This year with an already full fall schedule, new construction, and some lengthy single parenting, I wasn’t planning on hunting elk and certainly not in Washington. Most certainly, not with a bow in hand. Nevertheless, I live in Washington where anybody can win and always feel obligated to apply for some of our more coveted big game draws. So in the spring, under the elk application options, I chose only the hunts for which I would sacrifice serious time and money for. When winnowed down to the final choices, there was almost no need to worry about fitting another hunt.
With very low points, the odds were giant.Big game draws occurred on a busy day at work. My main concern was whether or not my nephews or wife drew antlerless tags which we’d hoped for, so I checked mine last. “Wow! I drew another cow tag with two points.” Probably could dedicate a weekend trip for that. I scrolled further and caught my breath. Under active licenses, “Quality Elk”. I went back to work, unable to trust this indication and not willing to deal with the letdown. Yet it was still there half an hour later and the urge overcame me so I texted my close friends Karl, Chris, and Jared but I was only about 80% certain of what applied for. In reality I knew but I wasn’t quite willing to face the expectations of that tag.
They would be giant. Karl told me later that day after I had confirmed the tag, “land of the giants”. Extremely humbled by the prospect of this, I received another text. This time from Coach, “we chasin giant bulls? Hell yeah game on.” When a person like Coach says, “game on” he means it. Coach is the kind of man who high steps through the woods with injuries that doctors consider debilitating. His mind doesn’t work that way. These guys who let me hang around each fall, they’ve killed huge piles of elk and a bunch of big bulls. Some huge. It was clear,
this September I would stand on the shoulders of giants.Summer flew by in a whirlwind. I fit in a total of 11 days in the unit. First trip in June was an absolute onslaught of mosquitoes. Elk were very visible and I saw dozens of bulls but nothing really big. Nobody pressured me to target a certain bull or a certain size but I owed everyone a run at more than a good bull. On the first cam check, Karl told us, “we found a biggun, a mack truck!” On the last scouting trip with Coach and Coach Jr and we heard a hundred bugles and caught a glimpse of what we thought was
a true Giant This bull was near multiple crazed bulls and dozens of cows but he was acting calm and didn’t give us more than a glimpse.
Opening day came and went, I was at work. Chris, Coach, and Jr. had explored that day and had some decent intel. The next morning, Karl would be there too and our group would be hunting spikes and monster bulls. That night it was trouble to fall asleep; questioned if I was ready. I imagined and reimagined the bigger bulls and the possible accident of shooting a smaller bull. Had I scouted enough? Did I have enough contingency plans? We’d known that hunting pressure and rut would radically change the elk on the landscape.
Chris and I were up at 3:30 a.m. I double checked the blades on my RAD broadheads and casually mentioned, “I’m not shooting anything today anyway”. The woods were crowded but at the spot, the elk were singing. Karl was the “go, no-go” man sitting in my hip pocket and Chris, Coach, and Jr. were the callers. Setup #1 brought in a spike followed by a great six-by-six with 15-20 cows. I had every intention of shooting that bull but Karl called it off. A 340 type bull with long main beams and good tops, just didn’t have the fronts to match. There were other bulls ripping but as they were headed to bedding areas in treacherous country, we let them be. Too early to push it that hard and risk blowing them out. The next spot brought us a 300 class bull all but running in to Coach’s bugles. No real shot opportunity and nowhere near a shooter. A while later, Coach and I made a stalk on a midday bugler who sauntered out and fed within 100 yards of us. I was committed to killing that bull but Karl had the vantage point above us and let out the predetermined “no-go” bugle. As the bull wandered off, we could see the main beams and tops just didn’t match his front end. If you could match him with our bull from the first encounter, you’d have a perfect, 370 bull. As it was, around 330, he just was just not “our bull”. We named him Re-Pete as we encountered him several times.
We were tired from hiking and standing sidehill in the sun so we all napped in the shade. The wind picked up and upon waking, I spotted a pair of spikes several hundred yards away. Jr. and Chris made a textbook stalk on the elk and Chris ended up putting a perfect shot on a spike. With Re-Pete bugling and putting his herd back together, we tried to get Jr. on the other spike but eventually cut up Chris’s spike and hiked out. During the very windy hike out, we solicited a few bugles from a tempting area. Less elk but it just felt right and we noted it for the next day. Ice cream, dinner, sleep.
