Reader-Submitted Story
Get Out There!
by Jordan Flower of Airdrie, Alberta
It started with a text from my friend and jiu jitsu professor Tim. “Hey man, what are your plans for elk hunting this year?”
It was the second week of August and I was just beginning to think seriously about hunting and forming a plan. I had been shooting my bow consistently and had one clear goal in mind—I wanted to shoot an elk.
The year before Tim and I had gotten into some bugling elk, and it was epic! At times it felt like we were on Wild TV or the Sportsman Channel starring in our own hunting show. Riding that excitement, I texted him back, “I will be hunting around my trailer, and Easton will be joining me. If you are good with that, you can join us anytime.”
Just like that hunting season was set. From September 1 until we were tagged out, or until the season ended, we were all in. I was especially excited because this would be the first hunting season that my son Easton would be joining me. Sharing that experience with him meant a lot.
Throughout August, we started scouting for elk on a regular basis. We had a lot of success finding them, especially on private land and in areas where they liked to move and feed. Getting permission on private land around where we hunt is a challenge. There is a lot of theft crimes and trespassing in the area, so landowners are understandably cautious. As such, we had our work cut out for us. Luckily, we were able to find a few places to hunt and they showed promise with lots of elk sign.
Fast forward to opening day. I was camping with my family and Tim came up that morning to go hunt. September 1 was a Monday. We headed to a spot where we thought we had our best chance. When we drove into the staging area, we found trucks already parked there. With that in mind, we decided to use our backup plan and head to another spot.
We parked, unloaded our gear, and started in on the hunt. Before long, we started bugling and soon heard a response. I said it is either another hunter calling, or an elk. Tim replied, “I am going with elk.”
Ten minutes later, we were on our first bull. We bugled back and forth and then got into position. Tim decided to move in closer while the bull was still bugling. He managed to get to full draw, but the bull saw him and Tim couldn’t release an arrow because a tree was in the way. I watched the bull tear out of the area. Ugh! Twenty minutes into the season and we were already busted. That said, we were already having success, and I cannot describe how Easton was feeling being exposed to the sound of an elk and being that close to one.
We continued to hunt through much of September with many encounters. Easton was getting between 20,000 and 30,000 steps a day, while I was averaging 18,000 to 20,000. We dealt with a bull that would not jump a fence from private land, a cow that came within twenty yards and several spike bulls that would not leave us alone. Some of my other friends came out to hunt with us and saw more elk in those trips than they had in the past ten years combined. Truly, I could not believe that Easton, Tim and I did not have anything on the ground.
September ended and while the elk were still vocal, it was nothing like the peak of the rut. Easton and I continued to hunt, and Tim was able to come out here and there; he was busy helping train jiu jitsu.
October arrived and during the Thanksgiving weekend the snow came. Easton and I went out hunting and were tracking multiple elk. We had no luck that morning and headed back to the trailer. After a nap, I texted a local and said. “Ugh, it is tough!” He replied, “Get out there and find the tracks. You will get one.”
We went back out and walked into a newer area. We found elk beds and they were fresh. At the time I didn’t realize it but the elk must have been there only five minutes before we showed up. I let out a cow call and got an immediate response. Easton was complaining about something when we suddenly heard another bugle. I told him to get behind a small stump. Then we saw the bull coming in. I knocked an arrow. The wind was in our favour so he couldn’t scent us. As he turned, I let the arrow fly. The bull trotted off like nothing had happened and I thought I had missed.
We waited fifteen minutes and then I went to look for my arrow. Still pumped full of adrenaline, I was not thinking clearly and walked right down the path of the shot. I could not find the arrow. I went back and sat down and texted the same local who had told me to get back out there. He told me to search fifty yards on either side, starting in the direction the bull had trotted off. I did that and to my surprise, I found blood, and a lot of it. Easton and I followed the blood trail and came to a downed tree. Under it was part of an arrow... it was mine!
The best part of the hunt came next: Easton looked up and in what will forever be a core memory, the sharp gasp of air he took will stay with me until the day I die. He said, “Dad! Look!”
There the elk lay. He asked if it was dead and I said, “YES!”
After a few minutes of texts and phone calls, we began to take it all in. We called Tim and he dropped what he was doing to come help pack it out. My brother-in-law also came and did the lion’s share of the packing.
In the end, I can’t name everyone who was part of this, but I do know that Easton and I are now looking forward to hunting next fall. Thanks to all those who played a part in this, we could not have had this experience without you (you know who you are)!
For the previous Reader Story, click here.
