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Content with the effort we'd put in on this amazing adventure we lower our binocs and begin to plan for next year as light fades.

Our conversation is loudly interrupted by a piercing bugle from straight below us on the steep, almost impossible slope. We drop to our knees and each nock an arrow waiting for the bull to climb the slope and expose himself. We hear hooves coming and see cow after cow jump up the cliff and onto the crest where we waited with bows drawn. The bull is last in tow with a huge 6x6 rack swaying as he lumbered the last few steps up the steep grade... His body is obscured now by one small, lone pine tree as he follows his cows by at 30 yards. One more step and our dreams of taking home a bull are fulfilled.

His front leg comes forward to begin his final step, and a cow barks freezing the bull in mid-stride. A stand off begins, bows drawn, arms shaking, breathing heavy. The bull locks onto our position and stares through us....

With a sudden swirl a stampede of elk flee down the cliff from where they came and our first elk hunt comes to a close.

This was September 10, 2009 and the first of many more adventures for a flatlander from the midwest. I am now hooked.

As I walked back from the mailbox, I was excited to see that I had drawn a premium limited tag for elk and began to tweet the good news and text all my buddies who should feel lucky to come along.....wait what is this Eastmans Hunting Journal...

No, this year would be special. This time I was entering the arena with the "If you can't beat them, join them theme".

My father and I would be trying a new area (to us). A part of elk country best known for its roads, easy access, abundant population of hunters, and extremely flat ground.

I apologize in advance, as this story will certainly not be up to the high standards set by the likes of BB, Scoot, OtcWill and others.

Our new destination this year offered the opportunity to take a new route through the mountains. We chose to drive I-70 rather than the typical scenic drive along the winding Arkansas River. We made the drive straight through the night and arrived into town the next morning.

After a quick stop at a local dive for some famously large biscuits, we were on our way to the sporting goods store to buy my OTC archery tag. I was the hunter this year and my dad was along for the adventure.

Normally, I prefer to hunt the type of terrain above. But, with tag soup losing its favor, I was willing to try something new and perhaps something easier on the ol' man.

The road split and we pulled off to smell the pines and look around the bend to see if the road remained navigable.

The silence was broken by the hum of an engine coming up the road towards us.

Not even 5 minutes into our hunt and we have our first meet and greet with another hunter. We exchange names and plans. They tell us they'd been hunting since the opener and hadn't had a sighting or bugle. Being locals to the area, we took their information as a sign to look elsewhere. We vacated this canyon and headed to prospective area #2...

Hahahahaha, nice! If this guy waited 11.5 months to post this then I doubt he's gonna get it done anytime soon...Mike

At 2pm, we began our hike still wearing our shorts, t-shirts and tennis shoes from the long 18 hour drive.

There were fallen trees covering the trail and no ATV tracks!!

Ohhh Yeahh!! "How do you like me know", I thought to myself. Scouting had payed off and we might have found an unpressured ridge.

A few steps later in the soft dirt I saw tracks. Boot tracks. They appeared to be a few days old based off the soft edges. Just as I crouched down to take a closer look, the woods exploded with movement just 10 yards to my left.

Turkeys, everywhere! A few flush and land on the trail behind me. Some how they know I'm without bow and without tag as they stand there.

We continue down the trail seeing an occasional rub and puddle with tracks surrounding it.

At about the 1 mile mark, a lone dark cloud decides to let loose and we dive under a clump of pines for shelter from the quickening drops. Five minutes later the sky is clear again and we step onto the path to continue our exploration.

We only made another ten yards of progress when instict takes over and I get low as I see movement on the trail ahead. Thrashing aspen leaves above leads my eyes lower to find an elk, a Bull, just 40 yards ahead and unaware of our presence. I raised the glass and see that it's a spike bull, feeding on the leaves of a young aspen shoot. I motion my dad to sneak up to witness the scene and we slowly back out. Fists pumping and full of excitement we know where we'll hunt this evening.

