wmidbrook
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Probably everyone reading this knows the familiar excitement of having the hunting rig loaded up and heading out the door to the hunting grounds. Well, almost 2 weeks ago today, I was heading out that door and on my way to NM hoping to get that bull of my dreams.
Arrived in the hunting area the afternoon before the opener with time to get out and about on the quad to get a better feel for the country after having poured over mostly topo maps. An outfitter had one of the forest service roads blocked off that showed as open on the national forest map--a section of private land butted up against national forest lands. It also happened to be a rendevous point to meet up with Bob from Oregon. Somehow we got our wires crossed and didn't exactly get synched up at the right spot. Nonetheless, I figured out another entry point to get into areas we had discussed hunting before heading out on the trip and trekked over there.
Before first light I was out on a mesa trying to get on a couple of bulls that were bugling. I never did catch up with them. On my way back to camp on my quad, I found Bob. We swapped stories of how we both had taken longer than necessary ways to get into the Gila.
We got camp pitched and headed out.
No sooner than we had hiked around a corner of the wash, periodically cow calling, we heard a low groan in response to my cow call. I called again and sure enough....he began to growl. We both were amped since he sounded like a good one. We got set up and stayed put for about 5 minutes until we realized he was heading up the hill....we followed him up. Working a routine with various cow calls, we kept this bull fired up. Finally on the hill top, Bob dropped back about 80 - 100 yards and started cow calling. Sure enough, this bull started working his way towards me. About the same time, other bulls on neighboring hills were fired up too. A good 15 minutes or so went by with no sign of the bull working all the way...he'd hang up. Then, I heard a bunch of herd talk...I think, dang, Bob's sounding pretty darned realistic....Hey, wait a second.....those are real cows....
That's when this groaner started going ballistic....He started tearing up a juniper. I could hear him thrashing, and a groaning. Then, I see a set of legs, hooves....taking two steps towards me...then stopping, looking around...His voice booming and a thundering. I'm telling myself, "focus, focus on the kill zone....time to get the job done" while another part of me is about as amped as the sound of that screamer working his way in.
My God, what a rack~! .......okay, kill zone, kill zone, kill zone.....full draw....he's at 40 yds slightly quartered into me. He stops. Looks the other way. I let one fly. I'm thinking perfect shot, right in the pocket. As the arrow gets there, he jumps the string but I see the arrow connect.
I cow call wildly. After about 15 minutes later, Bob and I go over there. There's no blood, no arrow. I'm wondering, what the hell happened????
Well, the next morning Bob finds the arrow down at the bottom of the canyon after following heavy tracks, but no blood. Only the top 5 or 6 inches of the shaft remain. We hunted that area another couple of days not seeing any buzzards, etc.
All I can figure is that @ 50 lbs with my broken arm, I had an oddball hit and the arrow may have deflected off a rib under the hide or hit the shoulder...
I curse my rotten luck and question my judgment...broadhead malfunction? Did I screw up by taking a 40 yd shot @ 50 lbs????? Damn it!
The next day, Bob and I called in a decent 5x5 with Bob on point...he didn't quite get a good shot op. We also had another 5x5 run in with some cows but were caught by suprise a few days later by how fast they came runnin' into our calls.
Every morning, we were elk...errr...I mean in the elk. I could have shot several different cows and a raghorn or two at less than 20 yards had it been an ES rather than a 5 point or better unit.
Fulfillment:
Seems that my annual journey into the elk woods goes beyond a hunt. I feel belittled by the granduer and splendor of the great outdoors and in awe of nature. There is no describing glassing some of the bulls across, up or down in the bottom of the canyons, the 2 - 3 hour chases working within the wind in an attempt to get in front of a bull or herd.
The rolling thunder and ensuing rains can render a mesa to a treacherous mud pit. At several times, lightening storms and rolling thunder shut down the bulls but fortunately not much rain fell....the sunsets seemed to light up the skies in the most brilliant and colorful hues.
And it was as if I were meant to be there. Destined to be there. To participate in the replentishment of something missing in my life that there seems so few ways to fill.
Amazing. Not unlike the mountain lion trotting down the elk trail last season not 50 yards away and its kittens begging for more food up on the rocky ridge top in the most gawd aweful whiney cries, nature treats us to some special shows on occassion.
One morning, Bob and I happened to be in the right place at the right time, a convergance of bulls. Everywhere around us before first light the woods was alive with screaming bulls....growling, screaming, chuckling. The tingling excitement was excruciating...which bull will I try to get a shot at?
On the last Friday of the hunt, I ran into a father & son out in the woods while doing one of my solo hunts. I had followed a bull for nearly 2.5 hrs cow calling on occassion. I decided to reverse the situation of cat & mouse as he approached a canyon by running off towards a distant bugle really making pleading cow calls. It worked~! The nice 6x6 started following me. I ran noisely through the brush intentionally...looking for a spot to set up. Well, I ran into the father and son from Farmington for the third time exactly where I was going to set up. I motion the son to drop down another 30 - 40 yds and I go up the hill about 20. The father spots the bull and motions me to cow call. I called. That scream is enough to rock almost any man to the core....the son draws his bow but the bull sees him @ 30 yards and runs down the canyon.
They invited me over for lunch and offered to guide me on my 2b hunt since they work the gas fields over there in 2b and know every road....another amazing event. Marty had shot a real good bull the year before but didn't draw but his son did.
