The Call of the Wapiti

By Leslie C. Hughes

I would rather be lucky than good. How many times have you heard that old adage? Well, fortune had indeed smiled on me on my first foray into the mystical maze of the Arizona Hunt Permit Drawing system. The Elk tag arrived along with 3 rejection notices for my deer hunt and my son’s deer and elk hunts. We had forgotten to include a social security number for one of the applicants on my son’s applications and had an incorrect birth date for one of us on my partner’s and my deer hunt application. My excitement on the receipt of the Elk tag was heavily tempered by the look of disappointment on my son’s face. Assured that we would go elk hunting together only partially abated that disappointment. I understand and support the need for proper game management, but I will never be a fan of this arbitrary system Arizona has for deciding who gets to hunt. Be that as it may, I had a Cow Elk Tag for Area 6A! Now what was I supposed to do?

My family has a long tradition of hunting, but we are primarily upland wing-shooters. I have hunted white-tailed deer in Mississippi, but little of that experience would serve me well in the pursuit of these big monsters. Once again, the fates intervened. One of the men I work with turned out to be an old pro at elk hunting in Arizona. He would be scouting for his father and partner on the same hunt we had drawn. Would we like to go with them? As I said…. I’d rather be lucky than good. The next order of business was to select the proper weapon for this hunt. The old Winchester 30-30 just wouldn’t do for elk. It was time to buy a new rifle! After repeatedly explaining (i.e. begging and pleading) the necessity of this to my wonderful, sensitive, understanding (she reads everything I write) spouse, I choose the Winchester Model 70 in 30-06 caliber. I am a big 30-caliber fan. I believe in using enough gun to take the game cleanly and humanely. By the same token, I don’t believe in using sledgehammers to swat flies. The old 30-06 Springfield is a good all-around cartridge that will serve you well on a number of big game applications. I use 180-grain Core-Loktä bullets. I actually prefer Noslerä partition bullets but my wallet prefers the Core-Loktä s. I also purchased a GPS device, as I would be hunting in unfamiliar territory. Having spent all of my Christmas money and all of my wife’s patience, I was now ready to go.

Our campsite was a beautiful site chosen by our guide. Located just off Rocky Park Road and 239, we were smack dab in the middle of the Coconino National forest and prime elk hunting country. My first two days of the hunt were relatively uneventful. We had all seen plenty of sign, but no elk. I had managed to run into a couple of Muleys grazing away the late afternoon. More importantly, I had discovered the dilapidated remains of an old blind over-looking a water hole deep within the forest. After investing a few hours rebuilding the blind, I had the perfect spot.

I spent most of the third day in my little log condo shaking my head in disbelief. This place was perfect. The prevailing wind was in my face and I had three clear fields of fire on the only entrances into the watering hole. Perfection aside, I had not seen a single elk. Oh sure, I had seen everything else. I had battled a large squirrel for the deed to my little property. A close contest to be sure, but I prevailed. An angry formation of killer mesquittos attacked without mercy, but I stuck it out. Now it was 4:00 o’clock in the afternoon and I needed to stretch. Standing up in the blind, I was working all the kinks out of my muscles. Out of nowhere, the majestic monster appeared. A 5X5, 800-pound bull elk silently emerged from the trees a scant 40 yards away. Lacking a proper tactical response, I performed my impromptu interpretation of a tree. This glorious creature stopped and looked right at me. Struck by this unbelievable sight, I had forgotten how to breathe. Peering into my eyes, the bull sized me up, looking for any signs of intelligence or threat. Finding no signs of intelligence (only an idiot would be caught like this) or discovering I only had a cow tag, I don’t know which, the bull decided to have his drink. As he bent down to drink, I slowly slid down below my blind. I raised my rifle and placed the cross hairs right behind his left shoulder. I wasn’t going to shoot, but I couldn’t help but play what-if. Several times during the next 10 minutes, the elk would stop drinking and look directly at me. The Indians believe that elk have powerful spirits and I no longer scoff at beliefs that I do not understand. I do know that this elk has given me something very special, for me and me alone. I wouldn’t have fired even if I had had a bull tag. Not this time.

After the elk had disappeared back into the trees, I walked back to the truck. I was somewhat giddy and light-headed from the experience. The remainder of the hunt was rather uneventful. I saw several other bulls from afar and even saw some cows the final day of the hunt. They were traveling about 200 miles an hour over 500 yards away. My hunting partner did take a 500-pound cow near another water hole on the last day. Two rookies trying to field dress and quarter that poor animal must not have been a pretty sight. Getting it back to camp was quite an adventure in itself. Although I did not take my first elk, I consider the trip an unqualified success. I shared some quality time with my son and I learned a lot. I am now an elk hunter! I have heard the call of the Wapiti. As for that magnificent beast that both gave and took so much from me…. Him, I will see again.