Reader-Submitted Story
In the Dark - Part II
by Howard Pearce
For Part I, click here.
We went back and joined the AAA Alberta beef on the safe side of the drainage. Out of view and soundscape of the last known point of the elk, we sat down for some breakfast. It was hard to get that bull out of our heads. But we knew where he was, and if we were lucky enough, we knew where he’d be again... we just had to wait 10 hours.
Sitting out facing west we glassed a little and turned up a few mule deer way off in the distance. Simon was keen on a mule deer buck this year. He had great success last year and sealed the deal on a beautiful 6x6 elk. This year he said, “Howie, this is your year, and I’m going to call you in a six point.” I wasn’t going to argue who was shooting or calling too much after that!
After a morning of action, spotting several elk and a 45 minute standoff with a cow, we spent the remainder of our morning reminiscing the encounter and planning our evening strategy. But with roughly 10 hours before things got exciting again, we knew we couldn’t just sit there all day. We side-hilled to the top of the drainage to avoid sky-lining ourselves and took a pause at the top. It was elk country, that’s for sure, just like I had seen in pictures.
“What would you do if you were hunting this alone?” I asked Simon.
Eager to bounce ideas, he replied, “I’d buckle up for a sit all day somewhere around here. It’s likely we might catch those elk coming back in the evening. What about you?”
I liked that idea a lot, but I thought for a while. I looked around and checked my map. Right off this ridge, only 20 yards from us, the mountain spilled off into a deep north-facing slope.
“I think I’d go down there. It’ll be cooler and I bet there is water down there.”
Simon agreed. We could come back up closer to evening and play this drainage again.
Dark, thick and nasty timber for midday was the play, and we crept down the north slope. Treading as lightly as possible, the wind swirled with every few paces. Eventually, we found the bottom, and in the hidden darkness of the canopy there was a trickle of water.
We sat ourselves in different spots on the seep. I was positioned closest to it where there was visible fresh sign and a confluence of trails to water, but it was thick and the shooting lanes were limited (good thing we packed a saw). Simon sat 40 to 50 yards above me and downwind due to rising thermals. I sat, ranged my three shooting lanes and settled in for a long sit. The wind wasn’t how I wanted it at the moment, but the sun was moving, and soon the thermals would turn to favour us. After about an hour and a half of trying not to fidget or fall asleep, Simon, unbeknownst to me, let out a single cow mew.
Out of the darkness below a bull sounded off at what felt like less than 100 yards down in the drainage. Seconds later, the sound of branches cracking echoed through the woods. After that there was no doubt in my mind that this bull was coming in. I looked out at the single shooting lane in that direction.
“If I get an opportunity it will only be for seconds,” I thought.
Identifying the 6th point, the draw, anchor, and shot would all have to be as one. First I saw his legs, then a flash of his golden hide in a beam of sunlight that was piercing the tree canopy above him. He made one more soft bugle while on the move. Coming up the drainage he was now about 35 yards from me with no sign of stopping. As he pressed through the timber, I waited. When I was sure his eye would not catch my movement, I raised my bow and drew back. I settled into my anchor and through my sight I aimed down my narrow, shooting pocket of 25 yards. He continued. His head was now passing through my shooting lane. I counted from the royal, “four, five, six.” He made another step toward his fate and I mewed. He stopped immediately and wheeled his head about to face me, but it was too late for him. My arrow was already in flight and it was true. I hit where I was aiming; I was sure of it.
The bull reared to the right and barreled downhill in a storm of breaking branches and then it all went still just as quickly as it had started. I popped my call into my mouth and frantically let off some cow mews. A final series of crashes rang out from below me. Then a heavy silence fell over the mountain...
I looked down at my bow and my trembling hands. It all happened so fast I didn’t even have time to think. The thoughts took over.
“What if I missed. That’s a tight gap to shoot. Holy crap! It’s a six point. I hope I didn’t wound it.”
I looked up hill to see Simon, eyes wide open, with the clear expression on his face, “Did you just shoot?” He sat down next to me.
“I think I just killed a bull,” I said.
All sorts of doubt can creep in. We opted to wait 45 minutes before beginning to look; bumping a wounded animal was the last thing we wanted. Simon, knowing what this moment feels like for a hunter, and appreciates the heaviness of taking an animal’s life, urged me to “not get in my head.”
“It sounded like it went down!”
When we finally set off to track the bull we saw no blood. The only sign of any activity at the shot sight were some red berries that had been knocked off of a low shrub and clearly disturbed. From there we found a few hard tracks that indicated an animal on the run. It was 20 yards before Simon picked up one speck of blood, and while I looked down and inspected it, he tapped me on the shoulder. I looked up to him pointing downhill, and not another 30 yards, the bull lay dead in an opening under a large spruce tree.
We had done it! And we had done it on public land.
For the previous Reader Story, click here.
