2023 Archery Season Wrap Up

 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.

After a few minutes, I went to find my arrow. It was a passthrough shot, and I found it lying about 10 yards beyond where the elk stood when I shot, covered in bright red lung blood. I began looking around for a blood trail, but in the rainy, dreary conditions, blood was impossible to spot. After 15 minutes, I began slowly tracking his frantic hoof prints back into the small clearing where I had first seen him. I passed a large wet spot on the side of an otherwise dry tree trunk, noticed that spot was covered in elk hair, and confirmed it to be blood. As I stepped into the clearing and scanned my surroundings, I noticed a brown spot about 60 yards away. I raised my binoculars and confirmed that it was a dead bull elk, less than 100 yards from where I'd shot him. Then came the rush of emotions associated with the sense of accomplishment; gratitude that I was able to make a quick, clean kill; sadness that I'd just ended the life of an animal I highly respect and admire; and happiness that my freezer will once again be filled with elk meat.

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!

More Lessons Learned

Toward the end of September, I went back to Oregon for about four more days of archery elk hunting. The timing of this trip would put me very close to the peak of the rut, with elk behaving much differently than during my previous trip. My experiences, while amazing, left such a bitter taste in my mouth that I didn't feel like writing about it until now.

I didn't see any elk the first evening. The next morning, I ran into a few other hunters who I had encountered the year before. One of them told me of a small herd with a big bull that had just entered some trees in the bottom of steep canyon. Since he couldn't get the bull to come in to his calls, he told me I was welcome to go try to find them.

I promptly descended into the canyon, walking as quietly as I could in the loose, noisy shale. I got into the trees near where I thought the elk might be and decided to just sit down and listen for a while. I thought I heard a small stick break about 50 yards sidehill to my right. Then I didn't hear anything else for a while and chocked the sound up to a squirrel or random forest noise. Ten or 15 minutes later, the wind shifted and the herd I was after thundered away from the very spot I'd heard the sound. They crossed an open area, where I managed to get this shot of the herd bull.

A very respectable bull for the area

I followed the herd for about a mile before completely losing their trail and giving up. With this small herd being the only elk I'd seen, in an area where I knew there were at least a couple hundred more, I decided to move on and check some other areas. The next morning I loaded my backpack and prepared to be out for the last three days of the season. After hiking about 2 miles, I heard a faint, mid-day bugle way down below me. I immediately dropped my pack and prepared to drop down and chase the bugle, which I soon heard a few more times.

I concealed myself in sparse fir and juniper trees as I slowly made my way down the hill. The bugle was farther away than I thought, but I eventually spotted the head of a spike bull meandering down a draw. I soon saw more elk, and then laid eyes on the one doing the bugling, about 150 yards away. I continued to stalk closer by moving only one or two steps at a time, using the available trees, and taking advantage of the time when the bull was raking a defenseless juniper. I got within about 60 yards but didn't have a shot, then the bull wandered into a draw and out of sight. I continued to play this cat-and-mouse game with the herd for much of the rest of the day.

I was eventually in position to make a 60-yard shot on a broadside cow elk that had it's head down feeding and it's vitals exposed. As I drew my bow, I heard a bark off to my left and all the elk started to stampede. I had failed to notice a group of sentinel cows about 100 yards away. Busted.

Elk Everywhere

I continued to pursue these elk for the next three days, being "in" the herd for much of that time. Close encounters were numerous. There seemed to be several herds in the canyon, totaling close to 100 elk. I was at full draw multiple times on cows, spikes, and bulls. On the last day, I was sitting near the bottom of the canyon with about 40 elk out in the open to my left. With that many elk, I expected to see a big herd bull and was surprised that the biggest bulls in the herd were smaller 5 and 6 point bulls. Meanwhile, to my right I kept hearing what sounded like a deeper, more mature bugle concealed in the trees. I predicted that the bull in the trees would eventually join the herd and positioned myself so that the bull would pass near me when he decided to do so.

Several hours later, I herd a sound and immediately saw a cow in the direction of where the bugles were coming from. A few seconds later, a bull popped out following the cow. When I first saw them, they were about 50 yards away. My back was up against a tree, but there was nothing between me and them so I did not have an opportunity to draw. They were heading toward me, crossing to join the main herd exactly as I had hoped. I sat motionless, afraid to even blink, as they slowly ambled toward me. They passed about 8 yards from me, just downhill, with afternoon uphill thermals in full swing. They had no idea I was there. My plan was to let them move away, and when they were both facing directly away from me, I would draw.

This continued to go exactly as planned. When the bull was about 20 yards away, I drew undetected. I then quickly, far too quickly in hindsight, placed my pin over the bull's vitals and released. I rushed the shot so bad that I missed where I was aiming by about 14 inches - high. This was bad enough to hit the bull above it's vitals, near it's spine. Upon my release the bull and cow he was with trotted out to about 90 yards before resuming their slow amble, unsure of what just happened. The bull soon joined the herd. With no cover and 80 elk eyes in the vicinity to pick me off, there was nothing I could do to get a follow up shot. I continued to watch the bull for two hours as he mixed with the herd, bugled, and rutted - showing no indication of being injured.

