Knowing almost nothing about bow hunting, except how to shoot my bow pretty well, I was out hunting by myself off the south side of the Missouri River in Montana. The area was the Charles M. Russell Wildlife Refuge, which is known for big elk. It is a draw only for rifle, but bow hunters could buy an over the counter tag for it back then. I had driven down in the early afternoon and parked my truck up in the sagebrush flats, maybe a mile south of the river.
Knowing almost nothing about bow hunting, except how to shoot my bow pretty well, I was out hunting by myself off the south side of the Missouri River in Montana. The area was the Charles M. Russell Wildlife Refuge, which is known for big elk. It is a draw only for rifle, but bow hunters could buy an over the counter tag for it back then. I had driven down in the early afternoon and parked my truck up in the sagebrush flats, maybe a mile south of the river.
The river runs west to east, and I was in that cottonwood band on the southern edge of it, which is farthest from the river’s edge. The band is 50 to 60 yards wide, where I was standing on the east side of a large cottonwood trunk. On the east side because a light breeze blowing west to east through the band, I wanted to be downwind of any elk walking west to east and hidden behind a tree. Looking in front of me, I saw across the band of grass and scattered cottonwoods. To my right I could see far down to the east, down the band of grass and trees. I didn’t expect to see any elk from that direction since that area was downwind of me. Behind me was the start of very heavy brush, so I would not have expected to see any elk coming from there. If I leaned forward past the huge
tree trunk and looked to my left, to the west, I also was looking down the band of grass and trees, but then as I poked my head out, I would have been easily seen by eastbound elk. I kinda knew what I was doing- but not really.
Several hours late,r I was still standing next to that tree hoping some bull elk wouldl just come walking down the band towards me, so I could shoot one. It’s funny how so often when hunting, we imagine a big buck will step out from behind that rock, or an antelope will crest over the hill before us, or an elk will just walk right by us from behind a bush. Yeah, right.
It was getting later and later in the afternoon, and I had been standing on the east side of that tree for over two hours. I hadn’t seen or...
heard any elk at all. The sun was heading for the western horizon, but I still had two hours of hunting light at least. I had long since given up on the chance a bull elk would just come walking through the grass, slipping between the cottonwoods and right by my very tree. Then I heard a twig snap and then several more. My heart started to race. More twigs cracked, leaves rustled. Very sloooowly and carefully I turned my head to the left and leaned forward to just expose my right eye. There, about 75 yards west of me, came THREE large bulls taking their afternoon stroll down the very middle of the grass band. If they continued on their course, they would walk past at only 25 to 30 yards at the 12 o’clock position, dead in front of me! I quickly pulled back from peering around the tree and started to make a plan. Nock an arrow, and be ready to draw when they are straight in front of me, draw and shoot one. Yeah, that was my plan.
I foolishly release the arrow, while he is in the process of rearing away, “wishing” my arrow in
I heard them getting closer and closer… closer and closer. Then silence. So what did I do? With my bow drawn, I slowly leaned forward and saw them standing barely 20 yards to my left, unaware of me, heads down and feeding. Taking bead on the near one, a very nice 6 x 6, I got ready to shoot when he suddenly raised his head, and instantly saw me. Letting out a snort, he reared up and turned away to his left, getting ready to bolt away. I foolishly released the arrow while he was in the process of rearing away, “wishing” my arrow in. He was far faster than I, and I watched in horror as my arrow flew by at least two feet in front of his twisting body. A fraction of a second later, and the other two bulls were alerted that something was wrong; they twisted around and bolted for the brush. I stood there in disbelief and disgust for blowing a true golden opportunity.
The image of the three bulls slowly feeding at only 20 yards still haunts me to this day. I never got a chance at a bull with my bow for the rest of that season. In hindsight, I should have shifted from the left side of the tree to the back side, and waited until the last of the tree bulls had gone slightly past, giving me the opportunity to draw and take a quartering away shot. Lesson learned.
...
Archery: One Yard Elk
A week later, several of my friends came down to bow hunt the same area with me. I brought along and set up my pop up camper so we could spend more time hunting and less traveling to and from the area each day. The very first morning at around 4:00 am, I awoke to hear what was obviously a heard of elk right outside the camper! I could clearly hear the cow and calves talking back and forth and the sound of their legs rustling through the sage.
Guys, guys- there are elk all around outside!” but I was only met with grumbling and mumbling
“Guys, guys- there are elk all around outside!” but I was only met with grumbling and mumbling.
