Shawn’s Blizzard Bull of 2013 will likely be in my top 5 hunts for a long time. This bull topped off a very long, tough day in the mountains and served as a good reminder that in the most unlikely of situations and conditions, great things can happen if you stay the course and keep hunting.
The early morning segment of this hunt started off just as Shawn stated. A long, steep climb in the dark, a few bugles, a few answers, and few good set ups. The elk were fairly eager to respond, but none of the bulls were fired up enough to do anything about it. Finally late in the morning, one set up did draw a bull in.
Listening, calling, and waiting
I was calling from midway across a small bench, Shawn was looking downhill from the edge of the bench. Ideally we would set the caller farther back than we did but this particular hillside had to be a close-together setup. I knew where Shawn was, but due to the nature of the slope, I couldn’t see him. I could only see which tree he was under. The brush was thick but things looked good for a close quarters encounter. The bull had continued to respond and move with us much later into the morning hours than I would have imagined. Finally he showed a little emotion and made a line for us. I remember, just before ducking over the rise, pointing downhill and giving Shawn the wide-eyed “he’s coming” signal. I kept with the cow call and a little brush raking and sat back to watch the show. I was shocked how quickly the bull covered the ground and in no time I could see antler tips moving remarkably close to where Shawn was set up. Fully expecting to hear a shot, I was on full alert: arrow nocked, release hooked up, ready. If a follow up or an opportunity came my way, I had a Slick Trick ready for action.
Nothing happened. Soon it was apparent that the bull had simply ghosted back into the brush. I called a few more times and got a few more replies, but this bull had given us the slip. He’d gotten lucky as it turns out, because he was definitely in range. (See “Tree-licker”)
Shawn’s close encounter gave way to rain. After a simple lunch it turned into snow. We were still getting into elk though, so we kept hunting. I could sense Shawn’s disappointment when he offered to sell me his bow and his pack, but I didn’t have my wallet with me. I think it would have been a bargain though. Especially if he would carry it off the mountain for me.
We climbed higher in the snow and discovered some really good looking ground. Things were starting to get pretty damp by now and it was only about 2 o’clock. After coming this far, neither of us wanted to bail on the evening hunt so we figured we’d kill a few hours with a fire and warm up a little. As Shawn mentioned, this resulted in me getting a turn to drop into the canyon and stalk a bugling bull. The snow was really piling up by the time I got back. My pack, which I had placed safely at the base of a tree, was nearly buried when I returned for it. We hustled to the ridge top to make a plan.
Evening was closing in and with so much cloud cover and a blizzard, we decided to hunt our way back down the face we had climbed that morning. We could hear a handful of bulls below us so it made sense to pursue them instead of the one that had just led me part way up the canyon again. We’d slide a few steps, fall a few times, stop and call and do it again. We actually made it down fairly quickly.
As we neared the bottom, three bulls turned into many more. It was surreal. We scrambled along a fairly hidden trail and found a good place to set up on one particularly vocal bull. Again, the blizzard conditions and terrain dictated our set up and I was calling a little closer to Shawn and the decoy than I would have preferred. I knew if the bull came all the way in, he would expect to the “cow” by the time he got in range. The decoy, I think, saved this setup. I took cover beneath a big fir tree and began calling. Shawn set up as close to the opening as he could. We had this bull coming on a rope and he finally appeared about 100 yards out. When he crossed the 60 yard line, a group of 8 or so Angus cut him off. He stopped and stood for a few minutes. I thought it was over. Then he continued on his march as I tried my best to be the cow elk of his dreams. I watched, with an arrow nocked, as Shawn came to full draw. A cow chirp stopped the bull and his attention was on me. That’s when I heard it: the quietest bow in the world. I thought Shawn had broken his bow sometime earlier when it barely made a sound at the shot. Turns out that slush is a good sound and vibration dampener. The bull wheeled took a few big hops as I stepped from behind the tree and came to full draw, I cow called frantically. I knew Shawn had missed, but I saw that the bull was stopped and allowing him to nock another arrow and draw again. With my 40 and 50 yard pins bracketing his vitals, I watched as a G5 Montec laced his lungs. I knew from the sound that he wasn’t going far and that Shawn’s Hoyt was just fine. I let down and watched Shawn’s fist rise and fall in the classic pump motion. His bull fell in sight.
We were celebrating when we realized there were still bulls bugling all around us. I bugled, they bugled. I cow called, they bugled. I nocked an arrow and set up. Both Shawn and I called, and the bulls kept bugling.