Photo of the bull I shot after he joined the herd

I knew exactly how much work went into getting that shot opportunity, and to screw up the shot at such close range was heartbreaking - and still is. Yet at the same time the situation and opportunity over the previous few days were priceless and intensely memorable. This is the biggest bull I've ever been in bow range of. His presence was majestic from 150 yards, and even more so from 8. I've been replaying this chain of events in my mind every day since, trying to learn everything I can so that I do not repeat my mistake. I've ultimately concluded that this mistake was 100% mental. While I'm good at shooting at my target, deer, and cow elk, I tend to lose my shit when I'm within bow range of a bull. So the question becomes, how do I control my emotions to the point that I can shoot normally in similar situations?

1) Shoot More: Simply shooting enough to be a good target shooter is insufficient. I need to strengthen my muscle memory and shot routine to the point that I'm physically incapable of deviating to the point of disaster.

2) Varied Target Shooting: Turns out animals don't have neon targets over their vitals, whereas my target has very clear aiming points. To help bridge this gap, I asked for and received a 3-D deer target for Christmas. Practicing picking a spot on an otherwise brown background will inevitably help the next time I have an elk in my sights.

3) Visualize: Bordering on meditation, I will visualize myself in various close-encounter situations making good shots. The next time I create this type of opportunity for myself, the actual shot should feel like something I do all the time.

In summary, it feels terrible to come home empty handed when I could have had 300 pounds of high-quality elk meat. It feels even worse to have injured an animal when I strive for and take pride in quick, clean kills. Barring infection, I'm pretty sure this bull has already healed from the wound. I plan to return to the area next season and, although unlikely, hope to find the same bull again. With my horrendous shooting aside, hunting the last three days of the elk season in Oregon was once again an incredible experience!

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.

Squamish 50k

For the last few months, I've been training for a 50 km trail run that I signed up for in Squamish, B.C. This never would have happened if it weren't for my good friend, Graham. Graham is an avid ultra runner - the one who inspired me to train for and run my first 50k race last November. Shortly after that race, we were trying to find an excuse to hang out (Graham lives in Bellingham, about 2 1/2 states north of me). Graham suggested we sign up for a 50k in British Columbia that he'd heard good things about. I agreed, and he made it clear to me that I had to sign up online at 7am on a particular day, the day race registration opened. We both did this and he was right, the race sold out in about an hour.

Picking up our race packets the day before as 50 mile racers were finishing

Fast forward about nine months to last Sunday, and we find ourselves waking up at 4:20 am on a friend's boat in the harbor near the finish line of the race. We catch a school bus full of runners to the start about 25 minutes away. About 1/3 of the runners in the race were running the 50/50, which means they ran 50 miles yesterday and woke up to run another 50 km today. I always find these experiences humbling.

The start at Alice Lake

The race starts promptly at 6:15 am, and Graham and I begin shuffling. For the next 7.5 hours we run up and down hills in beautiful Pacific forest. We trust the views would have been spectacular, but couldn't see much more than 200 yards on account of the forest fire smoke.

Although I'm sure Graham could have gone faster, we ended up running the whole race together. After 7 hours and 44 minutes on the trail, we finished together with a well-coordinated simultaneous heel click over the finish line.

At the finish line

As per usual, the race organizers didn't want anyone complaining that they got shorted. The race ended up being a little over 32 miles (whereas a 50k would be 31) with nearly 8,000 feet of elevation gain. We finished just inside of the top 100 in a field of over 350.

I felt surprisingly good at the end. Tired, but the knees and other joints seemed completely intact. Good enough that in the week since the race, I've been on a few more runs. I imagine I'll do some more of these races, but not sure if I have the desire to up my training to prepare for the next level, a 50 miler.

Zero to Hero: Nevada Archery Mule Deer

Early this summer I found out I drew an archery tag to hunt mule deer in Nevada. Immediately and simultaneously I was both excited and struck with the realization that I had no idea what I was doing. I'd never really archery hunted mule deer before, just chased them opportunistically while pursuing elk. On top of that, I would be hunting in an area I had never been and would not have time to scout. I wasn't sure how I was going to take the time off work to make it happen, but after staring a hole in my calendar I was able to force a long weekend during the season opener.

I drove to central Nevada the day before the season opened, drove up a "road" I had identified on a map, and scratched the shit out of my truck as I bushwhacked up into the hills. From here I backpacked in a few miles through very dry country, carrying several liters of water. As I steadily gained elevation, the environment gradually transitioned into classic mule deer habitat.

