For young hunter, a most improbable elk

If he gives you an opportunity, make sure you make a good shot!”

That was the advice I kept giving my son Henry as this unforgettable moment was unfolding. Having hunted elk most of my adult life, I knew how exciting, yet nervous events like this can be when they unfold. The bull was standing at 43 yards, screaming at us and we were pinned.

This past summer was like many others, football practice, fishing as often as we could get out (Henry more often than me) and building our house. Building your own house is a daunting task and it is hard for a teenager to understand “adult” priorities when you live in Montana where ample opportunities to be in the outdoors every waking moment abound. During the summer, Henry had taken a keen interest in archery. Several failed attempts in the past have finally succeeded in getting him into the excitement of shooting a bow. Our lifelong friend Shawn set him up with a Bowtech and put a custom Cerekote job on it. Henry and I went to work fletching and tuning arrows. All Henry could talk about is wanting to elk hunt. Football had different plans for him. Practice was every night after school with varsity games on Friday nights.

That leaves little time for chasing elk around the woods, unfortunately. Understanding that his football and my full-time job and house building were working against us, I knew I had to take every opportunity to get out and try to get some bulls to bugle. Henry spent most every evening practicing. All summer, our yard looked like a 3D range with deer targets and target blocks lying all over, much to the chagrin of my younger son, Ayden, who would have to move them each time he mowed the lawn. The more Henry practiced, the more I was impressed.

I have shot archery for 20 years and this kid is as good or better than me in a summer. I was proud, a wee bit jealous, and encouraging all at the same time.

Practice makes perfect, and for me there is nothing truer. Skip shooting my bow and within weeks, it is noticeable in my accuracy. Here is Henry hitting the x-ring on a consistent basis from 20, 30 and 40 yards. Awesome.

This Sunday morning started out like many others. Me in the unfinished part of the house, working on sheetrock.

Henry asked, “When are we going hunting?” I guess the look on my face answered his question as his disappointment was not avoidable.

I had spent the past couple hours getting the main wall and ceiling of this particular bedroom hung and was looking at starting in the closet next. My conscience got the best of me, and I followed Henry into the house and told him if he really wanted to go, I would go take a shower and get ready. He lit up and said, he really wants to go “chase elk.”

I agreed and needed a break myself. Off to the shower I went. By the time we loaded up the truck and headed out, the early afternoon was slipping away, it was already after lunch time and this time of year, the weather can turn on a dime and sunset can happen in a very short notice.

As we drove off, I reminded him to grab a rifle for his bear tag, knowing we were heading into some prime black bear country. He was hesitant because he had elk on his mind and nothing else, but he agreed and grabbed his orange vest and a rifle.

As we drove off the pavement and headed for “one of the spots” I kept reminiscing of all the elk encounters I have had over the years, hunting with my cousin Josh, brother-in-law Jody Barta and many others.

I got the impression that Henry was starting to begin feeling like some of these elk stories were tall tales. As the day lingered on, much to my surprise, there was no elk talking and very little action.

We were having a good time, nonetheless, and explored some country I have rarely, if ever been to. Coming out of the dark timber and pointing my truck toward home, there was one more spot I wanted to stop and check to see if there were any elk in the area looking for a fight.

As we pulled up to a side road and began to unpack, I realized how long it had been since I hunted in this area and the close encounters I have had over the years in other areas that we should have gone to, too.

As we walked across the meadow, I stopped and let out a very loud, aggressive bugle. Instantly, off to our right a bull answered back and from the sound of his response, we guessed him about a mile off. It was dead quiet, minus the moo cow moaning behind us to the left.

I remember thinking to myself, “I did not realize there were cattle in this area, we have a lot of open ranges but this one was a first.”

Henry’s eyes lit up at the sound of that bull answering the challenge from the unknown aggressor and he was full of excitement. He has never had much archery elk hunting opportunity, being a football fanatic and playing since he was just a little boy. Most of his falls were full of touchdowns, passing and packed full schedules of practice and games. I usually went archery hunting alone or with friends, making sure to never miss one of his games.

As we continued to “talk” with the bull off in the distance, light was fading and I knew we did not have adequate time to make a play, so we sat there bugling, cow calling and harassing the lone bull on the ridge all the time giggling at the curious beef cow that seemed to want to play with us as well. On the third or fourth bugle, and the bull not wanting to move from his suspected harem, the moo cow behind us grew increasingly louder and much to our surprise, he threw out a couple chuckles on his last “moooooo.”