Soon a group of cows appeared and walked the same trail the bull had come on minutes earlier. I was fully prepared to shoot a cow at this point and cringed when they turned at about 70 yards. Their path led them to my right and I was able to find a shooting lane through the tree I was crouched next to. I ranged the first of the group at 50 yards, and by the time the second large cow was stepping into the lane, I was at full draw. I stopped her with a cow call and settled my pin. I knew I was pushing my bow into the tree, so I took a moment to analyze things. It turned out that my top limb was up against a tree limb. I knew if I shot, it would get messy and the arrow would not leave my bow cleanly so I let down. This was no time to take a bad shot. We had a bull on the ground, and we were both already cold and wet. It was dark within 10 minutes and I returned my dripping arrow to its place in my quiver.
As we walked to Shawn’s bull, we found a bloody arrow sticking from the wet snow. It would have made an awesome picture but we were already pushing it letting ourselves get this cold and wet with so much to still be done. We discussed just field dressing the bull and packing it out in the morning but agreed to come back with pack frames that night. In hindsight, a morning pack out would have been much better. At the time, the snow was falling so fast that I had no idea whether we’d be able to get there in the morning. Not to mention the obvious reasons I don’t like leaving any meat out overnight.
We trudged back to our trucks in the falling snow and scrambled to get them brushed off and out of the hole we had parked them in when roads were dry and getting stuck was the least of my concerns. Shawn led the way and crawled up and out with little trouble. I got second-tracks and with the weight of a heavy topper and a week’s worth of hunting gear on board, barely got up the slushy two track. We drove down to where we thought would be in a direct line with the bull and readied our load hauling packs.
We knew we had to cross the river, but I wouldn’t have guessed it was as deep as it turned out to be. Shawn plunged in and it got deep quick. I chose another spot and it was only about as deep as the tops of my boots. My feet, though not dry by now, didn’t take on any more water on the first trip.
The other river bank was a challenge too. Thick, wet brush hung out over the river bed and a steep bank held the stems, branches, and more brush. We finally crawled through and got up on the flat. We made a line across the meadow and found the bull fairly quickly. The snow was coming down so hard that our headlamps mostly just illuminated the falling snow. It was really hard to see much more than the heavy wet flakes.
We got down to business as soon as we got there. We chose to break the bull down via the gutless method and quickly had two loads ready to go. I took a hind quarter and Shawn took two front quarters and some boned out meat. We opted to carry this before we broke down the rest of the carcass as a quick hike sounded better than standing in the blizzard. I was soaked and holding legs and loading packs did nothing to warm me up. We shouldered our packs and headed for the trucks.
The hike out
This time I got wet. After we crashed through the brush and down into the river, I simply followed Shawn. Knee deep water quickly found its way up my pant legs and over the tops of my boots. I know I said some bad words because Shawn apologized for getting us into our current situation. I wouldn't have had it any other way.
We tossed the meat into the snow in the back of Shawn’s truck and went back for the rest. As Shawn cut meat, I pushed and pulled and pointed; directing Shawn on what little I know about “elk management.” More than once I had to hold my hands against the still-warm elk meat to warm them up enough to work straps and buckles. I again shouldered a hind quarter and Shawn took the rest of the boned out meat and dragged the head behind him. This river crossing was similar. the water that was trapped in my boots had warmed up some, so the third and fourth dunkings weren't as frustrating.
With an elk in the truck, we headed for lower elevation. Ours were the only tracks on the road the entire drive down the mountain. Brush, limbs, and entire trees hung low in the road under the weight of unseasonable snow fall. It’s a wonder that no trees had broken off and blocked our path. That drive down, with the heater on full blast, is the coldest I have ever been, hands down. I could not control my shivering for the first few miles. By the time I had drained my first Cold Smoke, I was finally starting to warm up. When the snow slid from the cab of my truck and rendered my windshield wipers useless I had to get out and clean off my hood and windshield. The wetness and intense cold returned instantly and I actually wondered how close to early-stage hypothermia I might be. I warmed up faster this time and the snow finally turned to rain.
I have never been so uncomfortable and had so much fun at the same time. Seeing Shawn stand up in the falling snow and pump his fist wildly was awesome. He’d made another opportunity for himself by choosing to keep hunting. The highs and lows were plentiful that day and we were both drained long before dark. I don’t know if we will ever be around that many bugling bulls in one day at the same time, but the September Blizzard Bull will always keep me on the mountain until dark. - Kirk T. Norris
