dryflyelk
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Well, it happened. After a whole lot of sweat and boot leather I shot a bull on the Wasatch unit on Labor day at 8:00 in the morning. I've got so much going through my head about how this whole thing went down this story might be a bit longer then it should, so if you're easily bored, this might not be the post for you.
It seems surreal, really. I've had a nice archery bull as a goal of mine for a long, long time. I literally fall asleep every night thinking about elk. Some people count sheep or think of the days events - I think about elk hunting. Every night. I think about scenarios unfolding in my head that I hope will play out in some future scene with big bulls stepping out from behind pine trees only to find my arrow crashing through their ribs. Basically I love elk and elk hunting, and it's my hunting passion. There's just something about the haunting sound of a bugling bull that mystifies me and brings me back for more.
To say I was exited to finally be hunting them would be an understatement.
I've really been scouting this unit for years since it's basically in my backyard. I kept playing it out in my mind where I would go and how I would hunt it. I've had run-ins with so many nice bulls in so many different areas though that it made it tough to really narrow it down. I picked a few areas I knew best and talked to some folks who'd hunted it recently and got after it.
The early season really gave me some great memories. I have had more close encounters with elk this year than at any other time I can remember. In one morning I had two different bulls within 5 FEET of me, and it wasn't even the same situation. One of them almost stepped on me as I had discovered his secret wallow and the other was chewing on a tree I was using as a backrest. Those and other memories will be with me forever.
I watched a lot of water and a lot of wallows, as many hunters do this time of year. I had a lot of time to just sit and think, and I think that's one of the under rated things about hunting. You really get to figure out who you are and what you're made of. It's something I really look forward to each year. I never did see any big bulls come into the water or mud. A whole lot of spikes and raghorns, though. I could have filled a whole limit of a dozen spikes by now. It's just been a blast to sit quietly and watch the elk play around and act naturally without making a sound.
Days flipped by and i started getting more serious. I had passed on many smaller bulls. One time Hawkeye called a nice bull, maybe 320-330, right into me. He stood broadside at about 5 yards for about a minute looking right through me. It looked like it was right out of a Primos movie. It was almost like catch and release hunting. I smiled at him and he went on his way.
I'm a huge BYU fan, and I did come home off of the mountain to watch the BYU-Oklahoma game. Eight of my best friends went to Texas to watch the game, and several sent texts to me during the game to let me know how foolish I was to have stayed home for a stupid hunt. One in particular stands out. It was after the game was over. "You should have been here." I didn't regret my decision for a minute, even though I might have missed the "best BYU football game ever".
Back to hunting. After a lot of close calls and a whole lot of passed bulls, I decided to go camp by myself right in the middle of elk country, and make it happen. My friends had to work and I was going to give 100% to get it done. I packed up my gear and I wasn't going to come home until I had something on the ground. Here's a pic of the setup -
I hunted that evening and as the sun went down, the valley lit up, in more ways then one. The full moon was out and the elk were going nuts. All night long, elk bugled back and forth all around me. Literally, I don't think there was ten seconds of silence the whole night. Just thousands of bugles. Strangely, it lulled me to sleep. Maybe because that's how I have put myself to sleep in my head for years, but those screaming bulls were singing the sweetest lullaby I'd ever heard.
I woke up at 5 ready to rock. I was dressed quickly and into position on a couple of the closest bulls that had been serenading me while I slept. As it got lighter, these bulls must have been pretty tired. They were making their way up the mountain side pretty quickly. They weren't hanging around to wait for me. The bugling continued, but it was more of a, "hey, come follow me to my bed" type of deal. I did my best to catch up.
I chased probably 6 or 7 different bulls that morning. I'd get close to one, only to have him get out of range, and have another bugler get to where I'd think I could make a play on him. One bull remained relatively still- and he was at the top of the mountain, in the saddle. After some quick internal discussion, I decided I was going to go for him. I dug deep and went for it.
He was bugling about every two or three minutes as I approached. He was on a steep quakie hillside with quite a bit of undergrowth and brush, making a quite approach most difficult. After I got within 150 yards or so, I finally caught sight of his antlers. With the hunt winding down I decided that this was a shooter for me. If I had a chance I was going to take him.
With the noisy brush, I had to wait for every bugle to close the distance. I'd hustle maybe another 10 yards closer every time he bellowed. After about 15 minutes of this game, I was within range. But he was in some thick trees, and I had to wait for my chance.
