Bowhunter65
Member
- Sep 5, 2016
- 101
great success; I could not of been any prouder of my son and his cow calling, Dylan cow caller this bull into 50 yards, great shot with a 100 yard recovery.
CONTEST!
- Thread starter DTP
- Start date
- Status
Bowhunter65
Member
- Sep 5, 2016
- 101
a-ha moment---- Dylan Zink found out first hand how fast a animal can jump a string, the look of what the heck dad.
Bowhunter65
Member
- Sep 5, 2016
- 101
Tell us a story; Father, son and good friend Montana elk hunt 2017, the smiles, the fun that we had is something as a dad I will never forget and the sarcasm out of a 13 year boy (well old man do you need help up the mountain). We were in elk everyday, my son has worked hard this year with shooting, calling and working hard at his football season to boot. Dylan did the major part of cow calling this bull for me. we wanted Dylan to get the shot, but the bull was out of his range. Dylan called the bull into 50 yard for me. Dylan laid on his back in the sage to cow call, had two trees to hide beside. I could not be a prouder dad. Thank you Dylan, not the biggest bull I have ever shot, but the one I will never forget. Dylan did manage to get a shoot at cow, and found out first hand how quick a animal will jump the string, clean miss, but smiled.
Ah ha moment: Seems I need to keep relearning some lessons this year...
Whitetail deer are edge dwellers-you may find them deep in the woods but odds are gonna be better not going deep.
Elk on the other hand (generally) are where they're gonna feel safe and often that's deep or inaccessible area.
Mule deer seem to be found between the two (edge and deep) extremes.
Whitetail deer are edge dwellers-you may find them deep in the woods but odds are gonna be better not going deep.
Elk on the other hand (generally) are where they're gonna feel safe and often that's deep or inaccessible area.
Mule deer seem to be found between the two (edge and deep) extremes.
nclonghunter
New member
- Dec 28, 2012
- 681
Camp Life: Never underestimate the importance of a good throne in camp!
nclonghunter
New member
- Dec 28, 2012
- 681
From the field: Love the big storms that move around in the mountains
nclonghunter
New member
- Dec 28, 2012
- 681
Great Success: A heavy meat pole of boned out elk is the reward
nclonghunter
New member
- Dec 28, 2012
- 681
A-HA Moment: Every time I find a fresh bear track in a trail I am hunting reminds me that I am not alone in the hunt!
nclonghunter
New member
- Dec 28, 2012
- 681
The Story: We pulled into the place we intended to hunt that morning. It was the first time we had to hunt Colorado in a light snow. As we prepared our gear a bull bugled at 75 yards of the truck. We followed the bull half way up the mountain and bugled him into 50 yards but the wind was blowing at us. He started going sideways around the hill. My buddy planted himself and I continued in silence. The bull made a loop and was trying to get downwind of the caller. Unfortunately he managed to get downwind of me. I had a 30 yard shot when he winded me but it was a marginal shot behind the last rib. I would not take that shot. The bull turned and bolted downhill. We had worked together and called in a true trophy of a bull that has been a dream of mine for years. What an amazing experience in an amazing country. I am so thankful that I can and have taken the journey of elk hunting. God Bless Elk Hunting!
Doug Robertson
New member
- Nov 3, 2017
- 4
No luck with Elk this year.
Did get this big boy. Largest moose antlers for me in 40 years of hunting. Northwest Territories, Canada, where I'm lucky to be living.
Did get this big boy. Largest moose antlers for me in 40 years of hunting. Northwest Territories, Canada, where I'm lucky to be living.
nclonghunter
New member
- Dec 28, 2012
- 681
Hey Dougelk, that is a beast...Congrats on a trophy moose!
wyoelk300+
New member
- Apr 16, 2013
- 121
#2 From the Field
One of the best parts of the day is the catnap or calm before the elk get out of bed. It's great to just sit and be part of what's around you, even when the MT fires almost smoked me out!
One of the best parts of the day is the catnap or calm before the elk get out of bed. It's great to just sit and be part of what's around you, even when the MT fires almost smoked me out!
wyoelk300+
New member
- Apr 16, 2013
- 121
#3 Great Success
Success is often measured by a filled tag. That should only be a single component, IMO. Growing up hunting elk has allowed for consistent years of this type of success, and this season's effort was no different. My favorite type of elk hunting success is when all components can come together on a solo adventure. Successful spot and stalk with a single challenge bugle to get the bull in the final few yards. Culminating with heavy packs and a full freezer!
