andyschaef
New member
- Jan 31, 2013
- 32
Keeping my feet planted helped me overcome greed and carelessness in the elk mountains.
Nock clipped on my bowstring. Tension on the release. Elk herd walking by at 8 yards. Snap bowstring on accident. Watch arrow pop off the nock. Grab new arrow. See nock still on bowstring. Get new arrow on. Draw back. Begin to settle pin on a cow. Get greedy in hopes the bull will follow. Watch as whole herd gets nervous, spooks and runs 70 yards away. Check watch to see shooting light ends in 3 minutes. Pick up arrow that popped off. Get pissed at my initial carelessness and then greed.
I was 15 minutes away from meeting my dad on the opening night of archery elk season when I caught this herd. Through all of my practice I had never snapped my bowstring...but with everything on the line I managed to make a silly mistake that cost me a chance at shooting an elk. I was beside myself, both angry and embarassed. Just a careless mistake that I should never make. Then to get greedy and “wait” for a bull when I could have shot a cow? Well that’s just silly. I know that opportunities of that magnitude don’t happen everyday during a season. Sometimes they never happen. I met up with my dad and gave him the play by play. “Well at least you had some excitement tonight.” My dad has been my hunting partner forever and he always knows what to say.
As our headlights lit up the overgrown trail and we hiked back to our tent, my thoughts went to the major goal I had for the season. Watch an elk fall over and die. Simple enough. Make a perfect killing shot and the hunt is over. But in practice that hadn’t been so easy for me. I had killed 2 bulls in my life, and while the meat ended up in my freezer that wasn’t always a given. Both of those bulls required tracking jobs and follow-up shots to end their life. To this day I have no idea how we found the first bull I ever killed. Through lots of walking and searching and blood trailing I was able to find and kill that bull. While it makes for a suspenseful story, it wasn’t ideal. This season was going to be different though…
This season I found a “side” trail that led to a small bedding area where I consistently ran into elk. One morning I drew back on a cow and waited but no shot. So I moved a few steps and another cow came out, again I drew back and waited but no shot. Oddly enough this same routine happened 2 more times over the course of 45 minutes. Had I just planted my feet and waited, one of those cows would have presented a clean shot. After my opening weekend debacle the wise words of my wife echoed in my mind “we need meat more than we need antlers.” I kept repeating that mantra during the interim between hunting trips.
As we were driving back to our spot on a Thursday afternoon I kept checking my watch and trying to calculate how many hours of hunting light we’d have. Just enough to hear a bugle I thought? Maybe enough to spot something and know where to go the next morning? After hurriedly setting up the tent and lightening our packs (which included leaving my camera...hey I wanted to go in light) we were both off in different directions. I hoped that no one had found my “honey hole” despite the other trucks at the trailhead. My pace was slow and deliberate but I wanted to get to the small bedding area. Then it hit me...the smell of elk. Just as quick as my nose stopped me, my ears and eyes confirmed it. 50 yards up the hill they were feeding.
I stopped. I nocked an arrow. I ranged a few trees. I dropped my pack. I reached for my cow call. But I never used it. I never moved.
I didn’t race up the hill to close the distance. I didn’t sneak around a tree for extra cover. I kept my feet planted and told myself “shoot the first elk that gives you a shot.” A cow and calf stared at me (or through me) for a few minutes but no shot. Then I moved my eyeballs as far in their socket as possible to see a bull coming.
Feet planted. Tension on my bowstring. Smooth draw.
It’s amazing how much time you have to think in these scenarios. His vitals barely cleared a tree. Wait for a few more steps? No. Settle my pin where I want my arrow to go and pull through the shot. Be confident in my ability. Keep my feet and mind planted.
Released.
“Did I miss?”
“Did I shoot over his back?”
“No possible way!”
In those seconds after releasing an arrow the mind tries to go everywhere. I was immediately taken back to those blood trails and follow-up shots and then the encouraging words of my dad “Oh I bet we’ll find him right over that hill...or in that timber.” But I was by myself. Through all the excitement and commotion I kept my eyes on where that bull stood and my mind in the present. With my feet still planted I peered through the thick aspen saplings only to see one set of perfectly still antlers rising from the ground.
