Buckshot
New member
I originally wrote this article for Bugle magazine, and although the editor said he liked it, he didn't want to publish it because it portrays some hunters negatively. So I thought I'd post it here and you all can tell me what you would have done. Sorry, it's kinda long.
Follow-Up Dilemma
The ethical considerations of dealing with an animal wounded by someone else.
Working in the woods for a living gives me some unique opportunities to observe and interact with wildlife. Such an opportunity arose early last October when an elk bugled several hundred yards away. I suddenly forgot all about the Forest Service contract I'd won that obligated me to collect data on trees, shrubs, forbs, grasses and an array of other information from sites scattered over the Idaho Panhandle
I laid aside my notebook and plucked a likely blade of grass. Placing it between my thumbs, I brought it to my lips and let out an awful sounding squeal. The bull answered immediately. We went back and forth for about 15 minutes, my squeal, squawk, or whistle, whatever happened to come out, to his roaring bugle. He moved to within a hundred yards or less and hung up. Due to the thick north Idaho alders I still hadn't seen the bull so I picked up a big stick and started raking brush.
That did it, the bull came walking straight in, ready to exact some serious punishment to the young upstart brazen enough to challenge him. He stopped in a small opening ten yards away and gave me a minute to admire the long dark 5x6 rack, before reason returned to his sex-addled head and he turned and left.
I grudgingly returned to work and considered the possibility that an even bigger bull must be in the area with a harem of cows. The sun was setting when I finally finished and started working my way back to the truck. As I passed through an alder-choked basin with a small meadow in the head of it a different bull bugled. I replied with my infamous grass-call and thus begun an hour-long session of insult exchanges that lasted until I crested the ridge and left the basin. The bull never moved from his original location and I assumed it was the herd bull of my imagination.
General rifle season opened a week later for holders of an Idaho Panhandle B tag and guess where I was headed! I climbed up through the saddle overlooking the basin just as legal shooting light arrived. From there I needed to side-hill a couple hundred yards to a vantage point from which I could see the small meadow at the head of the drainage.
When I was about halfway there a shot suddenly rang out from very near the spot I was headed. I sat down and waited and watched as an almost continuous volley of shots echoed down the canyon. I wasn't counting but there must have been around 15 shots.
When the shooting died down I got up and slowly began to continue. Two more times before I reached the spot, volleys of 5 to 10 shots shattered the morning stillness, during which I would sit, wait and watch.
Finally I reached my destination, which was occupied by a single hunter. I looked down into the basin, expecting to see dead elk lying everywhere, but all I saw were 3 more hunters down in the bottom.
Swallowing my bitterness and putting my best "I'm happy for you" look on my face I asked, "So, did you get some biggun's?"
"We've got a big 5 point down. I saw him bed in that brush." And he motioned towards a small patch of alders slightly separate from the continuous sea of them that carpeted the bottom of the canyon.
Meanwhile, his 3 companions were edging closer and closer to the patch of brush. The hunter next to me would occasionally yell down at them to stay back and leave the bull alone for awhile, which seemed like the smart thing to do to me too.
After a few minutes of this he couldn't take it any longer and without a word he started down the hill towards his buddies. I sat down and began glassing the brush. Before long I found the bull's rack above the foliage. His head was up and he occasionally swung it around to keep tabs on the approaching group of hunters.
All 4 of the hunters were now converging on the 1 acre patch of brush that held the bull. It was obvious to me that if the bull got out of his bed they would be very lucky to get even a glimpse of him before he disappeared into the brush. So I yelled down to them, "I see the bull and he still looks pretty healthy!"
One and all summarily ignored my input, and they continued their forward progress. So I tried again, "Do you want me to put a bullet in him?"
My offer of a lead and powder donation to the cause was similarly disregarded so I laid the rifle down and picked the binoculars back up. When the hunters were within about 30 yards the bull jumped and 2 or 3 of them got off shots. The bull went about 50 yards, stopped in one small opening about the length of his body, and looked back over his shoulder towards the oncoming hunters. It was the last window before he vanished completely into the sea of alder.
I exchanged the binoculars for the rifle again and found the bull in my scope. I put the crosshairs on the bull and began a huge internal debate. For several agonizingly long seconds we remained this way, and then the bull decided the hunters were close enough. He swung his head around and started into the alder.
