Thirty-four yards. I had just ranged a huge ponderosa pine in front of me, a tree right in the bull elk’s chosen path. Stopping every few yards to bugle and look at the strange looking “cows” that had his interest, the bull was coming in as if on a string. One more cow call from down the hill and he stepped in front of the big pine and stopped. I settled the sight pin on his shoulder and squeezed the trigger on my bowstring release.
Written by James C. Reed
This story originally appeared in the pages of Sports Afield, the world’s premier hunting adventure magazine. For more great hunting adventure tales, go to sportsafield.com/subscribe.
When I received a call from Karen Savage from Heaven’s Gate Outfitters in my home state of Idaho earlier that fall, letting me know about a rare last-minute opening on a September archery elk hunt, I was in. I spent some time shooting my bow to get both me and my equipment tuned up and was soon shooting tight groups out to 40 yards. I loaded my gear in the truck and headed over the mountains to western Idaho.
Arriving in Heaven’s Gate base camp, I was met by Andy Savage, owner of the outfit; three of the guides, and the three other hunters I would be sharing camp with. We sorted our gear and divided it into piles of even weight to be loaded on mules. I was happy to be assigned a mule named Rose, as I prefer mules over horses in the mountains. A pack string returning from the camp arrived as we were getting ready, carrying with it a beautiful 7x7 bull that a lucky hunter had taken. As soon as the mules were loaded and everyone was fitted to their stirrups, we headed for camp. It had been raining all night but fortunately, it had cleared and was beautiful for our ride into camp.
Very little in the hunting world is as romantic as a pack string in the Rocky Mountains. The ringing of horseshoes on rock and the hollow thudding sound of hooves crossing wooden bridges over clear mountain streams are the things a hunter’s dreams are made of. The scenery was breathtaking on the relaxing ride, and the weather held for the several-hour ride to camp.
Upon reaching camp we were greeted by the camp cook, Erik. Camp consisted of wall tents on wooden platforms, each heated by wood-burning stoves. We settled in, mustered our gear, and prepared for the next day’s hunt. My camp mates were a California hunter, Chad, and a father and son duo, Matt and Tom. It was a good bunch and everyone hit it off instantly.
I could hear rain on the tent during the night so I knew it would be a wet morning. We enjoyed a great breakfast, gathered our gear, and then mounted up and headed out into the darkness. Each team of one hunter and one guide headed in a different direction. Heaven’s Gate’s stock are all good mountain animals and even in the steep, wet terrain they gave us no problems. My guide, Caleb, and I paralleled the river for a bit, then crossed and headed up a ridge across from camp. There were a couple of spots where the trail traversed a steep rock face well above the river where old Rose had to step up about two feet onto a flat boulder. As she stepped up, she had to lurch up onto the rock, which was inconveniently sloped down toward the steep fall to the river below. I was in pucker mode each time we stepped up onto the wet rock, but she never missed a step, much to my relief. The trees and brush were soaked from the rain and with every brush of wet branches and the rain hit-ting my face, I was thankful for my good rain gear.
After reaching a high bench we unsaddled and tied the horses. We sat under a tree until it was light enough to see, then began working our way across the bench. Slowly making our way along a well-used elk trail, we would call for a bit, then move slowly to another spot and try again. We hadn’t gone far when we heard our first response in the form of a half-bugle, half-growl coming from ahead of us in a thick cove. Caleb told me there was a wallow up there, so we worked our way toward it. At the wallow there looked to be no fresh activity, so we slowly moved ahead. I looked down the hill and quickly reached out to grab Caleb. Below us, about 130 yards, I spot-ted a white butt and what I thought was an antler.
We grabbed our binos, and sure enough, it was a not just a bull but a great bull. We huddled behind an upturned root ball and looked over the situation. The elk was a big 6x6 with long beams, long tines, and great whale-tail tops.
He was accompanied by a few cows feeding around him in nearly every direction. We tried a few cow calls but he acted as if he didn’t even hear us. He then bedded down, and with no possible path for approach, we settled in to see what his next move would be. The bull finally rose and worked his way into some deadfall. Once in the deadfall he began vigorously raking and terrorizing everything in his reach. Thus distracted, he didn’t notice his cows had fed up over the ridge. Caleb and I thought this might be a chance to make a move on him, but he soon noticed his absence of female companionship and headed up over the hill in search of his lost harem.
Caleb and I followed him up over the hill but were busted by a lagging cow, and the herd thundered off down into the canyon. Caleb threw out a couple of cow calls and a bugle immediately came from the drainage below. Amazed at this response, we again called and were answered instantly by a screaming bugle. I nocked an arrow and Caleb dove behind a tree behind me. I could see antlers coming through the thick brush. The bull was coming in directly toward us but would definitely cross our wind. His antlers appeared and I could tell it was not the large 6x6 but instead a nice 5x6. He was now broadside to me and I came to full draw as he crossed our wind without hesitation. Caleb cow-called and briefly stopped the bull. I settled my 20-yard pin on his chest, but as tempting as it was, I just couldn’t make myself loose an arrow, knowing there were bigger bulls around. The bull never did spook, just hurried on his mission up over the ridge.