I setup camp consisting of a tarp and military surplus Gore-tex bivy sack. This seemed to be the way to go with the touch and run type hunting we would do this year. The truck topper and sleeping bunk would be home for my dad.

All camo'd up and accessorized, we waved to a passing truck full of hunters and headed back to find the herd.

This year I was not only hunting with my bow, but I am armed with another weapon. A weapon that could prove to be more deadly than anything else I'd taken into the elk woods before.

The night was full of rain, thunder, and strong wind. I was dry inside my bivy, but sleep was scarce on account of the periodic strong storms producing sounds of falling nearby trees.

The next morning we left camp early hiking down a 4wd road to hunt some pocket meadows visible from satellite photos. We were passed by a train of motorbikes and ATV's all reaching our not so secret spot before we could. It was clear the morning hunt was turning into a scouting hike. We returned to camp ready to continue our exploration of the area.

I took off on my bike down the 4wd road. Down is probably an understatement. For 2.75 continous miles I never had to pedal, what a fun ride. I guess that's why they call them mountain bikes after all. I've been riding a mountain bike for exercise my whole life, but this ride was a total thrill. Elk or no elk, at least we're having fun right?

I reached the end of the trail at the private land border. Things were looking quite elky. There were fresh rubs right off the road and some older droppings, but must importantly, far less ATV tracks.

This looks like a good place for a move.

I make the much longer ride back up to the truck wishing my water bladder held more than 2L.

It's 3pm and we are having an unusually long break from the rain. We enter the logged clearing leading to our trail.

Just as we crest the hill, we both freeze in our tracks. Standing broadside at 50 yards on our trail is a mature 6x6 bull. His rack looks heavy and we realize he's still in full velvet on Sept 8th. By the time I recover from the shock of the situation and reach for an arrow, he's now crashing through the aspen thicket and out of sight.

Cripes!!!

Oh, and of course, the walk back in the pouring rain was delightful. Did anyone know it rained in CO last year? :)

There is better elk sign and less human sign so we feel our chances have improved.

Anyone know what this is on the tree next to me in the picture? I think I know, but let's hear some ideas.

This turns out to be a pivotal event in our quest.

Great story so far! Looking forward to the rest.

Come on, man. Church? God already knows what happened, we don't! :-)

I too, figured it was a porcupine chew on the aspen. Must have been some pretty serious snow pack to get the little guy that high on the tree.

Buzz, the picture of the mushroom growing on the cow pie just had to be a sign of good things coming from... well you know. :)

We're in the truck drying out what we can and planning our next move when an ATV hunter pulls up to chat.

We exchange intel from the morning hunt which certainly didn't take long. Then the man from Oklahoma goes on to say how he's been scouting and hunting the area since the season opener. He claims he was covered up in elk during the first week of the season and had trail cam cards full of bulls at wallows. He even helped other hunters pack out 3 bulls from the general vicinity. Interesting news, but not particularly enjoyable to hear considering we're struggling to even see elk.

Then he mentions he was checked by a conservation officer this morning. He told the officer how the elk have seemed to have vanished since the hunting pressure began. The officer offered him some advice on where the elk might have fled. He shares the information with us, but continues to say that he doesn't have any faith in the advice he received and that the elk have just gone silent.

Now one thing I've learned is that advice from a hunter is often hit or miss, but advice from someone not wearing camo is usually golden.

After wishing the man luck, we rode off for new ground on the hunch the conservation officer might just know what he's talking about.

We arrive at the new area and begin reviewing satellite images. Right on schedule more storms roll in and the evening hunt is reduced to a 1/4 mile walk in rain gear to attempt to glass and listen a large deep canyon.

We saw plentiful rubs and some fresh tracks and droppings but didn't see or hear elk. As we walked the road back to the truck for lunch, we came across a pair of local hunters that had driven into the area that morning.

