As I grow older, finding opportunities to spend in the outdoors has become more difficult. I am a junior in high school and a three-sport athlete, so taking a week off to go elk hunting was a commitment I wasn’t able to make. I was committed to hunting, but it needed to be in a location that wouldn’t have me missing more than a few days of school.
My dad and I talked it over, reviewed all of his past editions of Huntin’ Fool, and made a few phone calls. We knew our best choice would be in Idaho based on where we lived and the time we had. Now I just needed to wait until hunting season.
After a long drive Friday after school, we finally arrived at the trailhead, grabbed a few hours of sleep, and were up and ready to go. It was opening morning and the rut had definitely tailed off, but I was hoping there might be a few that were still talking. Sure enough, we heard a bugle in the distance. As my dad always taught me, the first order of business is to close the gap, so we were off. Once we were within a distance I felt comfortable shooting from, we set up and continued to call. The bull was willing to engage but wasn’t willing to come out of the timber.
At that time, Dad had been doing all of the calling, so I said to him, “Mind if I give it a try?”
With a smirk on his face, he said, “Sure.”
I knew what he was thinking, but as always, Dad entertained my idea. I had been practicing but wasn’t proficient enough to create the same sound, which turned out to be a good thing. My first attempt was awful and both of us started laughing, but before I could try again, the bull quickly answered. Dad and I both had bewildered looks on our faces, confused why the bull would answer something that barely resembled another elk. We paused and talked about what to do next, and then the bull bugled again, but this time, it was closer.
Dad said, “Get set up in case he steps out.”
I lay down in the prone position and found a spot in the timber where we thought he might come out. Within minutes, we could see an elk moving through the timber and knew it was a nice bull, but we couldn’t tell how big. Dad and I had previously decided that we would not shoot any bull on the first day. I was really starting to regret that agreement, and even more so when the bull stepped out. He was bigger than anything I had ever seen before, and being that this was my first elk, I was ready to pull the trigger.
I looked at Dad, hoping he would give me the sign, but instead I heard, “Nice bull but not what we are looking for.” There was no way I could hide my disappointment, but Dad said, “Trust me, kiddo, we will see bigger bulls.” I wasn’t feeling very trusting at that point, but nevertheless, I let the bull wander back into the timber.
Two days had passed since our last encounter, and we continued to see and pass on nice bulls and, in my opinion, shooter bulls. With one day left before I had to head back to school, my excitement was waning and doubt was setting in. Dad could tell I was a little down and simply said, “Hang in there. Have a little faith.” Dad has never been one to sugarcoat the situation, so I believed I still had a chance.
That afternoon, we headed out, and it didn’t take long before we spotted a nice 5x5 bull. Dad looked at me and said, “It’s on you at this point. We can shoot that bull or take a chance that a bigger one will appear, but be prepared to eat your tag.” Thanks, Dad, not much help.
As much as I wanted to shoot the bull, I decided that I had waited this long, I might as well roll the dice and hope for the best. Dad and I decided to hike back to the truck, hoping something might be between us and the truck. I had all but settled into the idea that I would be eating tag soup.
All of a sudden, Dad quickly took a knee and said, “Grace, in the field 300 yards away, that’s your bull.”
I couldn’t believe we had hunted all this time and within 400 yards of the truck was this bull. I quickly got into the prone position, acquired the bull, and waited for Dad to give me the green light. It seemed like an eternity because the bull was intermingled with his cows. Dad kept saying, “No shot, no shot.” Then I heard the word, “Clear.” I squeezed the trigger, feeling confident about the shot, and exploded with excitement when Dad said, “He’s down.”
I couldn’t believe my eyes as we walked up to this magnificent bull. His mass and dark antlers were beautiful. What a privilege to take this bull. I guess that saying about dads know best may have a little truth, at least this time.
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