The Joys Of Mentoring
By William (Bill) Claspell
Bullnuts
The first light of morning was just beginning to burn across the eastern hills, coloring the mountaintops like embers where they greeted the sky. We were working our way across the darkly timbered bowl again. Even at 6:30 a.m. the air temperature was beginning to warm, and the shadows of the timber and cool morning thermals seemed a likely place to intercept an elk as it worked its way up from the fields to the bedding ridge above. We had come here the day before, and even in the predawn hours, had found several cows that had already moved the mile or so from the grassy field below to the timbered bedding ridge. By the light of a full moon, those elk had infiltrated the trees well before dawn and I felt that our best chance for an elk depended on our being above them, in a position where we could ambush them as they made their way up the ridge.
It was the fourth day of the Colorado archery elk season. My young companion, Travis, was a 14-year old kid, new to archery, who had begun shooting a bow through the local 4H shooting sports program. We had met during a Friday night 3-D archery league at the bow shop in the town where we live. Travis seemed to be a responsible kid at that age, twenty-four years my junior, and I saw in him a lot of the same traits that I possessed at his age: He was eager to learn about shooting and he was nuts about hunting.
Travis and I had spent the summer shooting in the league and at several local tournaments, and I began doing what I could to help him to improve his shooting skills. We talked about anchor points, form, follow-through, and release aids, and it wasn’t long before Travis was shooting as well (and sometimes better) than me on league nights.
In June, Travis approached me and asked, somewhat hesitantly, if I would take him elk hunting. Travis had hunted both elk and deer with a rifle in the past, but being new to archery, he had never tried bowhunting. I told him that I would be hunting both the first and last week of Colorado’s archery elk season, and because the area where I hunt is located so far from the town where we live, he would need to get permission to take some time off from school to go with me. I told Travis that I have hunted the same area for over 10 years and if he came with me, I would guarantee him a shot opportunity. It was a lofty goal, but I was confident that I could put an elk in front of him.
The very next Friday, Travis’ entire family attended league night. I spoke with his parents about taking Travis elk hunting, and I told them that I would make sure that he completed any school work assignments that he had, while we were in camp. Travis’ parents not only agreed to the arrangement, they were completely supportive. We would spend the first week of the season together, hunting from my camp in south central Colorado.
Setting the stage, three weeks prior to the beginning of the season, Travis and I went on an overnight scouting trip. Since this was to be his first bowhunting experience, I wanted to do everything that I could to make the experience memorable for him. It was important to me that he learned some lessons about elk and bowhunting, but most importantly, I wanted him to have a stake in any elk that we pursued. I wanted him to have ownership of this hunt, to feel that he was a partner in this hunt and not just a kid along for the ride.
During that scouting trip we looked at elk tracks and other sign, and tried to figure out where the elk had come from and where they were possibly going. Standing in the pine filtered sunlight, we talked in low tones about whether the tracks were fresh or old, if they were made during the morning or at night, and the best times to hunt that particular area. I asked him to tell me what he thought about the tracks, and why they were in the area where we found them. Doing this, I hoped to open his mind about elk movement and get him to understand that the elk that were here were here for a reason.
When we finished exploring one area, we would get back into my dusty pickup and drive to another. I explained to Travis how the elk in the area travel from one ridge to the next, and where they go when they are pressured. It’s big country where we hunt, and I wanted Travis to know the lay of the land so he could understand how each basin was connected to a ridge, and how those ridges connected to form the mountains around our area.
As that first afternoon ended, we found ourselves at the headwaters of a spring. I had hunted here the previous year and found a five-point antler mark perfectly embedded in the mud next to a wallow there. As we crested the final hill before the spring, I noticed the tan colored back of a cow elk feeding near the spring. We stopped to watch as the cow and a spike bull made their way across the marsh and entered into the dark timber. A while later, sitting across from the wallow, I was able to call another cow elk from the trees on the opposite side of the wallow. As she crashed out of the timber and into the open field, I could see the anticipation on his face. I knew that he was calculating the yardage and rehearsing the shot in his mind.
When darkness approached, we got back in the truck and drove back to camp. Spying a dark spot on a hillside above a small stream along the way, we stopped to glass and watched as a young shiras bull moose descended the hill and made his way across a field. It was the first wild moose that Travis had ever seen, and I took the moose as a sign that this would, indeed, be a very good year.
The next couple of weeks dragged slowly by until finally, August 27 arrived. The season would open the next morning and we headed back to camp, feeling high with the anticipation of the hunt.
After arriving in camp, we sorted our gear, loaded our packs, and shot a few broadhead tipped arrows to make sure that they were still flying straight. Then, as darkness fell, we drove up a road behind camp to listen for bugling bulls. The elk were silent, but using my bugle and Primos diaphragm, I drew a small bull from the tree line. Not wanting to disturb him further, we turned around and headed toward camp.
Over the next few days, we made long hikes, stopped to call, and worked in close to several cows and smaller bulls. Many of those elk offered opportunities, but each time something would happen and the deal would be blown. But we were getting closer, I told Travis, and the elk’s luck was beginning to run out. I told Travis that sometimes you just have to wait for the planets to align and that, combined with a lot of hard work, would be the key ingredient to our success. In the meantime, we discussed each blown opportunity as a learning point and talked about the set ups and the things that make archery hunting so unique.
Finally, on the morning of August 31, we headed into the big timbered bowl where I had seen a big 6-pointer the year before. I knew that the elk would find comfort in the trees, where the bright sunshine of late summer was blocked and the mountain thermals created a cool breeze.