Speckmisser
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Well, I won't draw this one out this time... I promise.
As the poet, Robert Burns said,
<div class='quotetop'>QUOTE </div>
OK, well, after he said all that, he also said,
<div class='quotetop'>QUOTE </div>
And that's the part that's relevant to last week's archery elk hunt in Colorado.
No elk venison for me this year. That's the bottom line. I had my opportunity, but wasn't able to capitalize after a tiny oak tree grabbed the bottom of my recurve as I was attempting a 31 yard shot. I saw a few bulls, including one that should go 370 or better, but never had another good opportunity after that first one.
The whole, sordid tale will appear on the JHO Journal later this month, so I'll spare you the extended description for now. But here are a few highlights.
First, the incident in which I missed the bull.
The guide we were with at the time, a 22 year-old iron man named Chad, called this bull from way down in the bottom of a canyon. It came in fast, and I chose the perfect spot to wait him out. He stepped into the clearing, and stopped about 12 yards from me looking for the challenger. Unfortunately, between us was a thicket of oak brush. I could see well, but couldn't shoot. He stood there, looked around, then bugled right in my face! I can honestly say I haven't experienced that much excitement in the field since I shot my first buck more than 30 years ago! I was shaking from top to bottom, and I could hear and feel my heart slamming right up against my ear drums!
The elk, unable to find his challenger decided that staying in that clearing wasn't wise. He turned to go back the way he came. I couldn't see Chad, and Chad couldn't see the elk, but I was hoping he'd call again. The elk would go right by me at about three yards if he continued up the trail... but there was no call and the bull was moving back to the thick brush he'd come from. I had a cow call in my mouth, and decided to try a mew of my own in hopes of stopping him and turning him for a shot. The sound I made has no definition in the annals of elk hunting, but it must have confused that bull because he did stop. Unfortunately, he didn't turn and all I had was a big elk butt at 20 yards.
He started off again, and I tried to call once more. Did I mention that I was excited? Somehow I got the call sideways in my mouth, and as I inhaled to make the call the danged thing slipped back into my throat...nearly gagging me! I coughed it out and made another godawful squawk. The bull stopped again, probably out of pity for my calling ability, and turned slightly quartering to look back once more.
I thought I saw my opening, and steeply angled shot behind the ribs and, hopefully, forward into the important stuff. I drew and released, ignoring in the moment that odd sensation that something had a hold of the bottom of my bow. The string felt really weird on the release and I watched in horror as the arrow essentially fluttered off the string and arced through the air a solid six or seven feet to the left of the bemused bull. There was the sound of shredding brush on the release, and I realized that the little bush at my feet had somehow grown up between the lower limb and the string.
The bull decided he'd had enough amusement for the afternoon, and trotted headlong into an oak. He put it in reverse, backed up like a truck about three feet, pivoted down the trail and disappeared. About 100 yards below, he stopped and stood barking at us...either still unsure what had just happened, or else that barking sound was the elk equivalent of a good belly laugh.
Halfway through the seven-day hunt, Chad stepped off of a rock and tore all the ligaments in his ankle. We'd (my brother and I) broken the guide! Back at the lodge, the outfitter (Rick Webb) sent in the second string, a new guide we'll call "Wild Bill." This is where the tale got ugly.
I'll leave off for now, but during the second half of our hunt I got some real good demonstrations of how NOT to be an elk hunting guide. My brother and I were extremely unhappy with this part of the hunt, and made this clear to Rick on Friday before we left. To his credit, he made it up to us with a deep discount on a future hunt and his heartfelt apologies. I felt bad for him having to do this, since he was really between a rock and a hard place after Chad got hurt... but his backup guide really ruined those last three days (two-and-a-half days, actually, since my brother and I quit hunting halfway through the last day).
Anyway, more to come in the JHO Journal. I've also got a ton of video that needs to be sorted out and edited.
As the poet, Robert Burns said,
<div class='quotetop'>QUOTE </div>
OK, well, after he said all that, he also said,
<div class='quotetop'>QUOTE </div>
And that's the part that's relevant to last week's archery elk hunt in Colorado.
No elk venison for me this year. That's the bottom line. I had my opportunity, but wasn't able to capitalize after a tiny oak tree grabbed the bottom of my recurve as I was attempting a 31 yard shot. I saw a few bulls, including one that should go 370 or better, but never had another good opportunity after that first one.
The whole, sordid tale will appear on the JHO Journal later this month, so I'll spare you the extended description for now. But here are a few highlights.
First, the incident in which I missed the bull.
The guide we were with at the time, a 22 year-old iron man named Chad, called this bull from way down in the bottom of a canyon. It came in fast, and I chose the perfect spot to wait him out. He stepped into the clearing, and stopped about 12 yards from me looking for the challenger. Unfortunately, between us was a thicket of oak brush. I could see well, but couldn't shoot. He stood there, looked around, then bugled right in my face! I can honestly say I haven't experienced that much excitement in the field since I shot my first buck more than 30 years ago! I was shaking from top to bottom, and I could hear and feel my heart slamming right up against my ear drums!
The elk, unable to find his challenger decided that staying in that clearing wasn't wise. He turned to go back the way he came. I couldn't see Chad, and Chad couldn't see the elk, but I was hoping he'd call again. The elk would go right by me at about three yards if he continued up the trail... but there was no call and the bull was moving back to the thick brush he'd come from. I had a cow call in my mouth, and decided to try a mew of my own in hopes of stopping him and turning him for a shot. The sound I made has no definition in the annals of elk hunting, but it must have confused that bull because he did stop. Unfortunately, he didn't turn and all I had was a big elk butt at 20 yards.
He started off again, and I tried to call once more. Did I mention that I was excited? Somehow I got the call sideways in my mouth, and as I inhaled to make the call the danged thing slipped back into my throat...nearly gagging me! I coughed it out and made another godawful squawk. The bull stopped again, probably out of pity for my calling ability, and turned slightly quartering to look back once more.
I thought I saw my opening, and steeply angled shot behind the ribs and, hopefully, forward into the important stuff. I drew and released, ignoring in the moment that odd sensation that something had a hold of the bottom of my bow. The string felt really weird on the release and I watched in horror as the arrow essentially fluttered off the string and arced through the air a solid six or seven feet to the left of the bemused bull. There was the sound of shredding brush on the release, and I realized that the little bush at my feet had somehow grown up between the lower limb and the string.
The bull decided he'd had enough amusement for the afternoon, and trotted headlong into an oak. He put it in reverse, backed up like a truck about three feet, pivoted down the trail and disappeared. About 100 yards below, he stopped and stood barking at us...either still unsure what had just happened, or else that barking sound was the elk equivalent of a good belly laugh.
Halfway through the seven-day hunt, Chad stepped off of a rock and tore all the ligaments in his ankle. We'd (my brother and I) broken the guide! Back at the lodge, the outfitter (Rick Webb) sent in the second string, a new guide we'll call "Wild Bill." This is where the tale got ugly.
I'll leave off for now, but during the second half of our hunt I got some real good demonstrations of how NOT to be an elk hunting guide. My brother and I were extremely unhappy with this part of the hunt, and made this clear to Rick on Friday before we left. To his credit, he made it up to us with a deep discount on a future hunt and his heartfelt apologies. I felt bad for him having to do this, since he was really between a rock and a hard place after Chad got hurt... but his backup guide really ruined those last three days (two-and-a-half days, actually, since my brother and I quit hunting halfway through the last day).
Anyway, more to come in the JHO Journal. I've also got a ton of video that needs to be sorted out and edited.