Success is often measured by a filled tag. That should only be a single component, IMO. Growing up hunting elk has allowed for consistent years of this type of success, and this season's effort was no different. My favorite type of elk hunting success is when all components can come together on a solo adventure. Successful spot and stalk with a single challenge bugle to get the bull in the final few yards. Culminating with heavy packs and a full freezer!
wyoelk300+
New member
- Apr 16, 2013
- 121
#4 A-Ha Moment
One of the greatest draws to public land hunting (of any species) is that there should be and always are a-ha moments as long as we remain receptive to them. My main a-ha for this year centered around the large margin of error that exists when bulls and cows are more focused on fornication than feeding or survival. I run and gun approach always sounded good when hearing others telling how their hunts unfolded in previous seasons, but I had never truly tried or committed to implementing the practice, until this year.
Ultimately, the bull I harvested was a result of this strategy, I tried the hyper aggressive tactic the previous week and found myself storming into the middle of several bulls fighting and separating a good sized group of cows. Inherently, this was a bit of a chaotic tactic as it put me immediately into a target rich environment where strategic shot opportunity was kind of an abandoned practice to be replaced by quick reaction and spur of the moment shot selection. Though I didn't notch my tag with that weekend's attempts at aggressive run and gun, I found that when the circumstances allowed the tactic could provide numerous opportunities.
It proved to be a successful practice the following trip out.
One of the greatest draws to public land hunting (of any species) is that there should be and always are a-ha moments as long as we remain receptive to them. My main a-ha for this year centered around the large margin of error that exists when bulls and cows are more focused on fornication than feeding or survival. I run and gun approach always sounded good when hearing others telling how their hunts unfolded in previous seasons, but I had never truly tried or committed to implementing the practice, until this year.
Ultimately, the bull I harvested was a result of this strategy, I tried the hyper aggressive tactic the previous week and found myself storming into the middle of several bulls fighting and separating a good sized group of cows. Inherently, this was a bit of a chaotic tactic as it put me immediately into a target rich environment where strategic shot opportunity was kind of an abandoned practice to be replaced by quick reaction and spur of the moment shot selection. Though I didn't notch my tag with that weekend's attempts at aggressive run and gun, I found that when the circumstances allowed the tactic could provide numerous opportunities.
It proved to be a successful practice the following trip out.
wyoelk300+
New member
- Apr 16, 2013
- 121
#5 Tell Us A Story
The Eleventh Hour
Many hunting stories end on the final day of a trip for any number of reasons, season's over, vacation time is expired, you only have one day to get "it" done. This would be the first time in many years where all three of these factors aligned and fight my 2017 elk hunt's bill.
September 30th marks the end of the dedicated archery season in the elk area I was hunting. It would be the 15th day in the field for the month and would be the final 4 miles of a 98.2 mile month my GPS would track for my elk season.
The previous day, in summary, involved an 18.7 mile hike that saw me stalking a fine herd bull no less that a half dozen times throughout the day only to have darkness end the hunt and opportunity on that specific bull. I returned to camp tired, hungry, and a little in doubt that I would be able to take an elk in archery season this year, after all only one day remained. A mountain house and tin full of smoked oysters later I bedded down for a few hours before the last day's hunt.
Waking before dawn with the intent of hiking to where I'd last left the bull I'd been pursuing the day before was less than excitement filled as the wind, non existent the day before, was reinforcing its Wyoming reputation and was also blowing from a direction that would ruin my original plan of entry save a two mile redirection. No choice but to redirect.
Arriving where I wanted to be at dawn, I was unexpectedly greeted by two skittish rag-horn bulls that surprised me as much as I surprised them. In startled elk fashion, the two bulls exited the zip code sounding like a herd 200 times in population breaking every limb they could seemingly touch on their way out, making their departure right through the canyon pocket I'd left the herd bull in the night before. Out of frustration of the exit and in what felt like a feeble effort to reassure the forest around me that the two raggies were just spooked juveniles to be ignored, I let out a single half-hearted bugle and fading chuckle. It felt a bit like a surrender bugle to the woods around me.
To my pleasant surprise my apology bugle (perhaps a new calling strategy) was answered not once but thrice upridge and upwind from where I was calling from. Oh, how the tide can change in the elk woods. Being the final day of archery season, and holding an any elk tag, I was already in "if it's brown, it's down" mode, I turned my head and nose to the wind and moved towards the three responses that were somewhere in the trees roughly 1000-1500 yards away.
