Idaho Archery Elk

by Cory Glauner

Ty and I were excited for elk season this year. After our success last year, we were pretty confident. We packed our camp in two weeks early again this year so we would be sure to get our spot. Ty hunted opening day and found our camp in shambles. That damn bear had gotten us again, knocking down and ripping Greg’s canvas tent. To make matters worse, it had been raining and everything was soaked. Ty had a wet, miserable few days and only heard one bull too far away to work.

We hunted the first few weeks pretty hard and passed up a few cows and small bulls, but it was pretty slow compared to last year. On the third week, Ty and his dad had been hunting for a day or two and I met them up there. We got up early and worked a few bulls. I even got a shot at a REALLY, REALLY nice bull that morning. I judged him for 40 yards but he was 47… oops. I should have used my rangefinder. I had all of the time in the world. Ty and Greg had to go home around noon, so I sat in camp for a few hours nursing my wounds. I was pretty dissapointed in myself. There was no excuse for missing that bull. I know I’ll re-live that moment for years.

I took a short nap, got up at 3:00 in the afternoon and headed up Fox Canyon to sit on a wallow for the evening. I got to the wallow at around 5:00, and set up 30 yards from it at the edge of a small clearing. I had only been there for about five minutes when I decided to cow call. Immediately, a bull answered a few hundred yards away. I didn’t really think much of it, but it was nice to know something was in the area. A few minutes later, I cow called again and the bull bugled again at half the distance, he was now only about 150 yards away and the ole’ heart was starting to beat a little more quickly. I quickly grabbed my rangefinder and ranged some landmarks: the far side of the meadow was 52 yards; there was a lone burned-out tree at 40 yards; and the wallow was 30 yards exactly. I had just put down my rangefinder and picked up my bow when I saw movement in the burned timber about 75 yards away. The bull bugled again as he trotted through the trees, crossed the creek, and stopped at the other side of the meadow… 52 yards. A million thoughts raced through my mind: I set myself up in a STUPID spot… there is no way that I can draw my bow unseen unless the elk walks behind the burned out tree, and the odds of that aren’t very high; He’s a nice bull… there is something wrong with the right side, but he’s big, I’m shooting; I feel the wind hit the back of my neck… Switch! Please switch… Pleeeeeease I silently plead… it switches… WHEW!.

It seemed like he stood there and bugled forever, but I think it was only a few seconds. Finally he started walking towards me again and for reasons I’ll never know, he walked behind that burned-out tree. It must have been fate or something. As soon as his eye dissapeared, I drew my bow… 40 yards. He walked from behind the tree and came straight towards me, bugling the whole way. I thought, “as long as the wind stays, he’s mine”. He keeps walking and bugling, and I’m just waiting for him to turn broadside into the wallow so I can shoot. I’m thinking “man, he’s got to be getting close”. Looking through my peep, I couldn’t tell how close, so I look out of the corner of my eye at the wallow, 30 yards away.

He’s halfway between the wallow and me! 15 yards! Close! What happened next felt like slow motion. He stops and turns his head uphill to the left (his left) and bugles. I can see his heart beating in the soft-spot next to his breast bone. I put my 20 yard pin low on that soft-spot… steady as a rock, and shoot. My arrow buries clear to the fletches in his chest. He grunts and whirls around to the right, running back the way he came. I calmly put down my bow and pick up my binoculars, but he only made it 75 yards and piled up. Dead. Awesome! I’m not so calm now. Elation! Excitement! Pure joy! I’m glad that no one was there with a video camera, because they’d be able to blackmail me with the silent little dance that I did.

After my little celebration, I walk up to the bull. He’s big, really big. I knew he was a good bull, but I didn’t think he was that big. He doesn’t score that well, but if the broken side matched the good side, he’d be about 350 or so. A great bull. What a day!

Packing him out is a story in itself, but I’ll summarize… up at 4:30, saddle my horse and mule, pack out camp, run into a hunter along the trail who’s partner had broken his leg, so I pack him down to the trailhead where an ambulance is waiting, then back up to my bull. I have to re-pack three times and get to the pickup about an hour after dark. A long, long day. Should have called for backup.

The last weekend, dad and I went in to try to get one for Ty. We got into a big herd of rutting elk with around ten good bulls in it, a handful of raghorns, and a few spikes. We were in the middle of them all day, and I called in quite a few bulls for Ty, but we just couldn’t put it together. Even though we didn’t get him one, it was probably the most enjoyable days of hunting I’ve ever had. What a year, I can’t wait until next September.