Rock, Paper, Scissors

"Do you want to call, or do you want me to?"

"I don't know, dude, let's Rock it off!" This is the conversation my hunting partner, Spencer and I were having as the hunt for "Thrasher" unfolded in the Cascade Mountains of Southern Oregon.

It was just afternoon on a cool Sept. 17th, and we were looking for a break in what had been a frustrating, lack of action season so far. This was our 17th day of hunting Oregon's General Bow Season, with only one good encounter with a bull, which I screwed up by trying to reposition myself as the "caller" to bring a screaming bull in front of my other two hunting partners, Scotty and Benny, only to get busted by a couple of his cows who promptly led him out of the area. Not a move a 17-year veteran of bow-hunting elk on public land should make, especially on a year that took us until the 10th day of hunting to even see an elk (ouch).

This was only my 2nd day of hunting with Spencer, and we knew there was a "hot bull" in the area by all the fresh big rubs we kept finding. This bull had torn up about 2 miles of this ridge we were hunting. We just couldn't find him. We were moving to different areas of the ridge looking for the bull we had nicknamed "Thrasher," for all the rubs he had made.

Spencer had been calling for about 10 minutes at the top of a thick clear cut as I was glassing for deer, listening hard for any response to the calling. He went down into the clear cut about 20 yards to break a particular dead long he had spotted when all of a sudden he came running back up to the road saying, "Big bull, big bull, I'm not kidding." I could tell by his excitement he wasn't kidding.

"Thrasher" had left the safety of the re-prod and ventured over 100 yards into the clear cut out of our limited view, only to come eye-to-eye at about 150 yards with Spencer.

We grabbed our bows and ran up the road just in time to glass the bull walking back in the re-prod, seemingly unalarmed. I got a good side view of him and could see that he was a strong 6x6.

"Every time I drop my guard, there they are," Spencer said angrily, obviously upset that he had went into the open where the silent bull had spotted him.

We regrouped, and decided to circle around on the opposite side of the bull and set up in the timber on the other side of the re-prod.

We went up the road about 400 years and dropped in the open timber about 60 yards when Spencer said we needed to set up now, and not go any further.

That's when the conversation in the beginning of this story took place.

After winning the rock, paper, scissors game, I headed down the draw towards where "Thrasher" had gone to regain his cows. Once I was about 100 yards, ahead of Spencer I took off my pack and ranged a couple of spots I thought the elk would come in at 30 and 40 yards, nocked an arrow and got ready.

Less than 30 seconds into the calling sequence by Spencer, I caught movement in the timber above at about 150 yards away. It was "Thrasher," trotting up the trail with his herd of about 10 cows in tow. Only problem was that he was further up the ridge that I had anticipated. Unfortunately I had not ranged that far up the ridge.

When Thrasher stopped to survey the timber ahead for an intruding bull, it gave me a chance to range the trail he was traveling on. I shoved the rangefinder back in my pocket, "Thrasher" continued on his way up the ridge.

As I drew my bow, Spencer bugled again. The bull stopped to "thrash" a small fir in anticipation of his confrontation with another bull invading his territory. I let down, not knowing how long he was going to rub this tree. I didn't want to have to hold for two minutes and then try to make a 55-yard shot. After only four or five strokes on the tree, "Thrasher" continued on his path. I drew again and readied myself for the shot. The bull entered my lane, I cow-called to stop him. To my amazement Thrasher continued on, while the rest of his herd stopped and looked at me.

I had only one more open lane before the bull would catch my wind. When he entered that lane, I let out the loudest cow call I could muster up.

The bull jerked to a stop, riveted on my position. As my finger increased pressure on my release, I noticed the infamous "twigs" in the middle of my 20 and 30 pins. I remember thinking to myself, "This wont work." I took a half step to my right and leaned away from the twigs just enough for my pins to clear and re-leveled my sight with my 50 and 60 pins splitting the vitals on the magnificent bull.

I squeezed the trigger, the bow went off, I was sure my arrow had hit within a couple of inches of where I was aiming.

Thrasher jumped and ran back down the trail the way he had come. I quickly bugled at him, and he stopped about 30 yards from where the shot was made. After about one minute, the cows wandered back into the rep-rod, but the bull stayed put. I knew that was a good sign.

Spencer heard me shoot, but thought I missed, so he kept on calling, thinking he could call the bull back I for another shot.

After a couple of minutes, the bull laid down facing the caller, and I could see my arrow sticking out of him about eight inches. It was about ten inches behind his shoulder, mid-body height and slightly angling forward. I knew the hit was fatal and stayed motionless as not to jump him.

After about 10 minutes, the bull expired, and I gave Spencer the triple bugle with 20 chuckles to let him know Thrasher was down.

Our celebration began as we admired the great beast that had been eluding us.

As we were taking pictures, I decided to do a picture of Spencer and I together. I set my camera on a log and hit the timer, ran over to the bull and smiled. What I got was a photo that was incredible.

I guess when it's your day, it's your day. I never win at rock, paper, scissors, except on my day!

I would like to thank Spencer for his great calling skills and elk knowledge, my wife and kids for tolerating my absence in the month of September and my boss, who allows me the time off to pursue my passion of bow-hunting elk.

Written by John Raines