2009 Arizona Elk Hunt
I was away on a business trip in late March when a text message arrived from a friend letting
me know that the Arizona draw results were posted. Politely excusing myself from my dinner
guests I hurriedly get on-line and check the results for myself. Another Arizona bull elk
permit was on its way! There is no explanation for this as I had drawn a tag the previous
year. But sometimes you beat the odds and who am I to argue? The news made for a
wonderful evening.
Arizona Game and Fish draws elk permits very early in the year which allows permit holders
ample time to plan and scout. I had hunted this unit successfully several years ago and had
a jump start on knowing where to locate a good bull. Although Arizona is known for its giant
elk the unit I drew isn’t managed for trophy animals. But there is a large population of elk in
the area and mature animals can be found. In prior years I had located several 300-class
shed antlers in the area and knew that locating a good bull should be possible.
My physical training regime starts right away. Although the area isn’t terribly high in
elevation there is a lot of terrain change and lots of hiking. Aerobic exercise is a must. I
intend to hunt a road less wilderness area with a stunningly beautiful and rugged canyon
system throughout it.
Over the summer I manage to wring out an accurate load for my rifle and get the scope
zeroed to my satisfaction. Frequent practice after work during the week increases my
comfort level with the rifle and also boosts my confidence.
Several months in advance of the hunt I begin my scouting trips. Beginning this early the elk
will most certainly move around before season opens. But it gives me an opportunity to
confirm which forest service roads are open and also begin a log to map out where I see
sign. The unit is busy with other deer, bear, and elk hunts for almost two months before my
permit is good. And the hunter pressure pushes the elk deeper and deeper into the woods.
But I don’t mind because my GPS unit has a waypoint worth its weight in gold. On an early
morning hike over one mile from the nearest road I had located an ideal spot where a
person can glass miles of the canyon with binoculars. Most hunters won’t hike in this far and
all the pressure from the roads should drive the elk right to me. This is where I will be
opening day.
It is only a few days now until the season opens. My brother has flown in to help and we
organize our gear before making the drive up to the hunt area. We navigate the pick-up off
the main highway then down one forest service road after another until we finally near the
place where we can walk into the wilderness area. I always worry that this area will be
packed with hunters but it never is. Perhaps the “Primitive Road – Travel at your own Risk”
sign help us out a little. We locate a nice campsite and set-up the wall tent without event. It
is late enough in the day that collecting firewood and cooking dinner is about all we
accomplish before night falls. It feels so good to relax in the tent and ready ourselves for
opening morning.
We hike in the dark opening morning to get into position so we can begin glassing at first
light. As is the case with November hunts, it is dark and gloomy and a light rain turns into a
downpour before we throw in the towel and head back to camp early to dry off. Before
hiking out we glass up a small herd of bulls several canyons off. I’ve got the big 15 power
binoculars mounted on a tripod and we get a pretty good look at the antlers before deciding
that they aren’t of much interest. The rain doesn’t let up until late in the day and we decide
to hike a nearby mountain in the hopes of catching something on the move. And we do.
Right at last light we catch up with another bachelor herd. The light is terrible but I can
make out a decent 6-point in the bunch and decide to make an aggressive stalk right at
them in an attempt to get in before shooting light is gone. But it all happens too fast and
they break away and rush down the mountain side far out of our sight. The next day begins
much the same but the rain turns to sleet and eventually snow. And then it gets cold. I
mean really, really cold. But we keep seeing elk so our spirits remain high.
Day three is dry but the temperature is bone chilling. Sitting up high on the mountain we are
exposed to the worst of the wind ripping up the canyon and it hurts to breath. My brother
glasses up a group of bulls on the opposing canyon. We are only about 800-yards away
and it doesn’t take a lot of observation to determine that we need to pursue these bulls.