Rarely in bowhunting does everything come together and work in your favor. This was one of those times.
The wind was just right and the bull just happened to decide that the feed looked best right in the middle of the only shooting lane I had. He lowered his head and started to make his way that direction. I quickly set my sure-loc to 40 yards, and as the bull stepped into the opening, I drew and let my lucky number 2 arrow go.
It was perfect. I saw the arrow sink into the exact spot I was aiming, just into the crease of the forward leg. The bull lunged forward and charged down the hill. After 50 yards or so he started stumbling, and after another 20 or 30 he fell over, feet in the air, and I knew he was dead.
Not many will know what a bowhunter feels in that moment. I had an overwhelming rush of exhileration, accomplishment, humility, gratitude, and about twenty other things. I remember literally falling to my knees, and saying, "oh my gosh, I did it". The years of dreaming had come to pass. I said a prayer to thank the Lord for the chance to have such an experience.
After about 20 minutes of waiting, I slowly made my way down to the elk. Here is how I found him.
I took several minutes to let it soak in and enjoy the moment. After I had my time with this great animal, I knew it was time to go for help.
I busted my way down to where I could get cell phone coverage and called in a few good friends to come help with the pack out. I also was lucky enough to get in touch with a guy with horses who I hired to pack out the meat. That was worth every penny. The horses didn't pack out the antlers, however. That was my job. Luckily Lanny was there to help with that part load and spell me when needed.
More pics after the cavalry arrived.
A short explanation about the writing on my arms. My last name is Armstrong, and the old Scottish Armstrong motto is "Invictus Maneo", which means, "I remain unvanquished". Whenever things got tough, or I wanted to turn back, or there was an easier, cushier way, or my health wasn't good (which was more often than not lately) or something else came up, "invictus maneo" became my personal mantra and I'd reach deep and pull that inner strength and tell myself that I wouldn't let weakness beat me.
I know this bull isn't the biggest on the mountain. In fact, as we were approaching my bull to clean him out, there was a much bigger bull standing maybe 100 yards from the spot where my bull had died. To be honest that doesn't really matter to me at this point. The bull is a true trophy to me. He represents a whole lot, more than most people will ever know. Every time I look at him I'll know what went into it.
I'm just happy to have had the opportunity to do it and I'm thankful for the great friends that helped. I owe you guys all big time.
It seems surreal, really. I've had a nice archery bull as a goal of mine for a long, long time. I literally fall asleep every night thinking about elk. Some people count sheep or think of the days events - I think about elk hunting. Every night. I think about scenarios unfolding in my head that I hope will play out in some future scene with big bulls stepping out from behind pine trees only to find my arrow crashing through their ribs. Basically I love elk and elk hunting, and it's my hunting passion. There's just something about the haunting sound of a bugling bull that mystifies me and brings me back for more.
To say I was exited to finally be hunting them would be an understatement.
I've really been scouting this unit for years since it's basically in my backyard. I kept playing it out in my mind where I would go and how I would hunt it. I've had run-ins with so many nice bulls in so many different areas though that it made it tough to really narrow it down. I picked a few areas I knew best and talked to some folks who'd hunted it recently and got after it.
The early season really gave me some great memories. I have had more close encounters with elk this year than at any other time I can remember. In one morning I had two different bulls within 5 FEET of me, and it wasn't even the same situation. One of them almost stepped on me as I had discovered his secret wallow and the other was chewing on a tree I was using as a backrest. Those and other memories will be with me forever.
I watched a lot of water and a lot of wallows, as many hunters do this time of year. I had a lot of time to just sit and think, and I think that's one of the under rated things about hunting. You really get to figure out who you are and what you're made of. It's something I really look forward to each year. I never did see any big bulls come into the water or mud. A whole lot of spikes and raghorns, though. I could have filled a whole limit of a dozen spikes by now. It's just been a blast to sit quietly and watch the elk play around and act naturally without making a sound.
Days flipped by and i started getting more serious. I had passed on many smaller bulls. One time Hawkeye called a nice bull, maybe 320-330, right into me. He stood broadside at about 5 yards for about a minute looking right through me. It looked like it was right out of a Primos movie. It was almost like catch and release hunting. I smiled at him and he went on his way.