We exchanged hello's but it was clear they felt we were invading their space by hunting the area. A quick glance at their haphazard ensemble of gear eased my concerns that these two characters would pose much competition as they couldn't be taking themselves too seriously. Back at the truck we do what we do best. Dry out for the next trek.

A small waterhole was centered perfectly in a 40 yard diameter clearing and it looked like as good a place as any to wait out darkness hoping for a visitor.

I looked around for a log to sit upon when a raspy bugle rang out very close by on the opposite side of the waterhole. My dad looked at me with a smirk and whispered, "figures, another hunter". I've, perhaps, got a more keen ear and quickly corrected the lack of urgency in the situation. This was a bull, probably a good bull, and he surely had to be coming to our waterhole! It's on!!

Well, the wife is not impressed by the clicking of the keyboard waiting on me for a few episodes of Breaking Bad. I'll post more tomorrow... the action is heating up :)

Keep this up and one of bowsiters will make Walter White look like a Cub Scout!

I mean, hey, if one-fingered Hector in his wheelchair could take out ...oh, wait, you may not be that far yet. :-)

We could just call and TELL her how the series ends so we can get on with this story!

I am with you on this one.....I am ready to loan him a programmable video recorder....

I head out for Co. Wednesday morning. Do you think you could wrap this up by then:)

You screwed that up with this thread! LOL!

A quick check of the wind indicated we needed to be on the far side of the waterhole, so we covered the 40 yards quickly and huddle next to some brush.

I grabbed my tethered rangefinder and began systematically checking yardages to nearby landmarks... 12, 15, 11, ...yep, this shot was going to be close! I nocked an arrow clicked on the release and added a little tension to the sting waiting for either the next bugle, or brush crashing in front of us.

A few seconds turned into a few minutes of silence. I fought the urge to reach for a call. Not this time, not this year. I was going to approach this opportunity as a silent assassin striking with out warning.

Then, a series of gutteral grunts sounded off in the same direction as the bugle. Then, another. Each set of tones further away than the last.

It was time to move.

We were gaining ground on our unsuspecting target. As we reached a diffusion in the brush with larger overhead trees, I could hear hoof steps and breaking branches, we're close now.

I turn to my dad, who'd been with me step for step and instructed him to fall back while I eased ahead. I would challenge bugle and shortly after he would rake a tree and break branches to draw the bull past me.

Then, antlers, ohhh Lord are they antlers. I take a deep breath to compose myself and play though my head the shot sequence I've used for 20+ years of bowhunting. The bull approaches to 70 yards, stops, and turns his head from side to side as if to display his majestic rack to intimidate me into submission. This was not just a bull, but it is an OTC bull of many, many lifetimes.

You keep this up we'll be dogging you like Hank chasing Walter.

Saul Goodman won't be able to get you out of this crap if you keep pushing it! :-)

Instead, I'm jolted back to reality by a clank, clink clank, clank clink.... I see a confused look in the bulls expression. I don't need to, but I slowly turn my head behind me.

In the heat of the moment, dad thought using a metal trekking pole would be a suitable "stick" to rake a tree with. Out of sight from the bull, but certainly an unfamiliar sound. The bull shifts his weight to his hinds and backs out cautiously rejoining his herd.

My thoughts are racing now. Do we back out and try again tomorrow as light is quickly fading to night? Do I make use of the hundreds of miles I run throughout the summer training for moments like this and skirt the herd sprinting to get ahead of them from their flank?

The bull again rips off a series of agressive grunts from roughly 300 yards and the decision becomes easier. We quietly retreat to the truck and call it a hunt. Rains sets in and we get a good soaker walking through the brush on the way back to the truck to add just a little more insult. Back at camp we gulp down a Chili mac, instant potatoes and try to sleep.

Hope is not lost, and we'll be back after the bull at first light.