The best in the group has fantastically long main beams that sweep back gracefully. His
companions are all fine animals too but this is the kind of bull that you remember. Hurriedly I
pack my gear and scramble to get in for a shot. It is too steep to go down directly from our
present location and it takes about one hour to hike down the ridge into a feeder canyon
and then cross back over to where we last saw the bulls. The sun has risen higher in the
sky and is causing the thermals to begin swirling the wind and there is simply no way to keep
the current approach without getting winded. The only thing to do is hike higher and then
make a big fishhook curve back into the area where we had last seen the bulls. The
landmarks are all familiar now and I pensively stalk further in the direction they were last
traveling. There is a tremendous clatter of breaking branches and hooves clattering on
rocks and then two large bulls came running right at me! The activity has caught us all by
surprise and the larger bull turns away then slows to a walk. This is the bull with the long
beams and I never take my eyes off him while raising my rifle to take aim and fire. Although
it was a close 40-yard distance the bull was turned at such a steep quartering angle that my
shot hit too far back and also hit high. After waiting about 15 minutes and trying to calm
down I set off towards the bottom of the canyon to find him. Unfortunately I kick him up off
his bed just 100-yards away. Another hasty running shot misses entirely and feeds his
adrenaline for what is to become the longest and most emotional tracking job of my life.
We follow the blood trail for five hours that day before it simply vanishes. We look and look
but can't find any additional sign after that last drop. I’m getting despondent, and we are
over two miles from the truck with nightfall nearing, so we mutually agree to throw in the
towel. It was a really hard decision and the most terrible walk of my life. Later, after dinner
back at camp and careful study on the topographical maps, we decide to go back in the
morning and hike into two likely places that the bull might have traveled.
The following morning we hike back into the area as quickly as possible using a different
route that is much more flat. As fate would have it we encounter many bulls on the hike and
I even take aim on a fine 6-point but can’t pull the trigger knowing that there is another bull
out there with my bullet already in it. Following our last GPS waypoint we amazingly pick up
the blood trail again. We follow it for another five hours before it disappears once again.
We search the area for over an hour but the trail is lost. By this time we are both
emotionally wrung out and getting very tired. We sit for a bite to eat and agree to 30 more
minutes of random searching in the area before we hike back out. Since there isn't a trail to
follow we just walk in areas that look like a place an elk would go. And then I smell him. The
strong musky smell of elk is unmistakable. He is laying dead not 10-yards away and is a
better bull than I could have imagined. My first shot had killed him but not with the speed
that I would have hoped. My brother can’t believe the sight when he walks up on the bull.
After photos we begin the job of quartering the meat and packing it out. We are three miles
from the truck as the crow flies. The burdensome effort of packing a quartered elk out on
your back is tough but I must admit it wasn't nearly as bad a walk from the previous day.
me know that the Arizona draw results were posted. Politely excusing myself from my dinner
guests I hurriedly get on-line and check the results for myself. Another Arizona bull elk
permit was on its way! There is no explanation for this as I had drawn a tag the previous
year. But sometimes you beat the odds and who am I to argue? The news made for a
wonderful evening.
Arizona Game and Fish draws elk permits very early in the year which allows permit holders
ample time to plan and scout. I had hunted this unit successfully several years ago and had
a jump start on knowing where to locate a good bull. Although Arizona is known for its giant
elk the unit I drew isn’t managed for trophy animals. But there is a large population of elk in
the area and mature animals can be found. In prior years I had located several 300-class
shed antlers in the area and knew that locating a good bull should be possible.
My physical training regime starts right away. Although the area isn’t terribly high in
elevation there is a lot of terrain change and lots of hiking. Aerobic exercise is a must. I
intend to hunt a road less wilderness area with a stunningly beautiful and rugged canyon
system throughout it.
Over the summer I manage to wring out an accurate load for my rifle and get the scope
zeroed to my satisfaction. Frequent practice after work during the week increases my
comfort level with the rifle and also boosts my confidence.
Several months in advance of the hunt I begin my scouting trips. Beginning this early the elk
will most certainly move around before season opens. But it gives me an opportunity to
confirm which forest service roads are open and also begin a log to map out where I see
sign. The unit is busy with other deer, bear, and elk hunts for almost two months before my
permit is good. And the hunter pressure pushes the elk deeper and deeper into the woods.
But I don’t mind because my GPS unit has a waypoint worth its weight in gold. On an early
morning hike over one mile from the nearest road I had located an ideal spot where a
person can glass miles of the canyon with binoculars. Most hunters won’t hike in this far and
all the pressure from the roads should drive the elk right to me. This is where I will be
opening day.
