There is something special about a big bull elks bugle. It stands the hair on your neck and sweats your palms to hear it. Many say you can't tell an elks size by his call, but it has been my experience that while a big bull may often sound small, its a rare small bull that sounds big. Blackleg was like that. The first time I heard him growl his train horn bugle I thought the whole mountain was falling around me.
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My base camp that year was a slide-in truck camper 1970's style. Off gridded with a gravity heater, propane stove with working oven and enough water to wash your hands with soap. I had done the truck tailgate as a table thing at 9:30 at night in the wind and the rain. Being able to pull off boots and put feet up after a 16 hour day chasing elk was such a welcome change I still smile with appreciation every time I do it. There are two kinds of elk hunting after all and neither one of them has to include unnecessary abuse. Unless of course you have some unmet need for discomfort.
Dispersed camping on public land can be a remarkable experience if you know your area well, or are lucky. The campers door opened out onto a view of Wyoming wilderness that rolled away toward the NW. I often wondered what magnificent bull elk ghosted those black timbered slopes cut by wet drainage meadows lush with feed.
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The first time I saw Blackleg it was moonlight
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My camp opened onto an old clearcut and offered access to elk unused by 99.9% of the hunters. I don't know why it is exactly, human nature maybe, but you can increase your hunting odds substantially by finding a way in that others do not use. Or maybe I'm just a contrarian and like doing things the hard way.
I was walking out from camp in the pre-dawn ghost light, a slight downslope cooling my right cheek. The pine needles were wet and the night sounds still made their cry. In front of me a narrow avenue opened between the tall timber that fell away slightly and gave me a small window of the mountain beyond. Blackleg was standing there broadside, has cows moving past and around him like dancers on a stage. He slowly turned his head and looked my way his body and antlers backlit by the predawn sky. He was only there for a second, but the image of him at that moment is welded into my memories forever.
It was way too early for a shot and to be honest it happened so fast my bow never would have been up in time anyway. I knew he had seen me, or maybe by sixth sense known I was there. But he was not alarmed and he hadn't gotten my wind, I was certain of that. I let them go a minute or two until the random cracking and breakings typical of elk on the move in timber receded out of my hearing. But it is a foolish archer who waits too long to dog a group of elk in the woods and I made my way quick, keeping quiet and careful in the deadfall and the beetle kill everywhere around.
At first shooting light I was looking down into a narrow drainage, a twenty inch creek snaking its way through the rocks and grasses of a wet meadow. Ten or twelve cow elk fed around lorded over by a stud of a bull. He was mostly tan and sunbleached. But his legs were as black as coal and it seemed as if he had leggings on just for the effect. He strutted and postured and bugled quiet tending calls.
My heart rate was up a notch as I both watched the group below and studied the terrain around. Make a stalk or at least get closer before calling? That bull was not going to climb up the steep slope between where I stood and the bottom where they were, no matter how convincing I was as an elk. Or don't call at all. Try a hail-mary stalk, through sentry cows and the diminishing cover that typlifies so many canyon meadows? No matter what it was going to be, I would have to close the distance and keep the wind. No small thing in the narrow canyon of tree and deadfall everywhere.
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I first chose to get lower on the canyons S slope and see what the thermals were doing closer to the elk. It was rough going. The elk had chosen well.
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It took awhile but by mid morning I was on the edge of the upper meadows. It was obvious now that I couldn't make a stalk from here so I tried some calls to see what would happen. The bull didn't care. He was down in the bottom with his cows and the other bull (me) was up above. If the new bull chose to press the issue Blackleg had a number of choices in how to respond. He could take his girls and leave. There were a number of escape routes. He could stand his ground until the intruder showed himself, then choose an action. Or he could ignore me altogether. I pondered my own choices and decided to leave the calling alone for awhile. I decided it was better to play to my strengths and not blow the herd out of the canyon altogether. I understood my limitations as a caller and to keep calling seemed low percentage right then.
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I decided to take the long view and circle above them, crossing the canyon to the other side, climbing above them and trying a stalk from there. It seemed the better play. From where I stood the elk would see me well outside my lethal range. I wanted timber cover into the bottom and it seemed the other slope offered more of it deeper into the meadow.
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:coffee: :campfire:
I found hidden small meadows. Tiny oasis' among the dense stands of timber. I kept going, knowing the elk group were well below me in the drainage. Still, it was easy to image an encounter with a big bull in a place like this.
