Randy Ulmer

GETTING EVEN

admin — Sat, 06 Dec 2008 00:03:42 +0000

‘Things won are done, Joys soul lies in the doing.’ Wm Shakespeare.

THIS HUNT, ALTHOUGH just beginning, has a history. Two years earlier, while hunting elk in Nevada, I found a world-class typical mule deer. This type of discovery is most precious and is not to be shared without careful consideration. Thus, I entrusted this information to only one person I deemed worthy, my long time hunting companion, Greg Krogh.

Since neither of us had a Nevada archery deer tag that year, we could only wait and hope the buck would survive the winter. The following year we put in separately for the drawing to increase the odds that one of us would receive a tag. Greg drew; I did not.

Shortly before the archery season, Greg found the buck, and he killed him on the second day of the season. We were not disappointed. The buck had an official net Pope and Young measurement of 202 2/8, making him one of the largest mule deer ever taken by a bow hunter.

Greg owed me.

Later that year, as if by providence, while scouting for his rifle deer hunters, Greg found a great nontypical deer. He and his hunters pursued the deer hard during the rifle season, but the buck eluded them.

The following year, when I obtained an archery tag, Greg returned the previous year’s favor – he told me where to find the big nontypical. He even offered to help me on the hunt, an offer I quickly accepted. Absolutely no one is more qualified to help on a mule deer than Greg Krogh.

After telling me where the deer lived, he said, “If you shoot this deer, we are even.”

ARRIVING IN OUR UNIT four days before the archery season, we set up camp and split up to search for the buck. I make the long climb onto a lonely plateau.

As I settle in to glass, I feel a familiar stirring, the same stirring I feel each year when I first venture into the wild. It is a powerful feeling of connectedness and peace.

I believe at some primordial level, I nourish my spirit from the wilderness. These open spaces seem to be a vital nutrient my soul yearns for and will perish without. Tonight, sitting on this desert mountain alone, watching the sun set and the sky change, the old, good feelings return. I feel I am home.

Wresting myself from my meditation, I make the hike out in the darkness. I arrive back at camp to good news: Greg has spotted the big non typical, and the buck has grown substantially since last year. I look at his video footage. The buck is a giant. He is well over 30 inches wide with beams as thick as my forearm, and many extra points sprout laterally. We exchange high fives and dance around camp like children.

I’VE HAD A DREAM, since I started hunting some 35 years ago, to bag a mule deer of immense proportions. This imaginary buck carries wide, heavy antlers and 10 or more points a side. As is true for most dreams, I knew this one would probably not come to fruition. But the dream has held firm and each August I leave for the mountains, dream very much alive, looking and feeling the same as when I was 16 years old.

Tonight though, my dream is here; palpable, fleshy and bedded on a mountain a few miles away. Every time I look at the video image, the massive, velvety rack reminds me that my dream, right now, is very real.

What odd thoughts and emotions attack you when a dream seems within reach. Deep within I feel my success or failure is predetermined by fate. I fear disappointment. I struggle to defeat this fatalistic thinking, but it persists, like fibers of doubt woven into the fabric of my being.

To fight the doubts, I tell myself the outcome of this hunt must be partially determined by my actions. I remind myself: you aren’t really alive if you don’t have the power to alter the future.

The next morning, we glass the buck at a distance, and do a little reconnaissance before the hunt starts. He and his companions have chosen their home well. He lives on the lee side of a mountain that acts like a boulder in a stream. As the wind passed over and around the land mass, eddies of wind whirl and collide. Never does the wind blow the same direction for more than a few moments. Lying there, he is unapproachable

For three long, hot days, we watch the buck and wait for the season to begin. Greg and I and plan our attack.

OPENING MORNING I climb through the sage and rocks in the dark, taking the long route to prevent detection. I want to be in position to strike at first light– if the conditions are right.

It is clear that I will not stalk this buck where he lives. He must move a quarter mile in any direction: then I can close on him.

Unfortunately, I can’t simply watch from afar and then make a stalk, because the terrain will not allow it. He will see me. My only chance is to position myself before daylight, a few hundred yards from the buck — close enough to his bed to capitalize on any mistake he might make, but far enough to avoid detection by his nose. In short, I must live on the mountain with him.

There is scant cover where I must lay, just a few wispy bushes. I settle in under the largest bush to watch and wait. The August sun is relentless.

To some people, lying flat out all day in the sun would be incomprehensible, but not to me. Life, as I live it, is lacking in discomfort. My life gives me little opportunity to be still, little opportunity for nonproductive thought and observation. My time, outside of hunting, must be filled with production, accomplishment. If other time is available, I have been led to believe I must fill it with entertainment.

It is good for modern man to be uncomfortable. It is good for him to be still.

Paradoxically, discomfort brings me peace. Lying here alone, away from the drone of the world, I find contentment. God is here.

As the hours pass slowly, I try, in vain, to ration my water for the 16 hours I will spend here.

I lay face up and watch the clouds build.

Occasionally I lift my binoculars to study the velvet antler tips above the brush, and each time, I experience a small surge of adrenaline. Good, I think, maybe it will be used up by the time the shot finally comes.

I roll over and lay face down in the rocks and watch the ants work.

By mid-afternoon my water is gone, and I feel the malaise of dehydration. This condition helps me to understand why people fast. My thirst makes my senses keener, feelings stronger.

In this enlightened state, I seem to understand that as my body now thirsts for water my soul has thirsted for nature. From this mountain hiding place I drink in vast creation; the valley, the mountains, the sky. This summer evening sky is luscious with color. My eyes are awed by the filtered beams, intense blue sky and pure, brilliant white clouds. I give thanks.

I wait for the moon to rise before moving off the mountain. Laying on my back and looking at the stars, intense in the thin, clean air, I feel overwhelmed by the vastness of the universe. I find my troubles less important than I believed.

Sun burnt, dusty and dry; I make the long hike to the trail. Reaching it I see Greg’s smiling face in the moon light. “He grew another half inch today while you were loafing. You keep dawdling and he’s going to get real big” Greg said.

The next day proves to be a repeat of the first. I find the buck in the same place. I lay on the same hillside. The sun is just as hot.

Today though, at last light, the buck moves. I make a lightning fast stalk, and blow the opportunity. I mentally whip myself. Patience! I silently scream to myself. Miraculously, the buck is still unaware of my existence. I am given a second chance.

On the third day, I spend another 16 hours painfully close to the buck. Being so close to him, unable to move, I imagine how a prisoner must feel as he looks out the window to freedom–and wishes. During the long hours of waiting, I pull together the scattered thoughts from the past year and try to sort them out. This time alone becomes my personal journey of discovery, a time for reflection and renewal. It would be perfect if I weren’t away from my family. They are the only reason I want to go home.

Long periods alone and away make me question myself, especially my ability as a father and husband. I miss my sons, Jacob and Levi. Does every father feel inadequate, not quite worthy to mold the lives God has given him, or am I unique in this feeling? Are all other fathers as self confident and competent as they seem?

I realize how much I love my wife, Tammy. Why do I love her more when I’m away than when I’m with her? I commit to being a better husband and father when I return.

The afternoon sky is cloudless, but I hear thunder behind the mountain. Suddenly, a rush of wind and water sweeps low over the ridge. I sneak to a boulder pile, out of sight of the bucks. I wedge myself under an overhanging rock. Lightning strikes so close I hear it as I see it. The boulders tremble. I shiver.

The Navajos call this a male rain; strong, bold and quickly spent. I lay face down and smell the wet earth. Goose bumps tell me I have gone from hot to cold in a moment.

The storm ends as suddenly as it appears. Hiding in my den, I watch it sweep across the plain towards the horizon, pulling a rainbow in its wake. I listen to water dripping from the rocks and smell the wet sage and juniper.

I have hunted this buck for three days now, and watched him for three more. He seems to have grown. He is still unaware of my existence, and I am doing everything possible to keep it that way. But will the opportunity ever come. Self-doubt begins to whisper inside me. Am I hunting well or just wasting time? I don’t know.

