Story Of My September Elk Hunt

[cjw2222]

Ok so i finished writing this some time ago but i wanted to share it with the CW family during this particularly inpatient off season for me. It was just published in the "Tracker" magazine from the AES so if you have read the latest magazine then please disregard this.

 

I took my bull on opening day in a great rut hunt and here's the story for those with some time to kill...

 

 

 

Much More Than Just A Hunt

 

 

Ever since my first cow elk hunt at age 10, hunting has always been a juggling act. It always seems like such a burden and nonsense activity to non-hunters. Sports, work, and school never seemed to comply with my hunting schedule. Fortunately for me, these things must sit in the back seat when hunting season rolls around. So when I heard my Arizona draw results for the 2007 fall elk hunt, I knew my work was cut out. Somehow I had been fortunate enough to land a rut archery tag for my first archery hunt.

Like any obsessive hunter, I went out and purchased all my archery equipment. Amongst it was a brand new Hoyt Vectrix fancied up with all the fixins. Naturally after spending this kind of money, I wanted to get good at shooting, really good. I began hanging around the local archery shop and talked to countless "old timers" who had played the game before. I learned not only to shoot but the stories and learnings of life long hunters.

Bowhunting is a funny hobby because it's, ironically, not a hobby. It consumes my life and I find it dang near impossible to concentrate on anything else. Life was put on hold for the two intense months leading to my September hunt. Unfortunately, I had just begun my first semester of college at the University of Arizona and had, to state it conservatively, a hefty schedule. Now, instead of doing homework till three a.m. or so, I was getting done at five and six o'clock every night due to the shooting time and those mesmerizing hunting videos.

My Dad had always spoke of the vast differences between archery and rifle hunting, and, like most teenagers, I took what he said lightly. In typical fashion my father prevailed to the highest degree.

Since I was born, I have been surrounded by some of the finest hunters in the state, which has led to some very close relationships with top guides and hunters. So when I drew this tag, I knew just what to do. I called up long time family friend and guide Ty Goodman with Goodman Outfitters. Being a Payson resident and avid Coues deer and elk hunter, he knew elk hunting as well as anyone. We put in our time scouting and located a handful of what we classified as "shooters."

As my shooting progressed and my knowledge for archery increased, so did my excitement. It was a vicious cycle of trying to prepare as well I possibly could only to realize I have so far to go. I used to think a four-inch radius of three arrows at 30 yards was good with field tips. Three weeks before the hunt I was slicing fletchings at 50 and 60 yards with broadheads and still not content. I shot at every angle I could. I shot on very windy days, up and down hills, and around natural blocks like trees and rocks. I would even go running through the desert with my bow until I was exhausted and out of breathe to simulate the escalated blood pressure of the hunt. Every night I would go to sleep thinking of different shots and how I can practice them. I wanted my one shot to be perfect, regardless of what kind of shot it was.

Opening day was on a Friday, which meant I had no choice but to skip that day of school in order to get first looks on the bulls. So many sleepless nights and vivid dreams later, I found myself driving up with my dad the Thursday before the hunt. School, work, and friends were out of my mind and I was focused and ready for the hunt of a lifetime. We had set up camp the week prior so as soon as we all made it to camp we headed off to bed. I was fortunate to have Ty, myself, my dad, and several friends and relatives to help with the hunt.

That Thursday night was terrible. I laid wide-awake until 2:30 a.m. when I heard my first bugle of the hunt and my eyeballs almost came out of their sockets. From that point I would lay motionless and strain my ears to hear more bugling. And more bugling I heard. At 3:30 a.m. I finally heard the alarm go off and everyone began waking up. I was up and dressed before anyone could wipe the sleep from their eyes. We took a surprisingly warm quad ride up a rough and rocky road for almost an hour and arrived at our scouted spot just before first light. With anticipation through the roof, we let out or first enthusiastic bugle and waited. If anyone has yet to experience that period of waiting between your call and a fired up bull elk, let me tell you it's something to dream about. I concentrate so hard the white noise of the wilderness becomes so loud and intense that it almost drowns out the sounds of the bugle.

