Arizona Elk Story and Pics........POSTING FOR A FRIEND

[backwoods_boy]

This story is courtesy of the hunter,
He lives in Arizona and is the Son of my neighbors.
I believe he is sending his pics and story to a few hunting mags.
Enjoy!
__________________________________________

Preseason Prelude:

Let’s face it.  The economy stinks and it has affected almost everyone’s hunting plans.
   I have been very blessed over the years and have gone on some fantastic hunts, both guided and do it yourself with draw and over the counter tags.  Sure, I’ve had to make sacrifices and difficult choices in order to pull some hunts off, but I had never before considered canceling a hunt, much less doing it for economic reasons.
   Yet, late in 2008, I was on the phone to Canada, canceling a sheep hunt I had been planning for four years.  The layoffs and pay cuts at work, combined with the crumbling stock market, had finally caught up with me.  I spent the winter in a completely depressed state of mind.  My workouts were without motivation and purpose and when the application season began, I found myself being less attentive to detail and just sending in the paperwork.  
   I was wallowing in self pity when I checked the Arizona Game and Fish draw results.  My heart skipped a beat when I saw the word “successful” next to my elk application.  Suddenly life had purpose again!
   “It’s like Christmas, only several months early,” I tried to explain to a non hunting friend.  They didn’t understand my excitement, but then I doubt that they had ever waited longer than 30 minutes in their life, and that was for an $8 cup of coffee.
“There were over 1000 applicants for these 15 tags,” I continued.  They can’t relate to waiting as many years as I have just for the opportunity to do something.  Granted I have consistently drawn quality hunting tags over the years, but I spend many hours researching hunting locations, draw odds, success rates, trophy quality, access, and the million things that make some tags good and others great.  I routinely apply in 8 states.  Some years I draw no tags, other years I draw a couple and have to make difficult decisions.  A couple of years ago I turned in a good Colorado mule deer tag for a refund because I knew it would only be a distraction to the main event: a Utah elk tag that had taken 9 years to draw!
   Yes, I’m a firm believer that if you play the odds and apply often enough, you will get drawn.  It’s just a matter of time.    
   
   My wife could only shake her head when I announced my good fortune.  Her nutcase husband had instantly gone from deep depression to total preoccupation with the task at hand, making lists, spending hours on the phone with resources, tinkering with gear, practicing with his bow, endlessly studying maps, making long scouting trips, and exercising fanatically.
   On my final scouting trip in early September, as I was sweating my way uphill in the Arizona sun to check for sign at a hidden waterhole, it occurred to me that I should have been backpacking for Dall sheep in the Northwest Territories that day.  The rather exclusive elk tag in my pocket offered some consolation, and I vowed to give this elk hunt just as much effort as I would have put out on the sheep hunt.
   I arrived in my hunt unit 2 days before season and checked around to see where the other hunters are camped.  With only 15 tags in the unit, there was no reason to be bumping elbows with everyone else.  I heard two bulls bugle as darkness fell.

[backwoods_boy]

The Hunt Begins:

There was disappointment and growing worry from being in the woods for 5 days before even seeing an elk.  This is supposed to be one of the most premium elk hunts in the world!  What’s going on?
Five days of dawn to dark hunting and I was wondering if this unit was all it was cracked up to be.  Other than those distant first night bugles, I was yet to see or hear anything but coyotes and a very bold mountain lion.  Frequent afternoon downpours made waterhole hunting somewhat less than effective.  Yet the midday sun had often been so intense that you could actually feel your skin sunburning.  There were times in the middle of the day when my sole mission seemed to be to stay in a shady spot as the sun worked its way across the pale blue sky.  When the sun was out, you prayed for clouds and a cool breeze.  When the clouds came and the afternoon rains hit, you cursed the effect the rain would have on the elk, making their movements unpatternable, less localized, and more random.  Nights were often too warm for a sleeping bag.

