On a String- Idaho Archery Elk OTC Tag

Hearing bugling bulls in September has to be a highlight of an archer’s year. For eleven months of the calendar, elk is on the brain almost like a daydream. Getting to be boots on the ground with a level playing field makes for one of the most thrilling and heartbreaking months of the year. This Idaho Archery Elk hunt was one for the books.

After four long consecutive years with tag soup in September, it finally came together last fall. Everyone has their sights set on killing a giant bull each year. Ideal? Yes. Realistic? Not really. Some may argue with that, but with an Idaho OTC archery tag, my standards are always kept within reason. A notched elk tag each September is the goal, but as it turns out – elk have this other plan sometimes.

When one dreams of the “perfect archery elk scenario,” a screaming bull typically fills the silence with the rib-rattling bugle as they scream in your face through the pines. You’re set up to have him land in your lap as he argues through bugle space with your buddy's calls behind you. Closer and closer he sounds until you finally see him emerge through the trees within range. The wind steadily blows against your face. You’re calm, collected, and ready to draw your bow at the perfect moment. He never even glances in your direction as he is locked into the “other bull” beyond you.

Here is where all seven stars, Jupiter, and the Elk Gods must align. This is usually the make-or-break point to any elk hunting story:

Four years of this exact scene running on repeat through my mind–a series of events that seem few and far between, as the last time I was in this exact situation I was able to successfully stick a bull at 32 yards. Knowing it was possible and not just what dreams are made of, we kept trying for a repeat, but each year September would come and go without avail.

Ten straight days to spend dedicated to the elk woods seems like plenty of time to put one on the ground. This September, all it took was two and a half.

Our first evening was filled with excitement–elk everywhere and rutting pretty hard since it was mid-month. The next morning, waking up was easy knowing the bulls were fired up. We hiked back into the area with headlamps turned to the red mode before the sun came up. Nothing. Not a peep, not an elk, nothin'. It felt like they had literally disappeared, as elk do sometimes.

We spent the entire day searching high and low with plenty of intermittent mountain naps. As evening crept in and spirits were low for an evening play, our Candy Crush was interrupted by a new herd spilling over a saddle into our canyon.

One herd bull, a harem of cows, and a couple of satellite bulls fed into the basin. Minor rut action, but we had to give it a try. We raced to get on their elevation as they fed. The herd bull was bugling as he pleased with no rhyme or reason and raking trees casually. No play was possible that evening, so we quietly backed out to leave them be for the next day.

Up and at ‘em early the next morning, we walked by red headlamp again to the same saddle. As we crested into the basin, the welcoming sound of bugles coming from below gave us some hope. The sun came up and gave us some light on the scene below–the same bull, with a completely different demeanor and attitude that changed overnight, was screaming and chasing cows all over the hillside.

With the wind not cooperating, we, unfortunately, watched the elk work directly away from us to the next big canyon as we sipped on our coffee. Lord knows we can’t catch up to elk, so we watched and waited while formulating five different possible game plans.

Suddenly and surprisingly, the elk came spilling back towards us, single file and on a dead run, minus the two rag horns. As they came onto the big mahogany face, they settled back in and started feeding. Eventually, they bedded in a great spot to make a move on them. We decided that since the bull’s attitude had changed, we would attempt to sneak in close to the bedded herd and see if he’d come take a look at us mid-day.

That sense of a time crunch feeling came over us as we high-tailed it back to the saddle and made a quick climb to the peak which would put us directly above the bedded herd. We quietly crept down the face to our OnX-pin-marked spot where we figured we’d be close to everyone. Sure enough, 40 yards away was the top cow through the trees. She was bedded and chewing cud with her back to me.

Steven dropped back about 40 yards to start raking. No response. He then let out a faint bugle and all we got was a half-assed bedded response back. However, it gave up his pinpoint location to me, and I had a bead on him through the trees at 65 yards. No shot opportunity due to the thick trees, so we settled in and waited. I knew that this was either going to happen fast and furious or it was going to be a patience test.

For three and a half hours I watched this bull snooze in his bed through my binos. Time seemed to stand still in those hours but fly by at the same time. Finally, the bull became restless and stood. My heart raced as I looked back at Steven to give him the sign that he was up and to let 'er rip on the bugle tube. He got the memo via hand signals, and within moments, the bull fired back.

It was suddenly on like Donkey Kong as the two of them screamed back and forth for a few minutes. Helpless and in the middle of the screaming match, I waited and watched. The bull was pacing back and forth, raking trees, and becoming more and more fired up. He disappeared. As I frantically looked and listened for him, his antler tips emerged through the trees in front of me as he mowed jackpines over along the way. I quickly drew, knowing he was on my 40-yard mark.

Just as quickly as he appeared, he ducked behind a pine patch out of sight. I let down. I could barely see him through the thick branches. Still hooked onto my D-loop, I looked back to Steven and frantically signaled to bugle again with my eyes and elbow. He let another one rip along with a few branches breaking.

Another rib-rattling bugle rang out into the opening I was standing in as I came to full draw for the second time. With his head tipped back and lips curled he strutted in front of me, directly in line with the 30-yard row of rocks I had memorized. My yellow pin settled on him as I tracked him across the opening to just about broadside. He seemed to be on a mission and wasn’t about to stop on his own, so I let out a quick cow "mew." He stopped.

My hinge clicked over as my 30-yard pin held steady on the pump station. The shot broke clean, and as the arrow thumped him, he bucked like a rodeo horse. With only a dust cloud left in the clearing, I looked back at Steven in disbelief that our plan had actually worked.

The longest thirty minutes of any hunt came and went as we collected ourselves and our things. Broken in half and covered in bubbled blood, the arrow landed just 10 yards away from where I hit him. A short 60-yard track job downhill led us to him, piled up around a tree.

Cause of death: Shot to the heart.

After an evening spent bent over this bull, it took two heavy trips between Steven and me to get him out. Back at camp, we had celebratory beers and ibuprofen to say "cheers" to a successful hunt.

This was a pinnacle archery elk hunt that will go down as a core memory when I recall that “perfect scenario.” It helps when they follow the game plan and come in on a string.