Our eyes lit up and I was speechless when I looked at Henry with wide eyes and confusion.

“Crap, that is a bull elk, not a moo cow!” we both said.

I would have lost a million-dollar bet on this one, guaranteed. There was no possible way that moo cow was in fact a bull elk, was there? Of course, here we were, standing out in the open with no bow in my hand, no pack on my back, nothing. I was ready to make some elk music, never thinking in a million years we would get into elk. I was completely unprepared.

Henry, however, was ready.

He had all his gear.

We looked around and much to our salvation and surprise was a small clump of bushes and a tree off to our left. We high-tailed it over there and found some cover from the impending bull. Light was beginning to fade, and I honestly thought, “Well this is fun, at least Henry will get some screaming bull elk action, even if we are not able to get into position for a shot.”

“There he is! I see him,” Henry said.

As I combed the landscape, I could not see a bull, or any elk for that matter.

“Where?” I asked.

Henry pointed to his left and said right there about 200 yards out.

I could not make out the origin of the moo cow sounding bull. Grabbing for Henry’s binoculars, as mine sit comfortably in the truck, he leans over to me as I pulled them closer to my eyes with the harness still around his neck. As I panned the landscape, there was the bull.

I let out a bugle to see if he was still interested and he chuckled. Then as my cow call echoed the valley, he lit up with a roar of a bugle and came thundering our way, closing the 200-plus yard gap in seconds.

At 43 yards, he came screeching to a halt. At this time, I was positive it was over, the wind had let him know, we were not a challenger, but an unwanted invader into his lair. We were busted, sitting there, not knowing what the wind was doing and he seemed to have us pegged, staring right at us at exactly 43 yards according to my Leica rangefinder. I was frozen. Do I try and bugle, cow call, or wait it out?

I chose the bugle. Slowly lowering my head and putting my lips to the tube, I left the bugle sitting in the dirt and grass to muffle the sound since we were so close. I let out a challenge roar and he threw his antlers sideways, cocked his head to toward us with his ear pointed straight up and moving like a radar unit looking for a signal. At that moment, I reached for my cow call but could not locate it in all the excitement.

Not wanting to make any sudden moves, I remembered I had a push cow elk call in my side pocket I used for teaching Henry the sounds of cow elk. I slowly reached down in my pants pocket and pushed the call twice letting out two cow call mews. The bull roared a loud, thunderous bugle — storming around the small bush we used as shelter only to come to a stop at the sound of my third and final cow call. He froze, then whipped his huge neck and head in our direction and stared us down. I had the Leica ready and as I quietly read “23,” barely getting the last word out of my mouth when I heard the “thump.”

The sound cut off my words.

Henry had just released the arrow on the bull of a lifetime. The bull lurched forward and trotted off about 15 yards and stopped.

The bull stood there bleeding profusely, panning the landscape to try make sense of what had just happened and started to wobble.

As he almost fell over, he stiff-legged his stance and stood there, trying to keep his balance.

The bull staggered off about 65 yards. We heard a loud thump and crashing sound in the brush. Quietly listening for any sign that he was walking away from us, we heard a gurgling moan as he let out his last breath.

I sat there in shock and awe at what had just transpired. I looked at Henry and he was in as much shock as I was.

“I had no idea you were at full draw when I ranged him that last time,” I said.

“I came to full draw as he circled the bush and was ready once he stopped. I had to close my eyes and open them a couple times to re-focus on my pins,” Henry replied.

Apparently, all my focus was on the bull because for a few seconds, I forgot Henry was even there as I admired the situation the bull was putting us both into. We sat there, celebrating as quietly as we could and replayed the scenario again and again. Neither of us could believe what had just happened. It never all “falls together.”

Never.

This time it did perfectly.

Walking up to the spot where the monarch was standing when the Easton A/C/C delivered the Magnus stinger through the bull, you could see it there, lying on the ground, covered from broadhead to nock in bright, red blood. A sure shot and a pass through at that! It was at this moment I really became excited.

Walking up to the bull, I was in awe. He was a beautiful 7x7 with identical sides.

Henry was amazed at the sight of him lying there, neither one of us could believe what had just transpired.

Author Travis Fields is the Weyerhaeuser MDF operations manager. Henry is a junior at Columbia Falls and a wide receiver on the football team.