I would like to see all things future and past, the way God sees them, so I could truly enjoy the hunt instead of fretting over the outcome. But then, I tell myself, the anticipation is part of the hunt. If I knew the outcome, the essence of the hunt would be gone. The possibility, the not knowing, is the hunt.

If nothing else, maturity has taught me patience. Ten years ago, waiting days in the sun for a buck would have been unthinkable. What has changed in me over the years? I wonder. Analyzing my behavior, I conclude it is the contentment to be in the moment, the enjoyment of the journey rather than the headlong rush to reach the goal, the end.

The next morning, two hours before dawn, we hear a pickup idling on the little road beside our camp. Jealous and possessive of our buck, like a hound dog with a bone, we suspect foul play. Is someone going to try to follow us to our deer?

We hear a voice in the darkness. “Anybody home?” It turns out to be a lost hunter looking for his partner’s camp. We invite him to breakfast.

As he leaves, I joke “If you don’t find him by dark, come by for dinner.”

“I just might” he says “What are you having?”

“Back straps.” I yell prophetically into the darkness.

For three days, the buck and I have lain in the sun, never more than an arrow’s flight apart. Surely, the fourth day will bring more of the same.

But the buck is gone.

I try to reign in my emotions. Did he detect me? Has he moved into the thick cover? Will we find him again?

We expand our search.

We find him later that morning, a mile away, with his companions, bedded at the base of a pinyon tree. He appears as if in a painting, velvet antlers framed tan on green, timeless, and massive. Majestic.

He should not have moved. Instinct must have told him as much. But he has, and for this I have been waiting these many days, patiently. Relief flows over me.

Then acute anticipation strikes. My time has come. The next 2 hours will fulfill my 35 year dream. Or crush it.

DROPPING INTO THE BASIN where the buck now beds, I make a two-mile loop that brings me to the lee side of the small ridge where he lies. Shoeless, moving without visible motion, I crest the ridge while telling myself, with each step: you cannot make another mistake with this buck.

I spot a bedded buck through the trees 50 yards to my left. Though he does not see me, he has me pinned down.

I stand motionless for a long time, the buck finally rises. Three more bucks, including the big nontypical, materialize out of the grass and start feeding towards me. I am unable to draw my bow for fear of detection. All eyes face me. Now they are close, very close.

Being near a big buck never gets easy, the feeling is so intense that during the experience I want it over with quickly. Yet it is this feeling that draws me to hunt with a bow. You can’t fully appreciate a heavy-beamed mule deer buck at rifle range, you must experience him within bow range, close enough to hear him chew. It is the difference between seeing a woman and touching her.

The bucks turn and slowly move away. I creep along behind like a cat stalking a bird. I watch the 4 bobbing velvet racks intensely, when one stops moving, I freeze. If all are bobbing, I creep forward.

Slowly, I close the distance. I wait for the big buck to turn broadside. When all eyes are hidden, I draw. I do not shake. All those days spent close to the buck have depleted my adrenaline.

As the arrow strikes, the buck jumps, but unaware of the direction of the danger he trots towards me. Then, as if bedding, he slowly collapses. The other bucks, only momentarily disturbed, feed on.

He lies at my feet. The cloud filtered sunlight haloes his velvety antlers, tall, heavy and handsome; the tips are still blunt, soft, unfinished. Twelve heavy points grace each antler. Is this a dream? I kneel down and touch him and try to believe.

Arriving from his rocky vantage point, Greg joins me a half hour later. He has watched it all through the scope and is still visibly shaken. Without a word I offer my hand. He grabs it, pulls me close and wraps me up in a bear hug.

He backs away, looks me in the eye and says, “We’re even.”

Even we are, I just a little more even than he.

Notes: My buck’s nontypical antlers unofficially measure 242 gross inches, 234 net. I want to thank, once again, everyone who hunted with me: Greg Krogh; Greg’s wife, Debbie; fellow hunters Jim Rufh and Jerry Dollard; and buddies Todd George, Darin Cooper, and Doug Bodhaine.

I hunted with a Hoyt Ultratec equipped with Simms Vibration Lab Accessories; Easton AC Super Slims arrows; Winner’s Choice Bowstring made from BCY 8125 material; Golden Key-Futura Mirage arrow rest; FUSE sight, stabilizer, and quiver; Cabela’s Microfleece clothing; and Rocky Mountain Extreme Broad heads.

Nevada Elk

admin — Sat, 06 Dec 2008 00:02:10 +0000

Time. That is the essence of a successful Nevada bowhunt: time not measured in minutes, hours, or days, but time measured in weeks.

To do well as a bowhunter in Nevada you must have patience, and patience requires time. I know this well. I’ve drawn several tags in that state and each hunt has been an experience in endurance.

Take my desert bighorn hunt, for example. On the 21st day of the hunt I pulled myself up a red sandstone cliff, eased my exhausted carcass onto a ledge and peeked over the top, 15 yards from a feeding sheep. I rose up with violently shaking limbs and arrowed that ancient ram.

I have also hunted deer there. After being consistently outsmarted by a buck whose giant rack was only outsized by his eerie intelligence, I tagged a lesser deer on day 17.

I thought my elk hunt would be different.

I was wrong.

RURAL NEVADA, OR, MORE accurately, Outback Nevada, has been left behind. Geographically speaking, 99 percent of Nevada lies outside the clutches of the sin cities, Reno and Las Vegas. In the rural, things haven’t changed much in 30 years. Life moves slowly and people are friendly. Out there, it is as if you’ve entered a time machine and been shot backwards. Out there, if you are lucky, you will find yourself settling into Nevada time.

You’ll know you are on Nevada time when your mind quits racing, your pulse slows, and your breathing becomes steady. You’ll take the time to sit down after the sun sets and watch the moon rise. You’ll lie down after a morning hunt and take a nap under a juniper tree. You’ll skip an evening hunt and sit around camp eating elk steaks and watermelon. Elk steaks cooked over a real bed of coals. Then you are on Nevada time.

I sense this change each time I pass through Las Vegas, because the line of demarcation is so distinct. Time slows down. This trip was no different.

When Greg Krogh and I first drove into my elk area in August, the desert was oozing moisture. We looked at the top of the mountain in my hunting area and saw snow. At least it looked like snow. It later proved to be hail, huge nuggets of ice, nearly a half foot of it stacked up. Huge swaths of trees and brush were denuded of leaves, twigs and bark. The roads to the mountain had been washed out by a torrential flood.

“This seems like something out of the Old Testament” Greg said. How could any living creature have survived? we wondered

Greg is a good friend of mine. He is a guide by profession, one of the best. He looks like a cowboy and usually dresses like one. He is accepted into this lonely country as though he were born here. Greg and I have hunted together many times. I help him, he helps me.

But Greg was different on this trip, not his usual carefree, happy-go-lucky self. He was the father of brand new twin girls, and he worshipped them. I could sense some deep angst flowing through him.

We set up camp in a little patch of stunted juniper trees on the edge of antelope country. When we’d finished we sat back and watched the sunset. Greg was uncharacteristically silent as the last of the colors faded to black.

“Miss your girls?” I asked.

He kicked the ground. “I can’t explain it,” he muttered, almost embarrassed. “Leaving on this first trip of the year was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.”

“It won’t get any easier,” I said.

“I think I’m going to have to get a new profession, something that keeps me closer to home,” he said, seriously.

Greg had volunteered to help me look for elk while scouting for his rifle deer hunts. Then he would be off to Arizona to attend to his paying clients — and his family. Because his help is always indispensable, I wanted to make the most of his time here. We had several days before the season opened. Our plan was to split up and glass, looking for a concentration of elk to hunt. The day before the opener Greg found a good bull.

“What do you think?” he said.

After some thought, I replied, “I think we can do better.” With the entire season to hunt, I wasn’t anxious for my elk season to end.

Greg grinned. “You’re taking this trophy hunting pretty seriously, aren’t you?

I looked down a while before speaking. “This is a tough tag to come by, and I want to make the most of it.”

“Well, suit yourself,” Greg said. “But I seem to recall the last time you passed up an animal early in the hunt, you nearly went home empty handed.”

“I’m willing to take that chance,” I said, sounding more sure of myself than I felt.