I usually prefer to locate and then sneak within archery range to finalize a hunt and initially my tactics on this final morning were no different. I figured I could work to within archery range, as I'd done many seasons before, unseen and at worst provide myself an opportunity on an overzealous rag or straggling spike among the firs that filled the basin. It was 8:30 in the morning.
With stealth as my primary goal, I worked my way to where I thought the responses to my "apology" originated. Cresting a timbered ridge, I was greeted by two sets of antlers and eyes that fortunately were more curious than the my earlier encounter that morning. The two small sixes milled around in the timber for a couple of minutes trying to gain a bearing and identity of who/what they had met up with. Satisfied that I wasn't an immediate threat nor was I of any immediate interest they meandered back into the wind at a normal elk walking pace. Though I could see each clearly, they were at most 60 yards away, the timber was clogged enough that a shot beyond 40 yards would be impossible. I let the two bulls walk a little deeper into the timber before offering a feeble cow/calf squeak in an effort to at least interest one of the two to return to the scene. I wasn't expecting how the scenario would next unfold before me. It was 9:15.
My cow call was answered not three times as my earlier bugle had been, but four, all unique and from different parts of the forest before me. I continued hiking into the wind and direction the responses had come from. At one point I walked to a point where I could see the two bulls I had just bumped into and they had moved up mountain and were busy working their way the same direction I was just at a greater altitude. The four bulls that answered my single cow/calf call were beginning to fill the canyon with regular call and response of each other. Not only had I found what I thought were a few more elk, I had found elk that were heading towards the trail head and were willing to do all the talking for me! In another 15 minutes I would have my first stand-off/encounter with one of the three satellite bulls that would occupy the next hour and half of my morning.
Those of us that are familiar with the elk woods know that smell can be as telling a sign as any bugle or call when trying to determine the location of our quarry. I'd hiked into what can only be likened to a basement locker room reeking of the sweet, pungent musk of several bulls and cows in full rut. The aroma was so thick I could quite literally taste it. Each movement became a calculated investment in my final goal of harvesting an elk. Every step was accompanied by my eyes scanning the 40-60 yards of visibility I had in the dense timber. One of these scans yielded an off-white rump. The bull was on the edge of the herd and was currently occupied with an eight foot fir sapling, doing his best to reduce the young tree to a toothpick fit for Paul Bunyon. With each earnest thrash session I would close 2 or 3 yards, still scanning the forest around me for other eyes, ears, rumps, noses, and antlers.
Thirty-five yards to my right, uphill from me, the telling snap of an elk footfall froze me in my tracks. Warily, I craned my head around the 50+year old fir I had stopped next to in order to identify its source. A fine 290is six point was working his way into the wind towards the melee. I quietly and quickly nocked an arrow (something I should've probably done earlier) and drew my bow behind the cover the big fir was offering. The first bull I'd been sneaking in on decided it was his turn to sound off and did so with a voice that sounded inches larger and years older than he actually was.
His call was answered by a yet unseen bull deeper into the woods and the bull to my right I had drawn for jolted into a trot in the direction of the unseen bull. Similar circumstances to this encounter repeated themselves in one way or another over the course of the next hour and a half. With each herd advancement the satellites would disappear into the quagmire of limbs and downed logs allowing me the opportunity to reduce my distance from the herd by 20 to 50 yards per occurrence. By the time I'd worked myself to the edge of the herd, I had drawn four more times and my adrenal glands had spike my system a handful of times.
Noticing the cows and calves swirling within 35-40 yards required I make my stand and prep for any shot the scenario would manufacture. At this point in time I'd bugled once and cow called once otherwise I'd been a silent, near participatory, observer of the September brewha the rut is know for. It was also at this time I'd made my decision to abandon silence and commit to at least vocally participating. My plan was to cut off the unseen bull when his pitch perfect roar would join the conversation and then see what would happen.
The bulls on the fringe of the herd had been doing most of the talking, like a group of antagonist bullies whose bugles were far worse than their ability to back them up, hurling insults at the unseen bull in hopes of drawing him out so one of the outliers could steal a cow or two from the protected and milling harem. I grabbed my bugle and readied it to my lips in wait for the unseen bull's occasional retort. It was 11:10.
Two minutes, feeling like 20, passed and the outliers continued their verbal assault. Finally, the bull I'd yet laid eyes on started his authoritative response and I, hopefully being assumed a new, larger, formidable challenger mustered the growliest (not sure this is even a word,) gruffest, most insulting bugle I could put forth before the unseen herd bull could reach the apex of his own monarchistic monologue. I was close enough that a handful of cows directed their eye and ears my was. I was close enough to the herd that my challenge would either cause a mess of fleeing hooves and steaks or it would elicit a direct response.