*********

   Even when the hunting is slow, there are always things to keep your interest, little moments that make for great memories.  Coyotes, squirrels, rabbits, deer, bears, and the myriad of bird and insect life provide your daily entertainment.
Of course there was the cougar.  Easing through the woods as I cow called, I spotted a flash of white and thought “jackrabbit”.  Then he turned and I saw the tail.  How cool was that?
Ten minutes later, I’m cow calling and a bird flushes to my right.  Mr. Cougar stealthily pads out from behind the brush.  I watch for a few moments as he searches for the cow elk he heard.  Finally I stand up and he gives me that “oops, I’m busted” look only a cat can give before walking off.  Wow.
Half an hour before dark and a quarter mile further along I’m cow calling and for some reason get the urge to look behind me.  Mr. Mountain Lion is crouched 40 yards away, studying my position, legs coiled underneath.  The novelty is wearing off.  I stand.  He holds his ground.  I nock an arrow and take two steps toward him.  He continues staring.
The final straw for me is putting the 6X laser range finder on him and seeing the tip of his tail twitching like a barn cat stalking a pigeon.  I draw.  He’s a relatively small target, facing head on.  I sight at the bottom of his chin and release. 
The cat launches into the air and lands in the heavy brush.  My arrow clatters out of sight behind him.  He thrashes for a moment before rolling out of sight.  There is another crash and then silence.
I approach cautiously and, after finding my arrow and examining the area, realize I must have hit a rock directly under his chin.  He jumped and landed in dense brush and it took him several seconds to extract himself from the bushes.
I’ll never know if he was just a curious cat, or if he really meant business, but we seem to have both concluded the event unscathed and a little wiser.

**********

There were no bugles to chase and the thick vegetation and lack of large openings in the area I was hunting made glassing a low probability proposition.  Time to move on.

Time for a change:

A change of location put me into the elk.  The cows were moving up and down a series of parallel valleys and the bulls were in close pursuit.  The rut wasn’t going full blast yet, but there was enough bugling and activity to make it relatively easy to keep track of the different groups of elk.  The bulls were answering my calls and sometimes coming in, but they were hanging up out of range.  I tried everything I could think of to get them to close the distance, including the use of decoys, but in the end concluded I would have to take the fight to them.  It’s just one of the difficulties you have to accept when you hunt alone.  There’s no one else there to help you team call and set up on the bulls.
Don’t get me wrong, by adapting to the elk’s behaviors and moods there was still plenty of action.  I was slipping past bedded cows, convincing nosey spikes that I was just part of the scenery, and adapting my calling to each individual bull’s attitude.  I passed up shots at 320 and 340 bulls because I’d seen bigger ones around.  I was feeling like the ultimate predator until….. 

[backwoods_boy]

The low spot:

