Humbled in Oregon

After experiencing a string of archery success, I was put in my place last week by the elk in Eastern Oregon. I met up with my good friend and hunting mentor, Jake, for a week of hunting over Labor Day.

The first day of hunting started out promising enough. As I sat water after backpacking in a couple of miles, a lone cow elk drank for several minutes at 50 yards. As it was the first day and I was hoping to shoot a bull, I passed on this first cow (my tag was good for any elk). A short while later, another cow came to drink at 130 yards. I took some video but didn't try to move in for a shot. A little while later, a cow, calf, and spike bull came in. I drew on the spike bull at about 35 yards at which point they all spooked. A few minutes later, a second spike bull, two cows, and two calves came in. Once again, I spooked the group when I tried to draw. This time the spike was at about 20 yards.

I was only half committed to shooting a spike anyway, at this point, so I wasn't too upset that things didn't go my way. In fact, I was stoked that my "secret" water hole location was working out so well. I knew it was a matter of time until a mature bull came in.

The entire next day, no elk came in, and there was no sign that there were any elk in the entire valley. Same the next morning, so we packed back out to the trucks to hunt a different area. Over the next few days we found small herds and isolated elk here and there.

On about the fourth day, I was in the process of crossing a valley to sneak in on a small herd near the opposite ridge. As I neared the bottom of the drainage, I heard what sounded like a bull raking its antlers on a tree. Thinking it must be close if I could hear raking, I promptly took off my boots and donned my extra pair of socks. I entered stealth mode and began closing the distance.

I got my first glimpse of the bull and ranged it at 98 yards. He was raking the hell out of a large bush. With eyes on the bull to know when he was completely preoccupied, I continued to close the distance. I ranged him again at 70 yards, trying not to notice that it was a mature, 6-point bull, much larger than any elk I had ever been this close to. At 60 yards I ran out of cover, but the bull continued to feed and rake in my direction.

Soon enough, he was broadside at 50 yards. When his head was down feeding, I drew my bow without being detected. I settled my 50-yard pin over his vitals and released, confident that the meat was as good as in my freezer. Then I hear the heartbreaking sound of arrow exploding on rock - a clean miss. I was shocked. I never miss my target at that distance and had recently made a great 42 yard shot on a mule deer.

After my shot, the bull looked up, wondering what just happened. He took a few steps and resumed feeding. I would get a second chance! I re-ranged the bull, thinking perhaps I aimed for the wrong distance. A giant bull elk at 50 yards seems much closer, so I did not trust my instincts. After taking a couple steps, the bull was now at 48 yards. I again was able to draw undetected, settled my 50 yard pin a little below the center of his vitals, and released. Same result. Arrow shatters on rocks behind the elk. As shocked as I was at missing the first time, multiply that by 10 for missing twice in a row.

The bull moved about 10 yards this time before resuming his raking and feeding ritual. I grew angry with myself for screwing up such a textbook stalk with such embarrassing shooting. If the elk was going to stick around, I was going to move in for a closer shot as he was now behind a hedge of bushes. When I was about 30 yards away and all I cold see was his antlers in the bush, the bull had finally moved across the hillside far enough that he was down wind of me. Once he caught my scent, he was off, never to be seen again.

I was emotionally crushed to have worked so hard for just such an opportunity only to botch what should be the easiest part. It took me a couple of days to get out of my funk, and by then my week of hunting was nearing its end. I was torn between appreciating the amazing close encounter I had with feeling terrible that I screwed it up. Had I shot slightly straighter, I likely would have wounded the elk, never recovered it, and felt even worse. I tried to take consolation in the fact that my shots were super shitty instead of just a little bit shitty, but that didn't really work.

Over the last few days we saw and chased elk, but I never had another legitimate opportunity. I learned multiple lessons from my experience that I hope will prevent me from making the same mistake again. Perhaps more importantly, I did some serious reflection on why I hunt and how I define success. I put too much pressure on myself to come home with meat. When this doesn't happen, I feel like I've failed and struggle to appreciate all of the amazing experiences I have during the pursuit.

Jake did manage to get a grouse with his longbow, so we didn't get totally skunked

With a solid string of success, I subconsciously developed expectations of coming home with a full cooler. I'm working to adjust my expectations to coming home with multiple great memories, and to consider it a bonus if the cooler is full. I should get a chance to exercise my new expectations next weekend when I return to Oregon to hunt the final weekend of the archery season.