We have two to go, too... :-)

I bugle loudly and receive nothing but echoes in return. Standing next to a large diameter lone pine we wait quietly. After a few minutes it's time to move on, except I hear something (I think). I motion to hold still just a minute longer to see if the sound repeats. It does. Footsteps are coming our way and quickly. Of course, we weren't at all setup for an encounter that quickly and that close to the truck. I ready an arrow while dad drops to the ground for cover. I align my shoulders with the large pine and wait for the approaching animal to appear. There he is! It's a bull. A legal bull (260"ish 5x5) and he's coming in at a very brisk walk. At 50 yards, and a bearing to take him right by us, he stops and huffs a long series or crisp chuckles. Steam bellows, and snot drips as he repeats his chorus and checks for his adversary.

He breaks towards us again and I start to squeeze my back to initiate a smooth slow draw. He's still sharply quartering towards me and he's now 35 yards. An isolated clump of brush, becomes the only thing between us and the release of an arrow. The bull turns now searching for the source of the bugle, he's quartering slightly away.

He briefly clears the brush, but I choose to wait knowing he'll present a closer and much easier shot.

Caution wins him over and he abruptly turns back the way he came offering only a very steep quartering away shot, then a few steps later, nothing at all. He vanishes into the calm as quickly as he came.

I wait until he's had time to put some distance between us and release the full gambit of elk noises at him hoping desperately that one of will change his mind. As expected, the now much more educated bull lives another year. The backdrop of this picture is the scene of the crime.

With the adrenaline tank running low, we push futher on towards the last known location of MR. Big and his herd.

The wind isn't in our favor for a straight line approach. We know we need to cut the distance while keeping our scentline from drifting his way. We loop around to get downwind and expect the next set of grunts to confirm our plan. Nope. The next sound off is again parallel to the wind from us. We hastily pull back and sneak around to downwind again and listen. A third time the bull proves a worthy opponent and has again beaten us to the spot. We pull back once again and make another desparate attempt to circle downwind for an approach.

This time I think we've got it!! I can't see them but I hear them on the other side of a wall of tall brush. He can't be more than 80 yards and we still haven't made a peep to alert them of our presence. A break in the under brush with only large trunked pines provides a quick path to close the distance on the herd and I do just that.

I look back over my shoulder to give dad the signal to get the popup decoy ready. But, I see that he's fallen behind. I can see from his expression something is wrong, very wrong.

Faced with the decision to fill my tag, or fill his pants, I chose mercifully.

I thought it best to back out and give "him" some time. The wait was brutal.

I was only moderately sure the sounds I was witnessing from the otherside of the thicket were those of a man rather than an angry bear who'd just discovered the pleasantries of pepper spray to the face.

Soon we were back on the heels of the herd. One last attempt to circle downwind before they hit the private border failed. Again, the bull managed to elude us. And again, we left an unalarmed bull for a return attempt.

I was only moderately sure the sounds I was witnessing from the otherside of the thicket were those of a man rather than an angry bear who'd just discovered the pleasantries of pepper spray to the face."

LMAO...Priceless! Why is it always the ChiliMac?

By the time the truck was fixed, it was too late for an evening hunt so we stayed in town, got some real food, a shower and some rest.

Sept. 13th AM We're back to match wits with the our bull. The experience of each previous encounter getting us closer to dropping a string on him.

There's no time to waste, I nock an arrow and charge into position to meet the bull. The wind is steady and perfect right in my face. There's no chance this can go wrong.

I get into position with a pine behind me for cover and open shooting corridors in front. The bull grunts again and a scrawny bugle answers from closeby upwind of him. Again the newcomer bugles at the herdmaster, and the herdmaster responds by cutting him off defiantly with a chest-rumbling bugle of his own. I welcome the newcomer as a distraction to my bull enhancing my chances of closing the deal. Then another weak bugle rings out from the late arriver, followed by another even less authentic sounding bugle.....

Wait a second..., I know that sound. That's no bull. That's a primos hyperlip bugle, commanded by an amateur. Then....the telltale squeak of the primos hoochie mama hand call confirms. It's those two nitwits we'd run into two days before walking down the road and they've moved in on the bull from straight upwind!

