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I took a break around mid-morning
to call and have a snack, and again
around mid-afternoon. By 6:30 p.m.,
though, I still hadn’t heard or seen
anything, not even fresh sign. I was
a few hundred yards above the big
meadow and fighting the urge to bar-
rel down to it, as there didn’t seem
to be any elk where I was, when I
reminded myself of having stalked
within range of the two cows and bull
on day two. There was no rush to get
to the meadow, and I had better focus
because things can change in seconds.
I kept my slow and stealthy pace
— step, stop, look, listen, repeat.
Soon, I saw yet another tan spot
through the timber. I hadn’t kept
count, but it may have been the
hundredth time I had raised my bin-
oculars to look at a suspiciously col-
ored object. The previous 99 times
had all been dead trees or stumps.
This time, however, it really was an
elk — a cow.
As I watched, another cow ap-
peared, then another, 80 yards away,
going in and out of view as they ca-sually fed. Movement to my left —
another cow and a calf, closer, maybe
50 yards. More movement even far-
ther left, almost behind me — a bull!
Somehow, against all odds, I had
slipped into a herd of elk, and things
were happening fast. I hadn’t been
detected yet, the wind was good and
I had the utmost confidence in my
First Lite camo.
Two cows walked through a tiny
opening with the bull following
them. I ranged the tree they had
walked behind at 40 yards and added
two more. When the bull’s head en-
tered the opening, I was in the zone: I
don’t remember nocking an arrow or
drawing my bow, I don’t remember
what sound I made to stop him and
I don’t remember the arrow being
released, but I do remember seeing
my arrow go through the dark hole
in the brush I was aiming for. No
branches fell to the ground this time.Lost & Found
I lost sight of the bull within sec-
onds of the shot, and the sound of
his escape didn’t last as long as I had
expected. After waiting several min-
utes, trying to collect my thoughts
and tame the adrenaline, I went to
where he was standing when I shot.
I couldn’t find blood or the arrow,
and that nauseating feeling of fail-
ure slowly crept back into my gut. I
started to follow his tracks, but after
finding no sign of a hit by the 20-
yard mark, I began to turn back and
start over.
As I did so, however, I happened
to look ahead. Less than 40 yards
away lay the bull, dead. The range
of my emotions was off the charts,
and I’m not ashamed to admit that I
was on my knees giving thanks moreThe author and his 6x6 bull. This mas-
sive elk more than made up for the one
he missed earlier in the hunt.