cow. Seconds later, a cow approached from the same area the bull did. Upwind, a bottomless bugle echoed through the trees. We smiled and I mentally prepared myself for what was to happen next.
The bugles were that of a mature bull and they were getting closer. I marked several trees in front of me with my rangefinder. In no time, I saw black legs moving out into the opening in front of me. The bull stepped out, quartering towards me at 45 yards. It was love at first sight. I took a quick look at his antlers and noticed his swords! It was the first bull I had seen on the trip with great swords. His fronts were nice, his thirds looked great, but his fifths were a bit short. Should I shoot? It’s only second day. That’s a nice bull! The bull couldn’t see any cows and nervously turned back towards the trees. Tim blew his magic with perfect timing and the bull turned to take another look. He moved behind a juniper that I had ranged at 38 yards when I drew. As he stepped out he immediately saw something awry. His entire body tensed ready to bolt. I placed the 40 yard pin behind his shoulder, took a deep breath, and released…The bull flinched and dropped his body as the arrow hit. What was looking like a great shot was a bit higher than intended. Instantaneously, blood painted his blonde body as he disappeared into the trees.
Emotion set in and I knew I just killed my best bull with my bow!!! My bloody arrow rested atop a juniper branch behind where the bull stood; a clean pass-through. His tracks were fairly easy to identify with big deep scuffs and large dew claw indentations in the soft soil. Blood spurted out from the side where I hit him, but not from the exit side. Tim and I took our sweet time stopping every ten yards to glass ahead for the dead bull. After 300 yards of tracking, I knelt down peering under the juniper canopy, that’s when I saw the one thing every archer longs for….a dead animal at the end of a blood trail. What an emotional high. As I held his magnificent antlers up and stroked his long brown mane, I was reminded why I devote so much of my time and energy in preparation for a hunt like this. This was definitely a bull I could call “Swords”. The bull is my best yet. He scores 353” Pope and Young.
During our last pack-out, strapped down with loads of meat, Tim and I stopped and rested on a small bluff. It had been dark for quite some time, but we didn’t need to see the valley below, in our mind’s eye we both knew how striking it was. The wind had died for the evening and the bulls were bugling in concerto. Above us, the Milky Way looked like a stroke of white paint across the black sky. I vowed one day I would be back on that ridge. We arrived at camp exhausted; Tim crawled in his sleeping bag in the back of his truck. “Mike, can you still smell elk?” I was already in good spirits looking up at the stars from my sleeping bag. Earlier I had smeared a little magic gel near his bed to help give him good dreams. I chuckled a little. “Yeah, I smell ‘em. Good night Tim.” Thanks Tim for all your excellent help on the hunt. Thank you Emily for allowing me to live my dreams!
No comments:
Post a Comment