Well, I knew it was still hours away from being able to hunt, but I was too excited to stay put. You always try to position yourself in an area where you hope elk will be; there was no doubt I had picked a great spot. I fidgeted for a while in my sleeping bag and then decided to get dressed, grab my gear, and head for the river to wait for sunrise.
Slowly cracking open the door, I peered out and saw the last of the herd working their way from the sage flats, northbound towards the river. Outside, I could see fairly well, as a sliver of a moon provided enough light for me to see in black and white. About a mile south of the river, I slowly worked my way in the dark towards the river, heading east first for a little ways to keep downwind of the elk. Taking extreme care to be as quiet as possible, I made it progressively through the transitional bands of vegetation, until I was at the south border of the tall grass and cottonwoods.
I dared not venture out into that prime area, so I hung tight against the east side of 3-foot diameter trunk that was keeping me hidden and down wind as the morning breeze was coming from the west. Within about 45 minutes the eastern sky started to brighten, but so far there was no sight or sounds from the herd I followed in at 4 am. Finally, though at a very low angle, morning sunlight crept between the tall cottonwoods, illuminating the grassy belt. The light western breeze continued, so I was still safely downwind on the east side of the large cottonwood. To my back was heavy brush, and I had a clear view of the grass and scattered trees to my left straight in front of me, and to my right, though if coming from there, the elk would wind...
me.
Suddenly a branch broke; the sound coming from my left. Then another as if so very close. I stood silent, afraid to even breathe. A minute passed by, then another. I couldn’t stand it anymore, so I leaned forward and looked to the left of my tree from where the last “crack” seemed to come. My face was not even 18” from a large cow elk’s face, who was looking directly into my eyes!
“Aaaaaaaahhh!” I scream at the top of my lungs!
“Brrrrraaaaaaa!” she screamed back at the same exact moment. Her eyelids flashed wide open, and I clearly saw the whites of her eyes all around the brown center. She was as startled as I was at the moment!. So close she was. I could have smacked her on the nose with my hand. Instantly she turned and bolted, going back from where she came. My heart was racing and I was breathing fast and hard. Never in my life had I been so startled, as when I looked around that tree!
Another elk hunting lesson, painfully learned!
After I finally settled down, I stepped around the tree to the west side where she was standing. There on the ground in the tall grass, was a trail that looked like a highway. A trail of hoof prints in the ground with a one-foot wide path in the tall grass showed that on the other side of the tree I had been standing was a heavily used game trail. Of course I never dared to scout around the area in the darkness, but if I had checked the other side of the tree, I would have known to back off to the east, and let all the elk pour into the high grass the way they probably do every morning. Even if I had just held tight, she would have walked right out into the opening, unaware that I was on the far side of the cottonwood. Another elk hunting lesson, painfully learned!
Rifle: Elk Group Hunt
My second year in Montana, I was invited out west for an elk hunt with a group of a half dozen hunters. I quickly accepted because aside from my sad bow hunting attempts, I had no experience rifle hunting elk in the mountains and foothills. When the weekend of opening day came, I showed up with my .338 Win Mag, and as I was still new to hunting, it...
was handloaded with a traditional 225 grain soft point at 2,800 fps. Amazingly, out of our group of seven hunters, I was the only one who had the fortune to draw a bull tag; everyone else only had a cow tag. When the locals in our group heard that, they told me the rancher had been consistently seeing a very large 6×6 bull elk in the rolling hills at the base of the mountain on the west side of his property. What a score that would be for me!
After two days of hard hunting, and not even seeing any elk, the rancher stopped by to see how we were doing. Hearing that we had been skunked so far, he showed us on a topo map exactly where to go the next morning for that big bull. That night I could hardly sleep at all. I was plagued with visions of that bull stepping out within range, and me dropping it with one clean shot. I remember late in the evening when I could not sleep, taking out a dozen rounds of my handloads and polishing them up with a paper towel. I know it made no difference, but it sure made me feel better; I quickly fell asleep after that.
All seven of us headed out before light the next morning for the “promised land” the rancher had spoken of. While three of the hunters were from that area general area, all of the hunters I was with had hunted western Montana before, knowing the best methods to get on elk. I was the only novice, so I eagerly ate up everything they said. While we could clearly see the mountains, we were only hunting the foothills. They undulated with elevation changes of maybe 100 to 200 feet with draws in between. In this area, there was about 25% in stands of pine, and the rest was boot to knee high grass. Little creeks abounded, so with food, shelter, and water, it seemed to me to be elk paradise. Only time would tell.
