A father and son set out to tag early fall bull elk with their bows. Their patience and persistence led to short bloodtrails and long smiles.
The tone of his voice was somewhere below the disheartened level as we talked via a cell phone connection in two different zip codes of elk country. I was in the middle of an elk hunt in southern Colorado while my son, Cole, was hunting Wyoming mountains near our home. Our Colorado hunt was definitely not a rock concert due to the early season dates. Nevertheless, we were hearing bugles and getting some elk to respond, albeit hesitant and quiet. Cole’s opening weekend of public-land hunting was highlighted by snowflakes and silence. After a depressing 2 days, he had to return to high school while I moved into the last day of a 3-day speed hunt.
My guide, Travis Shippey, was taking the high road at Banded Peak Ranch Outfitters quite literally. The past 2 days revealed better elk bugling high, above 10,000 feet. With that in mind, we headed to the 11,000-foot level. Walking down an old logging road, Shippey gave me the hand signal to halt. A group of young bulls crossing the road into a rugged ravine was the reason, and we followed in silent fashion. It didn’t take long for the territorial invaders to raise the hackle of a homeowner. Bugles began ringing out as a confrontation brewed and Shippey joined the fray. Minutes later, a unique nontypical peered down from a ridge above and then slowly moved into range of my Mathews Creed XS. The hunt would have been over then and there had the bull stepped out of a jungle of limbs in a broadside position. Hearing ruckus down the valley, the bull left our position, but we tagged along.
Aggressive setups and calling tactics led the author to this tremendous nontypical bull.
Fifteen minutes later, we were again near the main herd and the roaring bulges. Shippey lit into the riot and, again, Mr. Nontypical arrived on the scene like a bullet. The bull dogged us like a bloodhound on a hot trail, but this time he never moved inside of 60 yards. Minutes later, the herd grabbed his attention and he disappeared in the pines. Frustrated at not being able to call in the nontypical or the herd bull, Shippey pushed on. Elk chatter above put us on hold, but in a fairly open timber setting. Nevertheless, Shippey started calling and I set up for the shot.
Bugles began ringing out as a confrontation brewed and Shippey joined the fray. Minutes later, a unique nontypical peered down from a ridge above and then slowly moved into range of my Mathews Creed XS.
Surprisingly, the nontypical appeared again and this time with determination. First, he passed by high, but within bow range. Again, limbs blocked my shot. Next, he dropped down the slope, but just as I was about to draw he stopped behind a clump of pines. I was foiled again. Finally, Shippey pointed his bugle away and the nontypical took the bait. He trotted down the slope and inside of 40 yards. To sweeten the setup, he stopped broadside with his head behind a tree. I didn’t need a formal invitation as I sent a Carbon Express, tipped with a G5 Montec, zipping through the bull.
LIKE FATHER, LIKE SON
After a nocturnal packing job and an all-night drive home, it was time to focus on a bull for Cole back in Wyoming. I knew a few days would make a big difference, and the following weekend Cole and I were chasing bugles in the Wyoming dawn light. Unfortunately, the public-land bulls weren’t wired to bugle all day. We slipped through a new area after lunch that held the promise of wallows, and the sight of a muddy bull walking toward us in the timber ignited our enthusiasm.
I backed up to call the bull past Cole, but despite my best efforts to light the bull’s territorial dominance, he wouldn’t cross the 40-yard line and stayed in heavy timber with no shot for Cole. After a freeze-dried meal back at camp, we decided to head to the wallows again at sunrise.
Morning found us chasing several bulls, but each time we’d close the distance the bulls would hush. Another bull sounded off in the direction of our wallow site and this one kept up the pace as we closed in. I nodded for Cole to again move ahead of me as I hoped to pull the bull past him for a broadside shot. Twenty minutes later, my calls, antler rubbing and mews were getting nowhere. The bull would holler back, but not budge. Whistling to catch Cole’s attention, I used hand signals to signify a regroup from our split position of nearly 60 yards.
“He won’t budge, but he bugles at everything I throw at him,” I whispered in a hushed tone as we met up. “He won’t move, so we will. Let’s run down this hill to the creek below. I’ll call and make him think the herd is leaving with or without him.”
Cole’s arrow blew through the chest of the bull and an escape explosion followed. This one ended suddenly with the telltale crashing of a bull rolling downhill in a futile freefall.
Cole concurred and we started jogging down the hill with no intentions of being quiet. The plan was to sound like a herd of elk and we cracked limbs and tossed in a couple of mews to complete the illusion. Halfway down the slope the bull bugled again, but this time it sounded like from a new location. Did he have a change of heart?
At the bottom of the slope, I motioned Cole ahead to an opening while I slipped up to use a pine’s wide trunk as cover. Pulling calls out of my pockets, I slowly lifted my head to scan and almost choked on my diaphragm call. Right in front of Cole stood the bull, a mature six-point.
After a high-tension game of chess between man and beast, Cole Kayser finally made the winning move on this 6×6 Wyoming bull.
Thinking quickly to get the bull focused in my direction, I mewed again. It worked. The bull shifted into drive, walking straight at Cole. That sounds great, but in the rush to reach the bottom, Cole had unknowingly set up right on a trail. The bull was about to walk over the top of him. Straight on and with the bull only steps from his broadhead tip, Cole didn’t have a shot. That’s when the autopilot engaged and he drew the string on his Mathews Heli-M. The bull turned inside out at the sight, but I followed up instantly with another cow call. The big six-pointer slammed on the brakes for one last assessment, this time in a broadside position at less than 25 yards.
Cole’s arrow blew through the chest of the bull and an escape explosion followed. This one ended suddenly with the telltale crashing of a bull rolling downhill in a futile freefall. By ramping this bull up in the beginning to make it sound like a breeding party, we were able to complete the setup with a dose of reality by walking away. September elk aren’t pushovers in any setting. But if you keep hitting them with power plays, you might end up with a bull in front of your bow.
