The Elk Opera

[Over&Under]

 

[Killdeer]

Writing of this quality takes time. I am grateful to be able to read it. Thank you!

Killdeer

[cacciatore]

These kind of threads are what makes this site great. Thanks for sharing,makes me dream my next high country hunt.

[UncasUK]

jhg Who made that interesting bow you have there.
And what model?
Thank you.

[jhg]

It is a wonderful thing, the hunting life. It can surprise you with sunrise, stand the hair on your neck the walk-out darkness, bring out your tears from joy or from regret or from sorrow. Sometimes, somehow, you are by chance or by design involved in something real, something basic that is the vital connection bolting your ancient primordial self to the never ending drama of existence. Because we sit in cars and speak on phones, flick switches and lock doors does not somehow mean six million years of history welded into our DNA is negated. We are a part of the physical world as much as we are part of anything.

[attachment=1,msg2990305]


Around me the bugles were never ending bombast that at some point became nerve wracking. I was forced to climb a finger ridge that stood just above the only undulation on the long slope the bull elk and I had just climbed. My scent stream was upslope and parallel to the elk group below me. A herd bull who I only glimpsed now and then was literally fighting off a number of other bulls, herding cows to keep them from being stolen or drifting off and being run ragged.
His was a losing hand.
I watched as a cow ran by chased by a lesser bull. Other cows, unable to relax, jittered and jumped here and there as if repeatedly shocked by an unseen force. The herd bulls bugles were not bugles at all but roars, screams and monstrous shrieks.
Along the edge of my perch on the finger ridge my scent stream cut a razor sharp declination between undetection and discovery. There were at least 20 elk below me, cows, bulls ,the herd bull, yearlings and juveniles. Some elk climbed the opposite side of the little gulley and it was only a matter of time before some of them would climb my side too and walk right into my man stink drifting up the mountain like a serpent. The herd bull, unable to stand his ground, pushed his remaining cows over the edge of the fuse and dropped out of my life.

[attachment=2,msg2990305]

[jhg]

The bow is "Elkmaster".

Made for me by Dan Toelke. Its a super static 64" recurve. 54# at 31.

[UncasUK]

Great bow sir,

Most impressed by your Elkmaster

[glass76]

Now this is how you tell a elk hunting story! Great read so far, hoping for more!

[jhg]

BTW, I just found a really embarrassing typo, and corrected it.

[Killdeer]

I saw that.

[jhg]

Note to self- never proof when tired or distracted.

[Sam McMichael]

I will never hunt elk, but I have heard the song. On a visit to Yellowstone a really beautiful bull looked me straight in the eye from about 30 yards and screamed out a challenging threat that was both fearsome and beautiful. You guys that live amongst elk or get a chance to hunt them sure are lucky.

[Killdeer]

My sruff is edited over and over...see?


Killdeer

[Wudstix]

My fingers need to go back to Skool.  More elk story please.

[Killdeer]

TTT

[jhg]

The herd bull was gone. But around me the bugles continued. Cow elk had been stolen and were either being blocked by satellites from following the herd bull or had just given up and accepted their new suitor(s).

I could see three or four bulls right from my sit spot.

A first year 5x started up the short slope toward me. Oh great, I thought, another frontal. This is a shot I am comfortable taking now, but back then it was definitely not one I would attempt under any circumstance. I had not done my homework.  Where to place the arrow, distance limits or self-confidence.  None of these parts were in place in my hunters mind.
The young bull was prime. His fur flashed sheen, his muscles full and powerful rolled under the skin. As he climbed toward me I already knew I would shoot this bull. He was fit and fat, and had that " something"  an animal must have before I click the internal button saying yes, yes, this is one to be proud of. It has never been the antlers for me. Sure, I always focus on trying for older, larger animals. But my prime directive has always been an animals vigor.

I was on my knees and down in one of those small ground dents just large enough for an archer to hide most of themselves from wary eyes. The bull paused several times on his accent toward me to look back over his shoulder. I used these brief moments to adjust my body set, nock an arrow and try to manage my personal hunt shot nemesis, sweaty palms.
He was maybe 20 yards now and the next time he came forward I thought it would happen but something, his sixth sense, his supernatural smell and hearing or some part of his rustic wariness brought his head up and his eyes locked onto me. I kept mine lowered, seeing him just on the edge of periphery knowing full well the intensity of my gaze, not to mention the blazing force behind it.
He was frozen. I was a rock. We stayed this way for a long time. The wind lay against my right cheek. Somewhere, on the edge of awareness, elk ran by and bulls bugled. A deer mouse rustled under the duff of leaves and needles. Ours was the old formal dance of the hunter and the hunted. Choreographed long ago, our roles had already been determined. The bull elk and I knew our places on the stage of life and of death.

What motivates us to be traditional hunters? What ancient impulse directs us to touch the past and connect to ourselves in a way that is right and honest?
I don't know.
It is enough that it is.

When I step out into daily life, that rushing pace that sometimes is heavy responsibility, I also carry inside myself this other man. He is a free spirit and his heart is woven into the branches, the dirt and the water.

The bull, finally satisfied that maybe his concern was false started forward. He came around a small tree and when his body started to turn I came to anchor his muscles loading into a crouch as he flinched at my movement. It was now or never the bull launching himself forward and away the arrow white fletches proud against the back drop of sky and fur. The bull and the arrow met at 6 yards, the timeless dance completing its cycle. The hunter rejoiced in silent awe, the bull, its spirit alive climbing upward into the air above them.

[attachment=1,msg2991339]

[rastaman]

Just saw this and read it all the way through. What an awesome story teller and writer you are. My adrenaline is flowing!

[jhg]

Thanks everyone for the kind words of encouragement. This one is finished.

[kennym]

"The young bull was prime. His fur flashed sheen, his muscles full and powerful rolled under the skin. As he climbed toward me I already knew I would shoot this bull. He was fit and fat, and had that " something" I always want an animal to have for me to click the internal button saying, yes, yes, this one is to be proud of. It has never been the antlers for me. Sure, I always focus on trying for older, larger animals. But my prime directive has always been an animals vigor."

I totally get this, sir!

Great story!

[ron w]

  well told