09-24-2009, 07:31 PM
I wrote this story for a brother who is overseas and missed the hunt this year. I thought I would post it for those of you interested in a long Elk hunting story.
I had hunted my fudge river wallows four times previous to the night Sam (older brother) and I went in. It was the evening of the second Friday of the hunt. There was a reason I kept going back. The whole Northern herd was watering at the wallows up there. Opening evening (Monday for me because I had a final on Saturday) I had a pope and young 4x4 come in and water. He came and watered within 30 yards of me three times this season. I guess that is why you don't shoot two points in the neck the first ten minutes of your morning hunt. Hopefully he will summer at the fudge river wallows again next year so I can try and sneak one in his breadbasket. Later that evening I had a small branch antlered bull come in. Then right at dark a real nice bull came in and wallowed until well after dark. The next time I hunted it the only thing I saw was some does and the big 4x4. Mom hunted the other wallow that night and didn't see anything either. That was Wednesday of the first week. Saturday Dad and I went back. As I was putting my tree stand in the bulls started to bugle. I probably herd 20 bugles that night. First thing about 6 PM a big bull came in. When I say big I mean it. Probably 340-350. He wallowed for twenty minutes. Soon as he stepped off the water and bugled it sounded like and explosion went off in the pines across the canyon from me. I thought a herd had winded me but they actually were running to me. A big cow and calf walked by me at ten steps then the cow started to water butt on at thirty yards; that being the farthest water. Ten minutes later she was still drinking butt on when a small bull (same one as opening day) came walking right up the creek under my tree. He proceeded to lick the cows butt. I new she wouldn't appreciate that so I came to full draw. Annoyed with the small bull she curled her lips back and hissed at him a couple of times. She then jumped out of the creek right behind a pine tree and calmly fed over the hill and out of my life forever.
Yes you read that right. I had her at ten yards at one point, in my wallows for ten minutes, and I never even shot at her. To say the least I was a little down at that point but really excited to have seen so many elk. Well right after that a big five by six came in. When I say big I mean it. Without the other point he was still well into the 300s. Then the canyon got real quite. I mean there can only be so many elk right. Well about an hour before dark I heard a crunch and looked down and there was a spike bull, two-year-old spike I think, biggest one I have ever seen, feeding up the canyon through the aspen. And guess what I was thinking. “The second this one thinks about turning broadside I'm throwing some bear broad-heads around.” He walked up the creek and turned broadside at about two yards (Two yards from the bottom of my tree, it was probably 4 or 5 yards from the tip of my arrow). I drew; he heard me and looked up. I settled my pin right on the tip of his shoulder (I was shooting straight down) and let her fly. I herd a big crack and something hit me in the face. Chaos reigned!!! The bull took off. I was dazed and
. The bull stopped in some trees thirty yards away. I knew something went wrong. I didn't know what but something was definitely out of whack. Still I was expecting him to tip over any second. I just kept waiting and waiting and waiting.... Eventually he just walked off up into the pines. At this point I’m thinking, "Jon, you are the worlds worst elk hunter.”
I climbed out of the stand and found my bloodless arrow about ten yards from where the elk was standing. (That's right, I missed the elk by more than the distance he was from me) I climbed in the tree and thought, "my bow is broken" (that actually had happened to me on a big 3x3 up bear canyon several years ago). I checked out the bow. Everything was fine. Then I remembered about something hitting me in the face. You got to remember I was under the influence of adrenaline. You know how that is. When the elk came in I didn't get a chance to stand. I shot sitting, facing straight forward, so the bottom of my bow was between my legs, and I was leaning over pointing straight down. I knocked an arrow and drew and recreated the shot. Low and behold there was the top of a cut off pine1inch in front of my broad head with a fresh white scar of missing wood. The tip of an arrow actually sits several inches below the sight window. Looking through the peep I couldn't even see the obstruction at all!!! Definitely the world's worst elk hunting display. So I hung my bow in the tree and did some soul searching. Said some prayers and learned some things about myself I hadn't known before.
Then out of the corner of my eye up the canyon I saw a tan body slip into the pines about 150 yards away. There is an elk trail (elks version of I-15) that comes from their bedding across the canyon and above me to my top wallow at thirty yards. So I knew that within the next few minutes I was going to have yet another elk drinking within bow range. I stood readied my bow. I was just starting to think it wasn’t going to come when out stepped a beautiful little spike bull. He walked down to the top water and sniffed a few times then started to drink. Just as his nuzzle hit the water I touched the trigger. (Dad has later explained that when they first start to drink is when they are most wary and feel most vulnerable; I didn't know this not being a harvester of elk as he is) At the sound of the shot that little bull moved a long way and instead of hitting him in the heart (I did shoot a little low) it punched the dirt where he had been standing. Sad day brother. The only good news came when I radioed Dad and he shared the good news that he had one down and already had it half quartered. While this hunt was very disappointing in some ways I was encouraged by all the elk I had seen and things I had learned. I knew the next time would be different.