The clattering of antlers raking the brush ended abruptly and was replaced by the incessant buzzing of the mosquitoes that were swarming around my head.  All that separated me from the bull was a screen of small pine trees, but it was thick enough to prevent a shot.
   Six hours earlier I had watched the big 6 point cross the valley and bed a few hundred yards away from his cows.  He had passed by at 60 yards, outside my effective shooting range.  With the help of a very distinctive bugle (moan – wheeze – moan), I had been able to keep track of him all day.  When he rose from his bed in the early evening and began raking a tree, it presented a golden opportunity to use the sound to cover my approach over the dry brush and gravel.
   Now I was 30 yards below him with an arrow nocked and no shooting lane.  The soft sounds as he bit off clumps of grass assured me he was still there.  The mosquitoes continued to feast on my face and whine annoyingly in my ears.  I didn’t dare raise a hand to swipe at them.  A few steps forward and I’d have a clear shot, but I’d be stepping out of the shade and was sure he’d see the movement of my lengthening shadow.  This opportunity had happened so fast that I hadn’t had time to consider removing my boots for a quieter approach.  If I could hear him munching grass, I knew he would hear any movement on my part.  As the sun moved lower, I stood and watched the long shadow cast by his antlers bob up and down as he fed.  That will give you a severe dose of buck fever!
   I finally decided to risk a step backwards and painstakingly moved my right foot behind me.  It seemingly took forever, but the reward was a narrow shooting lane thru the branches.  Now if he would just oblige by stepping into that lane.
   No sooner did this thought occur than antlers filled the space.  My heart hammered as antlers were replaced by neck and I came to full draw.  Neck changed to shoulder as the bull quartered away.
“Block out that mosquito chewing on my eyebrow.  Check the grip, anchor point, breath, settle the sight pin.”
   The bull exploded forward.  Where he had stood was now only a cloud of dust and one waving branch.  I did not see the arrow strike.  The waving branch 5 yards in front of me gave me a sinking feeling.
   70 yards away the bull spun, facing back where he had come from.  Standing broadside, I could see no evidence of an exit wound, so I watched and waited.  After several minutes, the big bull turned and moved uphill, finally revealing the side of the shot.  My hubris was shattered.  Orange fletching protruded from much too high in his shoulder and I inwardly groaned.  From out of the growing darkness came the familiar “moan-wheeze-moan”, and I knew I’d have to wait until morning to follow up. I slowly moved to where the bull had stood after the shot.  I honestly can’t say whether I was more relieved or dismayed at the puddle of lung blood on the ground.  I knew the hit was high and he had continued bugling, so I hadn’t gotten both lungs.
I stumbled back to camp in the darkness, nursed my bug bites, and wondered.
   Daylight found me following my GPS to the site of the previous evening’s excitement, but since several bulls were bugling, I elected to detour to a high point and spend a little time just listening for that distinct bugle.  Luck being what it is, I promptly encountered an absolute toad of a seven pointer.  He drifted by at forty yards and never even noticed me.  I did not hear the bugle I was listening for.   
Back on the trail, the puddle of blood I’d seen the previous evening, along with one location where he brushed against a tree, were the only blood sign I found.  The number of elk moving in and out of the area made tracking difficult, but I managed to follow him nearly half a mile.  Rain that afternoon erased all hope of following and I resorted to a grid search.  This was not looking good.
For the next three and a half days I grid searched, checked nearby water holes, listened for the bugle, watched for crows and magpies, backtracked and retracked, and followed hunches.  No bull.  I felt a gnawing sickness in the pit of my stomach.  As if to add insult to injury, I kept getting shot opportunities at the big seven point bull.  Opportunities I was forced to pass until I was confident of the fate of “my” bull. 
The final blow was when I encountered a lion hunter with hounds.  When the dogs scoured the valley for lion scent and didn’t happen across my elk, I knew it was a lost cause.  I finally admitted defeat, and went to town for a brief break and to decide how to proceed.  That was the low point for me.  Only a fellow hunter can possibly know and understand how a person feels under those circumstances.  At that point, the lowest of the season, I almost gave up totally and nearly went home.
   What to do.  I’d waited all these years for this premium elk tag.  Applications, preference points, disappointment, and finally elation at being drawn.  Hours, days and weeks of scouting.  Hundreds of miles driven.  The investment was substantial in physical, psychological, and monetary terms.
   After a lot of soul searching, I came to the conclusion that I’d done everything I could.  With six days remaining in the season, I decided to return to the same area, hunt the big seven point, and keep my eyes, ears and nose open for any sign of the bull I’d hit.  I must confess that I spent more time looking than hunting, as my heart was not totally into it.

