This is a story that in my mind was a wonderful Success and pert near all of it is true.. So there we were, on our yearly bowhunt in southern Colo.   We had our regular party of  4 hunters, wall tent, trailer, water barrels, campstove, food cooking utensils and all the other paraphernalia that the responsible hunter takes just in case for a week long  pursuit of the Mountain King .  I was armed with my Mathews Feathermax and a lot of hope.     

After two days of hard walking and climbing, my partner Brat and I decided to venture up to a vantage point across the valley so we could glass the openings for the next morning hunt.   We thought that setting in the truck with spotting scopes would save a lot of, not only shoe leather, but also our lungs and bodies.  Little did I know how much of a toll this seeming innocent outing was going to heap on my flatland body.   
    

We had only been there at the overlook a short while when we heard a bull bugle in an aspen bowl that  I had seen from the mountain on the other side of the rive and longed to hunt some day.   I just didn’t realize that today was the day!   After looking at topo maps and attempting to venture up that way on a few prior occasions, we had come to the conclusion that this place was impossible to get to. Using the logic that it is much easier to go down than up.    After discussing the probabilities for a few moments, I decided to attempt the impossible.  Brat said, Ain’t no way I am going down there but I will drive  the truck back the 15 miles around the mountain and park along the road at the bottom so you ain’t gonna make it back up here from there and you probably ain’t gonna make it down there without breaking your neck, but you can at least slide all the way down, excepting for those spots you are just gonna drop.”   I realized that would be great since not have to climb  down and back up the extremely steep slope. He left shaking his head with reservation and I took off, with great anticipation, heading for the screaming of the MOUNTAIN KING..
    

After about an hour of huffing and puffing and sliding and a lot of praying,  I finally got close .  I simply had to drop about 25 ft straight down and then climb up a  sheer rock face.   Overcoming this minor obstacle and giving myself time to get some air back in my lungs, after lying prostrate on the lip of that rock face, I gamely struggled up on my feet and positioned myself on a jutting point, behind a large spruce and let out a scream with my Abe's bugle. The bull immediately answered and I heard him crashing through the brush toward me. He stopped at approximately 150 yds. on the bench at the same elevation as I was perched and began pawing the earth, rocked that magnificent head back and Screamed. He then turned and began to herd his cows further up the mountain into an aspen grove  and my heart plummeted, I just knew that this hunt was over!   With the sunlight gleaming on his coat, he looked regal as the muscles rippled while he lunged thru the trees.   His coat gave off a reddish tint in the paling sunlight which made me think he was truly a KING with the 6x6 crown and antlers that reached back far enough to scratch his hind quarters.
    

I let out a good long bugle in an attempt to attract his attention and to my surprise, he turned and lunged back down the mountain toward me. . Bugling, screaming, and raising all kinds of cane. I chose a spot behind a spruce  that had limbs all the way to the ground for cover and it was a bad choice.  There were very few shooting lane opportunities available.  
    

However since the thermals were  still providing wind in my favor I attempted to bugle to continue his aggravation.  He pawed the ground, thrashed the trees with his antlers and ripped a small spruce completely from the ground with his rack and screamed like a banshee, He came within 15 yds and I was helpless as I had chosen wonderful cover but I had no shooting lanes. So I could only watch glimpses of the show he was putting on for me. Since we had conversed so much back and forth, I began to understand ELK talk and was surprised when he asked Where and Who are you. I responded that I was the Elk Doctor and came to give him his shot. He bugled back with severe disdain in his voice, asking indignantly  “ What is an Elk DOCTOR?”   I responded on my trusty Abe’s Bugle,  Since he probably didn’t get to town much that an ELK DOCTOR is kinda like a Vet for Cows,   He responded right back that he never had any of his cows mention a Vet to him.   I attempted to explain , in my limited abilities, since I had only come to understand ELK TALK in the previous 20 or so minutes, that I was talking bout them SLOW ELK,  Cattle,  Bovine,   not his cows.   He shook that mighty head and muttered something about being a young one challenging his authority.   Then he Screamed in a way that only Elk can SCREAM.  “ What is a shot?”.    Here I am limited in my ability to communicate with this magnificent fellow and stammering in my bugles back to him.
I went about doing a lot of bugling back telling him it was a  tetanus shot for cuts or scrapes he might have or get from fences or sharp sticks  he came in contact with, while chasing all them good looking cows around.. He quickly explained that he was the KING OF THE MOUNTAIN and he had no need for any shots.   Then he proceeded to tell me about his offspring and how wonderful they were,   ( He was kinda chauvinistic, since all he talked about was his sons or grandsons or great grandsons.)   He got to rambling about one  that was not ever gonna amount to much since he had been running into trees and rocks since he got loose from his momma.   This kinda made him even madder and he started Screaming and stomping and thrashing something fierce.   He paraded back an forth just on the other side of that wonderful tree that was doing such a good job of hding me from him.  Giving me a few glimpses of hope as I , with heart pounding, awaited him to simply take 3 more steps into the only opening that was available.   Then, as per normal, if it weren’t for bad luck, I would have no luck at all, those pesky thermals changed their mind and suddenly all that man smell from hiking near and far ( and not taking a shower for three days, probably didn’t help)  and he scented me, Screamed one more time with a bid of Adieu  or some other French phrase, and bolted back up the mountain to his harem. So after a 30 minute discussion with the King and abruptly and definitely  being put in my place, I resigned myself that this was another fine fix I had gotten myself into, since it was completely dark and the foliage of the aspens and firs, pretty well eliminated every bit of star light available.   So I began slipping and sliding down the mountain reflecting on what just happened,   Before I realized it, I had somehow floated the two miles down the mountain in the dark to the road, and don't really remember the trek, just the exhilaration of the experience. Just being there was a memory I will have forever. One of the greatest, I screwed up experiences I have ever had.    One of those experiences that can only be experienced and not described.   The kind that makes a hunter come back year after year.
    

When I got to the truck and Brat said, I was getting worried that he either gored you to death or knocked you off the mountain.   I was just sitting here thinking that maybe it is bout time to call out search and rescue.   I responded that it hadn’t taken that long and he said,  It was 5 hours ago when I drove off and it sounded like the battle of the bands up there with all that bugling.   What happened?   I looked at him sheepishly and responded,  You wouldn’t believe me if I told ya.

Harold Hurst is CEO of Agonic Enterprises maker of the STEDI-STOCK