September 23rd

It absolutely downpours for 3 days so I took a bit of a break to regroup. I got to the trailhead of the next place I was going hunt just before first light. There were two trucks in the pull off, one having a horse trailer. Not ideal. But I’m committed for at least a few days at this point.

Hiking in I notice the a mule standing out in the open like an abandoned dog. I think he must have gotten away from his owner until I smarten up and look around. Oh yea, there’s his owner’s tent. I guess I was just surprised to see pack animals being used and only being 2.5 miles in.

I set camp and jump up some elevation to glass. In a ten minute scan I see two bulls I would take. One freak 5x5 with super long beams. I’m a bit partial to giant 5x5s.

I headed up further and the going as steep. When I finally got to the top, I plopped down and gave a glass. Almost instantly I came up with fur. A cow. There had to be a bull close by.

I looked down in an open meadow and there getting a sip of water is the biggest bull I’ve ever seen! A 7x7 with beams as think as your forearm. And as a bonus us he’s got drop tines hanging down off both his thirds. What I wouldn’t pay to be teleported 40 yards downwind in a bush right by him. I’d been practicing a good bit recently, but a 650 yard shot with my bow might be a far stretch.

He and his cow move over the ridge into the next bowl and I made a move for it. The wind was good. As I popped over the ridge and get down to the trees the wind pulls a 180 and blows my stink down to where he’s hanging.

I fucking hate the wind. We are mortal enemies. Time to back out.

I went and sat on the other side from where he went over at a wallow he was working. I sat there all day listening to a far off bull make his way towards me. As the sun dipped behind the mountains and the shade fell over me like a blanket I threw out a few weak bugles to let the newcomer know where I was at. He came in screaming but only ended up being a small 6x5. He walked.

I make my way towards my tent with little light to spare. A bull is sounding off at his cows but it’s just too dark to make a play. Until tomorrow!

September 24th

Being this many days into a hunt, it’s hard not being frustrated with a person’s lack of improvement when it comes to calling. I’ve tried every trick in the book to pull them into range but it just doesn’t work. I’m the king of getting them hung up out of range and then walking away. It’s your setup you say? I would agree with that to some point. Being a solo hunt it’s a bit rough to call and get in a decent spot, but some of these setups have been lock proof.

So I need to return to what I’m good at. Spot and stalk or ambush. The bugle tube will play its roll for location, but after that it’s time to play a ninja.

Midday and the world is dead. Not a creature moving, talking or farting. Bluebird day doesn’t seem to be helping. Gotta get some cows in heat around here.

I pop around the other side of the hill mid afternoon and hear a few bugling. As I’m lounging in the sun glassing I pick up a few cows. Out comes the spotter and wouldn’t you know it, the monster is back out. As the day wanes he starts piping off. A few bulls down valley respond and I take a look for them. Two shooter bulls. One bladed out on his sixes and the other with a nice whale tale.

The two down valley seem like the highest percentage chance so I decide to go for them. I drop a thousand vert and keep what little trees that aren’t burned between us.

After an hour of sneaking I finally make it to the row of trees I needed to be at. They ghosted me and left me with four cows instead. Finally had the wind right and they just disappeared. I’m at my whits end at this point. Time for food and sleep.

September 25th

I felt the devil in me today. Beat down, a bad attitude. It’s something I work hard to avoid, but it happens from time to time.

I climb up an ungodly steep downfall area. A bull is screaming it’s head off up above me and I follow like a little puppy.

The going is brutal and he eventually goes up over the mountain and at this point the thermals have me dead in the water. I sidehill to the area I’ve been seeing the majority of them. Silent as a cricket fart. I’m done with this place.

It makes sense to move out. If I shot one, I would be 8 miles in, that’s 16 miles round trip. I’m solo hunting so it would take me 4 or more likely 5 trips to get camp, meat and a head and cape out. 4x16=64 miles on the low side, 5x16= 80miles on the high end.

At this point I need meat for the family. Anything goes. Thoughts of a herd bull are for early season. Time to shorten the hike as well as the expectations. Time to move to a spot that I know well.

September 26th

I’m back at the first spot I hunted. Nice day hike in this morning and the bulls were talking early. Got into three of them talking and managed to pull in a 5x5 but I couldn’t get an open lane on him. It’s the last few days, nothing gets a pass at this point. The family needs elk.