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I crossed over and climbed the other side until I could look down onto the herd. I was so focused on them I didn't see the satellite bull 20 yards ahead of me and on the same contour. He was doing the same thing, watching the herd! We both did a little jump but his took him out of my life forever while mine only managed to shift my bugle out of the way for a shot.
But that was alright- I was after Blackleg like a lone wolf. I let a round up bugle rip followed by huffs and Blackleg responded with a stay back warning. I left it at that knowing he wasn't going to come up but it at least felt good to get his goat. But now I had another problem- the wind. As I snuck down toward the herd it was clocking around until I was afraid if I went any farther they would wind me. It killed me to do it but I decided to pull out, sure I would never see that black legged bull again. But sometimes you have to trust in your intuition, even if the impatient part of you undermines the certainty. I circled under the elk group quite far down the drainage and climbed back toward camp. However, I had one more trick up my sleeve and I decided to wait inside a small access gulch off the main valley. This little avenue led to a dense stand of timber in a wet seep full of tender elk treats and nibbles.
Awesome story so far! :coffee:
What a treat to wake up to this morning!! :coffee:
Wonderful story so far!
I set up looking NW across the little funnel. This was my view and it looked pretty sweet to me. I was hedging my bet and this spot was at the very bottom. If the elk decided to bypass this access and follow the bigger canyon down I could still skip over and catch them.
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I was gaming that the elk might (and it was a big might), choose to move into the area above this photo. If they did I was sitting pretty to ambush Blackleg. He would be gently pushing the cows, corraling them from wandering, and otherwise occupied. He might think my soft cow chirp was a girl gone astray and swing right in front of me. I settled in to wait, hoping they did not tarry so long as to have the thermals reverse and so force me out of my hide to avoid alerting the elk there was a hunter, focused, like a laser beam.
As it turned out they came up this funnel but well out of view. I should have been higher up where it was more narrow. This next photo shows the spot I should have set up at.
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This is great!! :notworthy:
On the edge of my seat.... :clapper: :clapper: :clapper:
Man, you have got my undivided attention, don't stop now!!
:campfire: :coffee:
Thanks for taking the time to bring us along.
I sat my hide, not yet knowing I had blown it already by trying to have it both ways, thinking I could sentry two drainages at the same time. But hunting is also about other things. I have never lamented being in the back country. Even if the lessons learned there went down hard I knew no other place I'd rather be.
My brother never hunted. He never had any interest in any of it. But I was the kid sneaking peeks into Dad's "hunting closet", a small space off the den packed with fishing rods, boots and woolen jac-shirts, rain gear and the holy grail of all boys hunt dreamings, guns. Also, way in back, rested a 1964 Yellow Jacket longbow. Made by the Cravotta Brothers, it was yellow & white glassed, 64 inch and maple cored. I shot all the cedars held by the old leather quiver until I placed one "by accident" dead center in the widow neighbors garage door. The arrow hit right where old "Mrs Bush" would be standing when she opened the door to get to her car. The shaft buried itself in a plywood panel and I couldn't pull it out. I went and got my father who took one look at the arrow, its lethal spot in the door and everything that implied. He wrapped his strong hands onto the arrow and pulled it free. He then looked at me. He knew a lesson already learned needs no comment. Dad only quietly said: "don't tell anyone" and went back to work.
So waiting on elk in the mountains was no task for me. In a lot of ways it was home.
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So the elk went past my hide, the limb crackings and the mewings, the soft tending bugle of the black legged bull. At this point in my elk life I had not the confidence to lean on my bugle tube and turn the encounter my way. I let them go. I knew they would be near there in the morning. At least I hoped they would and to my advantage they had no clue a wolf was stalking them.
It was late and I knew better than rush after the herd. I shouldered my pack and placed my headlamp knowing it would be dark before I climbed out of the drainage. My recurve balanced light in my hand. I loved how it was a part of the hunt, so graceful and unobtrusive. It was never out of place, never a nuisance.
The truck camper was a comforting thought. I would warm elk stew and bake some frozen biscuits.
There was tomorrow. Oh yeah...
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Great story! Thank you. Hope it's not over...