Nevermind them, the bull is just on the otherside of this one pine and pushing his cows my way. I draw and aim for the gap I expect them to appear into. Then the stampede begins. The thunder of hooves and crashing of brush as the herd dashes right by me, no chance for a shot as they peel out of the area quickly. A quick check of my wind indicator leaves no suspicion as to the cause of their rapid departure.

The clouds of defeat are building. I raise my binoculars and confirm the identity of the other hunters. We realize it's time to move on and find another herd to hunt.

We covered some ground and familiarized ourselves with the general lay of the land, but turned up nothing to pursue.

Rain again drilling my bivy sack kept me awake much of the night. Only this time, the night air was full of more than just thunder from above.

For several hours through the night, we were treated to the bugles of a nearby bull, at times no more than 50 yards from the truck. I kept checking my watch under the cover of my sleeping bag, hoping 4 AM would turn into daybreak with the bull still within earshot.

C'mon.... daylight let's get after this bull!

Ridge, you. can. not. do. this.

Why the photo of you in front of the huge downed tree?

Is there were you put the bodies of the two morons in Colorado, or did you dissolve them in a bottle of that nasty-azz chemical like Walter and Jesse did so many guys, and bad-stare Mike?

I dig through my pack making sure I have all the essentials and we're just about ready to sneak down after him.

Then I hear tires on gravel, a vehicle is approaching on the main road.... please drive by, please drive on by, I say to myself. This narrow wedge of public isn't nearly big enough for more hunters and besides my Bull is right down there!!!

No such luck, I see headlights turning onto the short spur road we're camped on. The truck rumbles into our little turn about and edges past us, now between us and the bull. We're parked off to the side 20 yards in the dark and I'm not sure he even knows we're here.

I frantically search my pack. It's clear I'm going to have to resort to violence.

Well, maybe at least do my best to annoy the intruders on to the next spot. I grab my headlamp and put it on spot light mode. I shine into the cab of the idling truck and then start erradically flashing from side to side, up and down hoping to convey some sort of message like "wtf, it's minutes from shooting light and you're pulling in here cutting us off".

The truck continues to idle and I can hear loud voices in the cab. Finally the power steering pump whines as they turn around and leave us.

This delay has allowed the bull to cover some ground. Now 400 yards away and gaining, we make our move.

The bull is bugling about every minute giving just enough clues to keep us moving. It's impossible to see the bull in the tall brush, so we just keep pushing on. Finally, we reach the crest of the plateau and the vegetation becomes short enough we should have a chance at seeing the bull. Breathing heavily, I scan the horizon with the sun just peeking over the trees to the East. Cattle are everywhere so detection by movement is a struggle. At last! I see him, it's a shooter. Awesome. Only he's changed course 90 degrees and is heading straight north at a very fast walk. No problem... except the wind is from the due South. There's no doubt where he's headed. A 5 acre pine thicket we scouted the evening before was perfect bedding cover for a lonesome bull who'd been out all night cruisin' for chicas.

We had to beat him to the edge of the timber and judging by his clip, we would have to RUN. The waist high growth between us didn't afford much posture for a comfortable stride. We hunch over and cover ground as fast as our legs will take us. We're there! 30 yards from the distinct edge of the treeline with nothing now but knee high clumps of weeds along the edge. A nice wide shooting late. Now it's just a matter of time before he pops out of the brush completely unaware we'd been sneaking in on him for the past half hour. We wait quitely, breathing calms back down (sort of, there is a bull coming after all). We wait some more... Seriously, where could he be, there is NO WAY he beat us to the treeline.

Then a bugle from 75 yards into the treeline sinks our ship. My predatory crouch snaps up to a defeated slouch. The bull is now only a few degrees off of being directly downwind of us, and from all past experience, the gig is up.

