Sometimes There Are No Elk

   I had waited nine years for a bull tag. Nine years for the opportunity to hunt an Arizona bull elk.  It was now the last day of my hunt and I had yet to see an elk. At noon I sat under a big Ponderosa and ate my peanut butter sandwich. I was feeling pretty sorry for myself, there would be no elk meat in our freezer this fall. The days were unseasonably warm and the sun felt good on my sore legs. Five days of mountain climbing was beginning to take a toll.  I watched as a small group of doe came towards me. They were getting ready for bed.

   Two mornings ago Dad and I had circled a steep mountain peak. He had no tag but went to bust brush for me. We went separate ways and met on the far side. Neither of us had seen a thing.  I noticed that he was out of breath and we joked about how he was getting old and couldn’t take the altitude any more

   The unit is diverse. This morning I was on a windswept mountain top. There was cactus and scrub oak, Juniper and those picky-bushes-that-no-one-knows-the-name-of all within an area no bigger than a football field.  There was also an elk that had lived in the valley between the two mountains. I had  found his beds, his tracks, and some droppings yesterday.  One animal, a bull? There were no roads for at least a couple of miles. It was a good place to hide a bull. Today had been my last hope. Then I found a gut pile a few days old. Suddenly the beautiful valley seemed empty and I knew that it was time to go home.

   I continued nibbling on my lunch and reflecting upon the last week. An Aberts squirrel came by talking bad about me. I had seen cottontail, jacks, coyotes, a fox and lots of deer but no elk.. The game warden told us to hang in there. Hunters were picking and choosing bulls on the other side of the highway and the pressure would bring the herd across. The more I hunt these animals the more I think that they will do whatever they please, hunter pressure or not. The does were bedded down now. Every once in a while the flick of one of those mule ears would give them away. 

    This certainly was an awesome place. I tried to count my blessings. You know: A bad week in the woods camping and hunting is better than a good week at work…. yadda,yadda,yadda…didn’t help much.  I shouldered the 7 mag. that had gotten ten pounds heavier in the last few days and trudged back to camp and ultimately home. I had failed.

  One week later in the ICU at Good Samaritan Hospital those blessings got recounted. Dad’s shortness of breath turned out to be a totally blocked descending left artery. Two stents were inserted and his future looks good. The surgeon told us that the stress test would have killed him. Thanks to Dr. Ivey of Payson for going with his instinct and ordering heart tests despite the fact that Dad had no crucial symptoms and no risk factors.

  Sometimes there just aint no elk. Sometimes that is a good thing. Helping to pack out an elk sounds like a stress test to me. I won’t mind waiting another nine years for a tag because I know that Dad will be there when I finally do bag that Arizona bull.

Linda Dightmon

Team AZOD