Story By: Curt Nushart
My son Shane and I have been archery hunting for elk on Colorado public lands for the past nine years. We go on a “do it yourself” type of hunt, and our first few “rookie” years weren’t very successful, to say the least. But that never deterred us. We always just felt blessed to be out there enjoying time together. Some years, we didn’t draw a tag but would take information we collected from virtual scouting and make the trip from Wisconsin to Colorado anyway. This gave us the opportunity to check out new areas with boots on the ground and maybe get in a little grouse hunting. We learned a lot of valuable information each year, even if we didn’t encounter elk. Harvesting elk—any elk—with a bow was really becoming an elusive achievement, but we sure had fun trying.
The 2025 hunting season marked the ninth year of our annual ten-day hunt, and, although we had many close encounters, we found ourselves once again unable to close the distance enough to launch an arrow. Rising at 3 a.m., hiking and hunting rigorously, and returning to camp well after 10 p.m., in addition to setting a few overnight spike camps, was starting to take its toll. After the first week of this, we started to become fatigued and discouraged.
It had been raining and sleeting all night, and the morning of the eighth day still had a bone-chilling drizzle coming down. Our sore bodies were telling us to stay in our warm beds and not face the damp cold. But, with reluctant persistence, we got up, ate a light breakfast, and drove to the trailhead where we began another day’s hunt. It seemed luck was on our side because the drizzle stopped just before we arrived.
Our pre-dawn plan was to hike to a meadow where a bull had wanted to play the game earlier in the week but had gone silent before we could get close enough. We were hoping to possibly locate that bull again or maybe have other bulls give away their location while we hiked. Our hearts slowly sank in the morning darkness as our location bugles didn’t receive any replies. We hiked on and stuck with the plan to get to the meadow before sunrise.
A few miles into the hike, we were surprised by a five-by-five bull moving across a small clearing. We knew he could hear our location calls, although he had not replied, and now he stood silently in the dim pre-dawn light at about 100 yards. He started to move off, but with a few soft cow calls, I was able to stop him. Shane nocked an arrow, and I silently slipped back to see if a few more calls might draw it closer. The bull must have had better places to be because, after twenty minutes of this game, he moved off into the timber without a sound. I’m always amazed at how silently those large animals can move through thick timber, but at that point, a little disappointment was starting to creep in.
We hiked on, persisting with the original plan, and found our somewhat dismal outlook quickly changed as a bull ripped off in the direction of the meadow. Game on!
My son, Shane, had drawn the tag this year, so we split up, and he moved out in front while I fell back a little and tried to shadow him, staying upwind to call the bull across. This bull was very vocal, so rather than bugling at him right away and running the risk of pushing him off, I began making soft cow calls. He responded to the calls but held his ground, so we quietly began to move forward to close the distance. From time to time, I would catch glimmers of Shane through the timber; I tried to remain upwind and about 60 yards back from him.
Suddenly, Shane came to full draw, facing the opposite direction! A different bull had quietly come within range, and I quickly repositioned to draw it across upwind. The bull had other plans and quietly moved off again. We later determined it was probably the same quiet bull that had surprised us earlier that morning. It seems he knew the real party was at this meadow.
We began moving in again, and the morning started getting interesting! Cows began calling all around us, and it became apparent we were in the middle of the party. Two new bulls joined in with challenge bugles and chuckles from about half a mile away, and our bull was beginning to sound agitated. We closed the gap to about 100 to 150 yards, and given the new circumstances and the hunch that he was still out in the meadow, I decided to send out a bugle of my own to see if I could get the bull moving in our direction and into the timber.
His response sounded like an angry elephant! In a moment or two, he ripped off again even closer with a raspy bugle and chuckles! Quickly, I returned the challenge, bugling over the top of him, and the bull almost immediately began raking a tree! At this point, I thought, “When in Rome do what the Romans do.” I grabbed a club from the ground and started raking my own sapling, stomping around, and breaking sticks until I was almost out of breath. The bull bugled again as he moved closer, trying to find his new challenger.
Suddenly, there came a thump and a loud crashing, which made many thoughts race through my mind. In all the excitement, I had almost forgotten about Shane! Had the bull run off? Had a cow busted him? Had he taken the shot?
While I didn’t want to get my hopes up, in the back of my mind, I imagined he must have been able to get an arrow off! I thought I’d heard the familiar “drum” sound that a well-placed arrow often makes on a whitetail! And then there was the absence of bugling from that angry bull! I kept on cow calling on the chance that a wounded or blown out bull might need calming. Other bugles could still be heard in the distance along with a few nearby cow calls, but the adrenaline rush became more tranquil.
I stayed in my position, softly cow calling, and after ten minutes or so, a familiar little whistle came from Shane’s direction. It was our hunting signal to say, “I’m over here!” and “Let’s meet to discuss our next move.” WOW! I couldn’t believe it! My hunch that he had shot was almost certainly true!
With slow, quiet steps, I walked in his direction and found him wearing a smile that almost met on the back of his head! He had a blood-soaked arrow in his hand, and he silently mouthed the word “PASS-THROUGH!”
After waiting thirty minutes or so, we began to track and found the bull about 70 yards away from where it fell at the edge of the meadow. It was a double-lung pass-through.
As in previous years, we put everything into this hunt. Sometimes it can become discouraging, trying so hard to down an animal. Don’t get me wrong, harvesting an animal is the main goal, but our concept, which really helps to relieve a little of the stress and remain positive and persistent, is simply to remind ourselves that the final harvest is really just a bonus. The true blessings and fun come from just being out there, enjoying our adventures together as father and son.