The neighboring camp in the canyon was full of a bunch that all work @ Los Alamos. So, we hit it off talking tech talk and hunt talk. Turns out we had hunted several of the same units. The old man finally got a bull this being his forth trip out there to this particular unit. It was a dandy. I might be heading out to do a cougar/bear hunt with his sons in the next year or two.
Arrived in the hunting area the afternoon before the opener with time to get out and about on the quad to get a better feel for the country after having poured over mostly topo maps. An outfitter had one of the forest service roads blocked off that showed as open on the national forest map--a section of private land butted up against national forest lands. It also happened to be a rendevous point to meet up with Bob from Oregon. Somehow we got our wires crossed and didn't exactly get synched up at the right spot. Nonetheless, I figured out another entry point to get into areas we had discussed hunting before heading out on the trip and trekked over there.
Before first light I was out on a mesa trying to get on a couple of bulls that were bugling. I never did catch up with them. On my way back to camp on my quad, I found Bob. We swapped stories of how we both had taken longer than necessary ways to get into the Gila.
No sooner than we had hiked around a corner of the wash, periodically cow calling, we heard a low groan in response to my cow call. I called again and sure enough....he began to growl. We both were amped since he sounded like a good one. We got set up and stayed put for about 5 minutes until we realized he was heading up the hill....we followed him up. Working a routine with various cow calls, we kept this bull fired up. Finally on the hill top, Bob dropped back about 80 - 100 yards and started cow calling. Sure enough, this bull started working his way towards me. About the same time, other bulls on neighboring hills were fired up too. A good 15 minutes or so went by with no sign of the bull working all the way...he'd hang up. Then, I heard a bunch of herd talk...I think, dang, Bob's sounding pretty darned realistic....Hey, wait a second.....those are real cows....
That's when this groaner started going ballistic....He started tearing up a juniper. I could hear him thrashing, and a groaning. Then, I see a set of legs, hooves....taking two steps towards me...then stopping, looking around...His voice booming and a thundering. I'm telling myself, "focus, focus on the kill zone....time to get the job done" while another part of me is about as amped as the sound of that screamer working his way in.
My God, what a rack~! .......okay, kill zone, kill zone, kill zone.....full draw....he's at 40 yds slightly quartered into me. He stops. Looks the other way. I let one fly. I'm thinking perfect shot, right in the pocket. As the arrow gets there, he jumps the string but I see the arrow connect.
I cow call wildly. After about 15 minutes later, Bob and I go over there. There's no blood, no arrow. I'm wondering, what the hell happened????
Well, the next morning Bob finds the arrow down at the bottom of the canyon after following heavy tracks, but no blood. Only the top 5 or 6 inches of the shaft remain. We hunted that area another couple of days not seeing any buzzards, etc.
All I can figure is that @ 50 lbs with my broken arm, I had an oddball hit and the arrow may have deflected off a rib under the hide or hit the shoulder...
The next day, Bob and I called in a decent 5x5 with Bob on point...he didn't quite get a good shot op. We also had another 5x5 run in with some cows but were caught by suprise a few days later by how fast they came runnin' into our calls.
Every morning, we were elk...errr...I mean in the elk. I could have shot several different cows and a raghorn or two at less than 20 yards had it been an ES rather than a 5 point or better unit.
Fulfillment:
Seems that my annual journey into the elk woods goes beyond a hunt. I feel belittled by the granduer and splendor of the great outdoors and in awe of nature. There is no describing glassing some of the bulls across, up or down in the bottom of the canyons, the 2 - 3 hour chases working within the wind in an attempt to get in front of a bull or herd.
The rolling thunder and ensuing rains can render a mesa to a treacherous mud pit. At several times, lightening storms and rolling thunder shut down the bulls but fortunately not much rain fell....the sunsets seemed to light up the skies in the most brilliant and colorful hues.
And it was as if I were meant to be there. Destined to be there. To participate in the replentishment of something missing in my life that there seems so few ways to fill.
Amazing. Not unlike the mountain lion trotting down the elk trail last season not 50 yards away and its kittens begging for more food up on the rocky ridge top in the most gawd aweful whiney cries, nature treats us to some special shows on occassion.
One morning, Bob and I happened to be in the right place at the right time, a convergance of bulls. Everywhere around us before first light the woods was alive with screaming bulls....growling, screaming, chuckling. The tingling excitement was excruciating...which bull will I try to get a shot at?
On the last Friday of the hunt, I ran into a father & son out in the woods while doing one of my solo hunts. I had followed a bull for nearly 2.5 hrs cow calling on occassion. I decided to reverse the situation of cat & mouse as he approached a canyon by running off towards a distant bugle really making pleading cow calls. It worked~! The nice 6x6 started following me. I ran noisely through the brush intentionally...looking for a spot to set up. Well, I ran into the father and son from Farmington for the third time exactly where I was going to set up. I motion the son to drop down another 30 - 40 yds and I go up the hill about 20. The father spots the bull and motions me to cow call. I called. That scream is enough to rock almost any man to the core....the son draws his bow but the bull sees him @ 30 yards and runs down the canyon.
They invited me over for lunch and offered to guide me on my 2b hunt since they work the gas fields over there in 2b and know every road....another amazing event. Marty had shot a real good bull the year before but didn't draw but his son did.
The neighboring camp in the canyon was full of a bunch that all work @ Los Alamos. So, we hit it off talking tech talk and hunt talk. Turns out we had hunted several of the same units. The old man finally got a bull this being his forth trip out there to this particular unit. It was a dandy. I might be heading out to do a cougar/bear hunt with his sons in the next year or two.