Elk hunting in Nevada is not unlike sheep hunting, as you move and glass, move and glass. With elk so spread out, the traditional method of moving and calling would be frustrating. It might take a week to get an answer.

One afternoon while glassing from a vantage in what appeared to be poor elk range, Greg spotted a big bull walking alone below him. The bull had two huge nontypical points off the main beam just behind the fourth points. Greg knew this was a shooter.

So we returned there the next morning to get a better look at the bull. We heard him bugle a few times in the distance, but he vanished completely.

A FEW DAYS LATER, Greg had to leave. I watched him drive away across the broad valley. His dust cloud was like a contrail, marking his progress long after the truck was out of sight. I was alone.

When younger I dreaded being alone in the wilderness, but with age I’ve come to embrace loneliness. Yes, it’s uncomfortable, but it can make an experience far more powerful. Few places make you feel as lonely as the high desert of Nevada, especially when the time is long — as it always is in Nevada. With two weeks remaining, this hunt could be a powerful experience.

Over the next week I saw perhaps 2 dozen bulls, mostly from a distance. None seemed large enough to justify a closer look.

One afternoon, as time drug on, I was feeling unusually lonely. Tired of my own cooking, I drove 20 miles across the short grass prairie to the nearest commercial establishment, 10 miles from any pavement. It was an interesting place, a combination general store/cafe surrounded by items billed as antiques. To my untrained eye, they looked like junk.

The place seemed deserted. I sat at the only table, wedged between shelves drooping with old candy bars, mason jars full of rocks, antique irons, and 30-year-old comic books. The waitress/cook/proprietor materialized suddenly and quietly — as if my wishing alone had made her so.

The smells and the sight of her cooking with a cast-iron skillet brought back memories of my grandmother. Then the lady placed an immense hamburger in front of me. The burger was nearly buried under home made, unpeeled French fries. It was all delicious.

Later, walking out the door, my gut bursting, I looked to the mountains in the west and noticed the aspens leaves had turned gold. A lot of time had passed since I’d first arrived in Nevada.

NO MATTER HOW MUCH I love to chase elk, a time comes each season when an animal must fall and the hunt must end. I love elk meat above any other, and to come home empty would negate my justification for hunting. By now I’d been in Nevada for nearly three weeks and the season was winding down.

Taking mental inventory of all the bulls we’d seen, I decided the best of the bunch was the big nontypical with drop tines Greg had seen. I decided to hunt him.

Well before sunrise, I walked into the area where we’d last heard that bull and lay on my back. The ground was still damp from a recent rain. I stared at the countless stars in the black sky and saw the sage outlined by distant lighting.

Above all I smelled the sage. A person might not notice that smell at other times, but after a rain, especially at night, you cannot ignore the potent fragrance of sage. It is earthy, comforting, western.

Somewhere in the distant darkness, a bull bugled. It sounded like the nontypical Greg had seen.

I’VE LONG HELD a theory that some truly dominant bulls don’t hold a harem. It’s too much effort and is biologically inefficient. These elk let other, lesser bulls expend the energy necessary to gather and maintain a herd, a task that is all-consuming for the better part of a month. Why manage a cow for a month when she’s only in heat for a day?

I believe such a dominant bull makes his rounds each night, going from one bugling herd bull to the next, checking each cow along the way. He may check several herds each night. If a cow is in heat or about to come into heat, he either cuts her out of the herd or boots the other bull. More than likely he has already established his dominance over the lesser bull and doesn’t face much of a fight.

If he finds no cow in estrus, he leaves the other elk and spends the day alone.

This morning’s activities seemed to lend credence to my theory. I knew at least three herds lived in this area, and as I lay there listening in the hours before first light, the distant, lone bull seemed to be going from herd to herd. Then, just before daylight, he headed south, alone, while all the other elk headed north.

Because he bugled infrequently, while all the other bulls were now bugling regularly, it took all my will power to follow him and not the herds.

After following him for some distance, I finally saw him moving through dense pinion/juniper across a swale, 200 yards away. In my binoculars, he seemed larger than life. I wanted him.

Now it was a cat-and-mouse game as I tried to stay within striking distance without bumping him. My ally was time, always time, and I would take as much as was needed. The game continued all morning, and twice I unknowingly passed him, only to hear him behind me, moving through the trees.

Then he moaned softly, 100 yards ahead. He was about to bed.

Stalking through the thick growth, I searched for a patch of tan, an antler tip, legs beneath the tree limbs, anything. Suddenly he was there, very close, only his head and neck exposed, his great antlers swaying gently as he fed. I could hear him chewing.

Moving slower than the hands on a clock, I nocked an arrow and remained motionless, heart thumping. Time. I had to take time. Each cardiac pump hammered in my ears. The minutes struggled by.

The bull took one tentative step, then another, exposing his chest. As his head turned away, I lifted my well-worn Hoyt and eased the string to my face and held the pin shockingly steady. The few days left in the season didn’t enter my mind, nor did the thought of missing, nor did the outsized rack. My entire focus was on the sight pin and the exact spot I wanted the arrow to strike. I took a full breath, let it half out, and squeezed, doing everything right, just as I teach–but rarely implement.

As the arrow struck, the bull crash pell-mell through the trees. As the sounds of his crashing died out, I collapsed to the ground, full on my back, and looked up through the pinion boughs into the cloudless blue sky, muttering out loud, “I did it.”

Even though the morning chill was long past, I was shivering.

THE BEAUTIFUL bull lay on his side, long, curving, white-tipped points half buried in the earth. He smelled of battle, pungent and wild.

I knelt and touched his antlers, unbelieving. Their width and length and mass were disproportionate to his body. At the bases, they were as big around as my arms. I closed my eyes and thanked God for my good fortune and added thanks and apologies to the elk. He would feed my family.

Then the September sun, so warm on my back, stirred anxiety. The meat required instant attention. Having done this many times, I knew what was required. I ran the 2 miles back to my quad, raced to my truck, drove to camp to get all the necessary gear, and then headed back to the elk.

The plan was flawless until, while speeding across a rocky flat in my truck, I heard a distinctive whooshing sound. Pulling over, I jumped out and discovered air escaping from both front tires through jagged rips.

Abandoning the truck, I unloaded my quad and sped back to the elk, took a few pictures, and spent the next several hours boning out elk. Time. Wonderful time.

THAT NIGHT I LAY in bed exhausted, neither asleep nor awake, looking down a long tunnel, half gray, all thoughts abbreviated, irrational. Perhaps I did not deserve this bull after all. He could have met a hundred fates: Another hunter, a lion, a harsh winter.

Why had I bagged such a great bull? Was I merely lucky? Is every successful hunt, every prized trophy taken by accident, merely a random event in time? Or is it determined by some formula only God knows?

Through the fog in my mind a lucid thought formed, and in a brief moment of intense clarity I realized God does not care who bags a big elk. He has more pressing matters. It is purely statistical, the small probability of success multiplied by time spent hunting. I had put in my time.

And that was it. The sole reason for my success on this hunt was that mine was not time measured in minutes, hours or days, but time measured in weeks.

DESERT SOJOURN

admin — Sat, 06 Dec 2008 00:01:03 +0000

Driving east from Las Vegas you’ll pass through a small range of black mountains. Once past these, say good-bye. Other than a winding bumpy road, you have left civilization behind. The next gas station is 50 miles away.

As though not to be outdone by Vegas, Mother Nature puts on a show of her own. Well beyond the lights of the Strip, the world becomes red, yellow, white, black and orange. Smooth, sculpted red rock formations give way to jagged spires of black stone and white, erosion-tortured badlands. Demarcations are distinct, as if God added separate ingredients but forgot to stir.

The world seems alien, desolate, sterile, but this is an illusion. Look closer. You will see life. It comes in many forms, but for me, right now, bighorn sheep are the most important. They live here, or so I’ve been told. Looking at the country for the first time, I have my doubts.

Pulling onto a two-track road, I nose the old Dodge down into a large sandy wash, park and make camp far enough down the bank to be protected from the wind, but not so far as to be threatened by flash floods. Evidence of old floods is everywhere—small clumps of dried flotsam cling to crevasses high up the bank.