The next time rolled around the next Friday when Sam and I went back in. Right in the bottom where the canyon splits a big bear was standing on the hill staring at us. He had found Dad’s elk carcass and eaten it gone (not even any bones or hide left). The bear just ambled up off into the pines. Since Sam was going to sit where Dad had I asked him what he was going to do. “I don’t care about no bear. If it has any sense at all it will be worried about me.” Typical Sam. So we went are separate ways.
Repeat of the previous weekend. Only they were in full rut mode. They started to bugle as I was putting my stand in and didn’t quite, ever. They were still at it on are way out. Even Sam said he has never herd anything like it in his life. There were at the very least a dozen different bulls bugling. We literally herd hundreds of bugles. The best part of it all was the farthest elk out of that whole bunch was within rifle range of me. I was in my tree stand a whole hour before anything actually came in (they were bugling from their beds). The first elk was mister big 5x6. He got in the wallow and thrashed the mud with his horns, pissed all over himself, jumped out of the wallow ran around the meadow dragging his horns through the dirt and rocks. I don’t know how he avoided a neck injury. Then he would come at a full run and flop down in the mud, roll on his back, and kick all four legs in the air. It was an amazing spectacle. He finally left and mister small branch antlered bull shows up and starts to drink. Then I start hearing the cows mew. They stood up on the hill and mewed and wined all night. There were probably over 50 of them. Not exaggerating it could have been over a hundred. The problem was the big heard bull/bulls wouldn’t let them come and drink out of the wallows with other bulls in there. Eventually many of the cows with the heard bulls passed by in the trees and watered below me. Sam called in one of these small herds but they held up at 40 yards (he was packing his stick bow instead of his usual Reflex) because that bear came in shortly after Sam got in his stand and didn’t leave till Sam yelled and screamed right at dark (He would have attempted this earlier but was only 500 yards from me and knew I was covered with elk). What a brother!
Back to my wallow. The little bull just lay down in the water and chilled for thirty minutes. During this time I could hear elk on all four sides of me. Then I caught movement coming down I-15. I turned and faced the water and readied for a shot. I never even looked at the approaching elk. I was amazed when the elk stepped into my vision; another beautiful little spike bull. The little branch antlered bull was still laying in the top wallow so the spike was relegated to the middle wallow ten yards away. He started to drink slightly quartering away. I let him get about a gallon in him (I learned) before I drew my bow. I put my pin halfway up the body and six inches back from his crease and touched off. I saw the arrow hit home. The bull jumped out of the wallow ran about ten steps uphill stopped looked back and tipped over. He was on his feet maybe three seconds after arrow impact.
The little bull above him jumped up, watched the spike die, and then layback down in the water. Five minutes later a bull that dreams are made of walked down out of the pines and put on a spectacle similar to the big 5x6. He was a straight six and had more mass than any typical elk I’ve personally ever seen, plenty of length to. I know he would have netted over 380. What an amazing bull. I really wanted to stay in my stand, but knowing elk eating bears were in the area we had to pack the elk out that night. Once the big boy and little guy left the water I jumped out of my stand, said a little prayer of thanks, and went to work. I only had to use my headlamp to debone the last quarter. Three different herds of elk came within 30 yards of the water while I was working on the elk. It was really fun to hear them talk back and forth. While I was cutting, if it ever got quite I would just let out a little cow chirp (I do this by using my lips as a reed and blowing air through them; I’ve called in several elk this way, some of them got shot) and the canyon would explode with elk sounds.
After finishing the chore I met up with Sam. He said, “How did you not kill one. There were elk all over you all night.” I just pointed my light beam down at my quiver. “Oh you got one. I was gonna say.” He assumed that once I shot the elk would blow out.
We went down to where we had bathed, grabbed are big packs, and hustled back to the meat, worried about the bear stealing my much needed winter food supply. We each took half plus all of our gear. It was over a hundred pounds apiece for three miles.
I would like to thank the UDWR for making nights like this possible. I’m a poor college student and really rely on the over the counter tags to fill my freezer. I would also like to thank my Dad and Mom. I have never met a man who has more respect for the rocky mountain elk. He has killed 27 with a bow to date, many of those being huge bulls, many of them being spikes and cows. All were shot during public land, over the counter, self-guided hunts. Even as I write this he is sitting in tree, over a wallow, in some remote drainage somewhere in the Idaho wilderness. Somewhere within a few miles of him my mom is sitting over her own wallow looking to kill her 12th elk with a bow. Hopefully tonight I will get a call saying “Hey were not as young as we used to be. Can you come pack elk for a couple of days.”
