The Hedgehog
Well-known member
- Joined
- Dec 19, 2000
- Messages
- 11,612
I worked Labor Day Monday this year, trading it for the following Monday so I could hunt the first three days of elk season. I didn't expect action but had a good plan and was excited to get out with my friend Jake. We got up early and left the tent around 3:30AM and planned to be in the right place at daylight. Our initial plan was foiled by a bad road and we had to make due with a different place. At one point during our early AM drive, a group of cows ran across the road in the headlights. As few elk as there are in the area we were hunting, I thought it would be a good idea to mark the spot on the GPS.
We hunted all day, hearing only one "real" bugle, ran into only one small raghorn bull but plenty of other hunters. It was hot, slow, and there were people everywhere. The second day wasn't any more exciting - no elk, no bugles. We decided to switch gears and head over a hundred miles away to hunt antelope. We had some action on the lopes, but the mosquitos were unbearable. While walking back to the truck at dusk with the decoys, bows, and a thousand itchy bug bites, Jake decided to call it a weekend and head home. After some thought of doing the same, I decided to drive back up to the elk area and sleep along the road where I'd seen the cows cross in the headlights on the morning of the opener.
I was setting a cot up outside my truck around midnight when I heard the first bugle. It was a full moon, unseasonably hot, and early in the season for much elk action. But there was at least one bull out there, hopefully a big one. I made my way into the forest up a small creek bottom just as the sky started to get light up in the east. I made it no more than a half mile up the creek when I saw the first elk, a young 6X6 feeding in the bottom. I heard a bugle from his direction but it was not the bull feeding. I assumed there was a larger herd bull beyond him in the timber.
The young bull moved toward me, feeding along the way. I waited in the creek bottom as the bull crossed in front of me and worked his way up the other side. I'm assuming he was getting away from the vocal bull that was farther up the drainage. I started to work down the draw, staying in the bottom when I looked up and behind me, and noticed a group of cows headed my way. They must have been feeding very near where I was camped. Bringing up the rear was a heart stopping bull. He was a narrow, long beamed, 6X7 with extremely good tine length, especially on the first 4, all in the 20" or better range. His antlers were light in color with only fair mass for a bull that size. He nervously followed the cows and passed me at 150 yards and continued up the drainage. His bugle was weak and apprehensive.
Meanwhile, up ahead, the other bull continued to scream. The 6X7's cows headed right in the direction of the bugling. I could see another younger 6X6 step into the bottom of the drainage, a half mile ahead. He wasn't coming closer, but just watching the elk circus ahead, likely hoping to pick up a wandering cow. The cows and 6X7 crossed the draw ahead of me and headed directly toward the vocal bull on the opposite side. At this point, I noticed the large 6X7 heading back my way, but into the timber 150 yards above me, alone. He was in a perfect place to approach, but not without a dozen elk ahead seeing me cross the opening.
I knew there was another bull ahead that just took this 6X7's cows, and assumed he might be an even bigger bull. As I moved closer along the creek, I ran smack dab into four mule deer bucks. We had a face off, and I put an arrow on my string. The largest buck was a good 4X4. I ranged him at 38 yards and drew my bow, just slowly enough to spook the hell out of them. Thankfully, they bounded off and to the right, not alerting any of the elk.
I crept up to the edge of the creek bank and got my first view of the vocal herd bull. He was a wide framed heavy 6 point with some small stickers on his left antler. He was in full rut, bugling every minute, and glunking in between. He was pacing back and forth, trailing cows, and making his presence known to the other bulls. I made an approach and was dead-ended into a pocket of bitter brush that left no easy way closer without alerting the bull. As I backed out, a cow noticed me. She was 75 yards ahead and looking directly at me. I thought it all over. Meanwhile, the herd bull charged toward her, ready for rape. She lost her interest in me and bolted away from the bull. They crossed the creek ahead of me, the bull with his nose right in her ass. She continued to retreat and he stopped.
He was just outside of range, but turned and came back my way, crossing through the creek again and up on the sage plateau on my side of the creek. I moved quickly up the bottom and hoped that I was parallel with him. I nocked an arrow and moved up the bank. When I peeked over, I saw him, broadside, looking away, and he let out his last bugle. I ranged him, drew my bow and settled my pin behind his shoulder. I watched a flash of my arrow leave the riser but didn't see the impact. The bull did that picture-perfect "jump and kick" as you'd expect if he were hit perfectly.
He ran up and over the knoll and out of sight. Since it was relatively open, I wanted to see where he was headed. I sprinted up to where he last stood and watched him burn down into another draw and up the other side, 150 yards away. He slowed to a walk and worked his way toward the cows that were scattered in the timber above him. I didn't see the arrow, or any sign of blood on his body. I started to second guess what had just happened, though the shot felt good and his reaction was telling. He walked up to the top of the hill and slowly out of sight. The cows held tight, feeding and completely unaware that anything out of the ordinary was going on. I headed that way.
There was no blood trail but I was moving too fast to take note. I worked my way up the hill, following the same path as the bull. The cows were still milling about in the timber adjacent to me. I knew he had to be close, but was slightly worried that he was walking uphill, and there was no apparent blood trail. As I got to the top of the hill, I nocked another arrow and continued over the top. There he was, stone cold dead, laying just ahead of me. It was a fun use of my custom SPOT message, being used for the first time: "Animal down!". I hit him a touch low, but still got the edge of his heart. The arrow stopped inside the opposite side of his ribs and broke off just inside the entry, essentially plugging the hole.