I'm a huge BYU fan, and I did come home off of the mountain to watch the BYU-Oklahoma game. Eight of my best friends went to Texas to watch the game, and several sent texts to me during the game to let me know how foolish I was to have stayed home for a stupid hunt. One in particular stands out. It was after the game was over. "You should have been here." I didn't regret my decision for a minute, even though I might have missed the "best BYU football game ever".
Back to hunting. After a lot of close calls and a whole lot of passed bulls, I decided to go camp by myself right in the middle of elk country, and make it happen. My friends had to work and I was going to give 100% to get it done. I packed up my gear and I wasn't going to come home until I had something on the ground. Here's a pic of the setup -
I hunted that evening and as the sun went down, the valley lit up, in more ways then one. The full moon was out and the elk were going nuts. All night long, elk bugled back and forth all around me. Literally, I don't think there was ten seconds of silence the whole night. Just thousands of bugles. Strangely, it lulled me to sleep. Maybe because that's how I have put myself to sleep in my head for years, but those screaming bulls were singing the sweetest lullaby I'd ever heard.
I woke up at 5 ready to rock. I was dressed quickly and into position on a couple of the closest bulls that had been serenading me while I slept. As it got lighter, these bulls must have been pretty tired. They were making their way up the mountain side pretty quickly. They weren't hanging around to wait for me. The bugling continued, but it was more of a, "hey, come follow me to my bed" type of deal. I did my best to catch up.
I chased probably 6 or 7 different bulls that morning. I'd get close to one, only to have him get out of range, and have another bugler get to where I'd think I could make a play on him. One bull remained relatively still- and he was at the top of the mountain, in the saddle. After some quick internal discussion, I decided I was going to go for him. I dug deep and went for it.
He was bugling about every two or three minutes as I approached. He was on a steep quakie hillside with quite a bit of undergrowth and brush, making a quite approach most difficult. After I got within 150 yards or so, I finally caught sight of his antlers. With the hunt winding down I decided that this was a shooter for me. If I had a chance I was going to take him.
With the noisy brush, I had to wait for every bugle to close the distance. I'd hustle maybe another 10 yards closer every time he bellowed. After about 15 minutes of this game, I was within range. But he was in some thick trees, and I had to wait for my chance.
Rarely in bowhunting does everything come together and work in your favor. This was one of those times.
The wind was just right and the bull just happened to decide that the feed looked best right in the middle of the only shooting lane I had. He lowered his head and started to make his way that direction. I quickly set my sure-loc to 40 yards, and as the bull stepped into the opening, I drew and let my lucky number 2 arrow go.
It was perfect. I saw the arrow sink into the exact spot I was aiming, just into the crease of the forward leg. The bull lunged forward and charged down the hill. After 50 yards or so he started stumbling, and after another 20 or 30 he fell over, feet in the air, and I knew he was dead.
Not many will know what a bowhunter feels in that moment. I had an overwhelming rush of exhileration, accomplishment, humility, gratitude, and about twenty other things. I remember literally falling to my knees, and saying, "oh my gosh, I did it". The years of dreaming had come to pass. I said a prayer to thank the Lord for the chance to have such an experience.
After about 20 minutes of waiting, I slowly made my way down to the elk. Here is how I found him.
I took several minutes to let it soak in and enjoy the moment. After I had my time with this great animal, I knew it was time to go for help.
I busted my way down to where I could get cell phone coverage and called in a few good friends to come help with the pack out. I also was lucky enough to get in touch with a guy with horses who I hired to pack out the meat. That was worth every penny. The horses didn't pack out the antlers, however. That was my job. Luckily Lanny was there to help with that part load and spell me when needed.
More pics after the cavalry arrived.
A short explanation about the writing on my arms. My last name is Armstrong, and the old Scottish Armstrong motto is "Invictus Maneo", which means, "I remain unvanquished". Whenever things got tough, or I wanted to turn back, or there was an easier, cushier way, or my health wasn't good (which was more often than not lately) or something else came up, "invictus maneo" became my personal mantra and I'd reach deep and pull that inner strength and tell myself that I wouldn't let weakness beat me.
I know this bull isn't the biggest on the mountain. In fact, as we were approaching my bull to clean him out, there was a much bigger bull standing maybe 100 yards from the spot where my bull had died. To be honest that doesn't really matter to me at this point. The bull is a true trophy to me. He represents a whole lot, more than most people will ever know. Every time I look at him I'll know what went into it.
I'm just happy to have had the opportunity to do it and I'm thankful for the great friends that helped. I owe you guys all big time.