At dawn, I climb a little hill behind camp, raise my binocular and spot a sheep, a young ram. He’s not what I’m looking for, but he’s a ram none-the-less. Buoyed by the prospects, I walk and glass more. I see no other sheep that day. I return to camp deflated. This may be tougher than I thought.

The evening before opening day I’m joined by my brother Rusty, A legend at spotting game with binoculars, and my friend Rich Egly, an ex-military man who resembles Dick Butkus. Rich is the kind of guy you’d love to have around when packing elk—or fighting Bandidos.

Before the first hint of sunrise, we climb off the valley floor onto the hulking, multicolored rock mass of Pinto Ridge. While Rich and I glass the local neighborhood, Rusty has his ‘Big Eyes’ focused on Razorback Ridge–in anther zip code. “I’ve got sheep.” He says. We pull out the spotting scope and see a band of a dozen sheep, including three rams, located about a days walk to the south. A closer look is warranted, so we descend to the flats and plan a route around the far end of Pinto Ridge. Four hours later we’re still walking. The country looks flat, but turns out to be a web of erosion. It’s like walking across giant, loose, wrinkled corduroy.

We traverse the length of Pinto Valley, aiming for a saddle we hope will give us a clear view of the sheep. A high walled dirt arroyo leads up to the saddle. We scramble hand over hand, gaining the top as a bunch. I look over, and with one word freeze the group. “Ram”.

Some150 yards away, a pair of large horns crest a small ridge. We lock into our awkward positions. The ram’s head disappears again briefly. Rusty orders “Drop”–razor sharp rocks cut into our bones and muscles as we hit the ground. The horns reappear.

“What now.” Rich whispers.

“Wait” Rusty says. And so we huddle motionless, winter sun harsh, wind cold. Long minutes later Rusty slowly eases his binoculars into position using Rich’s shoulder as a rest. “He’s definitely a shooter” Rusty whispers. “He’ll go 160. Go shoot him”

“I’ll slip down and take a closer look.” I say, torn between the desire to get a nice sheep and the desire to make the hunt last. I slide back, pull off my boots, and sneak through the loose rock.

As I reach the crest of the finger canyon, the ram senses something amiss and trots out for a look around. I load an arrow, hook the release and will myself to pull but can’t, or, more accurately, won’t. At 40 yards he stops. We stare at each other across open space. His sense of self preservation overcomes his curiosity and the ram trots over the hill. Placing the arrow back into the quiver, I walk back. “Too small?” Rusty asks incredulously “Too early.” I reply sheepishly.

“An old sheep hunter once told me…” Rusty begins. I cringe. I hate Rusty’s old sheep hunter (or old elk hunter or old deer hunter) stories. They all have a moral aimed at one of my mistakes. “…never pass up a sheep that you’d take on the last day.” He finishes.

“Good advice” I say “You should have said something before I went after him.”

If only I had God’s perspective I could examine all my opportunities at the conclusion of the hunt and select the best one. Unfortunately, I have to take each chronologically and weigh its individual merits against the time left in the hunt. Little did I know that 20 days later I would be willing to trade my truck for that one chance.

Several days later, we drive to the airport. I exchange Rich and Rusty for my long time hunting buddy Jim Rufh. If you knew Jim, you’d envy me. Jim is the good-natured hunting buddy everyone wishes they had. In 20 years I’ve never seen him angry or down. Jim is my good luck charm. When he’s with me I bag game.

Early the next morning we climb through a city of huge rectangular boulders scattered down the mountainside. It’s like San Francisco after the big earthquake. Jim bends over and picks up a long-empty desert tortoise shell, hands it to me and says “smell this.” I put my nostrils to the hole and inhale deeply. Whoah! Jim belly laughs. “Putrefaction at 110 degrees in an anaerobic environment.” He flexes his knowledge. “Never goes away. They all smell like that.”

We sight no shooters that day or the next or the next.

Thus, eight days into the hunt and all my buddies with real jobs go back to work. I am alone. Not bad really, I tell myself. Time for meditation. Communion with nature–Feeding the soul.

I’m lying: Being alone may be good for the soul, but it’s lousy for sheep hunting with a bow–No one to help spot sheep, no one to give hand signals, no one to let you know where the ram is, two hours after you start your stalk, no one to relieve your loneliness.

The next morning I swing the heavily laden backpack onto my shoulders and settle under the old familiar weight. I feel the same emotions every time I head into the wilderness alone; anticipation, adventure, determination, a touch of loneliness and hint of dread. I strike into country least likely to have seen a boot track this year. At Rusty’s request I leave a note at camp. “Draw a map of your route to make recovering your corpse a little easier.” He’d said. He’s very thoughtful.

I keep to the arroyos, a labyrinth of tunnels under a sea of rock, tortuous canals braided through the sand. Arroyos are the vascular system of the desert.

After a half mile I drop the pack, climb the loose wall of the wash and glass. I descend, walk another half mile and glass again. This is how desert bighorns are hunted. Walk and glass and walk some more. Spot them first, you have a chance, let them spot you first, you don’t. It’s that simple

On the third day out, I’m as far away from a road as is possible to get in this country. I scan an isolated, ragged, behemoth of a mountain rising solitary from the plain—an island in a desert sea. I spot a ram near the top. His horns seem as big around as my legs. He’s feeding along the base of a towering orange cliff. In order to get above him and down-wind, I’ll have to do some serious hiking.

I drop my pack and feel like I might float away, instantly 70 lbs lighter. I circle the mountain, crawl laboriously up the crumbling, rotten rock to the cornice. Slowly, head canted, so as to expose just one eye, I peak over—no sheep. Inching, head up, I glass my surroundings, no sheep. I move my shoulders up a little further. Still no sheep. Then he is standing, where nothing stood before, his intent stare burning me. He disappears as quickly as he appeared, like a mirage in the desert.

Desert sheep have a hard time making a living. They must move all day to get a full belly. While their cousins to the north eat lush grass all spring, summer and fall, desert sheep eat bitterbrush, black brush, cat claw and barrel cactus. Because they’re always hungry, they never bed down for long.

My story develops a recurring theme: Hunter spots sheep. Hunter goes around the mountain. Sheep is no longer there when hunter peaks over the crest. Substitute in the name of the mountain, the day of the month and the ram. The hunter is always the same. It is me.

I go into town for supplies. I call my wife Tammy .God love her, she’s always supportive.“You’ll get one honey, just don’t give up,” She says. Oh if I only had her confidence.

I call Jim. “Have you got anything?” He asks. “Sore feet.” I whine. “Sheep are always gone by the time I move around the mountain. The drought has made food scarce. They’re so busy getting groceries they can’t stay still. Terrain’s so cut up, I could be 40 yards from them and not know they’re there.”

“Sounds like you could use another set of eyes.” He says, reading my plea for help between the lines. “Let me see what I can do. Call me back in five minutes.” I eat a sandwich and read the paper.

I finish my dinner and call Jim. “Pick me up at the Vegas airport tomorrow night.” He says.

First day out with Jim we spot our first non-sheep mammal of the trip as a bony old jackrabbit bounds away and crosses a dusty creosote flat. We see no good rams that day or the next.

It’s the last day of Jim’s stay and my season is nearly over. Sheep hunting with a bow seems to be a series of lotteries. I won the first lottery. My odds of getting drawn as a non-resident in Nevada were 1 in 467. The odds are beginning to seem steeper against me bagging a ram. This hunt has become a race against the clock. I arrived here 25 days ago and I’m getting tired. And though tired, I’m having trouble sleeping. My head is full of self doubt. I miss my family.

I feel a deep sense of urgency—desert sheep tags rarely come around twice in a lifetime. You’d better make the most of the one you get. I tell myself it is noble to have put my heart and soul into the effort and failed, although that makes the failure no less painful.

My buddies insist I pick up a rifle and ‘just shoot one’. And though the admission may reveal weakness, the thought has drifted through my mind. But each time, resolve overcomes common sense and the rifle notion, sacrilege to this wannabe purist, is shunned.

