Like a Dream

The last box to check was a potential bedding area farther down the drainage than we had been. It had been a relatively slow morning and we were planning for the evening hunt more than actively hunting as the day crept into late afternoon. Along the way, we bumped a small mule deer buck and doe and gave a half-hearted attempt at getting within range. They split and worked their way out of sight and we continued on towards the bedding area. Between the rhythm of our steps, I heard a distant and faint high-pitched sound lasting only for a moment. I didn’t think much of it as my ears had deceived me countless times before on this trip. A few steps later though, it was no question—a bugle! Nate, Justin, and I paused, looking at each other. This was the first bugle we had heard together. Without much time to appreciate it, there was another, this one with multiple chuckles at the end, and already much closer. We pushed forward to get to a better spot and heard yet another bugle, this time with a single chuckle to close it out. We had come to a small meadow, separated by a chain of trees to the right, opening back up into another small meadow. Justin and I were up to shoot, so I suggested someone go into the chain of trees to watch the far meadow, and someone else stay on the fringe of the meadow we were close to. Nate would drop back and see if he could call the bull into us. We decided that Justin would go into the trees and I would stay on the edge of the closest meadow. We parted ways and offered each other good luck with a quick fist-bump.

I worked my way down the meadow a bit farther and found a small pocket of trees just along it’s edge. I stood in front of the trees, trusting my SKRE would do it’s job to conceal me. I nocked an arrow and pulled out my rangefinder. My goal was to range a handful of trees in front of me, predicting different paths the bull might take. I found one downed tree in the midst of some open timber that I guessed the bull could come through. 37 yards. Well within my comfort zone. I continued on to the right and found another tree to range. I nearly pushed down on the button to get the distance when Nate cow called and the bull screamed back immediately. The volume and immediacy of this bugle told me he was much closer than I thought. I slipped the rangefinder back in it’s pouch and looked through the timber near the downed tree I had ranged. Dark legs moved through the gaps in the timber and I remember thinking, “This is happening.” Followed immediately by, “I’m not ready!”

The bull paused behind a thicker group of trees and I was working to focus on him, and not how shaky my body had become. I drew my bow back and then looked, realizing I had no shooting lane for a while. I drew too early. I slowly let down, but kept my bow raised up. The bull seemed to catch some of my movement and locked in on me. I saw him turn his head and could see the tips of his antlers high in the trees. “That’s a big bull,” I thought to myself. Nate had continued cow calling, met with no response and no further movement from the bull. Nate decided to mix it up and bugled, and the bull answered back with his own, then took a few steps to the right. The bull had stepped into a slight opening, but his vitals were perfectly covered by a tree-no shot. Now that he was in the open, there was nothing between the two of us. He looked my way again, testing to see if there truly was movement, or if all was well. Despite the shaking, I passed the test and the bull continued on his path. As his head was blocked behind more trees, I drew my bow back a second time. There was a small window between two thin trees and that was where I hoped I could make my shot. I drew an imaginary circle from the downed tree at 37 yards and guessed the window was right along that circle’s circumference. The bull read the script and followed the route until his head was passing through the window. I anchored, matched my peep with my sight housing, leveled the bubble, then let out a cow call sound with my voice. The bull paused perfectly, and I released an arrow, holding for 37 yards. The arrow hit lower than I expected, and did not seem to penetrate all the way, as my orange Quikfletch vanes showed. The bull whirled and crashed through the timber until we could not hear him anymore.

Nate, Justin, and I all ran to each other and we traded hugs. Justin had been at full-draw on the bull as well, but needed him to come at least 5 more yards. None of us could believe how perfectly that scenario seemed to go. I shared my worries about the shot, but Nate was confident it was good. We waited for 30 minutes at the spot I had shot from, and the dump of adrenaline I was experiencing along with the anxiety about the shot was making me nauseous. I focused on my breathing and waited impatiently. Nearly 20 minutes in we heard what sounded like a moo cow calling and we looked at each other confused, but not shocked, since we had been seeing cattle throughout the trip. Putting the sound on the backburner, I bottled up my nerves for 10 minutes longer. At last it was time.

Left to Right: Shane, Justin, and Nate wait restlessly after the shot to give the bull time.

I walked straight to the window that I shot the bull in and the pit in my stomach dropped farther down. No blood. No arrow. Nate continued in his optimism and we started working our way down through the timber and meadows where we saw the bull run. Still nothing. I started wrestling with the idea that the first elk, let alone bull, that I have ever shot was wounded and would not be recovered. I told myself to slow down and asked God to “Lead us and guide us,” a phrase I say often. I prayed for us to find blood, and for the bull to expire quickly. I decided to start from scratch and walk back to where I had shot from. I told Nate my plan and took a couple of steps when Justin yelled, “I’ve got blood!” We ran to Justin and saw a small speck of blood in the grass. It was a start. We followed specks of blood for a while, occasionally only following the heavy tracks of a running bull. Every few strides we would find a bigger patch of blood that would energize us more.

We started cutting up through a bigger meadow when we could see a yellow mass inside the trees of the meadow’s edge. I was speechless. I nocked another arrow, but we could see a leg kicked out in a way that told us the bull was dead. Walking up was surreal. I saw an antler and counted the tines; 1, 2, 3, 4, 5…6! I turned in disbelief to Nate and Justin. My first elk was a 6 point bull.

Getting my hands on the bull felt even more surreal. I couldn’t believe I had just taken this amazing animal. I pulled on the antlers and said, “This feels like a dream.”

We realized the sounds we had heard were likely the bull’s last breaths, 150 yards from where we sat. We snapped a bunch of photos, and as I’ve heard others say, “The real work started.” Nate went back to the truck with some extra gear to get to a closer road. Justin and I started the process of quartering out the bull and saving every piece of meat we could. Upon further inspection, we realized that the shot was good, but the blood had dripped down the front leg, soaking it until finally releasing it onto the ground. Once everything was in meat bags I saw truly how good the shot was. Center-punched through the heart. I’m guessing the bull was really at 39 yards, since I did hit lower than I was holding for, but it obviously did the trick.

We got back to the truck after our final pack-out around 3:30 in the morning. Our packs averaged around 80 pounds each trip and we were pretty well spent after a long day.

I still look at pictures every day in awe that this really happened. God truly blessed us with this experience and this bull. I will forever be grateful for it all, and for Nate and Justin sharing in this memory with me.