MontanaWild
New member
- Joined
- Jan 7, 2012
- Messages
- 299
Elk hunting is one bad@$$ sport! The battle that goes on between the elk and hunter is simply the best. This was only my third year bowhunting elk and again DIY on public land. This season started in the Missouri Breaks for 5 days but ended without an elk. At that point the decision was made to head to the dark timber of Northwest Montana. We had placed trail cameras here this summer and knew that the potential for killing a mature bull was very likely as long as the elk were talking. We set aside three days and got geared to hunt. The first day and a half was spent filming my brother. We packed in camp and hunted a thick north facing slope. Travis got close to one bull that bugled twice, but the thick brush ended any hope for stalking close. The next morning he called in a nice 6 point to 20 yards, only to have zero shot and barely a glimpse of the bull. The brush up here is so tall that you simply have to call a bull within 20 yards to even think of a shot. It's tough and when we couldn't rouse a bull to bugle we made the decision to switch locations and try a new area. I now had the bow in hand, and we set off into a new area of timber hoping to find a deadly area to call.
After bushwacking that night and the next morning we were left with a sense of failure. The elk weren't talking and the brush was beating us. With only one evening to hunt the pressure was on. As we sat cooking up some lunch we began to talk about water. In two years of hunting we had never found water up here. The only source we knew of was a small pond close to the road. We knew the elk needed to drink at sometime and began exploring the edges of the pond. It was soon apparent that the elk used this spot fairly often. Two wallows had been used in the last few days, and the edges had tracks leading to the water in numerous spots. As I cruised the treeline I soon noticed a small hole in the edge of the timber. Another hunter had broken off some branches to clear a small shooting lane that viewed out into the meadow next to the pond. I knew he was sitting there for some reason so I wandered a bit further. A wallow etched down three feet into the earth was only thirty yards away.
It hadn't been used hard recently by elk, but had fresh bear tracks in it. A good feeling was starting to creep it's way into my head. Travis and I both had a gut feeling about this spot, and we decided to revert to a more simple tactic. We'd sit in that natural blind and wait, hoping tonight was the night an elk stepped out. It was definitely a change of pace, but only an hour into the sit and we heard twigs breaking to our left. Soon a set of old chocolate horns began showing themselves as the bull pulled closer to the edge of the timber. He was headed our way and as soon as he stepped behind the last stand of timber I drew. He walked out at 8 yards and stopped. I only had a view of half his neck and head. Travis could see his whole body with the camera, but I just needed him to step out a bit more to get a shot. A few seconds later a chipmunk sounded off behind us, the bull's head snapped in that direction. At this point he was looking almost at us and soon his head turned directly our way. We stared at each other for about 10 seconds before he decided that we weren't humans. He turned towards the wallow, leaving me with a face full of Texas Heart Shot. It looked like I'd be holding the bow back a bit longer. After about a minute he turned broadside at 30 yards. By the time I steadied my shaky pins behind his right shoulder I had been holding my bow for almost two minutes. Fortunately, I was able to steady myself for the shot. I hammered him slightly quartering away, and immediately I saw the blood flowing from his side. He screamed into the timber but only made it a half minute before crashing to his final resting place. As we walked up on the bull it was apparent that he was one unique bull. He was one of the largest bodied elk that I've seen. I'm 6'4" and 200 hundred pounds and was glad the pack wouldn't be far because it would have been hell had he not died near the road. His headgear was unique and thick. He was a 3x5, an old bull on the downhill who had no G-2s. His left side was very thick all the way through and slightly palmated up top.
A biologist aged him when I returned home, and told me he was a 9 or 10 year old bull. He truly was a monarch. He was a king of his domain, avoiding predators, surviving harsh winters, and staying far enough away from local hunters. It was almost surreal being able to kill him using such a simple tactic. I couldn't have been happier. I could punch my tag for 2012. I was blessed enough to share the experience with my brother, and he captured the whole hunt on film.
After bushwacking that night and the next morning we were left with a sense of failure. The elk weren't talking and the brush was beating us. With only one evening to hunt the pressure was on. As we sat cooking up some lunch we began to talk about water. In two years of hunting we had never found water up here. The only source we knew of was a small pond close to the road. We knew the elk needed to drink at sometime and began exploring the edges of the pond. It was soon apparent that the elk used this spot fairly often. Two wallows had been used in the last few days, and the edges had tracks leading to the water in numerous spots. As I cruised the treeline I soon noticed a small hole in the edge of the timber. Another hunter had broken off some branches to clear a small shooting lane that viewed out into the meadow next to the pond. I knew he was sitting there for some reason so I wandered a bit further. A wallow etched down three feet into the earth was only thirty yards away.
It hadn't been used hard recently by elk, but had fresh bear tracks in it. A good feeling was starting to creep it's way into my head. Travis and I both had a gut feeling about this spot, and we decided to revert to a more simple tactic. We'd sit in that natural blind and wait, hoping tonight was the night an elk stepped out. It was definitely a change of pace, but only an hour into the sit and we heard twigs breaking to our left. Soon a set of old chocolate horns began showing themselves as the bull pulled closer to the edge of the timber. He was headed our way and as soon as he stepped behind the last stand of timber I drew. He walked out at 8 yards and stopped. I only had a view of half his neck and head. Travis could see his whole body with the camera, but I just needed him to step out a bit more to get a shot. A few seconds later a chipmunk sounded off behind us, the bull's head snapped in that direction. At this point he was looking almost at us and soon his head turned directly our way. We stared at each other for about 10 seconds before he decided that we weren't humans. He turned towards the wallow, leaving me with a face full of Texas Heart Shot. It looked like I'd be holding the bow back a bit longer. After about a minute he turned broadside at 30 yards. By the time I steadied my shaky pins behind his right shoulder I had been holding my bow for almost two minutes. Fortunately, I was able to steady myself for the shot. I hammered him slightly quartering away, and immediately I saw the blood flowing from his side. He screamed into the timber but only made it a half minute before crashing to his final resting place. As we walked up on the bull it was apparent that he was one unique bull. He was one of the largest bodied elk that I've seen. I'm 6'4" and 200 hundred pounds and was glad the pack wouldn't be far because it would have been hell had he not died near the road. His headgear was unique and thick. He was a 3x5, an old bull on the downhill who had no G-2s. His left side was very thick all the way through and slightly palmated up top.
A biologist aged him when I returned home, and told me he was a 9 or 10 year old bull. He truly was a monarch. He was a king of his domain, avoiding predators, surviving harsh winters, and staying far enough away from local hunters. It was almost surreal being able to kill him using such a simple tactic. I couldn't have been happier. I could punch my tag for 2012. I was blessed enough to share the experience with my brother, and he captured the whole hunt on film.