I've heard elk glunk many times usually in a coaxing manner towards a reluctant cow. This bull sounded like he coughed up a 55 gallon drum into a grain silo. It was the wapiti equivalent of a big F**K YOU! And he was coming. The bull, still unseen by me, started pushing through his cows like Moses parting the Red Sea. His movement garnered the attention of all his cows, taking their eyes and interest off me, and provided me the opportunity to draw. My best shooting lane offered a 30 yard channel through the limbs and dead and down directly to my 12:00. He stormed through that channel with little intent of identifying his newly announced assailant. Ignoring the clear path, my aforementioned shooting lane, the bull effortlessly pushed aside 4, 6, 8, and 10 inch leaning deadfall and live saplings en route to my location leaving a whipping and waving limbs and falling bark in his wake.
At 11:14, quartering heavily towards me, almost fully frontal, at twelve yards I drew through my release trigger. The arrow entered directly above the bulls brisket just in front of his left shoulder and disappeared. I still hadn't positively identified this individual bull by headgear as I'd had the opportunities to previously with his incessant hangers and I wouldn't be able to until I walked up to him five minutes after the shot. At this point my shot set off a 180 degree blur of broken limbs, churned pine needle forest floor, and milling and excited cows and calves. The bull retreated to the center of his harem with me left to process the after-shot thoughts that one experiences post encounter.
At 12 yards, there is little room for doubt, and the mournful death moans of the bull I'd just shot would erase any inkling of doubt that had tried to eek its way into my psyche. A somewhat muffled fall would be followed by the forest filling sound only a departing herd of elk can make. Loud pops and cracks of logs and limbs amidst the steady thumping 35-40 head of elk departing the immediate vicinity would be punctuated by a final moan. I stepped to the location where my arrow had met its mark and looked to the direction the bull had fled.
By my rangefinder, and through a window the size of a basketball, at 42 yards I could see the sweeping top third of his left main beam, motionless and magnificent. I had visual confirmation that the 23rd elk, 13th with archery tackle, I was fortunate to harvest was down. In a sigh of accomplishment, satisfaction, relief, and amazement my eyes and head fell, my chin landing on my chest.
There are some components of solo hunting that are unavoidable and some that are intentional. Some are circumstantial and some are selfish. It's difficult to categorize or define which is which but in this moment, my described sigh fit the bill for them all.
The butchering and pack-out (at a quarter mile it was one of my shortest ever) were uneventful and quick. Four inches of the fletched end of my 31 inch arrow was all that was recoverable as it never left the bulls heart. I looked for a while for the business end to no avail. An artifact to be found by another wanderlust elk or deer hunter fortunate enough to share the bounty and experience these public lands offer.
The bull is by far the biggest in body and antler I've taken. His steaks and burger will help feed my family throughout the coming months and, for the first time ever, I will have a taxidermist memorialize his likeness so that his magnificence and the memory of this season's hunt can be visually recalled for friends, family, and myself alike.
The Eleventh Hour
Many hunting stories end on the final day of a trip for any number of reasons, season's over, vacation time is expired, you only have one day to get "it" done. This would be the first time in many years where all three of these factors aligned and fight my 2017 elk hunt's bill.
September 30th marks the end of the dedicated archery season in the elk area I was hunting. It would be the 15th day in the field for the month and would be the final 4 miles of a 98.2 mile month my GPS would track for my elk season.
The previous day, in summary, involved an 18.7 mile hike that saw me stalking a fine herd bull no less that a half dozen times throughout the day only to have darkness end the hunt and opportunity on that specific bull. I returned to camp tired, hungry, and a little in doubt that I would be able to take an elk in archery season this year, after all only one day remained. A mountain house and tin full of smoked oysters later I bedded down for a few hours before the last day's hunt.
Waking before dawn with the intent of hiking to where I'd last left the bull I'd been pursuing the day before was less than excitement filled as the wind, non existent the day before, was reinforcing its Wyoming reputation and was also blowing from a direction that would ruin my original plan of entry save a two mile redirection. No choice but to redirect.