It is only a few days now until the season opens. My brother has flown in to help and we
organize our gear before making the drive up to the hunt area. We navigate the pick-up off
the main highway then down one forest service road after another until we finally near the
place where we can walk into the wilderness area. I always worry that this area will be
packed with hunters but it never is. Perhaps the “Primitive Road – Travel at your own Risk”
sign help us out a little. We locate a nice campsite and set-up the wall tent without event. It
is late enough in the day that collecting firewood and cooking dinner is about all we
accomplish before night falls. It feels so good to relax in the tent and ready ourselves for
opening morning.
We hike in the dark opening morning to get into position so we can begin glassing at first
light. As is the case with November hunts, it is dark and gloomy and a light rain turns into a
downpour before we throw in the towel and head back to camp early to dry off. Before
hiking out we glass up a small herd of bulls several canyons off. I’ve got the big 15 power
binoculars mounted on a tripod and we get a pretty good look at the antlers before deciding
that they aren’t of much interest. The rain doesn’t let up until late in the day and we decide
to hike a nearby mountain in the hopes of catching something on the move. And we do.
Right at last light we catch up with another bachelor herd. The light is terrible but I can
make out a decent 6-point in the bunch and decide to make an aggressive stalk right at
them in an attempt to get in before shooting light is gone. But it all happens too fast and
they break away and rush down the mountain side far out of our sight. The next day begins
much the same but the rain turns to sleet and eventually snow. And then it gets cold. I
mean really, really cold. But we keep seeing elk so our spirits remain high.
Day three is dry but the temperature is bone chilling. Sitting up high on the mountain we are
exposed to the worst of the wind ripping up the canyon and it hurts to breath. My brother
glasses up a group of bulls on the opposing canyon. We are only about 800-yards away
and it doesn’t take a lot of observation to determine that we need to pursue these bulls.
The best in the group has fantastically long main beams that sweep back gracefully. His
companions are all fine animals too but this is the kind of bull that you remember. Hurriedly I
pack my gear and scramble to get in for a shot. It is too steep to go down directly from our
present location and it takes about one hour to hike down the ridge into a feeder canyon
and then cross back over to where we last saw the bulls. The sun has risen higher in the
sky and is causing the thermals to begin swirling the wind and there is simply no way to keep
the current approach without getting winded. The only thing to do is hike higher and then
make a big fishhook curve back into the area where we had last seen the bulls. The
landmarks are all familiar now and I pensively stalk further in the direction they were last
traveling. There is a tremendous clatter of breaking branches and hooves clattering on
rocks and then two large bulls came running right at me! The activity has caught us all by
surprise and the larger bull turns away then slows to a walk. This is the bull with the long
beams and I never take my eyes off him while raising my rifle to take aim and fire. Although
it was a close 40-yard distance the bull was turned at such a steep quartering angle that my
shot hit too far back and also hit high. After waiting about 15 minutes and trying to calm
down I set off towards the bottom of the canyon to find him. Unfortunately I kick him up off
his bed just 100-yards away. Another hasty running shot misses entirely and feeds his
adrenaline for what is to become the longest and most emotional tracking job of my life.
We follow the blood trail for five hours that day before it simply vanishes. We look and look
but can't find any additional sign after that last drop. I’m getting despondent, and we are
over two miles from the truck with nightfall nearing, so we mutually agree to throw in the
towel. It was a really hard decision and the most terrible walk of my life. Later, after dinner
back at camp and careful study on the topographical maps, we decide to go back in the
morning and hike into two likely places that the bull might have traveled.
The following morning we hike back into the area as quickly as possible using a different
route that is much more flat. As fate would have it we encounter many bulls on the hike and
I even take aim on a fine 6-point but can’t pull the trigger knowing that there is another bull
out there with my bullet already in it. Following our last GPS waypoint we amazingly pick up
the blood trail again. We follow it for another five hours before it disappears once again.
We search the area for over an hour but the trail is lost. By this time we are both
emotionally wrung out and getting very tired. We sit for a bite to eat and agree to 30 more
minutes of random searching in the area before we hike back out. Since there isn't a trail to
follow we just walk in areas that look like a place an elk would go. And then I smell him. The
strong musky smell of elk is unmistakable. He is laying dead not 10-yards away and is a
better bull than I could have imagined. My first shot had killed him but not with the speed
that I would have hoped. My brother can’t believe the sight when he walks up on the bull.
After photos we begin the job of quartering the meat and packing it out. We are three miles
from the truck as the crow flies. The burdensome effort of packing a quartered elk out on
your back is tough but I must admit it wasn't nearly as bad a walk from the previous day.
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