Leroy, my Montana elk guide, had found me a bedded bull. He’d done his job beautifully. Now it was all up to me. Could I make the stalk? Since the bull had lazed in the same spot all day, he probably wouldn’t be going anywhere soon. We took our time sizing up the situation.
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There was the bull! I was shocked; my long, arduous stalk had put me right
in his lap. He had been bedded and facing the other way, but now was standing
and looking in my direction, 60 yards away!
We have taken a quick look at the basic gear (camping, clothing, hunting) needed to access the backcountry. In this part, let’s focus on a much-discussed (cussed?) part of our bowhunting arsenal — our hunting bow. Get ready for some of my own opinions here!
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As I hunkered in some juniper on a sere, rocky mesa, an enormous, 7×7-trophy bull swaggered back and forth 70 yards away, contemplating whether it was worth his effort to walk over and investigate the source of the sweet cow-calling coming from behind me. Off on the side two smaller bulls — one easily Pope & Young — duked it out. I’d heard elk hunting was thrilling, but I just wasn’t prepared for this!
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We all want to make good decisions as far as our bowhunting time is
concerned. In this part of my series on do-it-yourself elk hunting, allow me to
discuss where to best spend your time in search of public land elk in the
premier Western states.
Mental and physical toughness are the two main ingredients to success when it comes to consistently filling elk bow-tags on Do-it-Yourself hunts, on our Western public lands. if you don’t desire (want to) to do it, you’ll never make it.
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In my humble opinion, no discussion on DIY (do-it-yourself) bowhunting for
elk on public lands should be started without addressing the two ingredients —
those two great intangibles — that everyone hates to talk about — mental and physical toughness. In this article, let’s take a look
at the physical side of this equation.
The bulk of my field time as a full-time guide and outfitter is spent prior to
the turning of the leaves in the fall. It’s long before the bulls start to
scream their dominance across the valleys, and long before the bucks begin beating
up innocent trees in preparation for breeding. I have a year-round game plan.
Angela Splawn and her friends sat on the top rail of the fence, their cowboy boots hooked comfortably on a lower rail, enjoying all the teenage flirtations, crowd cheers, and timeless Old-West-style contests that were part of a summer Texas rodeo. Minutes later, a bull charged the teens and Angela’s life would be changed forever.
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