We hike to a vantage point before dawn, where, at a distance, we can see the mountain island that held the big ram. We see no sheep. We crawl through a cut in the bluffs leading to a saddle between ranges. With only our heads exposed, we scan new territory a mile away. Jim spots a ewe and a good-sized ram on top of the mountain.

My typical stalk has been to circle the mountain, climb the far side and come down on the sheep. My typical stalk has not been working.

“Jim” I say “it’s going to take me a day just to walk around that mountain, so I’m going to attempt a frontal assault” He looks at me, unable to hide his are you an idiot? look. I try to explain: “I’ll move when they’re feeding away. When I can’t see them any longer, I’ll look back for signals.”

I wait until both sheep are feeding, then dog-trot down the wash 100 yards, stop and glass. I repeat this process for a thousand yards. Once to the base of the mountain and out of sight of the sheep, I rely entirely on Jim’s signals.

Jim guides me up a narrow rock chute, laterally under a cliff face, then along the base of a small overhang. His signals indicate I’m very close. I ease one eye up, thinking to myself: Move like the hands of a clock.

My muscles tense spasmodically as I see the ram, his underbelly bracketed by his hind legs, straight above me at 15 yards. I slowly lower my head. Hands trembling, I prepare the shot.

It is a strange feeling to have a good ram so close, especially after so much time and effort. I feel like a boy who yearns for Christmas then wakes, happy his day has arrived, yet dreads its ending. Perhaps I’ve matured as a hunter, I enjoy the hunting more than the kill. The kill means an end to the hunting.

I release the arrow. The ram is down faster than the telling of it. I give Jim the hands above the head sign for victory. He doesn’t need a signal, he has the best seat in the house. I slide and hop down to the ram.

I sit beside him, admiring his old gray muzzle and face. I hold his horns in my hands, ten dark rings mark his years. As I wait for Jim, I look out at the mountains beyond, range after range, purple into infinity. Bittersweet this success–elation laced with regret.

Desert rams are 50 percent hooves, legs, hair and bone and 50 percent horns. With Jim’s help I manage the ram to my shoulders, head like a bowling ball on a rope. I fall and slide to a stop against a boulder, the ram summersaults over rock then slides down the scree.

That night in my sleeping bag I bask in the after-glow of 11th hour success– a game pulled out at the buzzer. It seems I‘ve been away from home for years. I experience a gnawing discomfort . Other than to be with my family, I have no desire to go back. Civilization I do not want. I feel no need to be anything other than a sheep hunter, no desire to go back to talk radio, telephones, freeway–and worry. Life has become simple; wake, hunt, eat, sleep, wake. Simple is good.

I fall asleep and dream of dark canyon walls and the petroglyphs I discovered there, timeless reminders of the continuity of mans existence–ancient, crude figures of sheep and man and bow.

THE OVERLOOKED ANCHOR POINT

admin — Thu, 08 Feb 2007 04:26:18 +0000

Choose your anchor point just as carefully as you choose your spouse because you’re going be together just as long – for better or for worse. Accuracy with a bow is the product of doing the same things on every shot you take. Your anchor point is one of the first links in this chain that leads to consistency. You must hit the same spot every single time you shoot. Everything else you do depends upon this one simple step.

FINDING THE RIGHT ANCHOR POINT

When you have reached the correct anchor point (and your bow has the correct draw length), the forearm of your string arm will be perfectly in line with the arrow at full draw. If you anchor too far forward on your face, the elbow on your string side will be pointing too far in front of you (to the right for a right-handed shooter) or you will have to turn your head sharply to the right to achieve the proper body position. Both will hurt your shooting.
If you anchor too far back, your elbow will point behind you (to left for a right-handed shooter). This is a common flaw among archers I’ve seen at tournaments and bowhunters I’ve shot with in hunting camps. They are much more likely to anchor too far back than too far forward. This results from trying to shoot a bow with a draw length that is too long - probably in an attempt to get more arrow speed.

The exact position of your release hand against your face is somewhat of a personal thing. However, there are fundamentals that every archer should strive to achieve. Once again, these revolve around consistency and around finding a comfortable position so you can relax fully. If you shoot an index-trigger release aid, you will find a very solid and stable anchor point by pressing the gap between the thumb and your index finger against the back of your jawbone. This anchor point is very repeatable because you have specific points of contact that you can actually feel even when wearing thin gloves.

If you are using a thumb-trigger release invert your hand so your thumb points almost straight down. Press your knuckles lightly into the back of your jawbone.

As you search for the perfect anchor point, maintain a relaxed upper body. Don’t stretch your shoulders outward in an effort to artificially increase your draw length. Adjust your bow’s draw length to fit your new anchor point rather than vice versa. Once you find the perfect anchor point, adjust your draw length to fit it.

WHY YOUR ANCHOR POINT MOVES

If you center each pin in your peep sight when aiming, your anchor point will have to move as shooting distance changes. For example, on a 20-yard shot, you center your 20-yard pin the peep and on a 40-yard shot, you center your 40-yard pin. To do this you have to move your anchor point up or down very slightly on your face. This can be uncomfortable for archers who become accustomed to shooting most of their arrows from one distance. To avoid this problem, keep your anchor point light on your face and mix up your practice sessions to include regular shots from every distance for which you have a sight pin.

It is acceptable to move your anchor point up and down a little to aim with different pins. This movement should only be vertical, never horizontal. If you move your anchor point back and forth horizontally it will change your form and adversely affect your shooting.

Here’s a trick I’ve learned to keep the same anchor point and still allow myself to use all the pins: I anchor at the bottom of my jaw. When I’m shooting my 20 yard pin I have my teeth together . For each of the further distances I open my jaw slightly. This increases the distance from my anchor to my peep allowing me to center the peep on each of the different sight pins.

DON’T PRESS THE STRING INTO YOUR FACE

Now that I’m no longer as active in competitive shooting, I can let a few of my secrets out. After years of analyzing my shooting results, I learned that I had more left and right misses when the string and arrow nock contacted the side of my face. I don’t mean the release hand – it has to make contact for consistent shooting. I’m talking about the string itself. Even a slight change in the amount of pressure I used to hold the string against my face resulted in noticeable differences in accuracy. I finally determined that I was most accurate when the string didn’t touch anything.

This tip is especially useful if you wear a facemask while hunting. If you press the string into your facemask, you will see even greater accuracy problems.

You can keep the string out of your face by turning your head until you are looking almost straight at the target. Most archers, and even some good ones, turn their heads much too far to the right (right-handed shooter) causing the string to make solid contact with their face. Look at yourself in the mirror while you are at full draw. Find a position that keeps the string off your face. Once again, the solution will most often come by shortening your draw length slightly.

You have to repeat only a handful of things on every shot to enjoy consistent shooting: body alignment, grip, anchor point, trigger squeeze and follow-through. Get the shot started right with a solid, repeatable anchor point and it will have a much better chance of turning out well.

TWO TIPS FOR BOWHUNTING

admin — Thu, 08 Feb 2007 04:25:42 +0000

1. You need to break in the string and harness system on your bow before it is ready for hunting. Take roughly 300 to 400 shots first and then soak the string and harnesses in water. You can dip them in a bathtub or spray them down with water. Soak them good. A couple of days later leave your bow in a really warm (but not too hot) place. The backseat of your car for a couple of hours on a sunny day might work (As long as you aren’t doing it in Arizona in the summer time) Keep the windows rolled up. The purpose of this exercise is to melt the wax forcing it out of the string and also to cause the individual fibers to stretch – in effect causing the string and harnesses to take a set. Now you can tune and sight in.
Some of the non-stretch fiber string materials do not require nearly as much work to settle in. (Both BCY and Brownell make a non stretch string material. I use BCY’s 450 plus with great results.)

2. Achieving accuracy with broadheads requires two things: a well tuned bow and a quiver full of well tuned arrows. If your bow is tuned but your arrows aren’t you will get a group that has the same approximate center as your field point groups but will be much larger. If your bow is not tuned but your arrows are tuned you will get a group with a different center than you have with field points but the group may be close to the same size as your field point group. If both are untuned you will get a very wide dispersion of shots.