I ended up camping at about 8,000 feet. Above this elevation, the vegetation changes from dense juniper and pine to patches of mahogany and aspen. That first night I sat on a ridge above my camp and glassed the edges of timber. With the weight of water in my pack, I opted not to bring my spotting scope. I immediately regretted this when I spotted a few deer that first evening and was unable to identify if they had antlers (my tag was only good for bucks). As an interesting aside, I found it difficult when glassing to sift through all the feral horses to find the deer. I found multiple herds of around 30 horses, and the ground everywhere was churned up from their passing.

The next morning I went back to my glassing spot. I relocated some of the same deer I found the night before and also found one or two new ones. At this point, I was not optimistic about heading home with meat, so I was happy to attempt a stalk on any legal animal. I decided that one of the deer I saw near a patch of aspens way above me had a good chance of being a small buck, so I spent the late morning and early afternoon of opening day moving closer.

As I eased near the area where I had previously spotted the deer, I saw a flicker of fur as a deer stood up from its bed about 60 yards away and relocated to stay in the shade. A short while later, I saw two more deer do the same - a doe and two small bucks. I tried to convince myself that this was it. I was going to shoot one of these two bucks. I was about half successful.

I eased in closer as the deer were bedded. Over the next hour, I was able to get within about 45 yards and had a couple of shooting lanes. As it was late afternoon, I knew the deer would eventually get up and start feeding. When they did, I would be ready and likely have a shot. After about another hour, the doe stood up and bounded aggressively in a 40-foot circle, stood still for a moment, and ran downhill. One of the bucks stood up a few seconds later, looked around calmly, then ran downhill and out of site. The opportunity I was sure would present itself did not. The other buck vanished without a trace. So much for opening day success. It was at this point I reminded myself of the fortune cookie paper that is taped to my bow case: "You may lose the small ones, but win the big ones."

Back to the big picture. I wanted to find more deer. In the valley I had backpacked into I was only able to locate two small bucks. I was hesitant to travel too far in such dry country where water was difficult to find in order to explore new terrain, and the water I packed in was running out. After much deliberation, I decided to glass from my current location the following morning, and if I didn't find any more deer, would pack out and attempt to drive to the top of the main ridge, where roads and trails were marked on the map. From there I would plan to car camp.

After a couple of dead ends and a few hours of driving around on jeep roads that were more than my bald-tired truck was prepared for, I eventually found myself on top of the main ridge I had been looking up to from my previous camp. I found a suitable spot to car camp and promptly headed out to locate a glassing point. About a mile from my truck, I found a nob on a ridge with good views into the drainage south of the one I had previously been in. I had just sat down with my binoculars and spotting scope when I noticed a small buck run through the meadow beneath me. I ranged him at about 65 yards when he paused briefly, which happened to be during a pretty strong wind gust. If he was still standing there when the wind died, I planned to shoot. Once again, this did not work out as planned.

As dusk rolled around, I started seeing deer. Antlers were clear in my binoculars, and the spotting scope made watching these more mature bucks very exciting. I located a group of two and a group of four bucks, all more nature than anything I had seen thus far. I decided to watch and attempt to pattern the bucks that night as the nearest group was over 600 yards away and a late evening stalk didn't seem reasonable at the time. I also didn't want to spook these bucks that seemed very content and unpressured. My eventual attempt would be calculated and characterized by patience and stealth. At the end of day two, I found the drainage I would hunt for the next two days until my hunt was over and I had to return to work.

The next morning I relocated most of the bucks I saw the night before and found another group of three. I watched the group of three until they bedded in a small patch of mahoganys. After watching them for a while and planning a stalk, I decided they were in a location where I could potentially get within range. I would use a large draw between me and them to get within about 350 yards, relocate the bedded bucks from there, use another large draw to get within about 100 yards, and then hope I could be sneaky enough to get within about 50 yards for a shot. The first part of this went well, and I relocated the bucks from 350 yards, in the same place I had left them. When I got to 100 yards, they were either gone or I was looking at the wrong patch of mahogany. I crept in to where they were bedded, confirmed this was in fact where they were, and sat while I tried to figure out if and how I had spooked them. This whole hunt I had been making it a point to intentionally learn from each experience in attempt to, maybe, just maybe, learn enough to be successful. A few minutes later I heard faint voices from the adjacent drainage.

These bucks were not as unpressured as I thought. I hiked back out of the canyon feeling confident that I did not prematurely blow my stalk. I hoped that today's activity in the drainage wouldn't blow all the bucks out for the next couple days, as I knew I would not likely locate them again with my limited time.

Buck Canyon

The next morning I attempted to find the buck that crossed underneath me two days prior on top of the ridge. I found a doe with two fawns and stalked in on them for practice. I got within 60 yards of the doe. As I ranged the doe, she seemed to hear the slightest sound, sounds I could easily get away with from the same distance when hunting elk. Another lesson learned as I upped my respect for mule deer ears.

