My friend Michael screamed, “Oh, I’m hurt!” as I looked around, trying to figure out what to do. The smokey powder floating in the air from the deployed airbags caused the SUV to smell like it was on fire. We had just hit a big Angus cow on a highway in the middle of nowhere. All I remember before the impact was seeing her green eyes reflect in the headlights when she ran in front of us as we topped a knoll. I didn’t even have time to hit the brakes. The steering wheel had me pinned, and I could not open my door. I managed to crawl into the back, found the door handle, and exited the 4Runner. Once out, I could breathe, and to my relief, there was no fire. I helped Michael, my hunting partner, out of the ride. We thought his hand was broken. He was in pain and started to shake violently from the shock and cold temperature. I helped him put on his fleece jacket for warmth and called 911. We anxiously waited for help to arrive on a desolate highway in the dark, black night. A nice couple found us on the road and volunteered to carry Michael to the ER 20-something miles away. Angels do live among us.
A few hours prior to the accident, I was within 70 yards of a tremendous bull we had named “Greenwood.” The crosswind covered my movement as I crawled over and under deadfall through the knee-high grass. Greenwood had long main beams that carried seven long tines per side. We had found him two days prior when he answered our bugle while we prospected late that afternoon. The big bull escorted four wary cows, which made for a challenging stalk. His head was down while he fed broadside behind his harem as they drifted in the opposite direction. He was in my range as I had practiced shooting that distance all summer. I stood and took a small step to my left to clear a limb for a wide-open shot. I drew my bow while moving the pin toward his vitals, but he turned away toward his cows and my shot opportunity disappeared. After several steps, he was no longer in range. I caught his attention as I moved closer. The standoff began as we stood motionless, staring at each other for what felt like an eternity. As darkness fell, Greenwood turned and disappeared over the ridge into the pines.
Two days later, we were back looking for him. Michael was in pain and sporting a brace on his left hand from the accident, but he was determined that we would finish the hunt. Before the accident, we had multiple close encounters with various bulls that we had opted not to take. At that time, the hunt was young and we were in a premium unit, so we chose to wait for something special. Unfortunately, we did not find Greenwood where we had left him, but we discovered a nice 6x6 bull with two cows and multiple satellite bulls in tow. We chased him all morning until he got tired of the harassment and took his two cows away, possibly to another county or state. We moved locations and got on a second trophy 6x6 that dwarfed the first one. He had multiple cows and was not interested in any call we threw at him. We chased him until dark with no shot opportunity.
The following day, before daylight, we could hear multiple bulls bugling in the dark. As morning light approached, we moved closer, using the trees for cover. We could see a big group of elk filtering through the trees, moving toward thick cover. We set up to call, and within minutes, Michael had pulled three bulls within 35 yards of me, with other bulls coming curiously closer. When they could not find the actors, the young satellites went back to the unseen bugling bulls. We made rounders to get in front of the herd. We spotted two huge bulls standing amid 13 cows and 9 satellite bulls, one of which was Greenwood! The two large monarchs squared off and postured for the ladies and their subordinates. However, no battle ensued and they seemed to tolerate each other. One appeared scared to fight, while the other was glad of it. We tried to move closer, but after we jumped a couple of the satellite bulls and the wind became variable, we decided to back out and try again that afternoon. The elk were moving in different directions to bed, and we lost Greenwood in the mix.
The afternoon found us sitting on a high perch where we could see in the distance, overlooking multiple locations where we had seen Greenwood during the hunt. It wasn’t a long wait until we heard a bull bugle in the ponderosa pines near where we had first located Greenwood. I took off down the mountainside and through short aspens to get a closer look. As I approached the deadfall where I had crawled the day of the accident, the bull screamed out three bulges on the edge of the dark timber. I knew he was close, and I nocked an arrow as I approached the small opening between the dark pines and the short quakies. I could see two cows to my left feeding as a bugle sounded in front of me so close that I could feel it. I moved slowly to my left, peered through a hole in the cover, and saw a 6x6 bull feeding with his head down. He wasn’t Greenwood, but he was good enough for me. I ranged him at 36 yards, drew my bow, and slung my arrow. Time slowed down as I could see my arrow float towards its target and bury itself into the back part of the elk’s shoulder. The bull raised his head, took four steps, and began rocking. He then flipped over with his legs kicking in the air and succumbed rather quickly. It all happened so fast, and I could not believe how fortunate I had been on that entire hunt.
I thanked the good Lord for all his blessings, including delivering Michael and me safely from what could’ve been a fatal accident to allowing me to harvest one of his magnificent creatures. It was truly a remarkable elk-hunting experience that I will never forget.
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