Family Traditions Part II

by: Tom Sorenson

READ PART ONE HERE

Of course, pictures don’t do it justice – but this is the nearly vertical Hell’s Canyon.

The Anticipation Mounts

Once camp was relatively close to set up, I was excused to go for an evening hunt, while the others made some comment about youth and wishing they had the energy to be stupid like me. I began hiking out towards Sommers, but hadn’t gone more than three hundred yards when I realized I’d forgotten my dad’s range finder (I’d borrowed his since I didn’t own one myself.) I had a short debate with myself, and finally laziness prevailed and I went on without it. There is a long ridge that runs between Deep Creek and Sommers called Teezer, and it was out that ridge that I hiked. I set up and cow called a couple times near the top of Deep Creek, but two sets hadn’t given me any results, so I wandered back into the top of Sommers as light began to fade. I cow called a few times and got silence in return. Not knowing where the bulls were in the rutting cycle, I tried an estrus call, not knowing what to expect. I had only to wait about five seconds when a growling bugle came rushing up the canyon at me some distance away. My heart did a quick leap, and I immediately moved closer to the bugle. I dropped into the canyon two hundred yards and set up again. I continued to use the estrus calls, and kept getting the bull to answer, but he would not move closer. By this time I was hearing cows chirping back and forth below me, so I eased another hundred yards into the canyon. I set up in a position that I thought would bring the bull right up to me for a well-practiced 30-yard shot. I continued to cow call, and pretty soon I could hear the bugle coming closer! As I knocked an arrow, the emotions I felt were such that I can’t even put in words. I felt unequaled excitement, but also a sort of fear that was equally satisfying. Each time the bull growled my throat got tighter. I had set my bow on my leg and when I looked at the broadhead, I was ashamed to see it violently shaking. The bull kept getting closer and finally at about one hundred yards, I caught my first glimpse of the bull! He paused long enough to throw his head back and growl. His distinctive bugle was only the second bull I’d heard in the wild. His growl/bugle is still a haunting memory that gets my pulse hammering still today. At that moment, I knew I was going to get a shot. Now, I kicked myself for leaving the range finder at camp.

Missed Opportunity!

As he approached, I finally got a good look at him and saw that he was a great bull. His antlers were dark, almost black, and his tips were the ivory white that truly beautiful bulls possess. I didn’t study his antlers much because I’d never figured on eating antlers, but those dark antlers combined with his intimidating growl told me this was a big bull! Besides bugles and cow calls, the evening was quiet, and I couldn’t believe the excitement that was flowing through me at that moment. There was a tangle of brush that he passed behind giving me time to draw without being seen. His bobbing antlers came back into view and then he reappeared exactly where I had hoped. He walked right into my shooting lane that I’d marked and stopped broadside. Almost like it was meant to be, he stopped and looked up the mountainside towards me. It gave me chills as he let go with a bugle that seemed to shake the ground! At that moment I lost all sense of reality and made the worst miscalculation ever. The thought flashed through my brain, “That bull is fifty yards away.” Mind you, Hell’s Canyon is not flat land, and I was trying to judge a distance to the first bull I’d ever encountered in an unfamiliar country that was nearly vertical, but all excuses aside, my misjudgment was not even remotely close. I had actually calmed my nerves enough now to steady the bow, but not my brain, and I began to slowly exhale as I squeezed the trigger. As soon as the arrow left the string I knew I’d blown it. The arrow sailed right over his vitals; about ten feet over them, actually, and the bull tore off through the brush leaving nothing but a missed opportunity where he had stood. I thought I’d known disappointment before, but the disappointment I felt at that moment actually, physically hurt. I heard the bull crashing through the brush and I gave him a little time to settle down, and then I picked up my cow call and gave a weak, disheartened “mew.” There were cows all around me, and I thought if the bull was going to round his cows up, maybe I could call him back in if I got close enough to his other cows. I moved further down the canyon, but realized he wasn’t going to come in to the cow call, although he answered each time I called. When I heard him bugling again way down at the bottom of the canyon I finally admitted defeat. When I came back to camp it was full dark and I was still shaking over my close encounter. In fact as I recall the encounter even today in writing this story, my heart beats a little faster! My father, Scott, and Arlen were lounging around the fire swapping stories and they each looked up casually when I came into the firelight. More automatic than curious, they asked how I did, and I told them my quiver was short one arrow. My dad smiled and said, “You’re kidding!” I was disappointed beyond belief, but as I recounted the story, I realized that I had never been that excited about anything before. Bow hunting was in my blood now, and now I had my first taste of elk camp. I was there, the fire, the family and friends were gathered around, and I had my own Hell’s Canyon story to tell. I’d never had an experience like it before, and I immediately fell in love with this place. As I wound the story up, my father said, “Now you’ve got your own story and your own memory to tell of this place for the rest of your life.”
The next day I stopped by the place I’d missed the bull and put the range finder on it. I was shocked to see that I, a complete amateur at calling, had coaxed a bull to 23 yards, and somehow, I judged him to be twice that far. I’ve kicked myself a thousand times since then, but one thing is for sure: I’ll never make that mistake again. For me, there is no school quite like heartache, and that was definitely a heartbreaking moment, and one that has taught me a lesson. I’ve since purchased a range finder of my own, and I spend a lot of time these days guessing distances! Hell’s Canyon has a way of deceiving, but when a person starts judging a twenty-three yard shot to be fifty yards; I think its time to chalk one up to inexperience and adrenaline!

READ PART THREE HERE