When I was done toying with the doe, I made my way back to the other side of the ridge and immediately spotted a buck feeding along the edge of some aspens about 350 yards away. I quickly took my boots off, donned my extra pair of socks, planned a stalk, and tried to intercept the feeding buck. Once again, this failed to work out. When I returned to my pack and boots, I realized I hadn't made it as far as I thought and I was nowhere near my planned interception point.

Back at my glassing point, I spotted what looked like an enormous deer. The deer quickly turned into the first elk I had seen all trip - a raghorn bull. Above the bull I spotted a buck feeding near the top of a small patch of aspens. I was sure this was one of the two bucks I had seen two days earlier. I watched the buck and bull for a while until another bull became visible. I decided to move from my distant perch to one about 350 yards from the aspen patch that seemed to be home to one or two bucks. From this new vantage point, I would be better able to keep tabs on the deer. If it followed the path it did two evenings prior, I had a plan to position myself for a shot.

Once at 350 yards, I could not relocate the deer. I was optimistic that they were still in the same aspen patch so I decided to wait them out. After a late morning thunderstorm, I saw not one, but two bucks get up and feed. I continued to watch them for most of the afternoon as several more thunderstorms rolled through. After each one they would get up and feed. At 3:00 I decided to make my move. If they were going to feed in the middle of the day, I was going to take advantage of it.

I had a large drainage for concealment that, if all went as planned, would get me within shooting range. As I came up the opposite side of the drainage, I gradually got stealthier and stealthier. 100 yards from the top, I took off my pack and boots, put on my extra pair of socks, made sure my face paint was solid, and went into kill mode. I slowly and silently moved toward the mahogany on the ridge top that I carefully marked for my stalk, taking only a couple of steps at a time. About 60 yards from my pack, and at least another 60 to the mahogany, I spotted one of the bucks skylined on the ridge above me, aggressively feeding on a sparse bush that served as the only object separating me from him. I immediately froze, and when I was convinced the buck hadn't seen me, I slowly reached for my range finder. He stared me down after seeing my arm move, so I froze again. When he went back to feeding I continued the process of ranging the deer. After repeating this dance several times, I managed to range the buck at 43 yards at a relatively steep angle above me. As he continued feeding, he turned so that he was quartered away, still behind the bush and head down. I took this opportunity to draw my bow. I settled the 40-yard pin behind his front shoulder, did my best to account for all the angles (quartering away, uphill, etc.), reminded myself not to jerk the release and just shoot like I'm shooting at a target, and released.

I didn't see where my arrow struck, but I heard the sound I wanted to hear - the sound of an arrow piercing the chest cavity of a deer. Upon impact the buck bounded out of site in a single leap. Heart pounding, I did my best not to get too excited as I had not yet recovered the deer. I went back to my pack to put my boots on, regroup, and give the buck a chance to expire. When I left my pack, I was prepared for a multiple hour stalk through at least one thunderstorm. Little did I know I would be returning about 5 minutes later having put an arrow through one of the biggest bucks I had seen the entire trip!

I slowly made my way back to the flagging I placed at my shot location. I walked up the hill to the deer's location at the time of the shot and put a flag there, next to a sage brush covered in bright red blood - lung blood. I looked around to see if the buck had bounded off a ways but was not yet dead. Seeing nothing, I began following the blood trail. After about a 100 yards straight downhill . . .

This sight was immediately followed by an involuntary fist pump with my bow-carrying hand. It was finally time to get excited! I had accomplished what I was beginning feel was impossible! The process of constant, intentional learning, hard work, and unfounded optimism had paid off! As always, my excitement was tempered by my sadness for ending the life of such an amazing animal. These deer are truly impressive animals.

My forensic analysis of the shot suggests that I pierced both lungs, just missing the heart. The broadhead stuck in the back side shoulder, which explains why I found my arrow shaft lying on the ground half way through the tracking process. Based on the amount and location of blood, the tracks, and the shot placement, it appears the deer sprinted downhill after being shot and died mid-stride about 8 seconds later after travelling about 120 yards. I couldn't be happier with the shot placement and quick, clean kill.

I quickly set to work butchering the animal, completely deboning the meat in the field so I could pack it out in a single, heavy load. I estimate my pack weighed about 110 pounds as I hiked the roughly 2 miles and 800 vertical feet up to my truck and camp. I took it slowly and enjoyed every minute of it, making it back to my truck just before dark.

It's hard to imagine a more full-value hunt. I had several close encounters, many learning experiences, and it took four of the four-and-a-half days I had to hunt. I was also fortunate enough to harvest one of the largest bucks I saw during my hunt, and I must admit, the velvet on the antlers is pretty cool.