I slept hard and the 4:30AM warmth of my bedding made me wonder if perhaps I was slightly delusional, expecting that bunch of elk to still be 1 mile away about where I had left them. Maybe I could sleep in a little, bide my time so to speak. I lay there a couple minutes and knew if I gave in to this thinking I could never raz another hunter about being lazy. So I sat up and put my feet on the floor, that universal symbol for getting shit done.
Dawn found me glad I was in the woods early. If nothing else, the view was worth it.
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I hunted into daylight to be on the edge of the thick timber that I hoped still held Blackleg and his gang. These little spots of meadow cupped the bottom of the wet timber and are great places to hunt. The only trouble is the wind, it saws back and forth, up and down. I have never been able to count on consistent thermals here except during the middle of the day. I did not know yet if this was just a goose chase, but hunted like it mattered. You just never know. I had been thwarted many a time in my elk quests by lapses in focus and this day, no way.
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Just as I walked into the photo above I heard Blackleg throw out a tending bugle just upslope from this spot. Game on!!
This is the pocket of timber the elk were in. I had been in there before. It was not a big area, maybe 100 yards wide and 800 long.
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It says a lot about my confidence as a caller at this point in my life that I feared using calls to draw out this bull. It was a perfect situation to call: 1) I knew exactly where he/they were, 2) no other hunters about that I could tell, 3) there were some good spots to call from just inside the thick pocket of timber.
But I didn't dare. Even though I was confident enough in my skill as a hunter to "back out" I had called at bulls before and every time watched them run the other way so fast it was depressing. Not what you would call a confidence building history.
I did know, from hard experience, that going after Blackleg in that nest of deadfall, tight spaced timber, soggy ground and dead dry limbs everywhere was not a smart option. How many times, as a new elk hunter, all enthusiasm and strong legs, had I "snuck" up on elk in such timber? A bunch. And every time, I congratulated myself on my woodsmanship and stealth for getting so close. Yet as I approached the bow range I needed in that timber, as I saw my distance to them shrink, they always saw me too. Every time. You can get close. Very close. But they will see you too, just when it counts.
I could hear the bull soft call to his cows into late morning. I played the wind, moving as soon as it began to shift my scent stream toward the elk. This went on for most of the day and I began to fear that my game was a self-defeating one. Sooner or later they were going to wind me. The black legged bull had also gone silent. Maybe they had bedded in there. I circled above the pocket and tried to determine if while I was below or aside them they had left the area. In the end, I pulled out and sat away from any chance they might get my wind. I went back to camp empty.
The next morning I was back at it, not at all sure the elk would be there in such a small area. They had to move on sooner than later. 12 or so elk can't/won't feed in such a small space forever. Dawn came and I heard no bugle. Just when I was thinking of hunting through the mess of wet timber Blackleg bugled a tending call. I was so relieved and this time decided to be less timid. I crossed below them here:
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The thermal was straight downslope this early. I crossed to the N and using an open dry timber hogback, betted that my scent stream would stay narrow and off to this side of the pocket holding the black legged bull. My plan was to get above them. I circled closer to the edge of the pocket until about 30 yards outside its edge. I waited. I may have wandered around a little time to time, never going far. When I did move it was into the open timber. I may have tried entering the snarl, but it was immediately evident that was a stupid idea.
This is what the open timber was like:
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AWESOME STORY!!
And this- "So I sat up and put my feet on the floor, that universal symbol for getting shit done."
This is fact!
Great pics to go with the narration!
Great story, keep it coming just what I needed on this drizzly morning.
As the morning clocked away I knew I couldn't stay where I was for much longer. I heard some crackings inside the pocket. Nearer? The bull bugled a round up call and I knew they were now "on the move". This was different. My chance, if I ever had one, was literally leaving.
The bull bugled again and it was plain the elk were coming my way, edging the pocket to take advantage of the easier going. It was no picnic walking up the middle of the snarl. I moved ahead toward the edge of the pocket, knowing my shot distance had to max out with about 10 yards inside the edge, not someplace short of it. The elk would be in that transition line from thick timber to open timber. I was looking into something like this, less the wallow:
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I began to see cow elk, a patch of tan here, a movement there. I set my legs and knocked an arrow. My god it was finally going to happen?