The herd bull was with his ladies and I tried to slow play him. Standard result, he picked up his ladies and took off. I’m not sure why I keep trying that tactic, I’ve gotten the same exact result every time. These animals really don’t want to be talked to. The only time calling has worked is if I was under 100 yards and it was the first time I blew the bugle. Otherwise it’s the other direction for them.

I’m sitting on a well used wallow now, throwing out some cow calls. Let’s see if they’re interested.

A couple people have said that the later the season gets the better the action. I haven’t found that to be true at all. Mid month was insane. Now it’s pretty dead except for early morning and last light. (In hindsight, I was completely wrong, it gets WAY better)

I left the wallow to chase some far off bugles. After a few miles I end up in the middle of three bulls wailing away. I send out a few bugles of my own to let my presence be known. The clouds open up overhead and starts pissing on me. I find a dense pine tree to weather it out. My rain gear is in my tent doing absolutely nothing.

I hear a scream close by and get set. He takes his time through the openings, not sure where the bull went that was just bugling at him. I hold steady and he makes his way to 28 yards from my hideout. He pauses after I went full draw and lets out a bugle.

Tight squeeze, but I sent it. I heard a crack and he takes off. I didn’t see an exit wound on him. Not good.

I wait an hour and then curiosity got the best of me. I found my arrow but by with only blood was on the broadhead. No penetration at all, a direct ball joint shot. I looked for blood to be sure and don’t see a drop. He’s gonna have a pretty sore shoulder, but he’ll make it just fine.

I head back to the wallow just in time to see a bull having the time of his life in there. Bad timing. I sat the rest of the evening hoping that one of the nine bulls I hear bugling come in for a mud bath. The evening ends with a concert but no appearances.

September 27th

I went back to the wallow in the open park a good bit before sunrise to see what was about. Some were talking but in the outskirts. I followed some bulls with their ladies up the hill but nothing came of it.

Mid day was absolutely silent. So I set up and had a little cow party. Eventually a branch antler bull came in and I spooked him while drawing at 20 yards.

Towards the end of the day I stagger into an absolute rutfest. It was bananas. There had to be 30-50 bulls absolutely loosing their minds. I did everything I could to keep up with them but the were charging uphill through downfall and I lost light. How is it possible to have that many bulls around, be that close to them and not see a single bull. God that sucks. Tomorrow is another day.

September 28th

I woke up in the cold damp tent and told myself today had to be the day. There were only a few days left in the season and the family was expecting elk meat.

I ventured out to where I left the rutfest the night before. I don’t know how it could be possible, but they multiplied. It sounded like when they are wrangling up cattle. Just endless bugling, fighting satellites copping a feel when the big fellas weren’t looking.

The video doesn’t do it justice, but it was an absolute rutfest up there.

I got up as high as I could. But being we were at tree line I could only hang out on a edge and hope one passed by with a shot. I was more in awe actually caring if I got a shot. I will be telling a story to my grandchildren about this day.

They moved off in the opposite direction and just not feasible to follow. So I waited where I was to see if anything else hung around. Across valley was a bull that hung around with his cows, thinking it wiser to keep them to himself instead of jumping into that melee.

He screamed a good bit but he was on the other side of an open park so there was nothing I could do. His talking started others from my side yelling back at him. This could get interesting.

I planted myself behind a row of pines and waited to see what would unfold. The screaming got more intense as I added some cow calls to the mix. Both sides started to close in on me. I stood like a statue, fingers aching from the cold as I held my bow.

I could practically feel the herd bull’s spit when he bugled behind me. He couldn’t have been more than 30 yards behind me and slowly heading to a perfect lane to arrow him at 20 yards.

If it wasn’t chaotic enough originally, it certainly turned that way. Five or six bugles exploded and the cows went into a frenzy. My herd bull took off downhill to chase his cows. The pile of them started to move away.

I had to get aggressive. I moved in closer and closer, blowing some spikes out but not caring.

One branch antler ran behind a tree right in front of me. He stalled out as I went to draw. It was a Mexican standoff. He got nervous and headed back the way he came. I stepped out causing him to pause. The arrow released right in the boiler maker. A few steps later and he was in the dirt.