To achieve perfect hunting accuracy, you need to tune each arrow individually. Make sure you shoot every single arrow with the broadhead attached to see if it hits with the group. I like to use slow set epoxy on my insert then I spin each arrow in my palm with a broadhead attached. If I feel even the slightest wobble, I rotate the broadhead and do the test again. If that doesn’t work I try a different broadhead.If that still doesn’t work I set that arrow aside.

TOUGH TREE STAND SHOTS

admin — Thu, 08 Feb 2007 04:23:43 +0000

You might be surprised to find that I consider a very short shot from a tree to be one of the toughest.

Whitetail hunters tend to set up for, and expect, 20-yard shots. However, during the rut, bucks are likely to take the most direct route to where they are headed, regardless of trails. They may come past at 40 yards or 4 yards. Not many bowhunters practice five and 10-yard tree stand shots, yet they are nearly as likely as 20-yard shots.

Shooting straight down forces you to use form that is radically different from what you are used to. Medium to long tree stand shots require only slight changes in body angle from level ground shooting, but short shots require you to bend in ways you never will on the range.

There are two keys to making great short shots from a tree. First, focus just as hard as you would on longer shots. It just seems too easy and you’re already thinking about putting your tag on the buck’s rack before you ever let the arrow go. You need to bear down and try to split a single hair because there is little margin for error your shot placement has to be prefect.

Second, Spread your feet, open your stance and bend fully at the waist to maintain the proper 90-degree angle between your bow arm and your upper torso. This can be uncomfortable on shots under ten yards, and bowhunters tend to cheat by merely lowering their bow arm without bending at the waist. .This changes all the important relationships (eye to pin, draw length, bow arm to release arm, anchor point) that you have developed during practice. The likely result is a poor hit.

TOO MUCH PRACTICE

admin — Thu, 08 Feb 2007 04:23:14 +0000

Many bowhunters struggle to find the time to prepare properly for the bow season. Between family and work they are stretched thin. They’d love to have the problem of practicing too much. There is no question that you need to make the time to shoot regularly, but I also know many others that shoot dozens of arrows every day without improving their skills. In fact, they are actually making it less likely that they will improve. Their problem is not one of shooting too little. They are guilty of shooting too much.

My definition of “too much” practice is the sloppy form that occurs when you start slinging arrows without focusing on each step of every single shot. Every good shot requires both 100% physical and 100% mental involvement. When the archer starts to get lazy it is all too easy to begin coasting mentally. It is a big mistake that will only lead to bad habits.

WHAT IS SLOPPY SHOOTING

People have varying degrees of mental discipline. Some can concentrate effectively on demand for hours while others will begin drifting after only a few minutes. But, regardless of discipline, everyone has a breaking point. It’s important that you stop shooting when you reach yours.

Before you can tell when you’ve reached your mental limit you need to first know what it feels like to be fully engaged in the shot. That way you’ll be able to tell when you’re not.

Every good shot requires that you concentrate on three things in order. First, assess the physical conditions of the shot. These include wind speed and direction, shot distance, changes in elevation and whether or not you’ve got a clear shot to the target. These should be a part of every shot you take whether hunting or standing on the range. You need repetition to build a habit of gauging these factors on every shot. To stay fresh you can always change positions on the range so that you have a new set of variables to consider.

The second mental hurdle is a step-by-step process of making sure your form is correct. There are literally dozens of things you could consider here, but focus on just the three or four that you have the most trouble with. For example, you may say to yourself, “Make sure the grip is contacting my hand in the right place. Keep the left shoulder low. Squeeze through the shot.” Every bowhunter should have their own list based on what they need to do to shoot well.

If you focus on good form as a part of every shot you take when practicing it should be a part your muscle memory by the time you draw on a buck. Besides, there are usually so many other decisions that need to be made when shooting at game that thinking of your shooting form can actually be distracting.

The mental task is to lock in on the spot you want to hit. This is the hardest part of the shot and is where you will first notice a lapse in concentration. If any other thought invades your mind at this point it will distract you from shooting your best. Give your mind completely to the spot. To stay locked on you may choose a mental exercise like trying to pick out the exact shape of an old arrow hole or the outline of a slight contour in the target in the exact spot you are trying to hit. If you will do that you will be amazed at how the shot takes care of itself and you begin shooting tighter groups with greater consistency. You will also find it much easier to focus on a hair or slight discoloration on an animal’s side when hunting.

TOO MUCH SHOOTING CAN MAKE YOU WORSE

Archery has many things in common with golf - another game of precision. On those rare occasions when I’ve watched golfers on a driving range I’ve noticed a common trait: they casually knock out shot after shot without any apparent routine or focus. It is the archery equivalent of shooting through your quiver without giving any thought to the shots. All you are doing is reinforcing bad habits that will actually make it much harder to ever improve.

I don’t shoot hundreds of arrows each week because I know the value of staying fresh. I shoot only as many as I can (usually no more than 20 to 30 at a time) while giving each one total effort. It is mentally taxing work to shoot each arrow like it is the only one you’ll shoot that day, but there is no other way you can replace bad habits with good ones.

When you draw on the biggest buck you’ve seen all season there is nothing you will need more than mental discipline and focus. By making these qualities a top priority during practice sessions they will quickly become an important part of your technique while hunting.

Don’t let your mind get lazy or all that practice time will only go to making you worse. Work hard to control your mind. When, despite your best efforts, it starts to drift you know it’s time to take a break. From this day forward never again take a shot, regardless of how insignificant it may seem, without giving it every ounce of your mental energy.

ARROW STABILITY

admin — Thu, 08 Feb 2007 04:22:38 +0000

I shot in a 3-D tournament with a young man 10 years ago that was continually losing or damaging his arrows. With a handful of targets still remaining, his hip quiver that had once held six shiny new aluminum arrows now carried only two badly damaged shafts. I figured he’d pack it in. But instead, to my shock, he took an arrow that was mushroomed from centering a tree branch and snapped it off an inch behind the point. He crimped the shaft closed to form a wedge tip. Without a point or an insert to provide front weight, the undaunted fellow went on to shoot at and actually hit a few more targets.

That archer’s arrow was theoretically unstable because its balance point was behind the physical center yet it still flew straight because of the large helical fletchings it carried. Had the fletchings been removed the shaft might have hit the target sideways or even tail first. That demonstration reinforced an important fact: arrow stability is related to a number of factors including fletchings, balance point and dynamic shaft stiffness. Here’s how these variables can be made to work more closely together to produce an accurate arrow.

HELICAL FLETCHING AND LOTS OF IT

As long as the tail of the arrow carries three big fletchings with a high degree of helical your arrows will stabilize quickly even if your bow isn’t perfectly tuned. Large helical fletching also reduces the affects of inconsistencies such as a slightly bent shaft or a nock that’s out of line.

All archers, but especially bowhunters, should choose their fletching conservatively. Four inches should be the minimum starting length for hunting arrows even with mechanical broadheads and five-inch fletching is even better. There is little place for straight fletching in archery – bowhunting or otherwise. An arrow needs to spin to be most consistent. It’s important to note that even arrows equipped with field points will plane if they come out of the bow other than dead straight. Helical fletching helps reduce this affect. With today’s drop-away arrow rests there is no good reason not to use fletching sporting eight degrees, or more, of helical offset.

FORWARD OF CENTER BALANCE POINT

Your arrow’s balance point will affect its trajectory – at least slightly. For example, an arrow that is “tip light” will remain a little more level in flight and will actually plane or sail along a flatter trajectory than one of the same weight but with a heavier nose. But, tip light arrows don’t correct quite as fast when they come out of the bow. The closer the center of gravity gets to the physical center of the arrow the less stable the arrow will be in flight. A slashing arrow pivots around its center of mass (balance point). The farther the balance point is from the fletchings the more leverage they have and the quicker they can bring the arrow back on line.

Here’s how you calculate Forward of Center (FOC) balance point and why you need to know this number.

Calculating FOC: Divide the overall length of the arrow by two. (Overall length is the distance from the bottom of the nock groove to the point where the shaft meets the insert. This should produce the physical center of the shaft. Now subtract this number from the balance point (with the point installed), a distance that is also measured from the bottom of the nock groove. Divide the remainder by the complete overall length. Multiply by 100 to express as a percentage.

