The best day of bow hunting that I’ve ever had

One cold, frost-covered Labor Day morning a few years ago I awoke before the sun in the bed of my truck, but didn’t get out of my sleeping bag right away. Off in the distance I could hear an occasional bull elk bugle between the snores of my hunting buddy, Adam, who was sleeping soundly in his truck a few yards away.

Thirty minutes later we were layered in camouflage with a few granola bars in our stomachs and were hiking up the trail. Upon reaching our destination we separated, each going up a different canyon. Only forty yards from where we split up, I stopped as I spotted two cow elk heading my way through the sage brush down the same trail that I was walking up.


I had a tag to shoot either a cow elk or a spike elk, and though I would have preferred the meat from a yearling spike bull, an old cow would taste fine, and beggars can’t be choosers. So I knocked an arrow and waited. At twenty yards away they finally veered off the trail presenting a broadside shot, but at the last moment before releasing the string I noticed a third elk, - a young calf following the first cow. I easily and quickly made the choice that if that calf was going to be orphaned it would be by a cougar or a car, not by me. So I let down my bow and reached for my camera instead. (If you zoom in behind the cow on the left you can just see the head of the calf behind the tree. Sorry it’s blurry. It was dark and I was shaking.)

Farther up the trail I had more encounters with elk. After passing through a small herd of moo cows I stood atop a hill surveying the shallow canyon below with binoculars. Behind me I heard the cows start heading my way so I stepped off the trail a few yards into the scrub oak. “What if these are elk coming?” I thought, “I better knock an arrow.” Just then a loud “mooo” came from the trees thirty yards back. I relaxed and again reached for my binoculars, but just as my hand reached them my eyes widened at the sight of seven elk filing one by one down the trail I had just stepped seven yards to the side of, the last one being a spike bull. I watched motionlessly, helplessly, knowing that at that distance trying to knock an arrow would give me away. They were gone in an instant but left me with a lesson re-learned: Always be ready.

It was only twenty more minutes before I came upon more elk. This time it was a bull on coyote ridge; - too big to legally shoot with a bow, but legal enough for my camera.


When he was gone I crossed through the bottom of the shallow canyon to the other side with thicker trees where I knew the elk would go as the day warmed up. A Cooper’s Hawk floated through the aspens and landed on a branch above me, pausing just long enough for me to snap a shot. I wonder if it had any idea what I was.


At ten o’clock that morning things got exciting. I looked across the canyon to where I had just been and saw a herd of nearly twenty elk heading my way with one large herd bull sending bugles echoing through the trees. They crossed and came up my side of the canyon just out of bow range. I knew from experience that where there is a herd of elk there are always a few smaller “paparazzi” bulls, (always hanging around wishing they could be part of the party). So I took out my cow call and made a few soft “Hey-boys-I’m-over-here” calls. Sure enough, a spike bull started my way calling back as if to say, “Hold on baby I’m on my way.”


At 21 yards in front of me, standing where you see the red mark, I released my arrow. He ran only 15 yards from where he was hit and fell down dead. It’s amazing how effective and humane a well placed arrow can be. I’ve always least enjoyed the killing part of hunting, so it was nice to do it right.



Here I am packing the last 75 lbs of meat back to the truck. Yeah that’s sweat soaked through my hat. I hiked twelve miles that day, six of it with meat on my back, which, by the way, made the best jerky I’ve ever had. That elk filled the freezer and provided many good barbeques throughout the next year, as well as good memories that I’ll never forget.