I think it was instinct more than any conscious decision that tripped the trigger on my 7 Mag. But in any case, I missed and the bull disappeared completely into the brush. My mind had been fully occupied with the ethical considerations of whether or not to shoot and I had not put enough thought into where to hold on the bull. Consequently, I held in the middle of his body and likely shot low, as he was over 300 yards away.
When I reached the small opening in which the bull was standing when I shot, 4 very angry hunters awaited me. "Thanks a lot! You just blew our only blanking chance to get that blanking bull. Now he's in the blanking brush and we'll be lucky if we ever blanking see him again!"
I genuinely felt bad. I wanted to explain the conflicting feelings I had and assure them that I was not trying to steal their bull, just help them get it on the ground. I wanted to tell them that I was only trying to do what I considered to be the most ethical thing in the situation. I'll admit that I also wanted to mention that maybe it wasn't quite the only chance they'd had at the bull, as evidenced by the trail of brass they'd left behind. But their 4 mouths to my 1 left few breaks in the conversation for me to slip a word in edgewise.
After they finished addressing all of my inadequacies as a man and as a hunter, they took up the bull's trail and crashed down into the alder jungle. I was pretty sure they didn't want my help or my advice that they leave the bull at least for a few hours, so I just stood there with my head hung low.
When they were gone I followed the bull's blood trail back to his bed and then down into the brush where he'd gone after I shot. There was no change in the pattern of blood, confirming that I had indeed missed. The blood appeared to be leaking from low and far back on the bull's paunch, running down one hind leg and being deposited in the track of one hind foot.
I assume the group must have eventually stopped the bull, but I don't know for sure. It took me about an hour to climb back out of the basin and in that time I heard two more volleys of shots, presumably from the hunters jumping the bull out of beds. Each volley was a little further down the alder-choked draw.
I've re-lived the situation many times over in my head. I may have been sticking my nose where it didn't belong. Should I have just turned around and left the basin when I heard the first volley of shots? Or maybe I should have shot the bull in its bed when I had it dead to rights. Perhaps I should have been more forceful in my argument that they back off from the bull when he was in his original bed. And maybe I shouldn't have shot at all. At least in my final analysis though, the main thing I wish I had done differently is hold the crosshairs about 18" higher when I did touch off the shot!
[ 11 April 2001: Message edited by: Buckshot ]
Follow-Up Dilemma
The ethical considerations of dealing with an animal wounded by someone else.
Working in the woods for a living gives me some unique opportunities to observe and interact with wildlife. Such an opportunity arose early last October when an elk bugled several hundred yards away. I suddenly forgot all about the Forest Service contract I'd won that obligated me to collect data on trees, shrubs, forbs, grasses and an array of other information from sites scattered over the Idaho Panhandle
I laid aside my notebook and plucked a likely blade of grass. Placing it between my thumbs, I brought it to my lips and let out an awful sounding squeal. The bull answered immediately. We went back and forth for about 15 minutes, my squeal, squawk, or whistle, whatever happened to come out, to his roaring bugle. He moved to within a hundred yards or less and hung up. Due to the thick north Idaho alders I still hadn't seen the bull so I picked up a big stick and started raking brush.
That did it, the bull came walking straight in, ready to exact some serious punishment to the young upstart brazen enough to challenge him. He stopped in a small opening ten yards away and gave me a minute to admire the long dark 5x6 rack, before reason returned to his sex-addled head and he turned and left.
I grudgingly returned to work and considered the possibility that an even bigger bull must be in the area with a harem of cows. The sun was setting when I finally finished and started working my way back to the truck. As I passed through an alder-choked basin with a small meadow in the head of it a different bull bugled. I replied with my infamous grass-call and thus begun an hour-long session of insult exchanges that lasted until I crested the ridge and left the basin. The bull never moved from his original location and I assumed it was the herd bull of my imagination.
General rifle season opened a week later for holders of an Idaho Panhandle B tag and guess where I was headed! I climbed up through the saddle overlooking the basin just as legal shooting light arrived. From there I needed to side-hill a couple hundred yards to a vantage point from which I could see the small meadow at the head of the drainage.
When I was about halfway there a shot suddenly rang out from very near the spot I was headed. I sat down and waited and watched as an almost continuous volley of shots echoed down the canyon. I wasn't counting but there must have been around 15 shots.