After a quick lunch we had enough of a break from the rain to take a nice midday nap. When we awoke we began working our way back to the horses. The rest of the after-noon was fairly uneventful other than jumping one small bull on the trail. As we neared the horses I spotted another bull not far away. A quick look through the bino revealed he was a decent 6x6, but he spotted us as well and moved over the ridge and out of sight. We mounted up and headed back to camp for one of Erik’s fantastic meals. Chad and his guide Nick Gaddis came in with the good news that Chad had arrowed a 5x5 bull out of a bachelor herd.
I heard rain on the tent again in the night but it stopped by morning. Caleb and I headed out to the same ridge and just as we neared the spot where we would tie the horses, a bugle rang out from the ridge above us. Caleb cow-called and the bull screamed in response, closer than before. I quickly dismounted and handed Caleb my reins. Grabbing my bow from the scabbard, I headed up the hill a hundred yards or so and Caleb got behind a large tree with the horses on either side. I could see the bull angling down the ridge, so I ranged a few landmarks as yardage markers. The bull kept stopping to look at the odd-looking “cows” that had sparked his interest. Each time Caleb would call, the bull would continue moving toward the horses, a path that would draw him right past my position.
I had ranged a huge ponderosa pine at thirty-four yards and the bull was now about to pass right in front of this tree. There was another big fallen pine on the ground and the bull stopped just before my shooting lane with just his head sticking out. He was a nice 6x6, not as big as the bull of the day before, but definitely a shooter. I drew my bow and held it at full draw, await-ing the bull’s next move. You could tell he was unsure about the strange-looking cows, but one more call from Caleb and he stepped right into my shooting lane in front of the big pine. I settled my 30-yard pin on his shoulder, made sure I was using my anchor points, and released the arrow. The arrow struck the bull with a resounding smack. He dropped his head and took off at a dead run. He was running with both front legs pinned, so it appeared to be a great hit. But something concerned me as the bull ran down and over the small ridge.
Caleb tied the horses, then came up to my position. He was grinning from ear to ear and quietly exclaimed, “Great shot! You hit him good!” I cautioned him not to get too excited because as the bull was running over the hill I could see no blood on him. I went over to where he had been standing when I shot. No blood, no hair, no arrow. It was easy to see his tracks in the muddy soil so I began following them. We went probably seventy yards and still not a drop of blood. I really began to doubt my shot when we came to where he had jumped a fallen tree and there was some blood. Not much, but blood. We continued on his trail, now finding regular spots of blood, but still not much. We surmised the arrow was still in the wound, possibly plugging the wound and slowing the blood loss. Then, ahead of me, Caleb reached down and picked up the back half of the arrow. It was covered in bubbly lung blood, and had come out the far side of the bull. With renewed excitement we now hoped for more blood, but it wasn’t to be—it was still just spots here and there.
The blood trail led us over the small ridge to a north-facing slope directly across from camp. We hadn’t gone more than a couple of hundred yards, but it was slow going. Here we could see where the bull abruptly dove off the trail, straight down, hitting a trail below. Here he stopped and blew quite a bit of blood out both sides. We now knew for sure it was a lung hit, but with the small amount of blood, we figured the shot must have been high in the lungs. The bull was going through really thick brush and blood was rubbing off on the leaves of bushes on both sides. Then, nothing. No more blood, no more tracks. We searched for hours until dark forced us to stop, then gloomily rode back to camp.
We went to bed but sleep was nearly impossible as I kept replaying the shot over and over in my head. Then I heard the rain on the tent. My heart sank as the light rain turned into a downpour that lasted for hours. I knew any blood sign that might have existed would now be gone.
Up before daylight, we grabbed breakfast and headed up to continue our search. Chad and Nick had got Chad’s bull packed back to camp so they graciously volunteered to come help us search. It was a cold, wet ride up in the rain. We went over to where we last found blood, and Nick amazingly found some on the bottom of a leaf, but that was the extent of the sign we found. We began searching in grids. The hillside was steep and brushy like an alder hill-side in Alaska. You would literally have to step on the bull to find him. It was slick, wet, and frustrating as we worked across the mountainside. The brush was so high we could barely catch a glimpse of each other’s hats occasionally. We reached the next ridge and searched it too, but there was no sign of the bull. Soaking wet from the rain and wet brush, we were all pretty miserable. We searched until dark again, then made our way back to camp.
The next day Matt and Andrew decided to hunt the same area, so Caleb and I decided to sit and glass the hillside where we had lost the bull. We thought maybe the birds would be on the carcass and give up the bull’s location. And there was always the chance that just maybe the other two hunters would stumble across him. Caleb and I spent most of the day behind binoculars and spotting scopes, but to no avail. Matt did arrow a nice 6x6 bull, though, so I was happy for his success.
The next day we loaded up with our guides and headed out to base camp. Of course, the weather on the ride out was clear and beautiful, which was both welcome and frustrating at the same time. The ride out was marked by my mixed emotions—I was grateful for experiencing a great hunt, but felt heart-wrenching sadness at losing the bull. In many years of hunting, I had never lost an animal before, and while it is said if you hunt long enough it will happen, it doesn’t make it any easier.
I have replayed the shot over a million times in my head and to this day I cannot say I would do anything different. I don’t know what happened, but in the end the week had been full of great hunting, awesome comradery, and great cooking in my favorite setting in the world, a wall tent camp in the Rocky Mountains. We had experienced the bulls at Heaven’s Gate.