Well, better luck next time we agree and give up on the fact he's travelling too fast, too far, and too close to private land to pursue any further. We move to the edge of the treeline and talk about our next steps.

I grip my bow, snug my pack, check for my bugle tube and get ready to kamikazee right into the bull. My dad has a confused look as if to wonder why I'm still interested in this bull who is clearly, directly downwind of us. My thought is if he hasn't smelled us by now, we might have time. The wind was beginning to swirl now anyway as, oh surprise, another mountain thunderstorm is brewing above.

I attack the 100 yards gap between us and the bull like Rosie O'Donnell and free donuts. I wasn't going to let lack of aggression be the reason this bull grew another year. Charging down the slight grade straight at the bull I stop at what I feel is about a 50 yard separation from where the bugle came.

I puff up and blast a growling bugle at him. He answers instantly with his own and I cut him off with another followed by some aggravated grunts. Then I make the final charge covering 20 yards into a sliver of a clearing that might offer me a shot if the bull accepts my challenge.

I stop and begin to peer through the dead low hanging tangles of the pines. I see nothing, but I hear my dad who's 5 yards behind loudly whisper "He's coming".

I take the opportunity to stand and draw all in one smooth deliberate motion.

By the way, my wife and I are also binge watching Breaking Bad...we are on Season 3 Episode 12.

The U-shaped obstruction of branch tips covers his belly line, his front shoulder, and the back half of his rib cage. Looking through my sight ring my 6 pins are all stacked tight on his side. All I can see is a light tan featureless canvas on which I must stroke the red brush of the archer.

I frantically search for the crease up a third and a little back....I can't tell where I'm aiming on his body. There's just no visible frame of reference and I'm certainly not adjusting my sight picture now.

All of this processing takes place very quickly because I've already told myself while drawing back, the shot would have to be quick.

TV shows say you can bugle after a shot to try to stop a running bull, so why not try it. I fumble to grab my bugle tube and scream a bugle just as the sound of breaking branches silences.

I replay the scenario and shot placement in a whisper but am shushed to stop short. Dad hears something approaching from the direction the bull ran off, but at about 30 yards further down the lane.

"I think it's a bull" he says. "It might be your bull" Nah, impossible. My bull has to be just over yonder piled up... The mystery visitor crashes off and we dismiss it as one of the many cattle that have been deceiving us since the hunt started.

Remember that thunderstorm that was causing the wind to destabilize? Yeah, boom goes the thunder and here comes rain.

I'm color blind, so I usually leave the bulk of the tracking work to those more fortunate. After 30 yards of progress I hear the cardinal whistle signal that he's on blood. I creep ahead and we begin following good blood. We reach a large pool of blood at about 60 yards from the shot. This must be where he heard my TV show bugle. From the pool of blood we see more, but wait... what the ... this trail is heading back to where I shot him....Oh dangit, it WAS my bull coming right back in to the bugle.

Wait a minute, he should be down by now. How did he make it all the way back up to me, then run off in his original direction of flight.

Back at the pool of blood we follow drops in the opposite direction leading away from the place of the shot. Another large pool turns up 50 yards down the trail.

Now the rain picks up. Soon we're in a complete gullywasher. It rains relentlessly for 15 minutes. Water begins filling puddles and then everywhere. A layer of water covering the toes of our boots drowns the entire plateau. A stream of rain runs down my fingers and sprays off the caliper of my wrist release.

Blood trailing was finished. All we have to work on is the last heading of the bull from the blood that is now completely washed away. Sloshing through the standing water we expect to find my bull laying somewhere along his last heading. But we find nothing. The grid search begins.

Scott

A couple miles later, the grid search has turned up nothing in the direction of last travel.

We decide to pull out and get back to the truck for some lunch so we can dry out and return.

There is an easy way back, and a hard way. The hard way puts us through more of the pine thicket. An unlikely change in course for the arrowed bull, but a long shot is better than no shot at all.