Rebound:

Getting back in the saddle proved difficult.  It took another three days to shake off the lost bull enough to mentally get back in the game, but with three days left in the season, I noticed myself reassuming “predator mode”.  I determined to stay till the end of season. Fortunately the rut was really heating up and the action was getting fast and furious.
   The next couple of days were full of “almost” and “what ifs”.  On the third to last morning I passed a shot on a unique bull with short, four point, club like antlers that were literally bigger around than a baseball bat (probably 14 inches in diameter).  Thirty minutes later a huge bull with turned down eyeguards skidded to a stop at 45 yards.  Unfortunately he came in so fast that I was still nocking my arrow when he moved off.  That evening I got in on a monster 6 point.  I had been picked off by his cows three times, but was able to convince them I was part of the landscape each time.  Now he was stepping out from behind a tree at 35 yards and I was at full draw.
   The big ones have a sixth sense.  Just as his shoulder cleared he turned, offering only the classic Texas heart shot.  When I let down, a spike spotted the movement and took the whole herd thundering down the hill.
   Two days to go and gusty swirling winds were an issue.  I tried to get in on the same big 6 point several times, finally the cows got antsy and took him away.  A bear strolled by at 10 yards.  That evening, at a waterhole, the winds calmed down, but the elk didn’t come in till after dark.
Suddenly I was down to the last day.

[backwoods_boy]

Last Day:

During the night, I am kept awake by the sound of bugling and the clashing of antlers, but the elk have moved away when dawn comes.  It’s the last day, so I pull out all of the stops and jog after them.  It’s a race.  They are headed toward a power line that runs along the boarder of an Indian reservation.  If they cross that power line, they are lost to me.
   There must be 15 or 20 bulls bugling now.  It’s insane.  Half, including the largest bulls, are already crossing onto reservation land.  I set up in the edge of trees about 400 yards on my side of the fence and start a series of pleading “hyper hot” cow calls.  The bulls go nuts and the bugling is nonstop now. They like what they are hearing.  Will I be able to call anything back to my side?
   The answer comes quickly as several bulls begin closing on my position.  The first to expose himself is a young 6 point.  I say young, but he is actually a 320 plus satellite bull that has lots of potential for the future.  If he gives me a shot, he will not have a future!  He picks me off before stepping clear, seeing my form crouching in the shadows, and moves away, still bugling at the hot cow he hears and looking back over his shoulder.
   Two raghorns are approaching from opposite sides.  They posture and hiss at each other twenty yards in front of me before locking horns.  I slide back into the timber and move uphill where I can hear several more bulls and some cows.
   My new position gives me fewer shooting lanes, but better cover.  I start the pleading cow calls again and once again every bull in the valley responds greedily.  The bull with cows above me wants to come in, but keeps returning to his cows.  He is fired up.
   Branches crack to my right and a big 350 plus bull comes wading through the trees.  At 35 yards I draw.  25 yards, 20, 15, 10, at 8 yards he stops to rake a tree.  He’s in the open, but giving me the quartering toward shot and I wait.  My arms are quivering from holding at full draw.  Now his eyes lock on me and he bolts, but stops about thirty yards out.  Still no shot and I watch as he paces back and forth behind the trees 60 yards away.  I let the bow down and take a deep breath.
   Another 6 point boils in from the right.  He is smaller, but his top three points are crowned like a Roosevelt elk.  He stops to sniff the tree the other bull just raked, offering a broadside shot.  He’s just not what I want to take home with this tag, so I swallow and let him drift away.  Besides, the 350 bull is still pacing behind the trees.
   It’s intense.  I’ve called in five bulls in less than 30 minutes.
   Suddenly I hear a change in the bull with the cows, and there is no doubt he is coming in.  I can see feet below the branches and get a flash of antler that tells me what I need to know about his size.  As his head goes behind a tree I raise my bow.  I know the crown pointed bull is staring at me, but this is my only chance to draw.  I just hope he stares long enough for me to get a shot.
   The big bull clears, but he is passing through my shooting lane too quickly.  I cow call with the diaphragm and he skids to a stop just in time.
   Grip, anchor, breath, settle the pin.
   The bull crashes off like he was shot out of a canon.  This time I saw the arrow hit and, though maybe a touch high, it looks good.  Branches literally explode in the air as the bull runs through a tree and thunders away.  There is another crash and then a third in the distance a few seconds later.
   The woods are enveloped by the silence that can only be left behind by a spooked elk.  I check my watch and, with trembling hands, dig out the orange flagging tape and GPS to mark my location.  After listening for 10 minutes, I break out a power bar, water, and energy goo.  I wait a very long 30 minutes and try to quit shaking.
   Standing where the bull was at the shot, I find no blood, only scuff marks from his hooves and even these are indistinct on the rocky ground.  I follow the tracks cautiously and come to the first tree he went through.  Branches are scattered along his exit path and I see where he snapped off a nearly 6 inch diameter limb.  The clean break has elk hair embedded in the bark.
   40 yards further I find the back half of my arrow.  Lung blood and good penetration!  After losing the other bull, I curb my enthusiasm, and proceed cautiously, reminding myself to stalk, glass, and proceed as if the bull was unwounded.
   25 yards further and my glassing spots what appears to be an elk rump.  I sink to the ground for a better view and study closely.  Now I can see legs folded underneath.
I watch for several minutes, but see no movement.
   The boots come off.  I’ll slip to my left and come in directly behind him for another shot.  He is only 50 yards away.
   I’m only a few steps into my move when the view reveals antlers buried in tree branches and his neck on the ground.  I glass his chest another minute for signs of breathing before the relief washes over me.  A few moments later the relief is replaced by exuberance, thankfulness, and celebration.

