Elk Hunting

The most recent rain had been a brief shower two days ago, and judging by the lack of fresh tire tracks on the road, no one had been this way since. Considering these elk hunters were hunting public land, that was a good sign. It would be nice to elk hunt an area that hadn't been pressured. The second surprise came a few minutes later when they pulled the truck off the Forest Service lane into a small grassy park.

As soon as the elk hunters stepped outside we heard bulls. To the east two particularly deep-sounding bugles continually shredded the still mid-morning air. They sounded fairly close so they headed off in that direction. Ten minutes later the elk hunters seemed no closer, but then everything changed; the herd was moving their way. In response, they headed up the ridge to cut them off, but we were already too late.

Tan sides and yellow rumps passed through the timber above as the elk hunters froze in the shadow of a big pine tree waiting to take our cue from the elk. They flinched as the sharp, angry bugle of a bull suddenly pierced the silence. He was right above us, and close, but they couldn't make out his antlers through the pine trees. An immediate challenge came from farther back on the ridge. For the next 30 minutes the two bulls exchanged insults without moving more than few hundred feet. It would have been a great opportunity for a stalk but there were cows all over the place, grazing on the wide-open grassy hillside between the bull and the elk hunters. Circling might have been an option, but we were pretty well pinned down by all the cows. They couldn't do a thing until they drifted out of sight.

Rather than move off, the cows began bedding. At the same time, the distant bull began drawing closer. A showdown was in the offing. The nervous bull above the elk hunters circled his harem several times as his rival drew near, then everything broke loose. The elk hunters don't know for sure if one of the cows finally spotted them or if the approaching bull stirred things up, but in a flash the entire herd was up and moving - fast.

"Come on," the elk hunting guide hissed through his facemask as he took off running toward the ridge top and the rapidly departing herd. In front of the elk hunters, the bugling intensified until it was almost continual. It sounded like there were at least three bulls in the herd now, and another converging fast from our left - a totally different bull. The fourth bull had a particularly high-pitched, almost hideous bugle. It sounded like some kind of prehistoric dinosaur screaming. The sound of it made their hair stand up. His voice was easy to separate from the mêlée. Apparently one of the cows was in heat because the bulls were really going crazy.

Finally, the elk hunters could see the herd 150 yards ahead of them through the open timber of the ridge top - moving steadily away from them. There were three bulls. One was a very interesting 6 X 6 with heavily palmated tops. He was a 300-inch plus bull and a possible shooter.

The bull with the high-pitched shriek continued to angle up out of the dark ravine to their left. He was moving fast on a beeline straight for the action. The moment had the tension and urgency of a lit fuse sizzling toward a stick of dynamite. And, the elk hunters were pushing to get right in the middle of it - waiting (hoping) for the explosion.

This was their second elk hunt of the day and had they been a little more aggressive right out of the blocks, they would have been field dressing a bull 15 miles away instead.

That first elk hunt had been somewhat the product of desperation. They had been seeing lots of bulls but precious few shooters. After seven days of hard elk hunting the elk hunting guide decided to try to sneak an ace card out of his shirtsleeve. A few days before they arrived for the elk hunt, one of the elk hunting guide's friends called him and told him about a 340-inch bull that was feeding each morning in an alfalfa field only a half-mile from a nearby town. According to the report, the bull and his herd were leaving the field by the same route at the same time each morning.

The elk hunting guide told the elk hunters the story the day they got into camp. They both agreed that elk aren't cattle, and filed it away as a last resort play. Finally, after getting their hind ends kicked in all parts of the national forest they were ready to check it out.

Lights from town were still clearly visible on the morning of day eight as they pulled onto the shoulder and cut the engine. As soon as they rolled their windows down, they broke into broad grins. Why hadn't they tried this sooner? They could hear at least three different bulls and two of them had very deep, raspy bugles. It was all private land in this area, but the elk hunting guide had permission. Off they went, scaling a high promontory that flanked the field. They waited on the ridge for daylight so they could get a look at this "340 bull". When the sky finally turned pink in the east they were shocked. Sure enough, there he stood and he was that big!

Now all they had to do was figure out where they'd been leaving the field each morning and this "last resort elk hunt" would be a slam-dunk. The elk hunter wanted to run right into the herd with a knife clenched between his teeth. Actually, he was urging that they immediately look for the trail. The elk hunting guide pressed for patience. He wanted to watch from their vantage point, assuming they had plenty of time to get in front of the herd once they began to move. In situations like this, patience is generally rewarded, but not this time. They didn't count on a rush for the exit that would have made a fire panic look sluggish.