Half way back to the truck we're 50 yards apart covering ground somewhat quickly sweeping the forest floor for the body of my elk.

I jolt to a stop as I see an elk bedded ahead on a small knob. My binoculars are useless with puddles in the eyecups, darn forgot to put the covers back on. I don't need them to see it's a bull and only 70 yards. I don't know that this is my bull since I honestly never looked at the antlers as the shot played out. I knew he had to be legal and that I thought he had enough length, mass, and points to be a small 6x6 or good 5x5.

One problem, we're 50 yards apart so a whisper isn't going to work to alert my dad of the elk that lies just ahead. I have no choice but to flag him down with motion. He spots me and stops. I give the universal fingers up on the head sign for antlers and point ahead. Now I'm ready to sneak in for a follow up shot if this is my bull.

Well so much for that, I didn't even get an arrow out of my quiver and he was on his feet walking away. I lean out for a better view and BINGO! A blood streak down his side. He's walking straight away, and looks weak, but I don't want to push him. Midwest whitetail hunting experience helps for a change and I know the best bet is to let him walk in hopes he beds again soon, nearby.

I mark the bulls bed on the Garmin and we continue to the truck with renewed hope that the bull will just need more time.

The GPS takes us to the vacant bed on the mound. There's blood on the pine needles. Deep fresh hoof prints exit the bed and slide down the soft dirt of the mound. A small amount of blood lies inside the right front hoof print.

The deep hoof tracks quickly shallow as the bulls tracks cross an open area in the pine canopy. There's no blood and no tracks to follow anymore.

I pull out another trick I've ready about when tracking in pine needles. I lay flat on my stomach at the last positively identified track and align my eye with the ground plane. It works. I see creased pine needles sticking up above the layer of horizontal needles. We gain another 15 yards of travel by this method, then the magic runs out and I just can't discern the disrupted pine needles with the freshly fallen ones. The footprint pattern dissolves.

There is hope of picking up the trail again. We've almost completely made it through the pine grove. The edge is only about 30 yards away where the cover sharply transitions to a wall of green oak brush.

We use the last known heading and begin scouring the edge of the oak brush for the ingress point. The leaf's are still wet and the chances of detecting blood on them isn't good. He could have entered this jungle of 10ft tall oak brush anywhere.

Hold on.... I have another idea. I'm colorblind, but not retarded. Well at least my mom says so.

The underside of oak leaves are pale green ( I think anyways). As the bull swooshes through them pushing the branches out of his way with his chest, he's sure to overturn the leaves and wipe them onto his bloody side as he passes.

I crawl along the edge of the oak brush thicket turning over twig after twig. I get no help from dad, as conventional thinking would lead one to believe that blood comes from above. Looking under leaves seems like quite a stretch.

Yesssss, blood under a leaf!! We're back on the trail.

Hope you found him and didn't shoot the cameraman in that last photo!

:-)

With all the recent arrow weight discussion, and elk penetration on BowSite, what is your set up?

New Bowsite rule- The story telling cannot take longer than the actual hunt.

Then again, "Went hunting, shot bull, and now I am home" makes poor internet fodder!

Carry on. :)

I can identify with the Breaking Bad binge watching. I thought I was the last person in America to get addicted to BB, but I had Ridge beat by a few weeks. It has one of the best endings to a series that I can think of.

Keep it coming Ridge. I love to HATE the fact that you are being so successful at stringing us all along. The timing is perfect. Just a few days before many of us head out in the mountains and have elk on the brain 24/7.

Did you find your BULL!!!??? "I gots to know . . "

Ridge, there had better be some sort of abduction story as to why we haven't had any more installments! Ha! Keep them coming and I hope you found your bull!