Then I saw the bull. My palms were sweating so bad I repeatedly wiped them on my pant leg but the wool wasn't much help. The bull was now just below me and moving up along the edge of the dense timber. The wind was just beginning to clock toward the elk and I knew it was going to have to be soon or they would surely get my wind now. On he came and I did not count points. I knew he was a six-by and my heart rate was already trying to run redline even as I told myself: breath in breath out relax relax relax relax. The bull was coming and then he was broadside. He had to pause to find clearance for his antlers, his head behind timber. I raised ElkMaster, focused on the crease so neat and so perfect and I remember the undulations of his muscles under the tan blonde hair. It was 20 yards maybe and as I expanded into the shot half my mind was saying over and over: finally finally finally.
The arrow was away. The bull must have seen me draw, or something, for he tried to reverse direction but his antlers were still snagged somewhat in the branches of the tree. He was still perfectly placed as the arrow, like some mythical thing, arched across the distance between us as it held course for his vitals.
In that moment I felt an elation only born from hard work and perseverance. I felt rewarded in that private way hunters are when they know they did it right. The arrow was in slow motion. Then it was inches from the bulls side. I remember this clearly like it was just a moment ago. Then it was in the ground under and behind him. He got clear and in thunder and snapping branches charged away down the hogback and crashed into the woods.
What just happened? He seemed mighty spry when he left and something inside my brain was telling me he was untouched.
I didn't feel deflated but the adrenaline dump was there. I walked over to where the bull was standing and after a few moments of searching, found my arrow. It was a big let down, seeing the shaft and feathers so dry. I could see right where the bull had been standing under the tree, where his antlers had gotten caught, everything. And right in front of this spot was one, just one, 1/4 inch diameter supple branch from a tiny mountain alder.
My arrow had deflected down under the bull just inches from his side.
Right then, I understood karma. I figured it was, even in my deep disappointment, fair that I had missed. That it was after three days of hard hunting only made it more significant. I was paying dues owed, somehow, and in this way I managed to accept that I was only human after all and the wilderness owed me nothing.
The End. Thanks for reading along.
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What some awesome story telling! Hope there is more!
Great story thank you for bringing us along. 👍👍
Hands down the best storytelling i've seen considering no animal is down yet-keep after them!
I have a lot of "no animals were harmed" stories....
Wow, had my adrenaline going! Great story.
Someone said we need more hunting stories this is exactly what we need thanks so much for taking us along
Enjoyed the story. I thought I was the only one with "just a tiny little 'ol limb" issue.
Excellent hunting story and pictures! Thanks for sharing.
:thumbsup: :thumbsup:
That Sir, was a great story well told! :clapper:
Thanks for taking the time to put your hunt in written words, you are blessed with a talent few people have. You kept me anticipating each installment. In my mind, there recounting of the hunt above is only part of your adventure.
Great stuff!!
Tim B
An excellent journey...
I just figured blackleg was the bull from your hunt sharp thread. Great story telling...thanks for sharing!
Thanks for the ride! Great story!
Outstanding! :clapper:
Thanks for sharing with us. :thumbsup:
I join the others in commending you for this story. Well done.
Wow! What a great story. I'm sorry it ended up the way it did, but you accomplished something most folks will never do, even with the miss. Better luck next time out.
Bisch
Loved it :clapper: :clapper: :clapper: unfortunately I too have way to many 1 inch or less either way stories :banghead:
Thanks for taking the time to tell your story, well crafted prose, excellent photos complimenting the narrative. Well done, sir, well done.
Jolly good read, thank you
Good story! Well written, thought out and presented extremely well. Thanks.
Thanks for taking us along. Great pics, too. If you haven't had an arrow find the small intervening branch that you missed while focusing on your spot, you havent done much hunting.
Well done sir!!!
Well told....... :notworthy: :clapper:
I have never hunted Elk..... But now I feel like I have!!
Thanks for taking me along!!!
:clapper: :clapper: :clapper: :archer: :clapper: :clapper: :clapper:
Your story had me on the edge of my seat with anticipation. It's a credit to you that you accepted the experience for what it is.
I feel your pain. Those branches that save animals lives are all too common. To me it feels like deer have some sort of deflector shield that is impervious to arrows.
Next time...... :archer2:
What a great read with my morning coffee. A reminder that a successful hunt is not always one with a harvest. As a new traditional hunter I can very much appreciate the fact that my longbow is never an inconvenience, never in the way, it just belongs with me in the woods. Thanks for taking me along.
Perfect Morning Read :coffee: :coffee: ! Just gotta love a well-told tale with a happy ending . . .well, happy ending for Ol' Black Leg anyway!