Postscript:

Not as big as my original “goal”, but massive, broken, and with plenty of character.  His unique combination of stunted, bladed and broken points makes up for everything.  He is an old bull with plenty of character, big bottoms, excellent mass, and a left horn with a deformed 4th and broken 5th.  He later rough scored 335 in spite of the missing points.
Best of all the double lung shot put him down quickly and cleanly.  He only ran 120 yards and was on his feet less than 10 seconds. He is an old bull and carries the scars of a hard life.  It may seem like a peculiar mix, but I am humbled and intensely proud at the same time.   
A great hunt and a hard earned bull that I couldn’t be prouder of even if he had another 50 inches of antler.  As much as I love sheep hunting, this bull was a worthy consolation prize for my cancelled hunt!

*********

Now, post hunt, trying to put down on paper all of the feelings of anticipation, worries and doubts, the intense planning, the hard work both physically and mentally, the highs of success, the crushing blows of defeat, and all of the little details that make hunting worthwhile seems like a task almost more daunting than the hunt itself.
Where to start.  What to include.  What to leave out or tell another day.

Nine Lives

I returned to the area several weeks later to do some coyote hunting and, once again, to search for the first bull.  The rut is all but over, although the bulls are still trailing the cow herds and bugling sporadically.  On my last predator calling set up, I make a couple of coyote howls and then decide to take a leak before settling in with the dieing rabbit calls.
As I’m watering the grass, I spot movement 60 yards out and out walks non other than my friend the mountain lion (I’m less than ½ mile from the site of our previous encounter).  He glances my way and, since I’m busted anyway, I finish the task at hand and decide to make a grab for my rifle.
My movements are slow and deliberate, but the cat moves behind some screening brush.  With rifle now in hand, I start the rabbit calls.  Instantly a coyote trots out 100 yards away, circling my position.  I ignore him and focus on scanning for the lion.
I slight twitch in the brush and I can see him, studying my position, not quite trusting what his ears are telling him.  He finally steps forward and his face is framed by the crosshairs of my scope.  The outcome of today’s episode is about to be completely different than the last time we met.
Another step forward and his shoulder is in the clear.  The crosshairs hover over the right spot and my breathing steadies.  “Dead kitty,” I think as the .243 interrupts the morning quiet.
Now I believe that cats truly do have nine lives.  He trots casually off into the trees, unscathed, with only one quick glance over his shoulder.  No blood, no hair, no broken branches to give me the excuse of a deflected bullet.  It’s been a long time since I missed an animal clean when hunting with a rifle, but that seems to be the case here.  I search the area just to be sure.
With two lives down, I’ve started planning my next seven trips.