I Just Felt Like Running

Last summer, with the encouragement of my brother-in-law, Shaun, I trained for and ran a 30k trail run in Truckee. My goal was to finish feeling so good that the idea of signing up for a 50k trail run seemed like a good idea. I managed to do exactly this, finishing the 30 trail kilometers with about 3,500 feet of elevation gain in about 3-1/2 hours.

Within the next week or two, I managed to find a 50k trail run that looked pretty epic. The North Face Endurance Challenge - California 50k would start in Sausalito, wind around trails and fire roads in the Marin Headlands, and finish at Chrissy Field after crossing the Golden Gate Bridge. The total elevation gain and loss would be a little over 6,700 feet.

Following a modified Hal Higdon training program, I steadily ramped up my weekly miles to about 50, with my longest training run being about 25 miles. On my last big training week before beginning a 3 week taper, I finally managed to give myself an overuse injury significant enough that I would need to rest. At the same time, I acquired a pretty bad cold. This combination instantly dropped my weekly training miles to about 9, and 5 for the third and second to last weeks before the race. I wasn't sure if my legs would cooperate, but my daily mucous production was much lower by the time race day came around and I was determined to give the race an honest attempt.

With Ava away traveling and my fear of driving in cities, I managed to put together a somewhat unsuspecting support crew. My mother-in-law, Nancy, kindly offered to get up with me at 5 am and drive me to the start. My good friend, Shane, and Ava's cousin, Gina, would meet me at the aid station at 23.5 miles and again at the finish.

I started running at 7 am with about 550 other runners. I was planning on averaging 13 minute miles and hoping to do slightly better. I was right on schedule and my body seemed to be cooperating through about mile 21, at which point my legs started feeling heavier. I was fortunate to find a 61-year-old woman who had run about 40 ultra runs to pace me for a while. We ran and chatted until we got to the 23.5 mile aid station, which was at 25 miles according to my GPS watch. At the aid station I met up with Shane and Gina and took a few minutes to rest. From here I would have one significant hill, then it would be downhill and flat to the finish.

Approaching the aid station at Mile 23.5

From here I pretty much put my head down and kept my legs moving, feeling like my hamstrings were about to cramp the whole way. Soon enough I found myself crossing the Golden Gate Bridge, knowing the finish line would soon find me. I ended up finishing in just over 7 hours. My watch claimed the total distance was 33 miles. Doing the math, 50k should be 31 miles, which means we all got two free bonus miles! Depending on what distance you believe, my pace was either a little over or a little under 13 minute miles, right about where I planned to be, and right near the middle of the pack.

Victorious finish pose / I am the fastest man alive!

I can't say I felt so good at the end that signing up for a longer race seemed like a good idea. However, I felt good enough that I signed up for another 50k. For the next one, I'm planning to meet up with my friend Graham (my main running inspiration) in August in Squamish, BC for a 50k with about 8,500 feet of elevation gain and 9,000 feet of loss.

I won't claim this endurance running thing is rational. I suppose I choose to do it because it's challenging, a good excuse to stay in shape, and a wonderful source of Type 2 fun. I think I'll take a bit of a running break while I continue to recover and transition to ski season. Thanks to Graham and Shaun for the inspiration; Ava for helping me train and supporting me through the training process; Nancy, Shane, and Gina for the race support; and my physical therapist for helping me get through the last few training weeks!

Oregon Archery Elk

For my first hunting season as a California resident, I decided to buy an archery elk tag in Oregon. I'm a huge fan of hunting in-state, primarily to reduce the time, fuel, and money required to hunt, but hunting elk in California is pretty much not an option. Oregon's liberal season and zoning for an archery elk tag means you can hunt the majority of the state, from late August to late September. Due to work commitments, I chose to hunt for one week in early September and one week in late September, the last week of the season. I also chose to hunt in Eastern Oregon in units where my tag was good for "any elk", which is ideal for a meat hunter like myself.

My first week of hunting, the week of Labor Day, can be summed up in two words - hot and smokey. Although no fires were burning near where I was hunting, I was due west of several large fires. The prevailing winds were happy to push all that smoke my way. On top of the smoke and poor visibility, the temperatures in nearby John Day, OR reached 104 degrees that week.

Perhaps the highlight of my first week was being less than 20 yards from three mule deer bucks. I could have shot any of them, but I was too cheap to purchase a deer tag. I did find two small herds of elk, but spooked them before I knew they were there. After four days of suffering in the heat, I threw in the towel in attempt to save some energy and motivation for my next week of hunting.

About a week and a half later, I returned to the same general area. Thankfully, the weather had done a 180. A couple days in, the forecasted snow actually came. Since I learned a lot about where not to go during my previous trip, I was able to focus my time in some more promising areas. I discovered a freshly used wallow shortly before spooking a herd of elk that was bedded about 150 yards away. I spent the following morning looking for fresh elk tracks in three inches of fresh snow.