Nock clipped on my bowstring. Tension on the release. Elk herd walking by at 8 yards. Snap bowstring on accident. Watch arrow pop off the nock. Grab new arrow. See nock still on bowstring. Get new arrow on. Draw back. Begin to settle pin on a cow. Get greedy in hopes the bull will follow. Watch as whole herd gets nervous, spooks and runs 70 yards away. Check watch to see shooting light ends in 3 minutes. Pick up arrow that popped off. Get pissed at my initial carelessness and then greed.
I was 15 minutes away from meeting my dad on the opening night of archery elk season when I caught this herd. Through all of my practice I had never snapped my bowstring...but with everything on the line I managed to make a silly mistake that cost me a chance at shooting an elk. I was beside myself, both angry and embarassed. Just a careless mistake that I should never make. Then to get greedy and “wait” for a bull when I could have shot a cow? Well that’s just silly. I know that opportunities of that magnitude don’t happen everyday during a season. Sometimes they never happen. I met up with my dad and gave him the play by play. “Well at least you had some excitement tonight.” My dad has been my hunting partner forever and he always knows what to say.
As our headlights lit up the overgrown trail and we hiked back to our tent, my thoughts went to the major goal I had for the season. Watch an elk fall over and die. Simple enough. Make a perfect killing shot and the hunt is over. But in practice that hadn’t been so easy for me. I had killed 2 bulls in my life, and while the meat ended up in my freezer that wasn’t always a given. Both of those bulls required tracking jobs and follow-up shots to end their life. To this day I have no idea how we found the first bull I ever killed. Through lots of walking and searching and blood trailing I was able to find and kill that bull. While it makes for a suspenseful story, it wasn’t ideal. This season was going to be different though…
This season I found a “side” trail that led to a small bedding area where I consistently ran into elk. One morning I drew back on a cow and waited but no shot. So I moved a few steps and another cow came out, again I drew back and waited but no shot. Oddly enough this same routine happened 2 more times over the course of 45 minutes. Had I just planted my feet and waited, one of those cows would have presented a clean shot. After my opening weekend debacle the wise words of my wife echoed in my mind “we need meat more than we need antlers.” I kept repeating that mantra during the interim between hunting trips.
As we were driving back to our spot on a Thursday afternoon I kept checking my watch and trying to calculate how many hours of hunting light we’d have. Just enough to hear a bugle I thought? Maybe enough to spot something and know where to go the next morning? After hurriedly setting up the tent and lightening our packs (which included leaving my camera...hey I wanted to go in light) we were both off in different directions. I hoped that no one had found my “honey hole” despite the other trucks at the trailhead. My pace was slow and deliberate but I wanted to get to the small bedding area. Then it hit me...the smell of elk. Just as quick as my nose stopped me, my ears and eyes confirmed it. 50 yards up the hill they were feeding.
I stopped. I nocked an arrow. I ranged a few trees. I dropped my pack. I reached for my cow call. But I never used it. I never moved.
I didn’t race up the hill to close the distance. I didn’t sneak around a tree for extra cover. I kept my feet planted and told myself “shoot the first elk that gives you a shot.” A cow and calf stared at me (or through me) for a few minutes but no shot. Then I moved my eyeballs as far in their socket as possible to see a bull coming.
Feet planted. Tension on my bowstring. Smooth draw.
It’s amazing how much time you have to think in these scenarios. His vitals barely cleared a tree. Wait for a few more steps? No. Settle my pin where I want my arrow to go and pull through the shot. Be confident in my ability. Keep my feet and mind planted.
Released.
“Did I miss?”
“Did I shoot over his back?”
“No possible way!”
In those seconds after releasing an arrow the mind tries to go everywhere. I was immediately taken back to those blood trails and follow-up shots and then the encouraging words of my dad “Oh I bet we’ll find him right over that hill...or in that timber.” But I was by myself. Through all the excitement and commotion I kept my eyes on where that bull stood and my mind in the present. With my feet still planted I peered through the thick aspen saplings only to see one set of perfectly still antlers rising from the ground.
