them back toward the south. Once
again, we got to our feet and moved.
This time, though, we were out of
cover. We moved to the edge of the
tall patch and watched as the cows
filed out of it and into the stubble.
The bull stepped out of the cover
and followed the cows at a slow
walk. “Range him right there!” I
whispered to my dad as I began to
draw my bow.
“Fifty-one yards,” dad said as he
let out a cow call to stop him. Time
seemed to stand still as I settled my
pin on the bull. Countless hours of
preparation and thousands of prac-
tice arrows all came down to this.
I squeezed the shot off and heard
a hollow thump. The bull ran a few
feet, and blood began to run down
its side; 150 yards later, he bedded
down. The arrow had hit the back
of the bull’s lungs, and he was close
to expiring.
We had plenty of cover to work
with now, so we ultimately made the
decision to move in and finish the
job. We belly-crawled up to the bed-
ded bull, and at 27 yards, my arrow
found its mark. The bull rolled over
and, within seconds, it was over.
I lifted my bow in the air, and with
tears in my eyes and a knot in my
throat, my dad and I hugged each
other and walked up to the bull.
Both of us were completely speech-
less. I had dreamed my whole life of
shooting an elk with my bow; little
did I know that it would happen at
this age, let alone in my home state.
This hunt of a lifetime, however,
was just the beginning.
Big Bucks Down
Days later, the excitement over
my elk hunt turned to motivation.
My goal became clear: fill the en-
tire tag in one season with my bow.
Balancing classes, two jobs and the
2 ½-hour drive home to hunt on the
weekends would be the norm for the
next couple of months. It wouldn’t
be easy, but I knew there was a way.
Weeks later, I found myself in a
tree I had never hunted from before
with the first cold front of the season
rolling in. The cool autumn breeze
brushed my face as I settled in, and it
was really starting to feel like fall.
Turning in my seat, I spotted move-
ment. Moments later, the deer that
had caught my attention lifted its
09 • 2019
another bugle as he stepped to the
edge of the clearing.
“Shoot him!” my dad whispered.
He had a perfect opening to the bull
from his position, but I didn’t. The
bull finally moved and gave me a
small window for a shot, but as I
settled my pin and was about to re-
lease the arrow, I got déjà vu — the
bull whirled.
By now, the cows had moved from
the tall patch into some knee-high
stubble. The bull began circling the
ladies and herding them up, taking
out cow calls as we went along. The
bull was bugling the whole time and
was still unaware of what we were.
We found a small clearing a few
dozen yards into the patch and set
up, my dad letting out a bugle as
we did so. The bull’s rack was vis-
ible just over the top of the weeds
less than 100 yards away. His head
snapped in our direction, then he
came running toward us again. I
drew my bow, my heart feeling like
it was going to burst from how hard
it was pounding. The bull let out
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