Editor’s note: Second of a two-part series on archery hunting for elk. Today, frustration mounts as elk prove elusive.
HOLY CROSS WILDERNESS — The rut is a mystery. But then, so too is the elusive wapiti.
Both have been analyzed by some of the finest minds in the biological universe, postulations scrutinized, dissertations certified, only to see it all change come September.
That’s the month set aside for archery hunters in Colorado, the advantage offered to those dedicated to the sort of primitive weaponry requiring proximity to bring down a mega-mammal such as elk. It’s the peak of the rut, the romantic essence of a wild wapiti hunt, when the herds are gathered and, theory holds, so titillated as to abandon otherwise exemplary instincts long enough that a wily hunter might sneak in.
Like the howl of a wolf, the haunting scream of a bull elk’s bugle is among the most distinctive sounds in nature. And its absence in the final week of archery season was cause for alarm.
“There’s not a whole lot you can do if they aren’t talking,” Ben Gilbert of Edwards said as frustration mounted with his brother-and-law and business partner at , Jeff Kennedy.
Although they had seen about a dozen elk, intense rain and wind had kept the animals bedded for much of the first few days of the hunt. And now the bugles of elk had gone silent, even under the clear morning and evening skies, when this integral element of courtship most commonly occurs.
It’s not an unprecedented phenomenon. Typically, the rut in Colorado begins when bulls shed the velvet from full-grown antlers around mid-August and continues into early or mid-October. Much of the bugling and most of the challenges between dominant bulls take place in the early going, and by late September, the weary bulls often enter a “rest phase” as many mature cows are no longer in estrus. The frenzy may be put on hold until early October.
“Something happened with the rut,” Gilbert said. “It seems like there’s one week in every rut when it just stops and you don’t know when or why.”
That’s not to say there still isn’t plenty of hunting to be done, only that it becomes more difficult.
With packs on their backs and bows in hand, Gilbert and Kennedy rose well before dawn and staked out the most likely nearby elk habitat.
By sunrise, the animals they heard were in the area were gone. Returning to a high draw where they had spotted a small bull a few days earlier, they soon discovered why. The unlikely herd bull had rounded up a harem of four or five cows, now grazing near the ditch.
Kennedy already had an arrow on the string.
“Jeff was in front, and I stayed back and made a couple cow calls behind him. I really just wanted Jeff to get something,” Gilbert said. In six years of bow hunting, Kennedy had yet to draw his bow on an elk. “The bull wouldn’t come, but one of the cows started wandering away from the herd toward us. I let out another cow call. Then, all of the sudden, she just started sprinting straight at Jeff. She ran right past him, full speed, then she sprinted right past me and just kept going. I was like, ‘What’s that crazy cow doing?’ I don’t know if she ever saw us.”
The rest of the herd moved on before coming into range, leaving the hunters with another silent march over and around the mountain. The dawn-to-dusk hiking would continue for two full days, with neither sight nor sound of another elk, only a sow bear and her cubs.
“On our last full day, we went back to the top of the ridge just before sunset and I was like, ‘Man, I’m done. I don’t think we should even hunt in the morning, just relax in camp and get packed up,’ ” Gilbert said. “I let out one last bugle, and sure enough, a bull bugled back — right from camp. There was about 15 minutes of shooting light left, and we started running down the hill full speed back to camp, stopping to bugle every so often. We never saw the bull, but pretty soon there was like three or four different bulls bugling all around us. They kept it up all night.”
With renewed enthusiasm, the hunters were back in the game, heading up to the familiar draw before sunrise. The conversation continued, but the bugling bulls refused to reveal themselves.
“Once they quieted down, I knew the hunt was pretty much over, so I moved a little closer,” Kennedy said. “Then I heard something big rustling in the trees, really close. I was set up perfectly and was like, ‘This is it!’ He started pushing through the trees with his antlers and I’m like, ‘What the heck?’ It was a dang moose. He walked out into the open and stood perfectly broadside 30 yards in front of me. It was awesome to watch, but, I mean …”
Theories about why and what to do differently on ensuing hunts will have plenty of time to evolve.
Some insist the entire rut has been pushed back into October in recent years, which would bode well for rifle hunters heading into the elk woods starting Oct. 11.
For now, there is only one certainty: The wapiti works in mysterious ways.
Scott Willoughby: swilloughby@denverpost.com or twitter.com/swilloughby