As soon as the sun broke over the distant peaks, the entire herd literally trotted out of the field. They could only watch with their mouths hanging open as they quickly skirted the end of the ridge where they sat and headed for the hills on a trail that was easily as wide as a sidewalk. There were several cedar trees within bow range of the trail that would have made for an easy ambush. Rather than chase them into the rim-rock, they vowed to come back the next morning and take advantage of what they'd learned.

In the meantime, the elk hunting guide wanted to check out a few honey holes in the national forest nearby. That's what led them down the little-used Forest Service road and put them in the front row for the remake of Jurassic Park.

"There he is," the elk hunting guide hissed over the elk hunter's right shoulder. "He's a shooter." The screamer from the dark ravine was finally in sight. After seven days the elk hunter wasn't about to question a green light, so he quickly jumped behind a two-foot diameter pine tree and nocked an arrow. The elk hunting guide flattened on the ground and sent out a single cow call. The bull instantly whirled and began heading their way at a fast walk, stopping only long enough to bugle right in their faces - that same hideous sound - once at 60 yards and again at 40.

Standing, the elk hunter kept the tree between the bull and himself. When he stopped at 40 yards he drew, but the angle was bad - he was still facing them. Now, as he continued he was clear of the tree and the elk hunter was seemingly visible, but he never picked him out of the tree's shadow.

"When you've got a shot I'll stop him," the elk hunting guide said in a low whisper.

The elk hunter was struggling to hold things together. It was awesome watching such a huge animal walk majestically through the wide-open timber mere yards away. He had shot a lot of good-sized deer and other big game, and he always got excited - but nothing like this. There is something different about elk - they freak him out, and I know he is not alone in that regard. It was only by sheer willpower that he waited for the bull to present a shot.

Finally, he came broadside. "Ok," the elk hunter said to the elk hunting guide in a hoarse, choking whisper.

He chirped once on the cow call and the bull stopped on a dime and turned to look quizzically in their direction. The elk hunter brought the sight onto his massive chest. Flustered, he didn't know if he was 20 yards or 30 yards, but he knew he probably wasn't closer or farther. Fortunately, his chest was so big that both pins fit nicely right in the pocket behind his front leg. The elk hunter sure the form wasn't pretty - a little trigger punching was likely involved. The most lasting impression of the shot was the arrow dipping lower than he'd expected and impacting a few inches farther forward. The shaft struck the meat at the back of the front leg with a solid thwack.

The bull immediately whirled and broke the arrow shaft off before running only 75 yards down the slope toward the deep ravine. From there he walked out of sight into the ditch. He'd been out of sight for only a few seconds when we heard a crash. Immediately the elk hunting guide reached out and shook the elk hunter's hand. "He's dead," he said. "You got him." After 7 ½ days of hard elk hunting, they were both pretty well pumped.

As they discussed their options, they convinced ourselves to wait a full hour. That crash didn't necessarily mean he was down, but they conceded that it was very encouraging. As they waited, the elk hunter directed the elk hunting gudie to the broken arrow - a full 30 yards away. That explained the hit being slightly lower than expected - bull fever explained the rest. Comparing the arrow to the ones still in the elk hunter's quiver they were relieved to see that it had penetrated 14 to 16 inches, certainly deep enough to get both lungs.

When they finally did take up the trail it was shockingly light, causing them to second-guess their enthusiasm. The elk hunter stayed back to work it out as the elk hunting guide headed for the bottom of the ravine. He didn't have long to wait before he heard him shout. The bull was stone dead at the bottom of the ravine. The arrow had passed through both lungs before lodging in the shoulder on the other side. The broken-off arrow shaft was still blocking the entry hole, explaining the scant blood trail.

Walking up on any trophy is always bittersweet. Most hunters live for the thrill of the chase and when the tag is filled and the chase is over. Plus, this was a majestic animal that lay at their feet. His death deserved respect rather than exuberance. They paid him his due in the next few minutes, quietly discussing the elk hunt and the beauty of the elk trophy. Then reality set in: they were looking at 1,000 pounds of elk at the very bottom of a steep ravine. At that point the elk hunter reminded the elk hunting guide that he was on a guided hunt!