An Elk Hunt of Unimaginable Bounty

This may come as a surprise to some but I am a hunter, always have been, always will be. For those of you that know me, you know that I have a long-standing and deeply-rooted passion for hunting. I am not a trophy hunter yet I have collected countless "trophies". In my eyes all the animals I pursue regardless of age or size are worthy of that title. Throughout my hunting career, which started as a young tag-a-long accompanying my Dad and brother on bitter cold days in Western New York, the joy of the "hunt" has never been about the individual animals I pursue but rather the friendships that are forged, the memories that are created, the countless lessons in nature that are learned and yes, the wonderful bounties of fresh meat that are occasionally bestowed. If I did not enjoy eating and sharing the game I obtain I would not pursue my quarry with bow in hand, but alas, I not only eat meat, I love meat. I also prefer and am quite keen on knowing where and how my table fare is obtained. But truth be told, I would not be upset if I never kill another animal for that brief moment in time is undoubtedly the worst part of the entire adventure. Having said that, I am so very thankful and appreciative for each and every animal that the heavens and Mother Nature provide. If they continue to shine down on me and bless me, I hope each year they see to it that my freezers are full with nature's persistent and wonderful bounty.

If the thought of reading a hunting story is not for you, then please stop here. If however, you understand that hunting is a fact of life and an ever-present way, whether it be a grizzly pursuing a bison, a lynx a snowshoe hare, or a man pursuing an elk...then I hope you enjoy.

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I rarely, if ever, hunt alone but sometimes the situation dictates the need. A mid-winter move from Tennessee to New Mexico not only resulted in the desertion of familiar territory but it also caused me to abandon to all my hunting partners as well. So this year, not only was I going on my first-ever elk hunt, I was going to have to go it alone.

My New Mexico elk adventure started out when I was drawn for a late-September archery hunt on the western half of the Santa Fe National Forest. The hunt area borders the famous Vallez caldera which is a renown elk calving ground in the summertime and the land of giant amorous bulls in the fall.

My pre-scouted "elky" looking place.

The caldera doesn't disappoint. I've witnessed a cow and calf herd of almost 1,000 strong in mid-summer, and considering I was hunting in the mountains just outside the caldera I was pretty excited about my upcoming hunt. To improve my chances I did a bit of scouting a few weeks prior to my hunt and found a couple of good "elky-looking" places but other than that, I stayed out of the area. I would put the boots to the ground during my nine-day archery adventure. Having never hunted in the Rockies before and being drawn for one of the most beautiful areas known to man, success was already assured even if no elk were in my cards.

The hunt started on a Thursday morning and given the fact that I didn't know exactly where I was going, I arrived at my meagerly scouted area shortly before daybreak. In other words, I needed the sun to serve as my guide. My plan was simple...hike, listen and pursue.

Logging road leading to the summit.

I couldn't have asked for a better start.

I didn't even finish getting the Jeep door open and I was overwhelmed by a symphony of bugles raining down from the fields above. I quickly grabbed my gear and struck out on a logging road trying to get into the heavier cover at the base of the mountain. It didn't take me long to get settled-in with a glorious view of a wide forested draw. For the next few hours I listened to dozens of bugles and watched as two raghorn bulls and a herd bull, sauntered up the drainage I was glassing. They were all heading to higher ground. I backed out, hit the logging road again and continued to follow its path up the backside of the mountain. I had to get ahead of them.

The peak before me was just over 9,000 feet and not only is it a gorgeous mixed-conifer forest broken by beautiful stark-white stands of aspen but it also just so happens to yield an amazing view of the southern Rockies. Since I didn't have a specific date or time with any particular bull I made sure to take my time and drink in the sights.

Nearing the peak, I was quite thrilled to stumble upon a herd of about twenty wild horses. Truth be told I about dropped a load in my pants when I first encountered the mustangs. I was pushing through a small stand of Gambel oak, which only grow chest-high, and I began to catch a whiff of something rank. Having worked with some not-so-pleasant smelling large carnivores in the past my immediate thought was bear. Had the huge dark-brown figure coming at me not whinnied when it did, I'm certain I would have been spending the rest of the day airing out my backside. Though the thrill of the sights could have entertained me for the remainder of the day, elk hunting beckoned.

The bugles continued nonstop throughout the morning and into the warming afternoon. One bull in particular kept his serenade going about a quarter of a mile down the ridge from where I sat. Being this was day one of my first-ever elk hunt, I truly had no clue what to do. I spent my entire life chasing white-tails and longbeards east of the Mississippi. I needed help and I wasn't ashamed to admit it.

Chest-high thickets made for great cover.

Amazingly enough I had strong cell service so I began texting a few friends who are experienced elk hunters and asked them quite literally, "How the hell do you hunt these things?" Both of them agreed on the tactic and advised that if I go in, go in aggressive... "just don't let him see or smell you". Somehow I am pretty confident I could've figured that one out on my own. Anyhow, their advice was solid. They wanted me to go in and taunt the bull into looking for love or looking for a fight.