And lastly I would like to thank my wife. She has always been supportive of all my outdoor passions. Thanks babe.
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I had hunted my fudge river wallows four times previous to the night Sam (older brother) and I went in. It was the evening of the second Friday of the hunt. There was a reason I kept going back. The whole Northern herd was watering at the wallows up there. Opening evening (Monday for me because I had a final on Saturday) I had a pope and young 4x4 come in and water. He came and watered within 30 yards of me three times this season. I guess that is why you don't shoot two points in the neck the first ten minutes of your morning hunt. Hopefully he will summer at the fudge river wallows again next year so I can try and sneak one in his breadbasket. Later that evening I had a small branch antlered bull come in. Then right at dark a real nice bull came in and wallowed until well after dark. The next time I hunted it the only thing I saw was some does and the big 4x4. Mom hunted the other wallow that night and didn't see anything either. That was Wednesday of the first week. Saturday Dad and I went back. As I was putting my tree stand in the bulls started to bugle. I probably herd 20 bugles that night. First thing about 6 PM a big bull came in. When I say big I mean it. Probably 340-350. He wallowed for twenty minutes. Soon as he stepped off the water and bugled it sounded like and explosion went off in the pines across the canyon from me. I thought a herd had winded me but they actually were running to me. A big cow and calf walked by me at ten steps then the cow started to water butt on at thirty yards; that being the farthest water. Ten minutes later she was still drinking butt on when a small bull (same one as opening day) came walking right up the creek under my tree. He proceeded to lick the cows butt. I new she wouldn't appreciate that so I came to full draw. Annoyed with the small bull she curled her lips back and hissed at him a couple of times. She then jumped out of the creek right behind a pine tree and calmly fed over the hill and out of my life forever.
Yes you read that right. I had her at ten yards at one point, in my wallows for ten minutes, and I never even shot at her. To say the least I was a little down at that point but really excited to have seen so many elk. Well right after that a big five by six came in. When I say big I mean it. Without the other point he was still well into the 300s. Then the canyon got real quite. I mean there can only be so many elk right. Well about an hour before dark I heard a crunch and looked down and there was a spike bull, two-year-old spike I think, biggest one I have ever seen, feeding up the canyon through the aspen. And guess what I was thinking. “The second this one thinks about turning broadside I'm throwing some bear broad-heads around.” He walked up the creek and turned broadside at about two yards (Two yards from the bottom of my tree, it was probably 4 or 5 yards from the tip of my arrow). I drew; he heard me and looked up. I settled my pin right on the tip of his shoulder (I was shooting straight down) and let her fly. I herd a big crack and something hit me in the face. Chaos reigned!!! The bull took off. I was dazed and
. The bull stopped in some trees thirty yards away. I knew something went wrong. I didn't know what but something was definitely out of whack. Still I was expecting him to tip over any second. I just kept waiting and waiting and waiting.... Eventually he just walked off up into the pines. At this point I’m thinking, "Jon, you are the worlds worst elk hunter.”I climbed out of the stand and found my bloodless arrow about ten yards from where the elk was standing. (That's right, I missed the elk by more than the distance he was from me) I climbed in the tree and thought, "my bow is broken" (that actually had happened to me on a big 3x3 up bear canyon several years ago). I checked out the bow. Everything was fine. Then I remembered about something hitting me in the face. You got to remember I was under the influence of adrenaline. You know how that is. When the elk came in I didn't get a chance to stand. I shot sitting, facing straight forward, so the bottom of my bow was between my legs, and I was leaning over pointing straight down. I knocked an arrow and drew and recreated the shot. Low and behold there was the top of a cut off pine1inch in front of my broad head with a fresh white scar of missing wood. The tip of an arrow actually sits several inches below the sight window. Looking through the peep I couldn't even see the obstruction at all!!! Definitely the world's worst elk hunting display. So I hung my bow in the tree and did some soul searching. Said some prayers and learned some things about myself I hadn't known before.
Then out of the corner of my eye up the canyon I saw a tan body slip into the pines about 150 yards away. There is an elk trail (elks version of I-15) that comes from their bedding across the canyon and above me to my top wallow at thirty yards. So I knew that within the next few minutes I was going to have yet another elk drinking within bow range. I stood readied my bow. I was just starting to think it wasn’t going to come when out stepped a beautiful little spike bull. He walked down to the top water and sniffed a few times then started to drink. Just as his nuzzle hit the water I touched the trigger. (Dad has later explained that when they first start to drink is when they are most wary and feel most vulnerable; I didn't know this not being a harvester of elk as he is) At the sound of the shot that little bull moved a long way and instead of hitting him in the heart (I did shoot a little low) it punched the dirt where he had been standing. Sad day brother. The only good news came when I radioed Dad and he shared the good news that he had one down and already had it half quartered. While this hunt was very disappointing in some ways I was encouraged by all the elk I had seen and things I had learned. I knew the next time would be different.