While deer and deer tracks were plentiful, I didn't see a single elk track. As I was walking back to my truck on an old logging road after covering several miles without cutting a single elk track, I saw a raghorn bull walking toward me at about 70 yards. It had no idea I was there, so I quickly took a knee on the side of the road and knocked an arrow. I didn't have time to range the elk, but it seemed very close by the time I got my arrow knocked. I guessed he was at 30 yards, drew my bow, settled my pin behind is front shoulder, and released. It felt like a good shot, but I didn't hear the musical "thump" of arrow penetrating vitals. After the bull ran off, I ranged where he was when I shot, and discovered that he was 47 yards, not 30. My arrow was way low. I soon discovered that it wasn't a clean miss, as there was bright red blood in the snow accompanying the bulls tracks. I tracked the bull for 3 miles in the snow, up and down hills, watching the blood slowly diminish as his wound clotted up. I eventually lost his trail when he entered a thick patch of timber where snow had not reached the ground. Based on his behavior, and the amount of lost blood, I am confident the bull will fully heal from my shot, which I concluded hit an artery low on one of his front legs. Nonetheless, I felt bad for wounding such an amazing animal.

The next day I met up with my lifelong friend, Jake, and we went to one of his favorite areas to hunt. This area, as I soon found out, can be characterized as steep, rugged terrain with challenging public land access. On the up side, there are a ton of elk! Since Jake had recently harvested a bull in Utah, he was committed to his goal of shooting an elk with his recurve bow. For the next few days, we backpacked into the area and had multiple exciting, close encounters.

We tried to head off the first herd we found, only to have them reverse course as soon as we got within compound bow range. I was at full draw on a cow at 62 yards, but opted not to take the shot as I couldn't see her vitals as they were hidden behind the grass between us. That evening, I stalked in on a lone, 5-point bull that I heard bugle about 30 minutes before the end of shooting light. I got close and hoped that he would continue walking in the same direction, into my shooting lane. He hung up in a small patch of trees, so I cow called a few times. The bull bugled in response, and soon came out of the trees. I ranged him at 75 yards as he continued to feed in my general direction. With daylight running out, I had to act fast. I ranged him again at 70 yards before he disappeared behind a tree. With his vitals exposed, I aimed for 70 and released. While this is a long shot for me, it's a shot I know I can make - provided I don't jerk the trigger, which I did. It was a clean miss. The upside of a clean miss is that the bull wasn't very spooked. I cow called again, and he continued in my direction. A few minutes later he was about to pop out above me at 30 yards. I knew the mistake I made with the longer shot, and I was not going to make it again. This bull was as good as dead in my mind. Because he came in above me, the wind was quickly becoming unfavorable. As the bulls nose started to come out from behind the last tree, he winded me and bolted.

The next morning, Jake and I were hunting together in hopes that he could call a bull in to me. Near the same area where I flung an arrow the previous evening, we heard a bugle. I moved forward and Jake moved back. Once I was set, Jake began calling. The bull bugled in response, but seemed reluctant to expose himself. I got several good looks at him and determined he was the same bull I hunted last night. He briefly showed himself at 60 yards, but never presented a shot before wandering off. Nonetheless, it was very cool to be that close to a bugling bull. With all these close encounters where things almost work out, I knew that it was only a matter of time until everything lined up.

That evening as we were heading back to the truck to resupply with food and water, we heard multiple bugles in a thick patch of timber below us. With the wind blowing uphill, my instincts told me to head straight down in to the forest, get sneaky, and shoot the first elk that presented a shot. Meanwhile, Jake went back to the truck to get his compound bow and hunt the same herd. As I got close to where the nearest bugle was, I saw elk fur through the trees at about 60 yards. The steep, loose, rocky ground was difficult to move quietly over, so I moved very slowly in attempt to get a little closer and get a shooting lane through the trees. When I was about 50 yards out from the nearest cow (I could make out 2 cows and a spike bull), the cows trotted off in one direction while the bull went another. I later found out that another hunter was down below me and that Jake was making some aggressive moves farther off to my right. It's unclear what they were running from, but I don't think they every knew I was there.

Jake and I split up the next morning to relocate the massive herd of elk we spooked the night before. I ended up going back to where we located some elk a few days earlier. After hiking about 2 miles from the truck, I heard my first bugle of the morning. I quickly descended toward the sound and soon made out four cow elk crossing an open area. I attempted to get ahead of them in their path of travel, but ended up coming in on top of them. Once again I found myself sneaking in on elk from above, attempting to get close enough to get a shot through the trees. I got as close as about 45 yards, but never had a shot before the elk moved off, unspooked, but feeding away from me. However, I heard a weak bugle from the direction the elk had come from. I hoped that the bull would follow the path of the cows, so I set up with a good shooting lane and waited. I never heard the bugle again, and after waiting a while, I began to walk in the direction the cows had wandered. After moving 25 yards, I spotted a lone cow walking across the same opening. I knew this elk was trying to catch up to the rest of the herd, so I once again set up with a good shooting lane. If this elk followed the others, I'd have a 35 yard downhill shot.