The experts at Easton feel that an FOC value that is between 10 and 15 percent will produce the best compromise between stability and a flat trajectory for most hunting situations. The American Society for Testing and Materials have published a procedure for measuring balance point, and in it they state that a value of 9% is typical. But, they also add that the range can be as wide as 7% to 18% while still producing good arrow flight. 3-D shooters seeking a flatter trajectory often go a little lighter on the nose with many shooting arrows having FOC balance points closer to 6 percent.

The best way to achieve your desired FOC (to play it safe, let’s shoot for around 12%) is to try several different weight points until you hit the right balance. However, if you are sold on a particular broadhead that’s too heavy to permit the arrow to fall into the desired FOC range, you can change from feathers to vanes or vice versa if the head is too light. You can also change from aluminum inserts to lighter composite inserts if the FOC is too large.

DYNAMIC STIFFNESS

If your arrow is improperly spined your consistency and stability will suffer. The shaft selection charts published by the arrow manufacturers are a good starting point, but you still must experiment with various point weights to determine which one produces the tightest groups with your bow and your release technique. Changing point weight will also affect FOC balance point, so once you arrive at the proper tip weight you should retest your FOC. If it is outside the range from 10% to 15% you can add or remove weight from the back of the arrow (changing fletching length and style is the easiest method) to bring it back in line without greatly affecting dynamic stiffness.

A stable arrow will recover quickly upon leaving the bow and this makes it more consistent and more accurate. That’s a very worthwhile goal for any bowhunter.

SPOT AND STALK TRICKS AND TIPS

admin — Thu, 08 Feb 2007 04:22:12 +0000

Sneaking within100 yards from a wild animal is not particularly difficult, but cutting that distance down to 40 yards is another matter. In golf circles they say that the Masters Tournament begins on the back nine on Sunday. Well, real bowhunting starts on the final 60 yards of a stalk. The pressure intensifies and every mistake is magnified. In more than 25 years of stalking big game with my bow, I’ve made a lot of mistakes. The lessons they’ve taught me are outlined here so you can learn from them too.

UNDERSTAND THE ANIMAL

The best spot and stalk hunters I know have the equivalent of a PhD in animal behavior. There is no substitute for knowing the habits of the animal you’re hunting. For example, you can get away with a lot more on a bull moose bedded behind a screen of willows than you can with a bull elk in the same situation.

Knowing the animal allows you to better guess what he’s likely to do next at any point in the stalk. This knowledge allows you to fit your strategy to the animal and the setting in a way that increases your chances of staying one step ahead. Being able to recognize when the odds are in your favor so you can take advantage of them is one of the keys to successful stalking.

Take advantage of any opportunity to learn from a veteran hunter who specializes in the animals you’re planning to hunt. Ask questions about how he hunts: when he moves, how fast, how close. And ask about the animals: what can you get away with and what you can’t, where do they like to bed, where do they feed, where do they find water, etc. This kind of knowledge is invaluable and learning it the easy way is priceless.

BEAT THEM TO THEIR BEDS

Some animals can be stalked effectively while they’re bedded, but most are easier to approach when they’re on their feet. Waiting for an animal to bed before stalking seems to make sense because then you have a stationary target. But, as soon as it beds down you’ve lost some important advantages. Wild animals instinctively choose bedding areas that provide visibility and good scenting – they’re hard to approach. Usually, what they can’t see they can smell, leaving no quadrant unguarded. Whenever possible, I try to stalk animals when they are on their feet.

The eyesight of most big game is ideally suited for detecting motion. When they’re bedded this sense is especially acute, but when they’re up and moving it is somewhat neutralized. When an animal is moving it can’t see motion as well and you can get away with a bit more. The same goes for hearing. Big game animals in general have very good hearing and are able to easily recognize the sounds of stealth. When deer are on their feet feeding and moving they’re making noise themselves and that noise covers some of the sounds you make when stalking.

START FAST, END SLOW

Stalking is a game of minutes, sometimes of seconds. One of the best mule deer that I’ve shot recently was in the process of pawing out its bed when I peaked over the rise just within range. I’d just run two miles to get to him before he bedded and got there not an instant too soon. Had I been even a minute later it would have been much more difficult to get a shot. You are always racing the clock when preparing for a stalk. In the morning you’re trying to beat them to their beds. Even if they’re already bedded they will often get up and move seemingly without reason. And, in the afternoon you have the end of legal shooting time bearing down on you.

Run if you must, but get to the point where you can make your final approach as quickly as possible and then slow down. You don’t have to go straight at the animal in this first stage of the stalk. Whenever possible, I like to get in front of an animal and work back toward it because that will usually allows the animal to do most of the moving and produces more controlled shots.

DON’T GET TOO CLOSE

Trying to slip within 20 yards is usually a mistake. I used to do this all the time. I remember a couple of times getting within 10 yards of big, bedded mule deer and then thinking, “what do I do now?” What I did most of the time was spook them. After enough of these close encounters went south I began to realize that getting inside 20 yards actually decreased my odds of tagging the animal. It’s hard to avoid being detected when you’re right on top of them.

I believe the sensitivity of a big game animal increases exponentially as you close the distance. For instance I think you can get away with a lot more than twice as much noise, movement and odor at 30 yards than you can at 15 yards. Now, I rarely push a stalk inside 30 yards. Rather than forcing the action, I’ve learned to be patient and take what I can get. I’ll remain motionless for hours if necessary and let the animal make the move.

DON’T MAKE A BEDDED ANIMAL STAND

This mistake cost me several good mule deer before I wised up. I would pull off a long stalk on a bedded animal and get in close. Proud of my accomplishment and filled with excitement I just couldn’t sit patiently for long. I felt compelled to make something happen. So, in an effort to produce a shot I’d throw a rock over the buck to get him to stand. For every one that stood up to look around, at least five blew out like they’d been thrown from a catapult.

Obviously, I was getting too close, but that was only part of the problem. Unraveling my second common mistake became one of the most important lessons I’ve ever learned. It was also one of the most difficult because overcoming it requires lots of patience and self-control. Now, when faced with a buck bedded nearby I hang back and wait for the animal to make the next move rather than forcing things.

This can sometimes take hours; turning you into a nervous wreck by the time the animal stands. During just the past two seasons I’ve been on two stalks that ended in marathon waits. On both of them I ended up sitting or lying down for long hours before the animal stood. I got one of them, but my arrow deflected from a bush on the other. I’ve also had long waits that produced nothing. After all that waiting, it’s tempting to second-guess the virtue of patience when you don’t get a shot. I heartily recommend that you don’t second-guess this one. No strategy, no matter how good, is going to work every single time. But, I’ve learned from years of mistakes that over the long haul you’ll tag the most game by waiting them out at the end of a stalk.

LOOK BEFORE YOU LEAP

You need a very good landmark near the animal that you can use to direct your stalk. I’ll spend an extra 10 minutes before starting on a stalk just memorizing the landmarks and terrain features. From a high vantage point things always look different than they do when you get down and start stalking. This is a critical step in any spot and stalk hunt. Don’t be so impatient to get started that you overlook it.

If I have a buddy with me we will take turns stalking and staying back to give hand signals. This kind of help is most valuable when the animal is moving or when it’s bedded in a nondescript setting where everything looks the same.

I use my rangefinder during every stage of the stalk so I always know how far it is to the animal and to the cover where I think the stalk is likely to end. I always want to know these distances in case the buck or bull suddenly appears and I’m pinned down.

STALKING AN ELK IS DIFFERENT

Most of the tips I’ve offered so far have been geared toward mule deer and, to a lesser extent, animals such as sheep. Elk are different and need to be hunted differently. You don’t actually stalk them as much as you chase them. When I decide a bull is big enough, I’ll stay on the downwind fringe of his herd for as long as I can until he swings to my side or I see an opportunity to move in on him.

Stalking elk is a dynamic game that really doesn’t have many rules. Get yourself in shape so you can run when you have to. Everything else is spontaneously generated. Almost anything can happen when a bull is working a herd. Let the situation at hand combined with your understanding of elk behavior dictate what you do when you get close.

