Yesterday, I kicked myself in the balls so hard that I can still taste the vomit in my throat.
The morning started early and slow. I took my time getting dressed, made coffee and enjoyed the night sky for a few minutes. My hike began early enough that I reached my listening post/glassing point in the dark. Silence. I bugled a few times to no avail. The darkness began to dissipate and I glassed what I could. Devoid of any obvious animals I kept hiking. At a promising location along the ridge I let out a screaming bugle and was pleased to hear an almost inaudible growl back from the bottom. I double timed it down and around to get the thermals right for my approach. Knowing I was close, I chirped a few cow calls and instantly the bull screamed back. CLOSE. I stepped behind a tree and slid my pack off. He screams again. CLOSER! And coming in hot. I peak around the tree and the bull is at 60 walking straight at me, he passes the last tree and is coming head on at me. Briefly, he stops, turns broadside to square up with a small fir tree. 42 yards. I can see his open eyes and when I attempt to draw he jerks his head up and starts coming right at me! I'm shaking so hard that I have to rest my arrow against the tree to stop it. My brain is telling me to get skinny, lean back, draw the bow and hope for the best. But my body is frozen with adrenaline. The bull walks up, comes around my tree and looks me right in the face. Less than a single yard between our noses. A long moment passes before he spooks. When he does I jerk the bow back and cow call, stopping him at 20 yards, faced away but looking back.
The encounter ends with him galloping away and me feeling crushed by the failure to capitalize on the opportunity of my dreams. I sat there in the timber for a long time, feeling a strange combination of nausea and blessing.
On my hike out, fresh bear scat momentarily removes my mind from the morning.
When I reached the truck, I decided to go home and regroup. Today, I am resting. Next Saturday, two friends from Iowa will join me for the last week of the season with four tags between us and I will need to have my game face back on.
The sting of failure is strong today but I'll get back in the saddle.
As a side note, the hunters really rolled in by the convoy this weekend. Hopefully, we're able to use the pressure to some advantage.
P.S. That bull was no raghorn...
The morning started early and slow. I took my time getting dressed, made coffee and enjoyed the night sky for a few minutes. My hike began early enough that I reached my listening post/glassing point in the dark. Silence. I bugled a few times to no avail. The darkness began to dissipate and I glassed what I could. Devoid of any obvious animals I kept hiking. At a promising location along the ridge I let out a screaming bugle and was pleased to hear an almost inaudible growl back from the bottom. I double timed it down and around to get the thermals right for my approach. Knowing I was close, I chirped a few cow calls and instantly the bull screamed back. CLOSE. I stepped behind a tree and slid my pack off. He screams again. CLOSER! And coming in hot. I peak around the tree and the bull is at 60 walking straight at me, he passes the last tree and is coming head on at me. Briefly, he stops, turns broadside to square up with a small fir tree. 42 yards. I can see his open eyes and when I attempt to draw he jerks his head up and starts coming right at me! I'm shaking so hard that I have to rest my arrow against the tree to stop it. My brain is telling me to get skinny, lean back, draw the bow and hope for the best. But my body is frozen with adrenaline. The bull walks up, comes around my tree and looks me right in the face. Less than a single yard between our noses. A long moment passes before he spooks. When he does I jerk the bow back and cow call, stopping him at 20 yards, faced away but looking back.
The encounter ends with him galloping away and me feeling crushed by the failure to capitalize on the opportunity of my dreams. I sat there in the timber for a long time, feeling a strange combination of nausea and blessing.
On my hike out, fresh bear scat momentarily removes my mind from the morning.
When I reached the truck, I decided to go home and regroup. Today, I am resting. Next Saturday, two friends from Iowa will join me for the last week of the season with four tags between us and I will need to have my game face back on.
The sting of failure is strong today but I'll get back in the saddle.
As a side note, the hunters really rolled in by the convoy this weekend. Hopefully, we're able to use the pressure to some advantage.
P.S. That bull was no raghorn...