Another early morning came way too soon. Chris asked me how I felt about today. “Today I’m shooting something”. It was a slimmed down crew because Jr. and Karl had returned to work. The wind had only picked up overnight, making it very difficult to hear elk. Once we found a sheltered vantage point, we saw a pile of elk and could hear intense bugling all throughout the early morning. The elk were tucked into a very secure spot and we decided once again to leave them as they were. After we moved, bugles were non-existent. The biting wind was replaced with a powerful and hot sun. We woke up a few hours later on a bed of hot sharp rocks. Somehow the midday elk hunt was replaced with a plan to hike out and get more ice cream. Before we could leave however, a younger six point crossed the valley and bugled his cows right into another herd about 1000 yards below us. Oops! The nearer bull made it very clear that he would be taking over the moving contingent of cows. The smaller bull retreated towards us and threw a bugling fit in the timber about 400 yards away. The bigger bull showed himself to be a giant. Confident, Charismatic, Heavy, Mature, and surrounded by cows. Chris and I had been distracted by the bull who’d been punked. Corey had found the big fella.
We started the play right away, making a large half mile circle to gain advantage from the dominant wind. On the way we played with a couple bulls including the one who had made the “walk of shame” without his cows. Finally at the proper level and with perfect wind. We felt we were close, probably within 200 yards. Coach took a single step into the final approach and we all dropped to the ground. Coach had seen “Him” bedded about 90 yards ahead. Thankfully no cows had spotted us. The commotion got the bull on his feet and he wandered around the area slowly. We were entirely pinned down in the wide open, in full sunlight. The bull wandered back into a stand of trees, enough for us to scamper to a large pine and hide ourselves.
From there it was a wide open stalk. Coach and Chris stayed at that pine, occasionally calling enough to keep interest. The bull never laid down again, and never left the area. I painstakingly took small, quiet steps. Sometimes with nothing but grass between us and him looking directly our way but always good wind. Several stare downs that lasted multiple minutes. By the time I’d closed from 140 to 110 yards, an hour had gone by and I didn’t have a drop of adrenaline left in my body. I was uncharacteristically calm at that point. Enough to consider how amazing this bull was and how confident he was. Never a loud bugle, just feeding calmly and keeping watch over the whinnying bugles from Coach. He had too many cows to risk. Every pose he gave me resembled another picture from the summer trail cams. A few times he went just out of sight or obstructed his view enough that I could gain a foot or two. Otherwise my progress was glacial. The stalk had started before 2 p.m. and it was then 4 p.m. I had made my down to just below the bull’s level and the evening cooling was threatening the wind. It had shifted a few times, dangerously so. If the bull circled downwind, I’d have no shot. If he walked to the calls, I’d have a long shot. All of a sudden the bull spooked and jumped back 10 yards. He didn’t like something and I knew the next open shot, I needed to take. Quickly ranged his rump but he walking away so as I dialed, I watched his movements to estimate the eventual range.
I estimated an extra four yards and floated the pin. The shot was significantly farther than I prefer. The bow went off like it had all summer but it seemed quieter in the open windy terrain. The arrow was against the blue sky until it dropped out of sight. The bull took off in a hurry, like a solidly hit animal and I saw the arrow sticking but couldn’t quite make out the placement. By then he was 150 yards away and melted out of sight. I was simultaneously exhausted, cotton mouthed, elated, and in a disbelief punctuated with a pounding adrenaline headache. I collapsed therefore once I got back to the guys and we spent a long 45 minutes recounting the whole thing. I’ll always be thankful they were there to help and share the moments. I wish some others could have been there.
The blood started about where we’d last seen him. He had not followed the cows and the blood became very heavy. About 250 yards into the track, I caught his movement as the bull struggled to his feet and slowly made it back of out sight. He looked very poor in his movement but was very much alive. Horrified, I began imagining what had happened and what would happen. The track ended up going another 150 yards where the bull made his last bed, never to rise again. As usual, the overpowering emotion was relief. The hit ended up being arterial and the bleed out took longer than an ideal hit would have.
I’m sitting here trying to decide on a mount form. I want one that represents his true personality as I saw him, calm, confident, powerful. He’s within an inch or two of 400” and I’ll post up the score once he is fully dried and officially measured. He's the biggest bull I've ever seen and likely the biggest I ever will see.
This hunt wouldn’t have been possible without good friends like Coach, Chris, Karl, and Jared. Spending time with me doesn’t say much about your character
but I thank you anyway. A special thank you to @Rainier10. “Never Give Up” is as simple and powerful as a mantra gets, and it doesn’t have to be late in the hunt to be true. @RadSav makes the finest broadheads I’ve used and the true shooting, razor sharp TiCon 125s proved themselves once again. Thanks to all my friends and to whoever is crazy enough to read all this. I rarely write up these stories but I’ve got too many people who deserve a giant thanks.
