My husband, Randy, and I were blessed with a couple good archery elk tags this year, his in Colorado and mine in New Mexico. We started the trip in Colorado, scouting a few days before heading off to New Mexico for my hunt, arriving on the 2nd of September where we had seen very few bulls but had a lot of area to hunt. I tend to have a little less confidence in my archery abilities and was hoping for numerous opportunities, but that was not the case. We hunted hard every day, at least as hard as you can with daily thunderstorms. We saw a few herds and some satellite bulls, but they were very closed lipped and really not in the rut yet. We were having a hard time locating the elk. I put a few stalks on some 5-points but couldn’t get close enough for a shot. I love that type of hunting, though, just me, the elk, and God.
Another day, we came face to face with a herd bull with 10 cows on accident. We ran them to another hunter who got the bull. The most memorable one was when we saw a bull late in the morning after hiking for hours. He was two ridges away, bedding down. I decided to put a stalk on him. It took a while to get behind the ridge he was on, locate the exact trees, and get the wind right. I was super excited and dropped my pack with Randy to creep the last 60 yards. I no sooner left Randy than I saw movement to my right. Glancing over, I saw a lone wild horse stallion. I love horses, but what in the world was he doing 60 yards from my bull on a mountain at 9,000 feet elevation? I knew he would blow the whole hunt. I motioned to Randy, and the horse started running, blowing and bucking like a maniac. I left the scene and hustled to where the elk were. Sure enough, I was just in time to see them take off at a run over the other side of the mountain. You can’t tell me God doesn’t have a sense of humor. He knows how much I love horses, but not in that scenario. Crazy!
As the time was drawing near for the season to end, the action started to pick up slowly. We decided to hunt a big basin up high that looked really good. Getting up there after a thunderstorm late in the afternoon, Randy let out a bugle and immediately we were answered. I scurried up the trail a ways as we set up, not even realizing I had walked right by a nice cinnamon bear about 10 yards to my right. Randy watched and listened as he left town! He had a couple bulls answering but not coming in. The wind was wrong and things did not feel right, so we decided back out and come back in the morning. We'd get set up at first light.
We had about a 40-minute four-wheeler ride to get even close to where we wanted to hunt and then a long hike the next morning in the dark. We were set up and ready to go at daylight. There was a nice meadow, and Randy began the cow calling and bugling game. It took a while, but finally we had them answering from a few different directions. Let the games begin! One in particular stood out. He would come in so far then fade away. We decided to go down to his level and try him again.
We went down the ridge a ways and set up. I had several nice shooting lanes, and I could hear the bull was just inside the tree line. Randy was behind me about 50 yards, and the bull not only answered but was coming in hot to kick Randy’s rear. I ranged and stayed behind my tree. It would be a 20-yard shot if he kept coming. Pretty quick, I saw his horns and his breath as he was screaming in a straight line to Randy. I stepped back and drew and then waited as the bull stepped out. My shot looked and felt perfect. The bull whirled and took off. Then, he stopped. I tried to sneak in for a second shot, just in case, but he left town. Now it was the part I hate the most - waiting. We relived it all over and over and then set out to track him. He was bleeding fairly good but not as good as I had hoped. We jumped him about 100 yards away and could tell he was in a bad way. He had a herd and certainly didn't want to blow the whole works. They can get adrenaline going and go quite a ways, so we backed out for a little longer. Here again, I was not good at the waiting game. When we came back, we tracked him about another 100 yards and jumped him again. This time, he took off running and was bleeding hard. Finally, this ended and it was bull down.
The moment we all live for arrived, walking up to my bull and getting to lay my hands on it. As I grabbed his horns and gave thanks to God for this harvest, it dawned on me that it was 9-11. Immediately, I was tearing up as this day means so much to so many and especially to those who have lost family in the fight since then. We have lost two nephews in this last war, as well as had family in just about every war there has been in American history. Our respect for those men and women who serve runs at an all-time high. I have a flag I was given that has every name of all who have made the ultimate sacrifice since 9-11. I carry that at rodeos and parades to show people how many have paid that sacrifice. Humbling is the only word that comes to mind, and it is five years old. It seemed this bull was meant for me on this day in memory of those who gave so much. I will never forget that feeling, the honor, the appreciation I had not only for my bull but that God allowed me to harvest him and to live in a country that, despite its problems, is one of the few places we can live free, hunt, and enjoy what God gives us.
I shot that bull just a little after 7 a.m. We finally made it to the truck after pictures, quartering him up, and packing him out to the four-wheeler and then to the truck about an hour after dark. It was a long, blister-causing, and wonderful day. I was taking home Ol' 9-11 with a smile on my face and a happy heart, blessed beyond belief. We would be heading out in the morning for another adventure as we returned to Colorado for Randy’s archery elk.
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