SILENCING YOU AND YOUR BOW

Crunching pine needles, rolling stones, clinking metal, snapping twigs and the swish of clothing on underbrush are all sounds wild animals are programmed to recognize as danger. By eliminating these sounds you increase your odds of getting into position. To do this I use several tricks.

First, I usually take off my boots at the end a stalk if the weather permits, and sneak the final 40 yards in stocking feet. I’m mostly hunting in warm conditions, but you could even carry an extra pair of heavy wool socks for stalking in the cold. Without boots you can move much more quietly.

I also silence my bow. I don’t mean the draw and the shot (though these are important). I’m talking about silencing the outside of the bow so it doesn’t make any noise against rocks when I’m crawling. I’ve been known to apply mole skin to the entire side of the bow. I’ve even put Simms mini LimbSavers on the side of my bow to serve as shock absorbers and silencers when crawling.

GLASSING TECHNIQUES

So far I’ve focused only on the second half of the spot and stalk story – the fun half, the part where you get to shoot. The first half may not be as glamorous, but it is just as important. There’s no stalk until there’s first a spot. That’s why I’m such a stickler for good optics and good glassing technique.

Before I owned good optics I spotted many deer that I thought were trophy class bucks only to discover they were average after investing hours to get close. I don’t mind practicing my stalking skills, but leaving a good glassing point for any reason other than to stalk a sure enough shooter is a poor use of prime hunting time. Carrying the very best optics you can afford not only increases enjoyment – the more clearly you can see the more fun you’ll have – but it also makes better use of your time.

Now, whenever I hunt in big country I carry a spotting scope just for judging antlers. A good scope will make long-range evaluation notably easier and more effective. It adds a little weight to my pack but it has saved me many miles of walking.

Under ideal conditions most decent binoculars will perform well, but you don’t always glass under ideal conditions. Instead, look through the binoculars with the setting sun in your eyes. If the flare is so bad that you can’t see clearly, you have the wrong pair. Without moving the binoculars, scan from side to side to study the outer edges of your field of view. Very high quality binoculars will be just as clear at the edges as they are in the center. Now compare them as you study the shadows for details. A binocular’s ability to pierce the shadows is an important part of its overall usefulness.

A few tricks will help you spot more game. Just as a deer can see motion better when it’s standing still, you can pick up details better when your binoculars are steady. Get into a very comfortable and stable position and rest your elbows on your knees. For really serious glassing you should use a stable tripod with legs that will adjust to every type of terrain.

Where you set up to spot from is an underrated part of successful hunting and should receive careful thought. The common mistake is to automatically pick the highest point around just because it overlooks a lot of country. Instead, choose spotting locations that overlook known deer hangouts even if you can’t see much country.

During the heat of the day, concentrate on the shadows on north and east facing slopes where game is most likely to get out of the sun. During the rest of the day focus on feeding areas and the trails leading to and from.

Spot and stalk hunting is a bit of a lost art in these times of tree stand hunting, but given a choice I would much rather sneak up something and take it on the ground than wait helplessly hoping it approaches my tree. Every step brings me closer to the moment of truth. The pressure builds with each step. The excitement is nearly unbearable when a long stalk finally brings the sight of antler tips bobbing out from behind a bush. It is the most intense moment in an already intense sport. If you haven’t tried it you’ve been missing the most fun you can have with a bow in your hand.

Caption: Carrying the very best optics you can afford not only increases enjoyment – the more clearly you can see the more fun you’ll have – but it also makes better use of your time.

Caption: Spot and stalk hunting works for elk as well. This bull was spotted by the author ¾ of a mile away. The bull never bugled and as is usually the case with elk the stalk involved a lot of chasing. When elk aren’t bugling you have to treat them like a mule deer; glass them up then chase them down.

Caption: The author stalked within 50 yards several times on this buck over the span of two years. Some of these stalks involved remaining in position for several hours. The last stalk produced results worth waiting for.
Caption: I use my rangefinder during every stage of the stalk so I always know how far it is to the animal and to the cover where I think the stalk is likely to end. I always want to know these distances in case the buck or bull suddenly appears and I’m pinned down.

Caption: Leaving a good glassing point for any reason other than to stalk a sure enough shooter is a poor use of prime hunting time. Carrying the very best optics you can afford not only increases enjoyment – the more clearly you can see the more fun you’ll have – but it also makes better use of your time.

SHOOTING SLUMPS

admin — Thu, 08 Feb 2007 04:21:28 +0000

I was hunting mule deer in Arizona with a couple of my friends many years back. After we separated, I found a nice buck chasing a doe. He was focused on her and never noticed that I was stalking him. I had to work around the doe a few times, but over the course of the day I was able to get in on that buck five different times. I started the day with a quiver full of arrows, but when I got back to the vehicle my bow was a whole lot lighter and I still had the tag in my pocket. My friends roared at me when I told them why my quiver was empty. I immediately began thinking about getting new friends.

I missed that buck five times, and as I walked back to the rendezvous I was able to justify each miss in a way that made it a little easier to swallow. I had hit branches, misjudged distance and been hammered by the wind. Surely, those factors were beyond my control; or were they?

MENTAL SHOOTING SLUMPS

Call it a one day shooting slump. I had found every possible way to miss a mule deer. After spending some time thinking about it, I didn’t feel any better that the errors had been mental instead of physical. The result was the same: unfilled tag, lots of ribbing from the buds. I realized that it is just as easy to get lazy mentally and let opportunities slip away as it is for your shooting form to get out of whack. I decided I had to change my pre-shot routine to include new decision points.

Spend some time thinking about the steps you take from the time you first see an animal you want to shoot until the arrow is in the air. If you rush through the sequence with little thought - quickly guessing the range, pulling the string and triggering the release - you’ll spend the rest of your life cursed by small errors.

A good routine has decision points leading up the shot for everything that has a bearing on its outcome. For example, at what point do you check for branches above the sight line that might interfere with your arrow flight? When do you assess the strength of the wind and how much it will make your arrow drift? Under what conditions do you stop a walking animal for the shot and when do you take him on the move? At what distance can you no longer trust your ability to judge range, forcing you to rely on a rangefinder? These decisions are crucial and they should be built into the preparation for each shot you take while hunting.

Pressure is another factor that can cause you to shoot poorly. We aren’t born with the ability to shoot well under pressure; it is something that has to be learned. Early in my shooting career I had trouble focusing under pressure. To overcome it, I mentally worked up high-pressure situations on the range and then shot only one arrow. My friends and I also got together to improve our performance in this regard. We made a game of trying to get each other to falter. We could do anything we wanted to distract the shooter short of actually touching him. Soon we were able to concentrate much better under pressure.

A lapse in confidence can also send you into a slump. Many bowhunters get dry mouth when a big buck approaches because they are afraid they’ll screw it up. Bad experiences in the past continue to haunt them. It is a self-fulfilling prophecy; what they fear will happen is what does happen. If your confidence is low when shooting at game, no amount of backyard practice will completely cure the problem.

Success breeds success. Grab some antlerless tags or hunt small game during the off-season. In other words, get plenty of success under your belt. You’ll quickly forget about the problems you’ve had in the past.

PHYSICAL SHOOTING SLUMPS

I’ve never had a deep slump, but I have strung together tournaments where I didn’t place as well as I thought I should. When that happens I take a step backward and focus on the fundamentals of shooting form: standing tall, bow shoulder low, torso perpendicular to arms at full draw, surprise release, etc. I put form over hold. If I do everything else well, the pin will be solid without my having to worry about it. In other words, I focus on the process and don’t try to force the results. I don’t try to force the arrow hit the spot hoping to find some kind of magic on the range that day. Instead, I go back to the basics.

I also spend time checking my bow and arrows to make sure my shooting problems aren’t caused by problems with equipment. I check the alignment of the bow’s limbs, the straightness of its axles and the condition of my arrows. I lock everything down on the bow to make sure nothing has slipped or moved.

If your shooting problems are mental, change your pre-shot routine or put yourself in situations where you can learn to manage pressure. If your misses are caused by poor execution, don’t start grasping for straws; go back to the basics. Soon you’ll be shooting like a champ again.