Success! Within fifteen seconds we had two bulls that both sounded hot and raspy, just what I was hoping for. The first response was a bull maybe 250 yards to the South. Without hesitating we unloaded and took off after the bugle. The country consisted of almost entirely pinions and junipers, some of which were raked raw from the antlers of world-class bulls. While hunting down at these elevations is usually my favorite, this area was unusually thick and finding a shooting lane longer than 20 yards was a feat in itself. We covered a quiet and strenuous 100 yards before Ty let out another rip from his bugle. Once again success. Except it appeared the bull had moved away from us keeping the distance. Positive he had not winded or heard us, we reasoned he must be heading to his bed because the highs that week were in the low 90's. So we covered another 50 yards and once again bugled. And once again he seemed to be just as far as last time.

As we started creeping once again in the direction of the call, we heard a plane fly overhead. We knew it was our chance to really close the gap so we moved swiftly and quietly. We must have covered 150 yards by the time the noise from the plane subsided and, hopes high, Ty bugled. Mr. Goodman, my father, and I waited out those seconds that feel like eternity until our bull let an unusually fired up bugle. He was close, very close. We whispered he must not be more than 75 yards away up a small hill. So we scanned the country for a shooting lane and were more than relieved to find one not ten yards away. It was a grassy rectangle that was 30 yards by 15 yards with not a tree in it. We had the wind right so I buried myself in a juniper bush at the end of the lane and my dad and Ty stayed back another five yards hidden behind thick brush. We bugled once and then gave a cow call to change things up. And boy did it ever. The bull flipped around and started our way. We could not see him but the sound of his antlers thrashing trees ahead of us left no doubt he was close. The end of the shooting lane was 32 yards from me and past that was incredibly dense brush that could hide even a full-grown bull. We stopped all calling when he was within 45 yards and let him come in on his own.

By this time he was not only bugling but grunting and glunking as well as raking anything and everything he could find. Arrow knocked and heart racing I waited patiently. I held my bow up as I saw legs move under the brush just outside the lane we had picked out. He was walking right to left in accordance to me and he would become visible just after walking past a massive pinion tree. Just as planned, he walked slowly out from this pinion. Time was in extreme slow motion and every step he took seemed to take hours.

At this point, we have not seen this bull's antlers to see how big he was but we had reason to believe he was fairly big based on his actions.

First a nose, then head, then antlers became visible. I watched as more and more antler became exposed and I drew before I had even seen his whole rack. I knew he must be a 340 plus by the fourth point. Just as I drew back, the bull changed direction and started walking directly at me. There was absolutely nothing between us save a foot high collection of dead grass. I'm at full draw as this bull lets out a raucous bugle that shakes my insides. He continues walking right at me. I get a full look at his massive rack and know this is the bull I want. The only problem is I have no shot because he is walking directly towards my 100 grain wack em broadhead. 30 yards... 20 yards... 15... 10... 8... I can barely contain myself at the excitement and adrenaline rush. I am really begging to think this bull is going to walk right into me. I stare him down as he gets closer, trying so hard to keep the right pin on him and stay as steady as possible. Finally, the bull took one step to his left and I saw the vital zones in my mind. Just like the diagrams I had studied for so many hours, I saw his chest. Not much, in fact it was a severely quartering towards shot. I knew that I had to be careful of his shoulder blade and brisket because both could stop my arrow and inhibit a fatal shot. I also had to be weary of the ever-common gut shot with quartering shots. I was positive, having ran over this situation so many times before, that I could slip an arrow in the vitals. Having only a 20 yard pin to go off, I relaxed and let it fly. I could really feel the hours and hours of practice leaving with that arrow. The bow was silent as the arrow flew closer to the bull. Then the distinct sound of the arrow hitting came to my ears. The bull flipped around and ran off - - but not before I saw the arrow sticking out of his far side. It was fairly far back as I assumed would happen and at that point I thought I had him.

I knocked a quick arrow as Ty called to try and stop him once more. With the nature of the terrain, the bull was out of sight within fifteen yards. At that time I gave an excited but scared look back to my dad and he gave a hurried motion to keep watch.