The next time rolled around the next Friday when Sam and I went back in. Right in the bottom where the canyon splits a big bear was standing on the hill staring at us. He had found Dad’s elk carcass and eaten it gone (not even any bones or hide left). The bear just ambled up off into the pines. Since Sam was going to sit where Dad had I asked him what he was going to do. “I don’t care about no bear. If it has any sense at all it will be worried about me.” Typical Sam. So we went are separate ways.
Repeat of the previous weekend. Only they were in full rut mode. They started to bugle as I was putting my stand in and didn’t quite, ever. They were still at it on are way out. Even Sam said he has never herd anything like it in his life. There were at the very least a dozen different bulls bugling. We literally herd hundreds of bugles. The best part of it all was the farthest elk out of that whole bunch was within rifle range of me. I was in my tree stand a whole hour before anything actually came in (they were bugling from their beds). The first elk was mister big 5x6. He got in the wallow and thrashed the mud with his horns, pissed all over himself, jumped out of the wallow ran around the meadow dragging his horns through the dirt and rocks. I don’t know how he avoided a neck injury. Then he would come at a full run and flop down in the mud, roll on his back, and kick all four legs in the air. It was an amazing spectacle. He finally left and mister small branch antlered bull shows up and starts to drink. Then I start hearing the cows mew. They stood up on the hill and mewed and wined all night. There were probably over 50 of them. Not exaggerating it could have been over a hundred. The problem was the big heard bull/bulls wouldn’t let them come and drink out of the wallows with other bulls in there. Eventually many of the cows with the heard bulls passed by in the trees and watered below me. Sam called in one of these small herds but they held up at 40 yards (he was packing his stick bow instead of his usual Reflex) because that bear came in shortly after Sam got in his stand and didn’t leave till Sam yelled and screamed right at dark (He would have attempted this earlier but was only 500 yards from me and knew I was covered with elk). What a brother!
Back to my wallow. The little bull just lay down in the water and chilled for thirty minutes. During this time I could hear elk on all four sides of me. Then I caught movement coming down I-15. I turned and faced the water and readied for a shot. I never even looked at the approaching elk. I was amazed when the elk stepped into my vision; another beautiful little spike bull. The little branch antlered bull was still laying in the top wallow so the spike was relegated to the middle wallow ten yards away. He started to drink slightly quartering away. I let him get about a gallon in him (I learned) before I drew my bow. I put my pin halfway up the body and six inches back from his crease and touched off. I saw the arrow hit home. The bull jumped out of the wallow ran about ten steps uphill stopped looked back and tipped over. He was on his feet maybe three seconds after arrow impact.
The little bull above him jumped up, watched the spike die, and then layback down in the water. Five minutes later a bull that dreams are made of walked down out of the pines and put on a spectacle similar to the big 5x6. He was a straight six and had more mass than any typical elk I’ve personally ever seen, plenty of length to. I know he would have netted over 380. What an amazing bull. I really wanted to stay in my stand, but knowing elk eating bears were in the area we had to pack the elk out that night. Once the big boy and little guy left the water I jumped out of my stand, said a little prayer of thanks, and went to work. I only had to use my headlamp to debone the last quarter. Three different herds of elk came within 30 yards of the water while I was working on the elk. It was really fun to hear them talk back and forth. While I was cutting, if it ever got quite I would just let out a little cow chirp (I do this by using my lips as a reed and blowing air through them; I’ve called in several elk this way, some of them got shot) and the canyon would explode with elk sounds.
After finishing the chore I met up with Sam. He said, “How did you not kill one. There were elk all over you all night.” I just pointed my light beam down at my quiver. “Oh you got one. I was gonna say.” He assumed that once I shot the elk would blow out.
We went down to where we had bathed, grabbed are big packs, and hustled back to the meat, worried about the bear stealing my much needed winter food supply. We each took half plus all of our gear. It was over a hundred pounds apiece for three miles.
I would like to thank the UDWR for making nights like this possible. I’m a poor college student and really rely on the over the counter tags to fill my freezer. I would also like to thank my Dad and Mom. I have never met a man who has more respect for the rocky mountain elk. He has killed 27 with a bow to date, many of those being huge bulls, many of them being spikes and cows. All were shot during public land, over the counter, self-guided hunts. Even as I write this he is sitting in tree, over a wallow, in some remote drainage somewhere in the Idaho wilderness. Somewhere within a few miles of him my mom is sitting over her own wallow looking to kill her 12th elk with a bow. Hopefully tonight I will get a call saying “Hey were not as young as we used to be. Can you come pack elk for a couple of days.”
And lastly I would like to thank my wife. She has always been supportive of all my outdoor passions. Thanks babe.
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