I can't believe it's been four years since I last documented anything in this blog! In my defense, I've been using Instagram as a means of mini-posts, but for various reasons I'm pulling back from that.
For my 2023 archery season, I focused on the Pioneer Mountains. Having drawn an elk B tag for that unit, I could potentially shoot two elk, provided at least one was a cow. I'd hunted there a few times during the previous two seasons, had some very close encounters, and wanted to finish what I'd started. Once again having an adult job, my time was constrained so I chose to take three long weekends (Thursday - Sunday) in the middle of September and make that my season.
On the first weekend, I struggled to find elk that would bugle during shooting light. I got close to some herds in the dark only to have them vanish from under my nose before it was light enough to see. At the end of that first weekend, I was chasing a bugle up a mountain when I stumbled up on a satellite bull. We saw each other at the same time at a distance of about 60 yards. After a few minutes of frozen standoff, he began walking away from me and toward the bugle I had been chasing. I made a cow call and he decided to head my way to investigate. Over the next few minutes, I was at full draw twice. With limited shooting lanes, I was never able to get a broadside shot opportunity even though he circled me and got as close as about 25 yards before winding me.
The second weekend was even quieter than the first. I spooked a few small groups of bedded elk, convincing myself that I was in their presence but they just weren't rutting and talking. While back at work the next week, my coworker was telling me stories of the previous two weekends where he had encountered lots of elk, bugling and rutting at all hours of the day, and he was hunting only about 15 miles from where I had been focusing. He was kind enough to point me in that direction, so on my third and final weekend I went to a new location where I'd never previously explored.
Thursday afternoon and evening I hunted a seven-mile loop to get acquainted with this new area. It was raining down low, snowing up high, and foggy everywhere. At one point while stealthily walking along a ridgetop, I spotted a spike bull about 45 yards away, feeding up to the ridge top. He was soon followed by a cow, and then another. I knocked an arrow and waited for an opportunity to draw while desperately searching for a shooting lane through a maze of twiggy branches in a thick pine forest. Several more elk appeared. When the closest cow was broadside at about 25 yards, I thought I could thread the needle between two spindly branches that were six inches apart.
I released, chaos ensured as the elk stampeded off, and I saw a 2mm twiggy branch three yards in front of me gently swinging with a fresh nick. That tiny branch deflected my arrow enough to ensure a clean miss, as verified by the very un-bloody arrow lying on the ground where the elk just stood.
I continued to bump small groups of bedded elk as I snuck around, learning this new area. Toward the end of my loop and the end of daylight, I spotted several cows heading down a timbered drainage. I followed them and got as close as 67 yards before it grew too dark to see, which is still further than I'm willing to shoot. As I hiked back to my truck in the dark, I heard bugles coming from the direction the cows were heading. I made a note of the location and planned to be there at first light the following morning.
I began hiking to that location two hours before sunrise. Shortly after leaving my truck, I heard distant bugles. An hour later, I was in the bottom of a drainage with at least five distinct bugles coming from up and down the long, narrow meadow lining the drainage bottom. I was lurking in the dark timber at the edge of the meadow when it became light enough to see. Bulls were chasing cows and bugling as they ping-ponged back and forth across the meadow; multiple herds of 5 to 20 spread out over a half mile. I was in the middle of some of the most intense rut action I'd ever witnessed.
While their movement was generally chaotic, I noticed they were trending upstream. I moved through the edge of the timber, trying to get ahead of them so they would eventually move into me. After an hour of dogging them, I noticed a cow moving in the forest with me that was well within shooting range. If she continued on her trajectory, she would pass through a wide shooting lane at about 20 yards. Right before she entered the lane, I drew my bow. The slight swish of my raingear as I drew was all it took at that distance for the cow to spook...on to the next opportunity.
A few steps later, I heard another bugle, from the woods on the same side of the meadow, and this time much closer. Seconds later, I saw a lone bull strutting through a small clearing. He was moving fast and erratically, so my normal method of sneaking in was not going to be effective. I made a cow call, and he came to investigate. At 20 yards out, he was moving to my right. In the thick trees, he would pass within 10 yards of me and I would not have a shot due to a lack of unobstructed shooting lanes. I decided to draw my bow anyway and see what transpired.
I drew undetected. A few steps later, he turned 90 degrees and began moving to my left. If he kept moving in that direction, I would have a clear shooting lane. He was relaxed and slowly walking when he stepped into the lane, broadside, only 14 yards from me. I'd placed my 20-yard pin in the center of his lungs and tracked him as he moved, so when he stepped into the lane, all I had to do was release. The arrow looked and sounded good. As my adrenaline peaked and began to subside, the reality of what I had done washed over me. All of my hard work seemed as if it had paid off, but my past experience told me that it was not yet time to celebrate as elk are tough animals and imperfect shots can make it difficult to track and find animals.
The weather gods were kind enough to turn off the rain while I butchered the animal and started the arduous process of packing the meat back to my truck, a mile-and-a-half away. A good friend drove 2.5 hours to help with the second trip, adding a sense of camaraderie to an otherwise solo endeavor.
Ten years after first killing an elk with my bow, the challenge and sense of accomplishment is just as high as it was then. Elk are amazing, and there are few things more exciting than pursuing them with a bow in September!
