Post by Masshntr on Sept 11, 2007 1:19:49 GMT
Just returned from the eight-day bow hunt in the Gila Wilderness of
New Mexico. Even though it was the first week of season (of three), the bulls were talking almost every day. Instead of the expected tent camp at the end of a horseback ride, we (my cousin Walt and I) were assigned a log cabin on a small ranch the outfitter owned in the middle of the national forest. We didn't complain about having a wood stove, solar-power electric and a hot water shower, especially after the typical 12-mile day at about 8500 feet.
We got into elk the first morning. The guide (Glen), a first-rate hunter and caller, and I stalked a 340 bull to 80 yards before the lead cow decided she'd seen enough and led him away with the herd. That afternoon, we were sitting a wallow. Glen called in a cinnamon-phase black bear to 24 yards of my blind. He stood up and shouted at it. The bear was unmoved and Glen said, "If he takes another step closer, stick his a*%." I nocked an arrow and stood up; the bear decided he didn't like the odds.
We got back to the truck just at the end of shooting light and had a 350 6x6 about 50 yards away. Nice opening day.
We went back after the 6x6 the next morning. He wasn't talking but Glen called a young cow down to the truck.
I had a 5x2 (busted rack) at 14 yards that afternoon. Came on a rope to Glen (who is also a great turkey caller). I passed.
Here's Glen glassing a canyon.
Walt and Glen discussing strategy.
Round Mountain where we had the first day encounter. It was an hour+ hike up the "flat" area around the mountain. We then hunted all the way around it and then hiked back down to the truck.
Walt demonstrating our typical response to the endless fissure canyons we crossed, chasing these guys.
During the week, I had five or six lesser bulls (spikes, 4x4s) inside 20 yards, and had encounters with eight shooters ranging from a nice 280 5x5 through a couple of 330 to 340 6x6s, to this story:
Walt sat a tank (really, a pond) while Glen and I worked some set-ups. We heard a nice bull bugling and went after him. We worked him for an hour, following him up a ridge to a canyon. He paraded back and forth on the opposite side, looking for a fight. And he was big. I mean, really big. We put on a stalk down a 45 degree slope to the bottom that was about 14" wide and then back up. Glen brought us to 80 yards downwind of the bull - bedded. He cow-called and the bull turned his head. It looked like the entire woods moved. He got up. Glen called, turned him and brought him downwind 20 yards. He called again and stopped him, broadside, between two large Ponderosa pines 64 yards away. I was at full draw, slightly downhill. I put the 45 yards pin on the top of his back and squeezed the release. And all hell broke loose. The bowstring just caught the nozzle of my drink tube, was pulled left and hit me in the arm above the armguard. The arrow went about 25 yards. My arm turned black almost immediately. The bull watched with some amusement. Glen said (with some variation) - "What happened?" The bull wandered off. When I figured out what, in fact, had happened, I expressed my disappointment - colorfully. I asked Glen how big he was. "Pushing 370". I'm certain I'm the only bowhunter who'd ever drawn on him.
For the week we saw lots of elk, lots of mulies, including three 170+ bucks (one closer to 190 according to Glen), three bears, coyotes, foxes, two Coues bucks (they're filtering up from Mexico), a very big bobcat, and fresh mountain lion tracks.
It's gorgeous country and we're going back next year for the peak of the rut. I've got an appointment with a certain 370 bull...
New Mexico. Even though it was the first week of season (of three), the bulls were talking almost every day. Instead of the expected tent camp at the end of a horseback ride, we (my cousin Walt and I) were assigned a log cabin on a small ranch the outfitter owned in the middle of the national forest. We didn't complain about having a wood stove, solar-power electric and a hot water shower, especially after the typical 12-mile day at about 8500 feet.
We got into elk the first morning. The guide (Glen), a first-rate hunter and caller, and I stalked a 340 bull to 80 yards before the lead cow decided she'd seen enough and led him away with the herd. That afternoon, we were sitting a wallow. Glen called in a cinnamon-phase black bear to 24 yards of my blind. He stood up and shouted at it. The bear was unmoved and Glen said, "If he takes another step closer, stick his a*%." I nocked an arrow and stood up; the bear decided he didn't like the odds.
We got back to the truck just at the end of shooting light and had a 350 6x6 about 50 yards away. Nice opening day.
We went back after the 6x6 the next morning. He wasn't talking but Glen called a young cow down to the truck.
I had a 5x2 (busted rack) at 14 yards that afternoon. Came on a rope to Glen (who is also a great turkey caller). I passed.
Here's Glen glassing a canyon.
Walt and Glen discussing strategy.
Round Mountain where we had the first day encounter. It was an hour+ hike up the "flat" area around the mountain. We then hunted all the way around it and then hiked back down to the truck.
Walt demonstrating our typical response to the endless fissure canyons we crossed, chasing these guys.
During the week, I had five or six lesser bulls (spikes, 4x4s) inside 20 yards, and had encounters with eight shooters ranging from a nice 280 5x5 through a couple of 330 to 340 6x6s, to this story:
Walt sat a tank (really, a pond) while Glen and I worked some set-ups. We heard a nice bull bugling and went after him. We worked him for an hour, following him up a ridge to a canyon. He paraded back and forth on the opposite side, looking for a fight. And he was big. I mean, really big. We put on a stalk down a 45 degree slope to the bottom that was about 14" wide and then back up. Glen brought us to 80 yards downwind of the bull - bedded. He cow-called and the bull turned his head. It looked like the entire woods moved. He got up. Glen called, turned him and brought him downwind 20 yards. He called again and stopped him, broadside, between two large Ponderosa pines 64 yards away. I was at full draw, slightly downhill. I put the 45 yards pin on the top of his back and squeezed the release. And all hell broke loose. The bowstring just caught the nozzle of my drink tube, was pulled left and hit me in the arm above the armguard. The arrow went about 25 yards. My arm turned black almost immediately. The bull watched with some amusement. Glen said (with some variation) - "What happened?" The bull wandered off. When I figured out what, in fact, had happened, I expressed my disappointment - colorfully. I asked Glen how big he was. "Pushing 370". I'm certain I'm the only bowhunter who'd ever drawn on him.
For the week we saw lots of elk, lots of mulies, including three 170+ bucks (one closer to 190 according to Glen), three bears, coyotes, foxes, two Coues bucks (they're filtering up from Mexico), a very big bobcat, and fresh mountain lion tracks.
It's gorgeous country and we're going back next year for the peak of the rut. I've got an appointment with a certain 370 bull...
I bet your heart was pounding like crazy as you were on that hunt and I don't mean from the stalking up and down mountains ;D Especially the bear part. I bet it was cool seeing it. I can only image what a hunt like that would be like. I guess the closest I'll ever get is if I come across a 700 lb gobbler!
maybe a few ;D