I've never had such an easy time getting an elk out. I was home for dinner, elk hanging, gear put away by the end of the day. It doesn't stink to live in Montana. It was just the beginning of a great fall and a lot more elk action to come.
We hunted all day, hearing only one "real" bugle, ran into only one small raghorn bull but plenty of other hunters. It was hot, slow, and there were people everywhere. The second day wasn't any more exciting - no elk, no bugles. We decided to switch gears and head over a hundred miles away to hunt antelope. We had some action on the lopes, but the mosquitos were unbearable. While walking back to the truck at dusk with the decoys, bows, and a thousand itchy bug bites, Jake decided to call it a weekend and head home. After some thought of doing the same, I decided to drive back up to the elk area and sleep along the road where I'd seen the cows cross in the headlights on the morning of the opener.
I was setting a cot up outside my truck around midnight when I heard the first bugle. It was a full moon, unseasonably hot, and early in the season for much elk action. But there was at least one bull out there, hopefully a big one. I made my way into the forest up a small creek bottom just as the sky started to get light up in the east. I made it no more than a half mile up the creek when I saw the first elk, a young 6X6 feeding in the bottom. I heard a bugle from his direction but it was not the bull feeding. I assumed there was a larger herd bull beyond him in the timber.
The young bull moved toward me, feeding along the way. I waited in the creek bottom as the bull crossed in front of me and worked his way up the other side. I'm assuming he was getting away from the vocal bull that was farther up the drainage. I started to work down the draw, staying in the bottom when I looked up and behind me, and noticed a group of cows headed my way. They must have been feeding very near where I was camped. Bringing up the rear was a heart stopping bull. He was a narrow, long beamed, 6X7 with extremely good tine length, especially on the first 4, all in the 20" or better range. His antlers were light in color with only fair mass for a bull that size. He nervously followed the cows and passed me at 150 yards and continued up the drainage. His bugle was weak and apprehensive.
Meanwhile, up ahead, the other bull continued to scream. The 6X7's cows headed right in the direction of the bugling. I could see another younger 6X6 step into the bottom of the drainage, a half mile ahead. He wasn't coming closer, but just watching the elk circus ahead, likely hoping to pick up a wandering cow. The cows and 6X7 crossed the draw ahead of me and headed directly toward the vocal bull on the opposite side. At this point, I noticed the large 6X7 heading back my way, but into the timber 150 yards above me, alone. He was in a perfect place to approach, but not without a dozen elk ahead seeing me cross the opening.
I knew there was another bull ahead that just took this 6X7's cows, and assumed he might be an even bigger bull. As I moved closer along the creek, I ran smack dab into four mule deer bucks. We had a face off, and I put an arrow on my string. The largest buck was a good 4X4. I ranged him at 38 yards and drew my bow, just slowly enough to spook the hell out of them. Thankfully, they bounded off and to the right, not alerting any of the elk.
I crept up to the edge of the creek bank and got my first view of the vocal herd bull. He was a wide framed heavy 6 point with some small stickers on his left antler. He was in full rut, bugling every minute, and glunking in between. He was pacing back and forth, trailing cows, and making his presence known to the other bulls. I made an approach and was dead-ended into a pocket of bitter brush that left no easy way closer without alerting the bull. As I backed out, a cow noticed me. She was 75 yards ahead and looking directly at me. I thought it all over. Meanwhile, the herd bull charged toward her, ready for rape. She lost her interest in me and bolted away from the bull. They crossed the creek ahead of me, the bull with his nose right in her ass. She continued to retreat and he stopped.
He was just outside of range, but turned and came back my way, crossing through the creek again and up on the sage plateau on my side of the creek. I moved quickly up the bottom and hoped that I was parallel with him. I nocked an arrow and moved up the bank. When I peeked over, I saw him, broadside, looking away, and he let out his last bugle. I ranged him, drew my bow and settled my pin behind his shoulder. I watched a flash of my arrow leave the riser but didn't see the impact. The bull did that picture-perfect "jump and kick" as you'd expect if he were hit perfectly.
He ran up and over the knoll and out of sight. Since it was relatively open, I wanted to see where he was headed. I sprinted up to where he last stood and watched him burn down into another draw and up the other side, 150 yards away. He slowed to a walk and worked his way toward the cows that were scattered in the timber above him. I didn't see the arrow, or any sign of blood on his body. I started to second guess what had just happened, though the shot felt good and his reaction was telling. He walked up to the top of the hill and slowly out of sight. The cows held tight, feeding and completely unaware that anything out of the ordinary was going on. I headed that way.
There was no blood trail but I was moving too fast to take note. I worked my way up the hill, following the same path as the bull. The cows were still milling about in the timber adjacent to me. I knew he had to be close, but was slightly worried that he was walking uphill, and there was no apparent blood trail. As I got to the top of the hill, I nocked another arrow and continued over the top. There he was, stone cold dead, laying just ahead of me. It was a fun use of my custom SPOT message, being used for the first time: "Animal down!". I hit him a touch low, but still got the edge of his heart. The arrow stopped inside the opposite side of his ribs and broke off just inside the entry, essentially plugging the hole.
I've never had such an easy time getting an elk out. I was home for dinner, elk hanging, gear put away by the end of the day. It doesn't stink to live in Montana. It was just the beginning of a great fall and a lot more elk action to come.