When the shooting died down I got up and slowly began to continue. Two more times before I reached the spot, volleys of 5 to 10 shots shattered the morning stillness, during which I would sit, wait and watch.
Finally I reached my destination, which was occupied by a single hunter. I looked down into the basin, expecting to see dead elk lying everywhere, but all I saw were 3 more hunters down in the bottom.
Swallowing my bitterness and putting my best "I'm happy for you" look on my face I asked, "So, did you get some biggun's?"
"We've got a big 5 point down. I saw him bed in that brush." And he motioned towards a small patch of alders slightly separate from the continuous sea of them that carpeted the bottom of the canyon.
Meanwhile, his 3 companions were edging closer and closer to the patch of brush. The hunter next to me would occasionally yell down at them to stay back and leave the bull alone for awhile, which seemed like the smart thing to do to me too.
After a few minutes of this he couldn't take it any longer and without a word he started down the hill towards his buddies. I sat down and began glassing the brush. Before long I found the bull's rack above the foliage. His head was up and he occasionally swung it around to keep tabs on the approaching group of hunters.
All 4 of the hunters were now converging on the 1 acre patch of brush that held the bull. It was obvious to me that if the bull got out of his bed they would be very lucky to get even a glimpse of him before he disappeared into the brush. So I yelled down to them, "I see the bull and he still looks pretty healthy!"
One and all summarily ignored my input, and they continued their forward progress. So I tried again, "Do you want me to put a bullet in him?"
My offer of a lead and powder donation to the cause was similarly disregarded so I laid the rifle down and picked the binoculars back up. When the hunters were within about 30 yards the bull jumped and 2 or 3 of them got off shots. The bull went about 50 yards, stopped in one small opening about the length of his body, and looked back over his shoulder towards the oncoming hunters. It was the last window before he vanished completely into the sea of alder.
I exchanged the binoculars for the rifle again and found the bull in my scope. I put the crosshairs on the bull and began a huge internal debate. For several agonizingly long seconds we remained this way, and then the bull decided the hunters were close enough. He swung his head around and started into the alder.
I think it was instinct more than any conscious decision that tripped the trigger on my 7 Mag. But in any case, I missed and the bull disappeared completely into the brush. My mind had been fully occupied with the ethical considerations of whether or not to shoot and I had not put enough thought into where to hold on the bull. Consequently, I held in the middle of his body and likely shot low, as he was over 300 yards away.
When I reached the small opening in which the bull was standing when I shot, 4 very angry hunters awaited me. "Thanks a lot! You just blew our only blanking chance to get that blanking bull. Now he's in the blanking brush and we'll be lucky if we ever blanking see him again!"
I genuinely felt bad. I wanted to explain the conflicting feelings I had and assure them that I was not trying to steal their bull, just help them get it on the ground. I wanted to tell them that I was only trying to do what I considered to be the most ethical thing in the situation. I'll admit that I also wanted to mention that maybe it wasn't quite the only chance they'd had at the bull, as evidenced by the trail of brass they'd left behind. But their 4 mouths to my 1 left few breaks in the conversation for me to slip a word in edgewise.
After they finished addressing all of my inadequacies as a man and as a hunter, they took up the bull's trail and crashed down into the alder jungle. I was pretty sure they didn't want my help or my advice that they leave the bull at least for a few hours, so I just stood there with my head hung low.
When they were gone I followed the bull's blood trail back to his bed and then down into the brush where he'd gone after I shot. There was no change in the pattern of blood, confirming that I had indeed missed. The blood appeared to be leaking from low and far back on the bull's paunch, running down one hind leg and being deposited in the track of one hind foot.
I assume the group must have eventually stopped the bull, but I don't know for sure. It took me about an hour to climb back out of the basin and in that time I heard two more volleys of shots, presumably from the hunters jumping the bull out of beds. Each volley was a little further down the alder-choked draw.
I've re-lived the situation many times over in my head. I may have been sticking my nose where it didn't belong. Should I have just turned around and left the basin when I heard the first volley of shots? Or maybe I should have shot the bull in its bed when I had it dead to rights. Perhaps I should have been more forceful in my argument that they back off from the bull when he was in his original bed. And maybe I shouldn't have shot at all. At least in my final analysis though, the main thing I wish I had done differently is hold the crosshairs about 18" higher when I did touch off the shot!
[ 11 April 2001: Message edited by: Buckshot ]
