Friday we were back after them. Part of the Badger ethos, I guess: Once I decide something is worth doing, I don't give up easily.
We didn't see any elk Friday night, but heard a couple of distant bugles that told us where they were. Saturday morning, we spotted a bachelor herd at first light. It's weird for them to be hanging with other bulls this late; they should be rutting and chasing cows. But elk are notional critters that do what they want, and if you're going to hunt them you have to roll with it.
We snuck in about 100 yards from a small group of bulls and started cow calling. Like I said, they should be eager to find a cow this time of year, but they were only mildly interested. They kind of filtered our way through the timber, but not close enough for a shot. When we'd call, they'd look our way, shove each other around a bit, and rake trees with their antlers. They were like middle school boys: They realize girls are interesting, but have no idea what to do about them, so they just eat and fight each other instead.
After hunters and elk took a long break through the heat of the day, we went back in Saturday evening. My buddy spotted a solitary bull grazing across the canyon, and I thought I could pull a sneak on him. It's hard to see with an iphone picture, but he's in the middle of that little open spot in the top center of the picture.
I left my pack with David and headed across the canyon. Once I was within 100 yards I took off my boots to move more quietly. About that time, I realized my elk had two buddies. Dang. Every set of eyes, ears, and nose you add to the equation roughly doubles the difficulty of getting into bow range without being detected.
There's an elk in this picture. Can you find it? I can't.
But he's there.
There were a big bull, a medium six point, and a small but cool-looking, non-typical raghorn. 50 yards out, the elk had no idea that a predator was lurking nearby. They were eating, resting, shoving each other around, just elk doing elky things. So fun to be that close to them.
40 yards out, I'm belly crawling through the sagebrush. Not an easy thing with a longbow, but I can be a sneaky son of a gun. The big bull spotted my movement and jumped up; I blew a soft cow call and they settled right back down. I had to pull back and go in another direction to keep the sun out of my eyes.
30 yards. I was so close I heard the brush crunch when the big bull bedded back down. The two smaller bulls were feeding up over the hill. I moved when their heads were all down, froze when one of them looked up. Elk have amazing all-around vision, so if you can see its face, it can see you. Patience, patience.
20 yards. I'd been within 100 yards of these guys for over an hour now, and they have no idea I'm in the area. Wind is good, in my face. Take 'er slow, be patient, be ready to act decisively when the moment comes. I get off my belly, get an arrow on the string, contort my feet under me without poking my head above the sagebrush.
There. One of the smaller bulls has its head down, shoulder and chest exposed, 15-20 yards away. His head is down; he won't see me come up. All I need is one second to rise and shoot. I come up into a crouch and draw Big Red, picking a spot in the fold behind the shoulder.
But the bigger bull was still bedded, only about ten yards away. Seeing the movement (but probably still having no idea what I was), he thundered to his feet. My chosen target spun in my direction, with a "WHAT, WHAT, WHAT??" look on his face. I thought for a moment he was going to run over me. He turned broadside at 10 yards but I'm not going to shoot at a moving animal. I let out a chuckle to try to stop him, just for half a second, but they weren't having it. They trotted out over the ridge up-canyon, leaving me empty handed and awash in elk awesomeness.
My buddy was watching the whole thing from across the canyon. He saw the elk go trotting off, left his pack, and blitzed up the canyon, hoping to get ahead of them. They traveled 100 yards or so then started feeding again. He was able to sneak in, cut one off, and put it down with a spine shot. He credits me with the solid assist.
But elk will have their revenge. This is where he died. Field dressing him in the bottom of the creek, in the mud, in the dark, then carrying several hundred pounds of meat back to camp on our backs? It was every bit as fun as you'd imagine.
We'll be heading out to the desert tonight to try to connect with a herd, and give these guys a night off. We might head back into this canyon tomorrow, though. It's a real honey hole.
There were tons of elk, hundreds of them. And not one chance in God's earth of getting within a quarter mile of them.