Misc observations…..

Taking time out to shoot a few arrows every couple of days was a routine that required some discipline.  There are always other camp chores that need attention, and there are certainly more interesting activities to pursue (like actually hunting!!), but in season practice pays huge dividends and helped restore my confidence when it was lagging.

I love breakfast.  It’s my favorite meal.  Unfortunately the medical profession has convinced me that too much of a good thing is bad for my arteries.  It doesn’t help the waistline either.  Which brings me to one of my favorite things about hard, physical hunts: you can eat anything you want, and as much as you want.  My choice was to have a large breakfast at noon on any day I was back at the truck for midday.  Omelets, scrambled eggs with hashbrowns, sausage and bacon, French toast, pancakes.  Just writing this makes my mouth water.  16 days of eating whatever I wanted.  I still lost 5 pounds!

Then there were the mosquitoes.  When I found the elk, I found swarms of the pests.  For two days every stalk was haunted by their eternal whining.  Of course anytime I got pinned down by a cow or curious spike, the little pests would chew my hands, face and neck as if they knew I didn’t dare take a swipe at them for fear of spooking the elk.  It was an unfair advantage!  Fortunately the “hatch” dwindled after two days of hot and dry weather.

Early seasons present a sleep dilemma.  Shooting light ended at about 7:00 each evening and started at 5:45 the next morning.  Rare was the day that didn’t include at least 30 to 45 minutes of hiking in the dark on each end, so if you do a little math and add in things like breakfasts and dinners, end of day gear sorting, prepping for the next day, and miscellaneous camp chores, the nights start getting a little short.  Sleep comes at a premium.  Midday naps are difficult because sometimes you’re moving camp, and if you do stay in the woods all day, the mosquitoes and flies prevent much rest.  Besides, when a bull bugles at midday, you just have to go and investigate!  When the season was over, I needed some days off of work to recover from my days off of work.

Why it’s a vacation:  For 16 days the pace and direction of your life is dictated by sunrise, sunset, weather, animal movements, and terrain; Things that are totally outside your control and thus must simply be accepted.  You have no other choice.  You eat when you’re hungry, drink when you’re thirsty if water is readily available – drink when you can if it isn’t.  If something happens, like an injury or a broken piece of equipment, you just deal with it, adapt, and get on with the hunt.  There’s no cell phone coverage and the internet isn’t available.  Nature’s rules tend to be simple, absolute, and a little harsh.  Unlike “Reality TV” or so called “Adventure Vacations”, there is no safety net, no helmet, and no one there to bail your sorry butt out if things go wrong.  You think before you act and you always keep in mind that there may be consequences for any decision you make, good or bad.

[backwoods_boy]

This is my neighbors son.
Good job Steve!!!
An amazing story and amazing pics.

[backwoods_boy]

few more

[WAcoyotehunter]

GREAT write up!!! 

[Bigbuckhunter_1996]

man!!!!! nice bull!! what did he score boone & crockett?

[Jason]

WOW!! great story and pics!! and congrats on a nice bull!

[NWBREW]

Sounds like the hunt of a life time...Congrats on a great Bull and awsome adventure.

[backwoods_boy]

Not sure what it scored yet. i will post it when he gets a tape on it.

[STIKNSTRINGBOW]

Congratulations! a great hunt and awesome bull ! !
What decoy is that ? I already own 2 montana decoys, but the head you have would be a great addition.

[backwoods_boy]

I am not sure this is not my hunt or my elk. i am posting this for a friend......

[carpsniperg2]

thats a nice bull didn't we see pictures without the story awhile ago maybe its just me but i thought i had seen this bull before

[backwoods_boy]

yes but i wanted to add the story he just sent me.....yes i posted the bull pics but not with the story and some of the other hunt pics.