In every hunting group, I soon learned there are at least one or two of “those guys”- the young studs who have lungs and legs like a draft horse, and they almost never get tired. We had two in our group, and they were always getting just enough ahead of the older guys, to almost be a little annoying. Finally, they would stop at a prominent point, catch their breath (which did not take very long) and us older guys would catch up to them just as they were getting ready...
to take off again. Damn, that was annoying! It was mid-morning and as the older guys crested a hill, we saw the young 'uns kneeling down and waving their arms excitedly just below the top of the next hill. We picked up our pace and got over to them as fast as we could.
“We just saw the tail end of a herd walk into the pines on that sloping meadow up ahead. The wind is in our favor, let’s make a plan,” they excitedly spoke.
The pine trees were in a cluster about 75 yards wide and 150 yards long, going away from us. Keeping in mind that I was the only one with a bull tag, they decided they would all keep downwind and get to the far end and sides of the trees, and I would get to walk through the trees “first by myself… so I could have first crack at a bull if one is in with the herd.” It sounded good to my very elk-naive mind.
Honestly, I am disturbed by the shooting performance of the group
So the six of them excitedly took off, and I waited about 5 minutes to enable them to get into position. I had barely made it 25 yards into the pines when a war erupted on the far side. At least a half-dozen shots rang out in quick succession. In a moment I realized that they had just used me as a driver to push the herd out towards their waiting rifles. I frantically began to run to the far side towards them, hoping to get a shot at the herd bull I suspected to exist. As I emerged, I saw the hunters congratulating each other, with five cow elk lying here and there. One after another they all started to tell me about the huge bull that broke out of the pines with the more than one dozen cows in his
harem. Of course, none of them had a bull tag, only me, and I had been used as the person to push the herd towards them. They said the big bull went downhill with the rest of the cows, one of which may have been wounded by the sixth “hunter”. I hopefully went tearing down the hill foolishly thinking I might see the bull, but of course the entire herd was probably in Idaho by now.
Instead, I came across the wounded cow lying in the grass, unable to move, and I clearly saw blood on her right hindquarter. She was unaware of me, most likely looking in the direction that her herd had taken off. At about 75 yards, I dropped down on my right knee and aimed dead center of her neck, about six inches below her head, to hasten her demise. The cup and core 225 grain .338...
bullet struck where it was aimed, and she was put out of her discomfort. Honestly, I am disturbed by the shooting performance of the group, and the potential loss of the cow I finished off. I also thought a lot about how if the situation had been reversed, and I was one of the local hunters, and a guy from far away had the only bull tag, I would have happily been the driver. This would have given the sole holder of a bull tag the incredible chance to be out front when the herd came boiling out- but that’s just me. Lesson learned.
the 225 grain bullet from my rifle did not exit the cow’s neck, and only a mangled jacket was found- with no core- under the hide on the far side
The next day when skinning out the cow I had put a finisher shot into, I was amazed that at 75 yards, the 225 grain bullet from my rifle did not exit the cow’s neck, and only a mangled jacket was found- with no core- under the hide on the far side. That really got me thinking. What if it had been the huge bull instead, and I had taken a raking shot near the back ribs, hoping the slug would reach the far shoulder? Another lesson learned.
Rifle: Mulie Mistakes
While it is important to have focus, at times you can be blind to the obvious. My Montana born and raised friend, Bill, kept talking and talking about his brother-in-law’s ranch in the southeastern part of the state.
“His mule deer have the widest antlers I’ve ever seen in my life. His front porch is full of really wide monster bucks he has taken on his property!” he claimed over and over again.
Finally, I called him on it and asked him why not go hunting there this fall. He said he’d make a call and surprised me the next day when he said it is all set up. The next several months, all I heard from Bill was how wide the mulies are, that he’s never seen so many bucks that wide taken from one property. On and on he went. It sort of became like the story of the child who always cried “wolf” and nobody believed him anymore. After a while, I just sort of half listened whenever he got into his ranting and raving. He also let me know it was a pretty barren landscape down there, just gently rolling terrain with sage and such here and there. No bushes, no trees. I of course decided to take my .338 Win Mag and would be shooting 175 grain Barnes X-Bullets at 3,200 fps. Sighted in at 250...
yards, I was good for a bit further with a hold to the top of the back.