Less than a minute later, the cow entered the opening below me. She was crossing way lower than the other elk, and I ranged her at about 82 yards. However, she was ascending as she crossed, and I ranged her several more times. I determined that, on her current trajectory, she would be at 72 yards just before she entered the trees and exited my shooting lane. With the steep downhill angle, my range finder said I would need to aim for 60 yards.

As the cow neared the tree line, I was at full draw. I made a mew with my voice and she stopped and looked toward me. I settled my pin, reminded myself not to jerk the release, and let my arrow fly. At that distance, my arrow was in the air for just shy of a second. When it hit, there was no question that my arrow met its intended target. On impact, the elk went airborn with all four hooves quickly rotating above its body. The elk proceeded to cartwheel down the steep hill about 5 times before sliding another 30 yards before coming to rest. It never got up again, but also didn't die right away. I hiked down the hill and put a second arrow in her chest to expedite the process.

Selkie

After spending a moment thanking the elk for its life in my own particular way, I began the butchering process. The steep slope made this challenging, and it felt like a wrestling match at times. As I was hunting light and stealthy with my fanny pack (Jake and I had dubbed ourselves "The Fanny Pack Killers" for this hunt), I didn't have a good way to carry the first load of meat out. I ended up carrying a Kuiu game bag (essentially a duffel bag full of meat) in one hand and my bow in the other for the first trip. I'd hoped to see Jake when I got back to the truck, but he was still chasing elk around way down the hill below me. I returned with my pack for a second load and ended up shuttling a load part way back, returning for the last load, and taking that load all the way back to the truck. I got back to the truck about an hour after dark, exhausted.

The next morning I returned for the load I had shuttled up the hill. Hunting in that terrain combined with packing an elk out of it was the most physically challenging thing I've done in a very long time - the best kind of hard work.

Recap
I shot this elk on the second to last day of the season, so I got a full-value hunting experience. It was a relatively young cow and the weather was cool, so the meat is excellent. I've now harvested my elk four out of the last five years, including three different states. I owe much of my success to Jake, not only for introducing me to archery elk hunting in 2010, but also for showing me one of his favorite spots. While many hunters might be disappointed that they didn't shoot a bull and consider a cow elk a consolation prize, I couldn't disagree more. This elk's life was no less valuable than any other elk's life; and the difficulty, challenge, and reward associated with harvesting any elk with a bow will always be enough to make me extremely grateful.

Keezer

Some people hear the word "keezer" and think I'm completely botching the pronunciation of a term for the human rear end. Then I say "kegerator" and all of a sudden everyone knows what I'm talking about, even though it's an inaccurate term for the appliance to which I am referring. For the record, a kegerator is a refrigerator that has been turned into a home for one or more kegs, and a keezer is a freezer that has been turned into a home for one or more kegs.

Now that that's out of the way . . .

A few months ago I finished converting a chest freezer into a 4-tap keezer, which now resides in the garage. My brother-in-law, Shaun, was instrumental in its construction, which went something like this:

• Remove the lid from the chest freezer.
• Employ the services of a skilled craftsman relative who will likely accept payment in beer.
• Somehow talk that same person into giving you some beautiful "scraps" of reclaimed 2x12 redwood boards.
• Plane, cut, pre-drill holes, and assemble aforementioned boards to form the "collar" of the keezer.
• Stain and seal the collar.
• Attach drip tray.
• Affix plumbing, insulate the inside of the collar, install external thermostat, and reattach the lid to the top of the collar.
• Brew lots of beer, put it in kegs, and
• Presto! You no longer have a chest freezer, you have a keezer (and probably more friends than when it was just a freezer)!

No, this isn't original, and no, I'm not creative. I must give credit to my good friend, Kris, who built something very similar in Seattle for the inspiration as well as guidance as I stepped up my homebrew game. Hopefully this beautiful and functional appliance will one day have an inside home where it can be properly displayed.

Long-Overdue Update

In no particular order, highlights since my last blog post include:

• Archery hunting for elk in the Missouri River Breaks,
• Buying my first firearm,
• Shooting a mule deer while hunting with my sister and good friend, Jeff, with said firearm,
• Moving to Truckee, CA,
• Starting a new job,
• Buying a house,
• Going on a 3-1/2 year delayed honeymoon,
• Gaining a nephew, and
• Adding a canine member to our family.

I spend most of my time working, which has the dual consequences of me doing fewer blog-worthy things and having little to no time to write about the few blog-worthy things I manage to squeeze in. That hasn't changed, but I will attempt to post more frequently nonetheless. Below are a few more details on the events listed above.

I spent a week during archery season elk hunting in the Missouri River Breaks with Jeff. We hunted a few days from the river/reservoir out of Jeff's boat before experiencing motor problems, limping our way back to the put-in, and hunting from the roads for the last few days.