Arriving where I wanted to be at dawn, I was unexpectedly greeted by two skittish rag-horn bulls that surprised me as much as I surprised them. In startled elk fashion, the two bulls exited the zip code sounding like a herd 200 times in population breaking every limb they could seemingly touch on their way out, making their departure right through the canyon pocket I'd left the herd bull in the night before. Out of frustration of the exit and in what felt like a feeble effort to reassure the forest around me that the two raggies were just spooked juveniles to be ignored, I let out a single half-hearted bugle and fading chuckle. It felt a bit like a surrender bugle to the woods around me.
To my pleasant surprise my apology bugle (perhaps a new calling strategy) was answered not once but thrice upridge and upwind from where I was calling from. Oh, how the tide can change in the elk woods. Being the final day of archery season, and holding an any elk tag, I was already in "if it's brown, it's down" mode, I turned my head and nose to the wind and moved towards the three responses that were somewhere in the trees roughly 1000-1500 yards away.
I usually prefer to locate and then sneak within archery range to finalize a hunt and initially my tactics on this final morning were no different. I figured I could work to within archery range, as I'd done many seasons before, unseen and at worst provide myself an opportunity on an overzealous rag or straggling spike among the firs that filled the basin. It was 8:30 in the morning.
With stealth as my primary goal, I worked my way to where I thought the responses to my "apology" originated. Cresting a timbered ridge, I was greeted by two sets of antlers and eyes that fortunately were more curious than the my earlier encounter that morning. The two small sixes milled around in the timber for a couple of minutes trying to gain a bearing and identity of who/what they had met up with. Satisfied that I wasn't an immediate threat nor was I of any immediate interest they meandered back into the wind at a normal elk walking pace. Though I could see each clearly, they were at most 60 yards away, the timber was clogged enough that a shot beyond 40 yards would be impossible. I let the two bulls walk a little deeper into the timber before offering a feeble cow/calf squeak in an effort to at least interest one of the two to return to the scene. I wasn't expecting how the scenario would next unfold before me. It was 9:15.
My cow call was answered not three times as my earlier bugle had been, but four, all unique and from different parts of the forest before me. I continued hiking into the wind and direction the responses had come from. At one point I walked to a point where I could see the two bulls I had just bumped into and they had moved up mountain and were busy working their way the same direction I was just at a greater altitude. The four bulls that answered my single cow/calf call were beginning to fill the canyon with regular call and response of each other. Not only had I found what I thought were a few more elk, I had found elk that were heading towards the trail head and were willing to do all the talking for me! In another 15 minutes I would have my first stand-off/encounter with one of the three satellite bulls that would occupy the next hour and half of my morning.
Those of us that are familiar with the elk woods know that smell can be as telling a sign as any bugle or call when trying to determine the location of our quarry. I'd hiked into what can only be likened to a basement locker room reeking of the sweet, pungent musk of several bulls and cows in full rut. The aroma was so thick I could quite literally taste it. Each movement became a calculated investment in my final goal of harvesting an elk. Every step was accompanied by my eyes scanning the 40-60 yards of visibility I had in the dense timber. One of these scans yielded an off-white rump. The bull was on the edge of the herd and was currently occupied with an eight foot fir sapling, doing his best to reduce the young tree to a toothpick fit for Paul Bunyon. With each earnest thrash session I would close 2 or 3 yards, still scanning the forest around me for other eyes, ears, rumps, noses, and antlers.
Thirty-five yards to my right, uphill from me, the telling snap of an elk footfall froze me in my tracks. Warily, I craned my head around the 50+year old fir I had stopped next to in order to identify its source. A fine 290is six point was working his way into the wind towards the melee. I quietly and quickly nocked an arrow (something I should've probably done earlier) and drew my bow behind the cover the big fir was offering. The first bull I'd been sneaking in on decided it was his turn to sound off and did so with a voice that sounded inches larger and years older than he actually was.
His call was answered by a yet unseen bull deeper into the woods and the bull to my right I had drawn for jolted into a trot in the direction of the unseen bull. Similar circumstances to this encounter repeated themselves in one way or another over the course of the next hour and a half. With each herd advancement the satellites would disappear into the quagmire of limbs and downed logs allowing me the opportunity to reduce my distance from the herd by 20 to 50 yards per occurrence. By the time I'd worked myself to the edge of the herd, I had drawn four more times and my adrenal glands had spike my system a handful of times.
Noticing the cows and calves swirling within 35-40 yards required I make my stand and prep for any shot the scenario would manufacture. At this point in time I'd bugled once and cow called once otherwise I'd been a silent, near participatory, observer of the September brewha the rut is know for. It was also at this time I'd made my decision to abandon silence and commit to at least vocally participating. My plan was to cut off the unseen bull when his pitch perfect roar would join the conversation and then see what would happen.
