Problems that arose and resulting consequences that threatened to compromise my early September 2016 archery elk hunt could fill a book… and make a grown man cry. This was a highly coveted and difficult to draw “rut” hunt near home in Arizona’s White Mountains – one of the best areas in one of the best states for big trophy quality bull elk. It took 8 long years to draw the tag, my first in Arizona for elk with a bow. Failing to properly prepare for a hunt of this caliber would be considered lunacy, even sacrilege by some. Thus, my 3-part plan was thoughtfully devised to include physical conditioning, a new set of arrows and practical target practice with my hunting bow and finally, lots of scouting for that dream bull.

Conditioning started off well, in the form of a three mile hike in the mountains with my pack of Labrador retrievers during 4th of July weekend. Follow-up hiking was unexpectedly but necessarily delayed during recovery from cramping and fatigue in my sexagenarian legs… In my 40’s and 50’s, I was fit to hunt after a few days of vigorous exercise. Now in my mid-60’s, I quickly learned that crash conditioning just makes you tired and sore rather than fit.

With daylight shortening as summer began fading into fall, and a seemingly endless onslaught of business issues requiring my attention (plus the 2-hour roundtrip commute to my shop), daily practice with my bow was reduced to shooting a few arrows on weekends. And scouting for the big hunt? Ha! I made one short over-night trip south to where I killed my last bull. This area had subsequently burned in the 2011 Wallow Fire, was now strewn with deadfall and overrun with wild horses, and apparently held few elk. Fortunately, most of the country between home and shop was in my designated hunt area, and a number of evening drives home were extended into darkness, which accounted for the bulk of my scouting efforts.

So what do you do when planning and preparation for a long awaited and greatly anticipated hunt turn to crap? Just go hunting…

Four weeks before the hunt my 11 year old lab Maybelle, became ill. This was a tough one. Despite hundreds of dollars for testing with no definitive diagnosis, hundreds more for a shotgun treatment approach, and after several all-nighters nursing her weakening condition, the decision was made to send my beloved pet to the Happy Hunting Grounds. A week or so later my chocolate pup Gracie ripped a large flap in the hide on the nape of her neck, bending a steel support brace on my utility trailer as she plowed into it on a typical flat-out retrieve. Wound positioning and the volume of stitches required constant attention for the next 10 days. Just five days before the hunt my wife informed me she was going to Texas for a week or so to attend festivities surrounding a milestone mega-numbered high school reunion. With no time to find caretakers for my pack of retrievers, and new sod and other landscape amendments that required daily watering in the unusually hot weather, I was now forced into commuting from home rather than making camp closer to where I would hunt. It was looking like this would be Murphy’s elk hunt rather than mine…

Enough setbacks, right? Nope! Just 11 hours before the hunt, my hunting bow exploded in a final practice session. One of the cables broke at the lower cam, lacerating my wrist, nicking the radial artery and then smacking me in the face before launching the bow 15 feet, despite a snug-fitting wrist strap. This could have been serious… Fortunately, my back-up bow was tuned and ready, and I was able to handle it despite the injury and an additional 10 pounds of draw weight. Next morning at 4:00 AM, with wrist heavily bandaged and tightly wrapped, I simply sucked it up and went hunting.

A good friend told me about an area that held lots of bulls the previous season. Scouting there the weekend prior to the hunt, I located 4 big bulls in an obviously well used bedding area on the shaded north slope of an impossibly steep mountain. The young 6×6 bull I bumped at 30 yards circled toward the 9200 foot summit, gathering his buddies en route – an old 5×6 with one funky antler, a massive 6×7, and a stunning long-beamed 8×9. In succession they jumped the fence onto the Fort Apache Indian Reservation, which bordered two sides of my hunt unit. With full moon approaching and warm weather discouraging the onset of rutting activity, I suspected these bulls were feeding on a nearby flat on the reservation at night, and then cooling their jets in seclusion on the heavily forested slope. Opening morning, with bugles on both sides of the mountain, I sneaked into this bedding area and spotted the young 6×6 as he passed on a trail 34 yards below. He came back to my cow call and offered a clear shot, but I passed (!!!). After all, this was just the first morning of a 2-week hunt, and I was in no hurry to end it early.

Another mountain a mile and a half away also held elk under similar conditions, and these would be my morning areas for the first week of the hunt. My afternoon area about 20 miles away held 3 different herds of cows, and at least 7 mature bulls. Two were real beauties with perfect 6×6 antler sets – one colored reddish-brown with ivory tips, the other more than 50-inches wide with long whale tail beams to compliment his massive body. With the rut delayed, feeding was their top priority, so my hunt plan here was to ambush one of these bulls as they moved out of the forest onto the grassy flats. When I arrived that first afternoon around 4:00, the reddish-horned bull was already out feeding with the ladies, and I watched more cows and bulls file out as darkness ended day one.

