When the New Mexico draw results came in and we finally got drawn, I was excited, to say the least. Trying a different strategy for a less desirable unit paid off. We were using my dad’s age old philosophy, “If the unit has a success rate of 10 % and you’re one of the 10%, it’s 100% for you!” It was definitely going to take some work to be one of the 10%, but like one of his other useful sayings, “The elk are where you find them.” It was entirely true.
This year would be different, and as I made the call to tell my dad the news, I wondered if he would even be healthy enough to go. Dad had been undergoing cancer radiation treatment, so for him to actually make the trip was up in the air. He said he felt pretty good and had a few more weeks of treatment to go, so the preparation began.
I started planning our hunt and mapping areas I wanted to scout out. I reached out to Huntin' Fool members who had drawn in the past, and the consensus was that it was going to be a hard hunt as none of them had been successful over the last few three years.
Late July, I set out from Arizona with my good friend, Robert, for a New Mexico weekend adventure to scout the unit. To our surprise, we were seeing bulls 30 minutes into the first morning. In fact, we found bulls all day, 14 in total and 2 different groups of cows. I learned two things on that trip. 1 - the unit does hold elk, and 2 - if it says trail, it means it used to be a trail 40 years ago and do not attempt even with the best off-road vehicles. You might ask, “How bad could it be?” Yeah, let’s just say it’s that bad.
My truck was repaired in time for the hunt, and my dad flew into Phoenix from Oregon. The plan was to take it easy, work smarter not harder, and wait out the bulls until we could sweet talk one in. September 1st, opening day, we slept in and went for a late morning drive to check for water at all the tanks I had GPS marks for. That evening, we found ourselves on a ridge working a few cow calls sparsely as we looked for sign. Then, there was a bugle and we looked at each other and said, “Game on.” We moved up the ridge a hundred more yards and called again. My dad caught a glimpse of movement and here he came. I dropped back eight yards or so behind some trees and went to work calling behind and away from me. The bull was trotting in curiously and stopped behind a snag just 35 yards away. I could see him, but Dad couldn’t, and when I lost sight of him as he rounded the brush, I heard a crash and the bull ran off. Immediately, thinking Dad had just arrowed the bull, I cow called and then walked over to him. To my surprise, he hadn't shot. He said there wasn’t time to draw his bow and as the bull rounded the snag he was merely just feet in front of him. The crash I heard was the bull hitting the brakes when they came face to face. It was an exciting way to start the hunt.
On the third day, it was unusually cold. We were up early and heading to a predetermined location when a group of elk crossed our path in the dark. We stopped the truck, and Dad let out a bugle. The herd bull responded, setting off a chain reaction of satellite bull bugles. We pulled the truck as far off the road as we could, got our gear ready, and waited until there was enough light to pursue. The herd bull had driven his cows east into a rugged canyon, but the satellite bulls were still above us on the western slope. We worked our way up the hillside, trying to get close. We spotted the first bull 250 yards ahead, getting further out of reach.
We had already gone about a mile when I asked my dad, "Do you head back and drive around the mountain and come in from the top?"
He said, "No, there’s one more bull and he’s a tail-dragger. Let’s try to catch him."
I told my dad to lead the way. Surprisingly, the old man pulled the hill and 20 minutes later we found ourselves in position. After a few sweet cow calls, here came the bull. We had perfect wind, and the sun was to our backs. Side by side, we stood tucked into a juniper. Suddenly, the bull appeared. Intent on finding “these cows,” he curled his lips, trying to catch their scent. He was 82 yards away and hung up. I was considering a shot when Dad went for broke and cow called right at him. The bull stopped and turned, looking right in our direction. Surprisingly, he walked towards us. He was looking intensely for these cows he’d been hearing. He stopped at 65 yards and turned his head to bugle, and we drew our bows. My 1 pin slider was still on 78 yards. I took my eyes off the bull for a second, glancing over to my dad and was about to say “ready” when I heard him shoot. Crap! I got back on target as quickly as I could and shot. One, two the arrows flew. Mine was low, but my dad’s found its mark. Crack! The bull spun, and blood sprayed. You got him, Dad! Good shot!
I went back to get the truck, and 40 minutes later, I was back on the scene finding an old 4x4 trail to get the truck close. A few yards from where the bull stood, there lay my arrow in the dirt with chunks of hair. I had just grazed him, but there was blood all over the ground. Within 10 yards, there lay both halves of dad’s arrow and puddles of blood on the ground. He was bleeding from both sides, and this was the best blood trail ever. In just 70 yards, there he lay.
The whole thing was pretty incredible when you stop and think about it. Here was this old guy recovering from cancer, climbing a mountain, calling in a bull in a low density unit, and shooting him lights out at 65 yards on the third day. You can’t say it was just plain luck. You can, however, say he was one of the 10% and when you’re one of the 10% you’re 100% successful.
New Mexico Elk
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