The bulls on the fringe of the herd had been doing most of the talking, like a group of antagonist bullies whose bugles were far worse than their ability to back them up, hurling insults at the unseen bull in hopes of drawing him out so one of the outliers could steal a cow or two from the protected and milling harem. I grabbed my bugle and readied it to my lips in wait for the unseen bull's occasional retort. It was 11:10.
Two minutes, feeling like 20, passed and the outliers continued their verbal assault. Finally, the bull I'd yet laid eyes on started his authoritative response and I, hopefully being assumed a new, larger, formidable challenger mustered the growliest (not sure this is even a word,) gruffest, most insulting bugle I could put forth before the unseen herd bull could reach the apex of his own monarchistic monologue. I was close enough that a handful of cows directed their eye and ears my was. I was close enough to the herd that my challenge would either cause a mess of fleeing hooves and steaks or it would elicit a direct response.
I've heard elk glunk many times usually in a coaxing manner towards a reluctant cow. This bull sounded like he coughed up a 55 gallon drum into a grain silo. It was the wapiti equivalent of a big F**K YOU! And he was coming. The bull, still unseen by me, started pushing through his cows like Moses parting the Red Sea. His movement garnered the attention of all his cows, taking their eyes and interest off me, and provided me the opportunity to draw. My best shooting lane offered a 30 yard channel through the limbs and dead and down directly to my 12:00. He stormed through that channel with little intent of identifying his newly announced assailant. Ignoring the clear path, my aforementioned shooting lane, the bull effortlessly pushed aside 4, 6, 8, and 10 inch leaning deadfall and live saplings en route to my location leaving a whipping and waving limbs and falling bark in his wake.
At 11:14, quartering heavily towards me, almost fully frontal, at twelve yards I drew through my release trigger. The arrow entered directly above the bulls brisket just in front of his left shoulder and disappeared. I still hadn't positively identified this individual bull by headgear as I'd had the opportunities to previously with his incessant hangers and I wouldn't be able to until I walked up to him five minutes after the shot. At this point my shot set off a 180 degree blur of broken limbs, churned pine needle forest floor, and milling and excited cows and calves. The bull retreated to the center of his harem with me left to process the after-shot thoughts that one experiences post encounter.
At 12 yards, there is little room for doubt, and the mournful death moans of the bull I'd just shot would erase any inkling of doubt that had tried to eek its way into my psyche. A somewhat muffled fall would be followed by the forest filling sound only a departing herd of elk can make. Loud pops and cracks of logs and limbs amidst the steady thumping 35-40 head of elk departing the immediate vicinity would be punctuated by a final moan. I stepped to the location where my arrow had met its mark and looked to the direction the bull had fled.
By my rangefinder, and through a window the size of a basketball, at 42 yards I could see the sweeping top third of his left main beam, motionless and magnificent. I had visual confirmation that the 23rd elk, 13th with archery tackle, I was fortunate to harvest was down. In a sigh of accomplishment, satisfaction, relief, and amazement my eyes and head fell, my chin landing on my chest.
There are some components of solo hunting that are unavoidable and some that are intentional. Some are circumstantial and some are selfish. It's difficult to categorize or define which is which but in this moment, my described sigh fit the bill for them all.
The butchering and pack-out (at a quarter mile it was one of my shortest ever) were uneventful and quick. Four inches of the fletched end of my 31 inch arrow was all that was recoverable as it never left the bulls heart. I looked for a while for the business end to no avail. An artifact to be found by another wanderlust elk or deer hunter fortunate enough to share the bounty and experience these public lands offer.
The bull is by far the biggest in body and antler I've taken. His steaks and burger will help feed my family throughout the coming months and, for the first time ever, I will have a taxidermist memorialize his likeness so that his magnificence and the memory of this season's hunt can be visually recalled for friends, family, and myself alike.
cohunter14
Administrator
- Jul 10, 2017
- 5,332
What a great bull and an even better story wyoelk! Thank you for sharing. That sure makes me wish this year's season wasn't already over and next year's season wasn't so far away!
whiteblsw1@gmail.com
New member
- Nov 3, 2017
- 2
Camp life
whiteblsw1@gmail.com
New member
- Nov 3, 2017
- 2
From the field
nclonghunter
New member
- Dec 28, 2012
- 681
Camp life: A place to relax and cook some needed food. It takes a few days but it does begin to feel like home.
- Status