There seems to be no general direction to the bulls travel other than following the path of least resistance. We've covered about 60 yards of zig zags when I hear an eerie moaning sound followed by a jet of rushing air. The sound repeats rhythmically and I know we've come upon my bull. He's only 15 feet away on the otherside of an impenatrable wall. I bob and weave trying to see through the brush without any luck. It's clear the bull is laboring to breath, but how close to his final moments is he? Fearing the wounded bull could be capable of a charge if we blindly push through the brush, we decide to wait things out. Fortunately, the wait is short and the bull expires. We approach the bull in complete awe.

All of the preparation, training, miles, dollars, etc. finally rewarded with a bull.

As he lay.

His hind end is entangled in the middle of an oak tree so we need to drag the heavy bugger uphill a few feet for enough room to work on him.

Dad grabs the right antler, I grab the left and we count to three for the first good heave.

1...2...3...yank... SNAP!!! Owwww! Wonderful, so much for being out of adrenaline. The lower part of my pinky finger is headed north while the upper is headed straight west... Really, did I just dislocate my finger??? I snap it back into place and we head back to the truck for supplies.

How about an epilogue on the shot and events after?

So where exactly did you hit your bull?

Wondering where the shot placement was...damage done...and about how far he went? I'm probably jumping the gun here...

Best of Luck Jeff

Things just wouldn't seem right without a little more moisture in the air...lightning cracks overhead as we break open our havalon knives.

Part of the preparation for having an elk down was done last year by breaking down and deboning whitetails in the field back home. A bit intimidated by the size of this animal we get to work as the rain pours. 2 hours later with sore backs and dull blades, we've got a 240 lb pile of deboned meat.

Amazing how small the pile looks with such a short focal length.

My best, Paul

1 mile per load each way, through the pouring rain. Still much, much easier than I ever expected my first elk packout to be. We finally hit the sleeping bags at 4 am, exactly 24 hours since the chase began.

We arrive and the meat is intact. I pack the head and antlers out while dad debones and bags the front shoulders.

To this day, I can't believe that's actually me in this picture. :)

Rolling the bull completely over while whole wasn't happening, but I managed to get enough uncovered for a picture. The arrow entered about as I saw in the flash of a moment he spun and ran off, high and tight. Penetration was also as I'd detected in the heat of the moment. The arrow passed through the chest cavity and buried in the off shoulder.

Autopsy revealed a double lung hit just below the spine, with just the top edge of the lungs being sliced.

The bull traveled a total of 3/4 mile after the shot. The shot was at 7:50 am and the recovery at 5:19 pm. As for my setup, I'm sure it's a bit controversial. I'm of the school of thought that a few grains in arrow weight don't make a dramatic difference in penetration, so I lean toward a lighter, flatter shooting setup. My justification is that I'd rather have more room for error in yardage judging than a slight increase in penetration. Essentially, I put my chips on a lighter arrow in a better spot is preferable to a heavier arrow that's slightly off the mark.

Now that being said, in this case, my shot placement wasn't ideal, but that's a result of mental error in picking the aiming point.

I shoot 72 lbs at 29.5" with a 365 gr arrow at 322 fps. I used an expandable 100 gr Gator XP broadhead, again for the reasons above. I don't feel arrow weight or broadhead choice made any appreciable difference in this particular instance. Penetration was good although not a pass through. Ribs were severed with little trouble and deflection wasn't an issue.

That's what happy dreams are made of.

I wish my dad (passed) hunted.

Great story too.

Thanks for sharing and best of luck this year!

>>>>-------->

A well-earned trophy indeed!

Best of Luck, Jeff

Alas, you brought him home. Great Job on finishing what you started!

I filled a wash tub with water and wasted half a tank of propane trying to build enough heat.

I had a lot of fun reliving and sharing the story. I hope it helped get the fire burning at just the right time for your elk hunts this year.

Best of luck all!

Great story... cool your dad was with you. Although I'd have been very tempted to tell him to.... um, sleep in a rest up a bit.... =D

Congrats! And thanks for sharing..... but after the first day or three I figured I'd tune back in when the post count warranted it.... LOL!

ps.... have the euro in your hands and still the tag?.... Pretty funny!