The day finally came where we loaded up Bill’s truck and headed for the southeastern ranch. Of course, the whole way I kept hearing about the great width of the mule deer bucks down on his brother-in-law’s ranch. Now that we were on our way, he changed to, “…and don’t shoot a narrow one. Be sure you only shoot a wide one!” After about five-plus hours, we finally pulled off the two-lane highway onto the ranch road. We were in the middle of NOWHERE. We drove and drove and drove down the road until we finally saw his home, which is in the middle of NOWHERE-NOWHERE. Talk about being remote and off the grid! As we rolled up in the truck, I looked at the full-length front porch, and there were 4 or 5 of the widest mule deer racks just sitting on that porch. The narrowest was at least 28”, and they got a whole lot wider than that! I owe Bill a thousand apologies.
Jake came out to greet us, and I could hardly think as I started asking him about all the racks on his porch. He started telling me about this one was taken, blah-blah-blah. He spoke, but I didn’t hear a word he said. We had a nice meal and then retired. We would be getting up well before daylight. Of course, I had a very hard time falling asleep that night. Morning came way too soon. We grabbed some breakfast and were out the door well before the eastern sky would even be getting a soft glow. Besides Bill and me, Jake also brought along a young local boy for the hunt. We took his crew cab truck out several miles from the house, and drove up a gently rising dirt trail heading east. Finally he parked, shut the engine off, and began to lay out our plan for the morning.
We would be hunting the canyon to the north of the dirt trail. There are lots of fingered ridges that also run west to the east in the canyon. Jake said the elk usually like to head up the ridges early in the morning and then drop off into the canyon to the far east. Being as how I had never shot a nice mulie before, he was going to put me on the eastern side of the edge of the canyon, looking north to the ridges. These run like fingers to the east, with mini-canyons between each other. Everyone else would be spaced apart below me. Hopefully they might kick some deer up my way, he said.
This was in sharp contrast to how other group hunts I had been on worked out. I was impressed and humbled by his generosity as a...
guide and a host. So we started walking east up the trail and every three hundred yards, or so, one hunter was left on the northern rim until I was on my own to walk the last 300 yards by myself. I settled in and rested my rifle on a dirt mound right on the edge of the canyon rim, looking northbound. It was dead quiet and so far from any town. I could see lots of stars in the sky up above, but fairly heavy clouds obscured many others. I could hardly wait for daylight to come.
At first, I could hardly see at all, and then I could see only in black and white. Finally, as the eastern horizon was starting to glow, I could see in colors. Legal shooting time was approaching… then arrived. I kept scanning and scanning the area before me, hoping and wishing a monster mule deer buck would appear. I was looking hard off to my right, then after while, I looked back straight ahead. Movement! One… no two mule deer does appeared about 175 yards out, headed to the east, and were about to drop down into the canyon ahead of them. I looked hard, and behind them I finally saw a huge buck. He was
intent on keeping with his girls, and was 100% focused on where they were heading. Quickly looking through my scope, I could see he was walking pace for pace, right behind the does with his head held high. His rack was so TALL I could hardly believe it. He kept slowly walking, and at times paused for a few moments.
Inside, my mind kept screaming, “Turn your head so I can see how wide you are!” but he never did. My crosshair was on him the entire time. For maybe two minutes, my gun was loaded with the safety off. I was rock steady with my aim, but he never turned his head. “Make sure you shoot a wide one!” played over and over in my head. I was dying for him to turn his head just once, so I could make sure he is wide; but he never did. Finally, the two does, one by one, stepped off the end of the ridge, descended, and then disappeared into the canyon below. Seconds later, to my horror, the very tall buck also reached the end of the ridge, paused, and then followed his girls’ path, seemingly gone forever. I have never felt so low in my life. If only he had turned his head!
About a half hour later, with the sun well up in the sky, all three members of our party came walking up to me. I related the sad story of the super tall buck, and how I had my crosshair on him for over two minutes at less than 200 yards, but he would never turn his head...
so I could see if he was wide enough. It was obvious to all of them that I was devastated.
to my horror, the very tall buck also reaches the end of the ridge, pauses, and then follows his girls’ path, seemingly gone forever
Jake simply asked, “Why didn’t you just whistle? That would have made him stop and turn in your direction.”
Whistling would have made him stop and look towards me? I didn’t know that!
I dove off into that canyon, and followed the many lesser draws for the next eight hours, hoping for a second chance at the tall mulie, but I never even saw a deer in all those hours. I had always thought when hunting, you NEVER make any sound, especially on purpose. Twenty five years ago, you did not see anyone whistle on hunting videos; now it is a common occurrence. Looking back at how tall he was, I should have taken the shot anyway. Surely his width would have been proportional to his tremendous height. I was so focused on making sure I only shot a wide mulie, with my tunnel vision, I never even thought to surmise that he most certainly also was wide. That was a very painful lesson for me to learn.