![]() My eyes adjusted to the shadows and I caught movement directly ahead. Hank knew what I needed and used his Native RIPIT to entice the bull.īow in hand, I slipped into the dark timber. I nocked an arrow then signaled to Hank that I’d be going up and over. One morning, after three wind-foiled stalks, I made a beeline up the mountain where a bull screamed in the dark timber. Older and maybe wiser, I became more determined, and the intensity picked up. I chuckled, “It’s a good thing I celebrate all month.” The gift of a birthday bull could still happen. We honored my birthday during a midday rest in front of our Ellis Shackleton tent. Our second trip included experiences similar to the first, except this time the “what if” became louder in my mind - the days were dwindling. Hank and I packed our camp in and out three times. I’d nock an arrow, prepare, and then return my arrow to the quiver.Ĭan you imagine the stress of finding bulls only to have them bust and run or never give you a shot, or watch a 390-inch bull come your way only to be detoured by a satellite bull attempting to steal his cows?Įach high led to a low and the anxious thought, What if I don’t tag one? Still, each experience added to this priceless hunt.īirthday cake for the birthday girl. Each morning before 9:00 am we had approximately three close encounters. With each stalk came adrenaline followed by the dump. I faced them all: being busted by cows and spikes, swirling wind carrying my scent the wrong direction, logs or brush obstructing my shot, down-pouring rain and more. Any archer who’s spent time in the woods knows the challenges a hunter faces getting in range for a shot. This encounter was only the first of many I recorded during the season. You’re going to see a better bull, as I put my arrow back in the quiver. On the “over the-counter” side of the mountain, he’d have been a prize. He must’ve been a monster a couple of years ago. I remember thinking, Are you kidding me? I could tell he was an older bull probably on the downhill slide. As if he could read my mind, my husband looked at me, shaking his head and mouthing the word, “No!” “He’s a shooter,” I told myself as he stood broadside at 30 yards. His eye guards were as long as my arm - and the mass! I felt no breeze as I nocked an arrow and sized him up. The first morning we snuck in on a 5x5 bull that would’ve scored around 320. The Hunt BeginsĪs it turned out, I had many close encounters with bulls, just like I’d rehearsed, but then I had to cope with the scenario I hadn’t practiced - passing on bulls I’d happily shoot on the other side of the mountain. I chatted on the phone with my daughter and she chuckled saying, “You’re going to need to be patient.” She knew we’d run into many smaller bulls during the hunt. I knew that a bull with a rack 320 inches or larger would be reasonable in the unit. What I didn’t practice was passing on high-quality bulls. I rehearsed scenarios, including holding at full draw for extended periods and up-close shots. I practiced shooting positions with my loaded Alps pack. I worked out and shot my Mathews Monster Chill. ![]() Hunting elk in the mountains of Colorado requires an archer to be in shape. I prepared my body for the 9,000- to 12,000-foot elevations where we scouted and at which I’d be hunting. My husband, Hank, and I spent the summer riding neglected trails and using our cross-cut saw to make our way through the maze of deadfall. Hunting the wilderness is a joy because you’re far from most civilized things, including four-wheelers, chainsaws and masses of people. Hikers mentioned seeing huge elk herds and trails obstructed by beetle-killed timber. Another friend told us the location where his daughter shot her bull in the unit. While teaching at a ladies cast and blast, a conservation officer shared an area where he’d always seen huge bulls in the unit I had drawn. The author with her bow in the saddle scabbard, pursuing Colorado bulls.
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