Needless to say, I headed directly towards the love-sick bull. I kept myself shielded by seeking cover in an aspen thicket, making "a-whole-messa" noise as I went. After a short struggle through the brush I heard him bugle about a hundred yards out so I eased as close to the edge as I possibly could without being seen. I was still a good twenty yards tucked into thicket. Since I knew he heard me walking, instead of challenging him I decided to entice him. I simply did two soft cow calls and waited. Next thing I know I hear an elephant walking towards me.

I couldn't see him but I knew he was close. The best way for me to describe the next ten seconds in time is for you to relive the scene in your mind from Jurassic Park when the T-Rex roars from a few feet away and you feel your insides come unglued.

His bugle shook me to the core. I could hear his high-pitched squeal reverberating in his chest as he began to lurch forward. Within a few seconds I spotted his outline coming through the edge of the thicket in which I stood...and he was a monster.

At first I couldn't get a glimpse of his entire body but I remember two distinct features, his rack had points going everywhere, even sprouting junk from his main frame, and his deep dark-chocolate brown fur that reminded me of a woolly mammoth. Heck, he looked every bit as big as one.

He started walking the edge of the aspens only twenty yards away. I drew back on him trying to find a clear opening. I stopped him with a doe bleat in the best area possible, which still wasn't good. And yes, I said doe bleat. Some of my eastern habits are hard to break. I think I even rolled my eyes as soon as I realized what I did. It didn't matter it was effective in stopping him.

I could see his head, the line of his back, and his rump, but unfortunately there were a few four-foot tall aspen in front much of his body. I knew exactly where his chest cavity was but I had an extremely narrow window between the aspen. I let an arrow fly.

Somehow...I missed.

My only guess is a deflection from the aspen. Last I saw of him he was headed somewhere towards southern Colorado.

I was thoroughly disgusted with myself not for missing the shot but for risking the shot. I was actually quite relieved it was a clean miss. It was now about two in the afternoon so I decided to start hiking back towards the jeep. A storm system was moving-in in a few hours so I felt it wise not to get stuck on top of the mountain in a thunderstorm.

Elk wallows lined the entire drainage.

On my slow and easy walk back I ended up in an amazing draw that had over a dozen elk wallows, numerous rubs and countless piles of poop, all of the "elk-en" kind. Once again, the bugles erupted and I watched four decent-size bulls head up the far side of the draw away from me. They did not appear to have winded me, they were simply heading the other way. I decided to call it a day and hopefully let the area settle down. It was my hope the looming rains would wash away all my scent and cleanse the woods. Tomorrow, I would get a fresh start.

The next morning called for me to get an earlier start since I was now armed with a better idea of where to go. This time, I stepped out of my jeep about an hour before sunrise. My goal was to make it to the top of the mountain right at first light.  The one thing that disheartened me, however, was that there was no symphony of bugles awaiting me that morning. I only heard one distant bull on the far side of the valley. Trying to keep upbeat I huffed it up the mountain to get to the peak where I ran into the mustangs the day before. I got there just in time to watch the most glorious sunrise.

The summit was both beautiful and refreshing.

Exhausted from the climb I sat on a chair-sized boulder near the crest of the mountain. Before me was a very steep 500-foot drop choked with locust and a few small aspen but otherwise, it was a breathtaking view yet again. I managed to get my water bottle out of the side of my pack to quench my growing thirst. I had to try to cool down. It was only in the upper 50s but I was already sweaty from the ascent.

Low and behold a cow elk called about eighty yards behind me in the forest. Yes, I was totally OK with shooting a cow if a shot presented itself. After all my mission was meat, and cows ate just as well. Unfortunately, I was totally unprepared for an elk to announce its presence where I was sitting so I quickly shed my pack, unstrapped my bow from the sling, and grabbed an arrow from my still fastened quiver. I hopped over the boulder and moved about ten yards towards the still-darkened forest to get in better positions for a shot.

I did two soft cow calls. What happened next? A dang bull bugled from behind me coming from the cliff side!

He was literally coming up the drop-off only ten yards from where I just dropped my pack.  When he finally crested I saw that he was a younger bull, probably a 4x4, but it mattered not to me. The problem was I was anticipating the cow coming in from the other direction and did not imagine one would possibly come from up the cliff. So there I was, smack dab in the wide open not a single tree or bush within ten yards of my backside, as I watched him slowly amble towards me at a distance of only thirty yards.

At twenty-five yards is head briefly disappeared behind a Douglas fir, so I drew back and held steady. Needless to say when his head cleared the fir-tree he saw a big fat guy kneeling in the wide open just over twenty yards away. He immediately stopped and stared at it me. I was at full draw, problem was, his vitals were now behind the Douglas fir.

