A couple of years ago, prior to my first season of bow hunting,I picked out 5 of my most consistently grouping GT Pro Hunter arrows and labeled them with a sharpie #’s 1-5. For those of you who remember, I posted the story of a bull that my #1 arrow passed through in the fall of 2012, which unfortunately I was unable to recover. In the fall of 2013 my confidence in bow hunting was still a little shaken (even after practicing quite a bit), but I gave it a try anyhow and came up empty handed after passing on some rag horns and a few close calls with good bulls. During the offseason this summer I lost my #2 shooter to a sliced fletching while practicing with my broad heads (125 gr. G3 Montecs). So, as fate would have it, my #3 shooter was going to be the one that I took my first archery elk with...lucky #3.
After 3 seasons of chasing elk around with a bow in the coastal brush, I was developing a great appreciation for how rare shot opportunities actually are. In fact, a few times I had to simply walk away from bugling bulls because the cover I was in was never going to allow me a shot opportunity, and I'd probably chase them out of the country if I got too aggressive...something I never had to worry about with a rifle...charge in and shoot 'em.
At any rate, after two days of playing chess with some pesky raghorn satellite bulls, I finally found myself in a position where a mature bull just couldn't resist the urge to come in and challenge me. I was so busy trying to figure out where the cows were in relation to this little annoying, chuckling raghorn that I had no idea there was a nice bull quietly working his way through the timber right at me. I didn't hear him till he was within 75 yds. I had no time to range anything around me so I nocked an arrow and drew back right as he came up over a rise looking straight in my direction at about 30 yds. He held for a second and then turned and started walking broad side through the timber, so I slowly let my draw down. He ended up popping out right on the old road I was crouched on at about 35 yds, slightly quartering away, leaving his lungs wide open in this little tunnel of a shooting lane I had (I spend a lot of my time at work using a range finder to measure distances at 50 - 200 ft for laying out stream buffers for timber sales...so my eye for judging distances inside 40 yds is very keen) I estimated him at about 35 yds and I was darn close. My practice must've paid off too because everything felt so natural as I drew back, anchored, and let 'er rip. The noise the arrow made upon impact sounded like what I imagine it would sound like if you shot an arrow through a piece of plywood...POP! I was actually a little worried that maybe it was deflected and hit a tree. The bull turned and darted for about 15 yds, stopped and took a couple slow steps, and then darted away again...crashing through the timber for what seemed like an eternity with the sound seemingly getting further and further out. I was worried. After my adrenaline settled, I crept down the road and inspected where he was standing. I did not find blood within the first 15 yds, but in the place where he slowed down for a second, I found a couple dime sized drops of blood...and my arrow, covered in blood, full penetration. I felt good at that point, until I remembered that this is exactly how my experience in 2012 started. It was 9:15am, so I calmed myself down and decided to stay put until 10:00am.
At 10:00 am, I started the track. I was finding good blood for about 30 yds, nice quarter sized drops with air bubbles, and a few places where it looked like blood had sprayed/misted the ground...and then nothing. For about 5 minutes I didn't leave a 50 foot radius area from where I last found blood...trying hard to figure out which tracks were his and combing the ground for any tiny bits of blood. After finding no blood, I decided to follow what I thought was his tracks. I went about 30 yds more slowly picking my way through the timber and ended up walking up on him...all piled up, dead. It was shocking to me at first...like I wasn't convinced that an arrow could actually kill an elk, until I proved it to myself… and the fact that he was laying there dead within 100 yds from where I shot him after sounding like he ran all the way down the hill and up the other side.
The feeling of killing an elk with a bow was certainly a little different than with a rifle, but it was pretty short lived for me...because no matter what you kill it with, you're still a solo hunter with an 800 lb dead animal to deal with. It took me about 2 1/2 hours to process him (while keeping everything clean)...gut, quarter and skin the legs, bone out the rest of the meat, sack it up, and hang it in the trees. I was pretty exhausted at that point, so I called up a friend of mine and asked him to find some packers...and boy did he deliver. He showed up with 6 teenage boys with pack boards, all with their chest sticking out, competitive as can be. It was a blast. For an 0.8 mile pack through timber and old skidder roads, it was fast. Those kids were actually racing each other with 75-125 lbs each on their back.
Anyway, here are some low quality cell phone pics.
