Compound bows use a complex pulley system that generates more arrow speed with less resistance. The hunter draws and looses the arrow in nearly one fluid motion, producing arrow speeds of up to 330 feet per second. A recurve doesn’t even come close to that kind of velocity. With my recurve shooting abilities, I have no confidence I can get an arrow through an elk’s dinner-plate sized lungs unless it’s within 20 yards.
s Lauren and I hunted uphill toward the napping grounds, a potent waft of elk stench stopped both of us in our tracks. The smell of elk musk is a common thing in elk rutting country, but a hunter’s nose, perhaps even on a subconscious level, can discern between old sign and fresh. We both scanned the timber, and Lauren let loose with a bugle. Instantly, a previously unseen bull elk jumped to his feet and looked at us in surprise and horror. He turned around and wheeled off before I had a chance to raise my bow. Suddenly we were enveloped by elk. I concentrated on a cow bee-lining it for me and followed her when she veered off into a patch of timber. Unfortunately, a tree shielded the vital area behind the cow’s shoulder. Then a bugle erupted to my right and I turned to see the head and antlers of a bull, his head tilted back finishing what I hoped would be his swan song. He took a step forward, revealing his front shoulder from behind an old-
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Justin Karnopp
Lauren did, with over 100 pounds of elk meat on her back, twice, and nary a complaint. When we reached camp, I pulled two gold cans from the icy stream and my wife and I raised them to the hard work, and to the bull that would feed us for the rest of the year. I’ve drained a few cold ones in my day, but none better than those banquet beers chilled in the headwaters of the drainage that had just bestowed us a righteous gift. We rinsed the elk’s thighs, shoulders and backstraps in the creek, and laid them out on the cold, shady gravel where the ambient temperature was just right for cooling meat after dragging it off a mountain in 80-degree heat. We hung all the fresh meat high in the fir trees outside of Justin Karnopp camp, along with our bloodstained clothing. There’s company up here that growth fir. He was still mostly concealed you don’t want to keep, and when behind a stand of small trees, but I found you’re bivouacked on a game trail miles a softball-sized opening where his lungs from the nearest road on your honeyshould be and my mind went into cruise moon, you take every precaution to control. I don’t remember drawing the ensure that the two of you don’t end up bow or releasing the arrow, but when the on the front page as the latest casualties bull turned, the feather fletchings on the who rolled the dice in grizzly bear end of my arrow shaft were buried deep country. Then we downed two plates of in his side, and a rivulet of blood stained pre-made elk curry and crawled into his flank. I knew he was finished. My the tent, two exhausted newlyweds. quest to shoot an elk with a primitive The day on the mountain was the bow was complete. crowning achievement in my blessed Aside from a couple of crick-boating, 20-year elk hunting career, but it was backcountry-ski-loonies (who I just hapalso just the beginning of many advenpen to share wall tents with on many fall tures in the woods, and through life, weekends), I don’t know anyone who with a perfect partner for both. could have completed the pack-out that
Jeremy Lurgio