Hunting elk from a boat - a totally new experience for me

Classic terrain of the area we hunted

One of the few bulls we saw, and the biggest. Photo taken from about 550 yards.

I heard the bull above from about a mile and a half away. I quickly closed the distance to about a mile where I got my first visual, and saw about 10 elk milling around and feeding just on the other side of a major drainage. It was getting late and I didn't have much time before dark. I continued to close the distance anyway, using gullies and land features to hide my presence as I moved. I took a quick video from near the bottom of the drainage, after running out of good cover at about 550 yards. I could see a route to stay hidden and get within about 200 yards, but then I wasn't sure how I could quickly get close enough to seal the deal. I executed my plan and ended up backing out just after dark from about 200 yards away.

The next day, Jeff and I went back to find the herd, which we eventually did after hearing a bugle around 2 pm. The bull and his harem were slowly working there way down a draw toward where I saw them the previous evening. We planned an ambush and both set up at different locations in hopes that the elk would continue down the same drainage. Long story short, the elk veered up and out of the drainage until they winded Jeff, at which point the spun around and ran back up hill. As it turns out, I was up hill of Jeff and the elk were running right at me as I sat under a lone pine tree. The elk didn't come into view until they were about 20 yards away. I had an arrow nocked, but couldn't draw as the elk were facing me and very close. About 12 cows ran by me at 8 yards followed by the bull in the rear - nostrils flaring and breathing hard. I planned to draw after they all passed, call, and hope the bull would stop. He did, briefly, but he was in direct line with a branch from the tree I was sitting under. It was truly amazing seeing all those elk so close, and them having no idea I was there. I would have loved to come home with meat in the freezer, but that's as close as we came.

Rifle season approached and my meat supply from the previous year was dwindling fast. I broke down and bought my first firearm in preparation for a boomstick-assisted meat harvest. My sister, Molly, and Jeff joined me on the first day I was able to get out during the rifle season. Three hours later, I passed on a small whitetail buck. Five hours later, my new Browning X-bolt in .270 Win had done its job. Thanks to this amazing animal for its unwilling sacrifice. The fact that Jeff and Molly were with me made it very special. Molly had yet to be with someone when they took a big game animal, and she got to experience everything from the hunt to the kill to the meat in the freezer.

After a couple of years spent working for NOLS, remodeling, and working as a carpenter, I accepted a job offer with an engineering firm in Truckee, California. On the up side, Truckee is in the mountains, surrounded by mountains, and close to Ava's family. The only real negatives are that I'm now a Californian and elk hunting is virtually non-existent in this state.

The job's going well. Compared to other engineering positions, I've been given more trust, more responsibility, and more work. The firm, Holdrege & Kull, has about 50 employees in three offices. Only 5 of those are year-round, full-time employees in the Truckee office. About a week and a half ago we were purchased by a larger, publicly traded engineering company (NV5). It's too early to tell how that will affect things for me, but it doesn't seem like anything notable will change in the near future.

Planning to be here for a while, Ava and I decided to buy a house. We did so just in time to get buried for the winter, as the Sierra set some new records...and we're in the area that gets less snow than anywhere else around Truckee. At one point, the snow berms on the side of the driveway were about 12 feet tall, causing me to seriously consider purchasing a snow blower.

In February we temporarily left the snow for a luxurious trip to Baja California. We spent most of our time relaxing and eating good food at the resort we stayed at in Pescadero (Rancho Pescadero). We did escape the black hole of luxury for a day to travel across the peninsula to La Paz, where we spent the day on a boat in the Sea of Cortez, swimming with whale sharks. We didn't take any pictures, but there are several on the internet like the one below. Just imagine snorkeling next to a 30 foot long fish in 10 to 20 feet of water where the fish looks like it's just sitting there and you have to swim relatively hard to keep up with it, all while trying to remember to breathe and convince yourself you won't be eaten.

We spent enough money on the trip to justify calling it our honeymoon, which we promised each other we would do, eventually. It ended up being an excellent escape from both the snow and our very busy lives.

Shortly after we returned from Baja, Turner Iluka King was born. Congrats to Maiya, Turner, and Shaun! I'm super excited to have a nephew who lives in the same town as me, especially if he's as crazy as those videos suggest Shaun was when he was little.

Last but not least, we acquired Ethel from the local humane society. We've had her about 6 months now, and it's often hard to tell if we love her more than she loves us. In a few words, she's adorable, highly submissive, very energetic, a great running, skiing, and mountain biking partner, and she hates riding in cars. We often call her Ethel Sue, but her whole name is "Ethel Susan B. Anthony Holliott, first of her name, relocator of sticks, queen of flopping, lover of all beds and people".

And in case you're still reading, I'm hoping to post again soon regarding my renewed commitment to home brewing.