 

We knew it was a waiting game now. So, remaining silent, I looked down at my watch to mark the time. 7:00 a.m. exactly. We hunkered down and let the wait begin. At 8:00 a.m. we signaled it was probably time to move given the quick glance at the shot placement and more importantly the quickly rising temperatures. We began taping off the shot area and first blood. The blood trail was thick and easy to track. Rocks were covered in it and in the first ten yards of tracking we found the arrow. It had made it cleanly through the bull, another good sign. The blood was dark, which told me my shot probably went through a lung and then the liver. I thought the light, frothy blood characteristic of a lung shot must be filling up inside him while the blood from the liver came out the exit wound.

As we moved ever cautiously along the trail, excitement rose once again. I kept looking ahead, hoping with all my might to see an antler or hoof or anything. 100 yards into the track we still couldn't see anything until my dad put down his binoculars and whispered in a shaky voice, "I think I have an antler." We hurriedly asked where and he pointed through the brush some 40 yards ahead. He went to look again and could barely hold his binoculars because he was shaking. Seeing my own father, the man whom I look up to more than anyone, like that was undoubtedly the greatest moment of my life. Soon we saw the antler move one last time, insuring it was our bull, and then go motionless again. We watched for another five minutes before deciding to move in. With myself leading the way, arrow knocked, we crept closer. At ten yards we had a clear view of the animal and knew it was dead. We hollered and tossed a rock, no movement. Shaking nearly uncontrollably, I went up to the bull, touched his eye with a stick and let out the first above whispers of the day. "We got him!" I announced. Ty and my father moved in and we stood in shock of the animal. He was massive with 61 inch main beams. I still can see the look on my dad's face, that look of flawless happiness has happened only once in my life.

He was a great bull; a monster in my book. And I couldn't have been happier than to tag him. As I look back and reminisce on the experience, I am more and more humbled by everything. It just went so perfect and there was not one bit I could have asked to be different.

I can memorize every textbook and work 40 hours a week but I will never learn more than I do on hunting trips such as these. It's a primitive yet advanced chance to prove yourself as a tough, disciplined individual in a way most can't. I love everything about hunting and will continue to do so for the rest of my life. And, once again, my father proved to be right when he said I wouldn't ever hunt elk with a rifle again. After that hunt I could not think of such a thing. I would be missing that connection with the bull that comes only from the close encounters and relationships you make with the animals. There is something to be said about killing an animal of this size with your own forces and not relying on the noisy combustion of gunpowder to take down the animal.

The beauty of hunting is not in the killing but everything prior and aft. All the good times around the campfire and swapping stories in the moonlight are what make hunting so much of a lifestyle to me. I am a hunter for life, not because I take a particular liking to killing things as many outsiders conclude, but because of the memories made with those whom are closest to me. It is for this reason, among many others, that allows hunting to still be so prevalent in the day of having unlimited supplies of meat at any grocery store. It is that addiction, that rush, that anticipation that will continue to captivate me for years to come. My first archery experience was the most powerful experience of my life and I owe it entirely to my father.

[azryan]

great write up Cory!...I dont think it could have been much better....You brought out the true meaning in hunting.

 

p.s put some pics up, I thought you had them posted somewhere else but I could not find it

[cjw2222]

Thanks much for the kind words.

 

and the accompanying picture

[azryan]

Thanks much for the kind words.

 

and the accompanying picture

 

 

 

great shot placement as well

[Guest 300ultramag.]

the story was ok.....Maybe if you were going to the right school(ASU) it would have been better.

Congrats regardless.

[DesertBull]

Awesome.

 

Just think, all that work and dedication and you only a get a 1 hour hunt out of it.! HAHA!

[ac guy]

I think you, scottyboy, and a couple of others should start your own magazine. What a great story. Thanks for taking us along.

[cjw2222]

Awesome.

 

Just think, all that work and dedication and you only a get a 1 hour hunt out of it.! HAHA!

 

 

Damnit how'd i know someone would have to get a chuckle out of that.

 

thanks

[firstcoueswas80]

Thanks much for the kind words.

 

and the accompanying picture

 

 

 

great shot placement as well

 

ditto to that!

[SunDevil]

congrats on a great bull and a nice story.

 

you mention doing homework until 3:00 am, it is my understanding that the teachers at the junior college you are attending do not assign homework.

[thunderbolt]

WOW, what a great story. It got me all worked up thinking about the elk draw coming up. Congratulations!!!!!!!!