Over the next few days there were several opportunities and close calls. One morning I caught the funky antlered 5×6 bedded alone, ruminating only 19 yards away. Later I spotted a 5×5 bedded in the security of fallen logs on the steep shaded hillside. Dropping my pack to fetch my camera made a slight noise, alerting the beautiful young bull. He cut the 40 yard distance by half trying to locate the source of the noise, then bolted downhill when he recognized my hunkered down form as a threat. One afternoon I ignored a couple of weak sounding bugles from a ridge as I passed, single-mindedly moving toward an observation position on the point of a big grassy flat. Minutes later, the 50+ inch whale tail bull emerged from the timber behind me with two 6×6 buddies! I got within 64 yards of the big guy as the bulls grazed, obviously more interested in feeding than breeding. He never offered a shot, though one of his mates did – quartering away at 40 yards during my sneak – but I passed. The following afternoon my cover ran out at 80 yards, as the whale tail bull moved out on the flat. From 200 yards away, my best lonely cow imitation interrupted his feeding and he circled my position, but then jumped the fence onto the reservation and disappeared.

Another day while changing locations at noon, I spotted a cow feeding on juniper berries and decided to investigate. An hour later with elk all around, I nocked an arrow and drew. The heavy-antlered 6×7 herd bull chased a rival satellite bull into my shooting lane but did not follow, so I let-off. Trailing the herd of 20+ through the piñon and juniper for the next 2 hours, I slipped into bow range again as the big bull emerged from watering in a creek. Although there was no opportunity to take a clean shot, it was another really close encounter. This was shaping up to be a great hunt after all.

Day 1 of week 2 dawned briskly at 29-degrees. Optimistic the significant temperature drop and brilliant Harvest Moon might trigger rutting activity, I listened for bugles while waiting at my truck for enough natural light to navigate. Adding a light jacket for the first time this morning also added a third layer of scent control, and after 15 minutes of uncharacteristic silence it was time to head up the mountain. Twenty minutes later while making my way across the steep northern slope I heard the first faint bugle, and then another. It took more than an hour to cover 400 yards, carefully inching along while regularly checking the wind. Most are too impatient to hunt like this, but I’m old and slow and have learned it’s the best way to approach bedded animals in heavy cover.

Suddenly, a big challenge bugle shattered the silence. With adrenalin surging I cautiously moved down the slope to a lower parallel trail and continued at a snail’s pace toward the bugle. Soon I could hear elk moving about, and then there was visual contact in the form of color flashing in the shaded darkness of the dense forestation. Another big bugle, and then a young bull passed on the trail below. A cow with calf quickly followed, while I slipped in closer to the action. More cows and another young bull exited, both above and below. From the sounds of hooves pounding turf and antlers thrashing brush it was obvious that a rutting herd bull was heading my way. Game on!

On each of four prior trips across this mountain and through the bedding area, just a couple of cow elk were encountered. This caused me to believe that most cows were staying on the adjacent reservation, possibly tended by one or both of the bigger bulls I had bumped while scouting. Now positioned in the middle of a sizeable herd, I suspected that the bull causing all the commotion was one of the two I was looking for – and his big threatening bugle was quite convincing. Unfortunately the trees were so thick that I couldn’t get a clear view of this beast. Fortunately I was in a good spot, with a small shooting window to each of two trails, 30 yards above and 30 yards below. As more cows and calves and another young bull with lots of points vacated, I anticipated arrowing this herd bull without getting a clear look at him if a shot opportunity presented.

The next big bugle was so close I could feel it! Now it appeared the bull was pushing a hot cow directly at me – but concern over being busted without getting a shot lasted only a minute. Two more cows hurried through my shooting lane on the trail above, and I caught a flash of antler and the telltale light coloration of a bull’s hide following behind. As the next cow passed through, open mouthed and panting, the bull paused – and I pulled that 70-pound bowstring like it was a noodle. When he stepped out a few seconds later I didn’t look at his antlers. Instead, I focused on a spot just behind his front shoulder, and then watched my arrow disappear through that spot as the bull walked through the narrow opening. Recovery was short and quick, as I found my bull by accident just a few minutes later while searching for blood. There was very little, as the arrow did not pass through. Instead it made an unexplained 90-degree turn and remained completely inside the bull’s body. He ran only 50 yards almost straight uphill and expired on top. Where he came to rest was quite possibly the only flat spot on that entire mountain.

Despite its inauspicious beginning, this turned into a great hunt. My bull was not one of the giants that Arizona is known for, but I wasn’t disappointed. Taking this mature herd bull tending 25-30 cows with a perfectly placed arrow at 33 yards, hunting solo on a steep mountainside at 9067 feet where most hunters would not go, was a truly rewarding experience. When he heard the story, Geo called this the “Karma Bull” and although I cannot disagree given the circumstances, I’m thankful to just call him “mine.”