Ever get in a stare down with a deer? Try that with a bull elk at full draw. It was grueling. It felt like ten minutes even though the stare down may have lasted only a minute or so. Regardless, my arm was turning to jello. I began to shake trying to hold steady at full draw. May arm even jerked forward once almost releasing the arrow.

When he finally stepped out, I could barely hold my arms steady. I put the pin at the base of his chest and hit the release, mainly to relieve the pressure in my arm. I watched in dismay as my arrow flew low and appeared to pass just beneath his heaving chest. Unlike his granddaddy, when this guy ran, he decided to head somewhere towards the Oklahoma panhandle.

Oklahoma, that-a-way.

I was frustrated and dismayed for having missed again. Some guys go for years and years without ever getting within bow range of an elk and here I was having two close-in shots, both missing their mark. I kept playing the shot over and over in my head and couldn't believe my misfortune. I couldn't find blood nor my arrow, mostly because it probably shot over the cliff and into the canyon below. I then walked in the direction he ran, yes, that's Oklahoma, and much to my surprise I found a tiny drop of blood. All I could think was that the arrow grazed him as it passed beneath his chest. I felt sick knowing I possibly knicked him. There was no way I could live with myself without trying to look for him. Needless to say I spent the next three hours hiking up and down the most vile, steep, locust thicket anyone has ever seen. I found countless game trails but not a single other drop of blood, and of course no elk. It was less than twenty-four hours into my first elk hunt and I was already 0-2 at  twenty-five yards and less. I was pretty frustrated and disheartened. I even texted one of my hunting partners and told them of my misfortunes and that I was giving up. Apparently elk hunting wasn't for me.

As expected they gave me their best version of a pep talk. Of course it wasn't the flowery kind, rather it was the "Geez Louise...it there any place in New Mexico you haven't buggered up...go there" kind. It was well-deserved and desperately needed. I told them my only option was west, towards Arizona.

So I decided to go for a hike.

I followed the same ridge line from the day before where I missed the woolly-mammoth-of-a-bull. Sure enough, there were three or four bulls working the deep canyons below. Besides the beautiful sounds of their beckoning squeals, I would occasionally catch a glimpse of their shadowy forms moving through the scattered and oh-so-distant Ponderosa pines. Problem was, I was looking down on them...far down on them. I was dreading not the dissent but rather the inevitable climb back up. I was still exhausted from my morning search on the cliff from hell. Anyway, if I shot a bull down there, there was no way I was getting it out easily. But then I asked myself, "How often do you go elk hunting?" So down I went.

For two hours I played cat and mouse with three different bulls that were intent on dodging me. They not only won, I'm quite sure I heard laughing in their squeals as they sauntered further and further away, apparently heading to Mexico. The ascent back up the mountain was simply the elk's revenge, undoubtedly they deserved it.

Finally, on the "right" side of the mountain and almost out of gas, I sat down and drank the last of my water. I was beat. Climbing nonstop at over 9,000 feet kind of wears on an old man's body. It was now 2:00 p.m. so I figured I would just rest up a bit and take a slow hike back to my awaiting Jeep.

And then a dadgum elk bugled to my left.

Once again I dropped my pack, grabbed my bow, and knocked an arrow. I scurried about thirty yards closer to the bugle and sat down at the base of an old burn-scarred tree. It was wide open on this side of the hill so I was worried about my cover and lack of a face shield, so I improvised. I rubbed my hand on the charred bark of the Ponderosa pine and voilà... instant face paint.

He bugled again… 

And then another bull bugled.

And then another bull bugled.

The burn-scar proved to be the favorite haunt for the bulls.

There were three just around the corner of the ridge from where I sat. I actually pulled out my phone so I could record the bugling since they were so close. Heck if I couldn't hit them at least I'd be able to listen to them.

As I was playing with my phone a cow stepped out at about fifty yards. Sure enough a good bull followed her. He was much closer… only at about thirty yards. I was about to put the phone down and begin setting up to get a shot when the second bull bugled much closer to me than I expected. I could see out of the corner of my eye that he was about twenty-five yards away but coming towards me... fast! He was a beautiful 6x6.

The heavens were shining on me that moment. There was no way it could've worked out any better. The massive bull walked a game trail and passed ten yards in front of me, not a stitch of cover between me and him, and he never even saw me draw back. I did my infamous doe bleat and stopped him broadside at just under ten yards. I watched my arrow sink completely in him center-line of his chest just behind the shoulder. There was no second guessing the shot placement. As he ran off I said my customary prayer for a quick and clean kill. My prayers were answered. He was dead within eighty yards and well within thirty seconds.

This elk too had a final destination, but it is one I chose rather than him, for he will end up not just in my freezer, but in the freezers and bellies of numerous friends who helped me along the away. But most of all he ends up in my mind for me to cherish and always remember. I thank the numerous folks who helped me along my incredible journey, but mostly I thank the heavens and Mother Nature for the wondrous bounties they so often provide. Without a doubt the bounty goes far beyond what a freezer could possibly store.