They say the first step to recover is admitting you have a problem. I confess. I am an elk addict. Addictions by nature take on a life of their own. After hooking you with that first unforgettable trip you are forever burdened with the thirst for more. I never thought it could happen to me, bowhunting whitetail is my first love…isn’t it?
I fell in head first without even seeing it coming. No one ever warned me about that first bugle. Little did I know that from that tie forward every high-pitched whistle from train to toddler would jerk me back to where it all began...
Perched high on a mountain I awoke from a noon time nap. I propped myself up against a small aspen tree and peered over some of the most beautiful country I have ever seen. Ribbons of aspen trees stitched through patches of dark green pines etched cross vast expanses of the Flat Tops Wilderness in Colorado. Thin streams of crystal clear creeks danced at the foot of every slope reflecting a royal blue sky. It’s no wonder this place is called God’s country. It makes me wonder if it was this He was looking at when He said “and it was good.”
Awed by the splendor of the moment it was easy to forget about the exhausting 3:30 A.M. wake up time and the two-hour horseback ride into elk country. High altitude and less than “Olympic fit” middle-aged body made my refreshing nap a necessity. During this dreamy state of appreciation for life, beauty and a catnap, I’m jerked to reality by the distant bellow of a bull.
Gears switch in my head as we descend down from our noontime retreat to where our horses were left tied. My guide Brian Bivins stretched into the lead covering ground as effortless as a thoroughbred. He was on a mission to get us in front of this love sick elk and position him so I could unleash my Mathews Black Max 2 in his direction. Locating the horses, we quickly loaded our gear, mounted and headed in the elk’s direction.
Tying off my horse I got that feeling you get when you have an inkling that today’s the day. Like you know that you know there is something around and there will be action really soon. My heart raced to keep up with my lungs demand as we ascended up the mountain.
After a 500-yard climb (it may as well have been Mt. Everest for me) we topped a ledge and the pines exploded in a furry of brown hide and white rack. Raising to his feet with surprising speed a large bull tipped his head back, sweeping his rack over his hindquarters and thundered off into the gorge. Weighing at around one thousand pounds these animals are not exactly built for traveling silent, nor do then need to be. Elk pretty much rule this mountain range with few predators other than mountain lion and man.
Setting up beneath a huge pine, my guide pierced the air with a barrage of bugles and cow calls. It wasn’t long before we had some interest but as hunting sometimes goes, the bull elk stood directly on the opposite side of the tree where I was sitting only fifteen yards away, thrashing a small sapling in frustration. I felt like thrashing a few trees myself. The wind switched and he charged off with us in hurried pursuit.
Adrenaline is a wonderful thing. To my surprise, I can’t remember getting tired or winded over the next three hours of set ups. Up and down the mountains, getting close and getting busted. We encountered five or six different bulls during this time and I was absolutely basking in elk euphoria.
At one time I had a huge six by six just four steps behind me. Positioned on my knees facing the opposite direction, I was unknowingly in the middle of a runway. My cameraman couldn’t get into position to video the shot so I had no other choice but to be a spectator. I slowly looked up and over my left shoulder. The massive bull dropped his head and tipped it from side to side. First looking at me with one eye then the other, drooling the entire time.
At this point I am pretty sure there was no blood moving in my body, pure adrenaline pumped through my veins. A switch in the wind sent the brute crashing off. Now I was really pumped! Suddenly I was Fred Bear (okay, a bit dramatic) determined to release an arrow and certain I would have my chance today. These bulls were hot!
A good guide is key when you are hunting in unfamiliar territory and Brian Bivins was “The Man.” Knowledge of game trails and the animals traveling on them is priceless on a hunt like this. Schooled at Winterhawk’s guide school, Brian has elevated to one of Winterhawk’s top guides. A true outdoorsman, Brian eats, sleeps, and drinks in the habits of this country. All of this homework was about to pay off.
It was obvious that we were in the middle of a bunch of elk but it was getting dark fast and w were running out of shooting light. We decided to make one last set up in a spot that might intersect the elk as they fed along the well used game trail atop a high mountain trial that Brian suspected that they were on. To do this we would have to jaunt around the hillside and get ahead of the heard without being detected.
Passing a beautiful cinnamon bear on the way, we continued on to a stand of sparse aspen trees. Without much cover we ducked into the tall grass. Brian bugled, and then cow called. From the top of the mountain a very loud, powerful bugle emerged. We were right on top of them! No less than perfect time. After a little sweet talk the elk were finally convinced to funnel in our direction.
Like ants on a trail they trickled down the mountain. First a few cows and calves and then the bull in hot pursuit. Although smaller than the monster elk I had a stare down with earlier, I decided if he came within 35-yards I would take him. The group was moving in closer at a trot. They would soon be within range. I prayed something would cause them to stop. A single cow call from behind me and the bull slammed on the brakes. Taking careful aim at the now bugling bull I squeezed off my release. WHACK!
In an explosion of action the bull ran off. Sixty yards later I wrapped my hands around the 5x5 rack of my very first elk. This bugling bad boy had succumbed to a single Easton A/C/C tipped with a Steel Force broadhead. My 56# Mathews Black Max 2 had driven the arrow clean through the bull and left it protruding form the opposite side a full nine inches.
Several hours later we returned to base camp under a million bright stars cradled by the tall mountains of Colorado Flat Tops. A string of horses and mules safely carried my elk and all those who assisted in retrieving it. Despite being away from camp almost a full 24 hours, I was surprisingly awake. It doesn’t get any better than this. Drinking in the mountain air and admiring all of God’s creation I was already feeling the effects of elk addiction.
Snuggling into my sleeping bag back at base camp in the early morning hours, I took a deep sigh of relief. That’s when it happened…somehow among the ghost bugles in my head an uneasy feeling crept over me. I found myself fighting off the need to do it all over again. Several hours later I watched the stock string head out to the wilderness again with lost puppy dog eyes. I wanted to experience the thrill of the hunt again more than anything else in the whole world. Just one more bugle, one more set up, really that’s all I need…please can I go again? I was hooked.
Two weeks later I was filming a young hunter, Dylan Connors at Snake River Outfitters in Thief River Falls, Minnesota. As we sat silent in the blind I once again heard bugles. I was becoming quite used to the reoccurring bugling chorus in my head so I didn’t think twice about it until Dylan’s guide John Borg said, “Do you hear elk?”
I gave him a look that said, “How did YOU hear that?” I really couldn’t form any words at that moment although I did manage to move my head slowly up and down. John then continued, “There’s an elk ranch up the road. They holler like that all the time. After a while you just tune it out.
“Right, I thought, easier said than done for this Elkaholic.”
Elk addiction causes your dreams to be littered with bugling bulls and often times your thoughts can be found floating around a distant mountain range. As far as I know there is no cure just an occasional stage of planning for the next elk hunting trip. As long as bulls roam the Rockies, the threat of this condition will exist. For now I have to go… a group of friends and I are getting together for lunch. I hope it’s an intervention.. I could use a fresh audience to listen to my elk stories.
