Coastal Elk 2013

The evening before the hunt begins. I'm perched glassing large areas of clear cuts and fir plantations. There's a cool pacific breeze. It finally feels like fall is in the air. For months, I missed the sweet smell of salty breeze and fir pitch. an aroma you only find hunting the northwest coastal habitat. It feels like elk season. In the distance I hear waves crashing against the edge of the continent...or maybe it is just the high winds rushing through a large stand of western cedars. We glass up several different bulls in one clear cut. A tried and true location where we've hunted elk opening day in years past.

Mike sharpening his broadheads the night before

Later that evening, I hear my first bugle of the season. A bull that teeters in size between a herd bull and an over-sized satellite bull. He demands to be heard bellowing out as he walks rigidly towards his growing posse of cows.

...It's now opening morning. I slink in with wool socks on top of where the multiple bulls are the night before. A young bull and cow pop up on the road I'm creeping along just a hundred yards in front of me. I feel a hunch the other bulls will pop up close-by. I crouch in the roadside grass and wait with Mike, my hunting buddy, just behind me. I worry that although the wind is almost non-existent, the little bit that there there is... is swirling.

A stick pops below me 20 yards and my heart stops when I see only the two top points of a bull's antlers bouncing back and forth as the bull feeds in the grass unaware of my being. A couple minutes seem like forever. Now, there are two bulls and I still only see the tops of their antlers. They are too close, they will detect me. I try my best to stay cool and composed. Should I stand up without them being aware of my presence?... I'll wait.

Anticipation is killing me!! Bulls just over the lip...I'm waiting

The top of the elk rack whips around quickly showing sudden detection of a threat. I know what he detects and I stand to reveal myself, bow pulled back and ready to kill. The blonde body looks huge but behind a thick-branched bush. I can't shoot. The bull's eyes widen and nostrils flare as I focus into his view and he barks and runs. A cow call from Mike stops them. I release and hit the bull in the back side of the shoulder and three bulls run over the steep bank.

I run towards them in fear that there wasn't enough penetration. The bulls stand 60 yards below me looking up a bit confused. I pull back my bow and as they make their last escape, the blur of carbon and steel sinks deep into the bull. We watch the bull run another 70 yards before he lays down one last time.

Desert Shadow on the coast? Elk didn't seem to mind.

The opening morning sun hasn't even kissed the mountain horizon and elk season was over for me. Happy? Yes. A bit anticlimactic? Maybe. Regret?  Hell no. My mind refocuses on task at hand. I need to get this meat packed up and home although I'd love to stay and hunt with Mike. Tomorrow I'll dismantle each muscle from this massive body, wrap it, and mark it as either steak, roast, or burger. On our way down the mountain, we break into Rachel's eclairs even before considering washing off our blood-soaked hands. The adrenaline from the morning mixed with the sweet pudding and chocolate makes for a fine ride back to the blacktop.