“Redemption”

            Funny thing, I had retired early back in the mid-eighties just to devote dull time to hint Michigan trophy buck.  But as fate would have it, somewhere along the way my two sons Greg and Freddy convinced me to “channel my energies productively” (their words), by teaming up with them to start up two new businesses.  Sure, something like that was bound to have some sort of impact on my hunting time, and it did.  Now if that wasn’t bad enough, Greg upped the ante recently by becoming a host on his own TV program, “A-Way Outdoors,” on the Outdoor Channel.  That meant Greg would need an awful lot of diverse video footage.  That also meant he would need a cameraman with about as much free time as him, and preferably one willing to work for food.  Guess who go the job, yep, I was the chosen one.  Once word got our about Greg’s TV program numerous invitations from professional hunting and fishing guides and outfitters began to flow in from around the world.  Assuring us of continuous year round video action.  The first call to action came in April from Greg.  Dad, we have a bow hunt for elk coming up in September.  I need you to go see Dr. Mienk up in Clare for a good check-up, also get in shape for a very rugged hunt in the Idaho Mountains.  The only thing I knew about Idaho was if I could get a 10-pound sack of potatoes for $1.99, I was doing good.  Foolishly, I didn’t think I needed to take Greg’s medical advice, so I didn’t.  As for getting in shape, that was no problem either.  My rigid self-imposed regimen consisted of eating everything from “Outback Steak House” to “Chinese Buffets.”  I would later suffer dearly for such poor decision, especially since our only mode of transportation up in the mountains would be our own legs.  It took us seven grueling hours just to reach our base camp at 9000 feet.  Each of us backpacked our own provisions and equipment that averaged 50 pounds.  My age, lack of conditioning, along with the thin mountain air, made my body, for the first time in my life, balk at what my mind needed to do.  That was shocking, that’s why I labeled this hunt, “The ultimate stress test,” it truly was a do or die situation.  Wait, it gets worse.  We camped out in the wild for the duration of the six-day hunt.  I was astounded to discover (after having survived the climb) that we were no longer at the top of the food chain.  In fact, we were actually several rungs down from the top.  Grizzlies prowled around our flimsy tents at night, so did a mountain lion.  Even a few rutting moose got into the act by walking within 10 feet of our tent, grunting their displeasure at our intrusion.  Then when a couple of blue grouse tried to bully us around, we shot and ate them.  We had to draw the line somewhere.  We chased bugles all over the mountains; the rut was in full swing.  We gained experience as we went along, but the elk were always one step ahead.  Then one day while resting after a long climb I asked Greg to show me how to cow call.  As Greg was demonstrating elk heads began appearing over a small incline in front of us.

A huge cow came over the incline first; we took her to be the lead cow.  Pretty soon we had at least 20 cows milling around looking for the source of Greg’s calling.  With that many cows congregated in one area during the rut, we just knew whom to expect next.  The monster bull didn’t keep us in suspense very long, as he came trotting over the incline to take possession of that one more cow to add to his harem.  Every single one of those elk had their eyes on us as we discussed the bull’s range.  Although Greg always uses a range finder, especially in deceiving terrain such as this, it was impossible to do in this instance.  Greg slowly came to a full draw.  We had guessed the range to be about 45 yards, not an unusually long shot for elk.  Greg had practiced out to 60 yards, and he was an excellent shot.  The camera witnessed a close miss as the arrow whistled under the bull.  We had guessed the wrong range.  The whole heard disappeared over the incline as the arrow disintegrated upon impact with the rocks.  Greg continued calling.  Unbelievably, Greg got the cows to return.  We could see the bull’s antlers on the other side of the incline, but the failing light would save him.  As it turned out that one opportunity, would be our last.  That’s classic bow hunting for you.  We returned home with a renewed respect for elk, along with some great video footage.  A few days later I happened to bump into Dr. Mienk, after hearing my story, the Doctor politely admonished me not to attempt such foolhardiness next year.  I suppose I’ve reached that age of concern, but I sure hate to admit it.  Nonetheless, I vowed never to go elk hunting again, it was fun, but it was too tough on me.  Our next trip was to Florida, for a night gator hunt with bow.  Wait to you see the footage from this hunt.  Not only do they fight to the death, they attack the boat.  One day after returning from Florida we reversed directions and jetted to Montreal, on our way deep into Quebec for a 6-day bow hunt for trophy class caribou.  Listen to this, from Montreal we were shuttled further 3 hours into a remote base camp.  From here we boarded a single engine floatplane that flew us another couple hours to reach our outpost camp.  We then were transported by helicopter each day in search of the migrating caribou herd, sometimes as far as 150 miles away.  It was so remote here that the caribou actually didn’t know what planet we came from.  As for other humans, we never did see any signs of them for the duration of the hunt, and here I always thought the UP was remote.  Now here we are at Detroit’s metro airport waiting to board our flight to New Mexico to hunt, would you believe…elk again?  So much for my vows of a few weeks ago, and while we’re at it, kiss the first weeks of Michigan’s bow season good bye as well.  Whew, this job is becoming too time consuming, but I love it, and I love the company.  Our elk hunt would take place on a 5000 acre ranch which straddles the borders of New Mexico and Colorado.

Greg was hoping to take a trophy class bull, and the guide assured Greg that there was a strong probability of that happening.  The guide did make one request though, would Greg be willing to allow one other hunter to tag alone with us just in case there was a possibility of doubling up?  Greg readily agreed, and as it turned out that’s exactly what happened.  But not before giving me a few very frantic moments.  During an informal orientation on the morning of the hunt, we were surprised to learn that our tag-along hunter had never hunted anything larger than a quail, and he had never even fired the rifle that he had borrowed.  Greg and I decided to do whatever it took to help this young hunter become successful on this trip.  After all, he was going to be part of our elk segment, and unknown to him he was about to earn his 15 minutes of fame, which would be aired on national television.  Although it wasn’t necessary, Greg insisted on flipping a coin to see who would shoot first, he didn’t want preferential treatment, only fairness.  Greg won the toss.  It was this very humbleness, which he conveys to his audience that has made his TV program so successful, and his Dad so proud.  It was still dark as we slowly made our way up the mountain guided by a few vocal bulls.  The bugling was encouraging because the rut was pretty well over, so whenever an animal tells you where he’s at, that’s truly a bonus.  We sat quietly to determine the direction the bulls were traveling.  Once that was determined the game plan was for us to do an end around then cow call softly to keep them coming.  This technique is no different than he tactic turkey hunters use, it’s always easier to lure an animal to you, if you call from the direction he wants you to go.  I liked the way this guide operated, he didn’t chase the bugles, and he didn’t over call.  There were a few days when the bulls fell silent, when that happens you just knew that you were in for a long hike.  The guide never moved without a plan, and the plans changed constantly as the day wore on.  Weather always factored into his plans.  We covered a lot of country searching the bull’s favorite haunts.  We did see plenty of bulls but none were of the caliber we were looking for.  Finally, we heard a bull bugle nearby, then another, and another.  But it was that first bugle that had our attention; it was his tone of voice that separated him from the others.  After getting in position the guide gave a soft cow call.  There was an immediate response from what we took to be the insubordinates.  The lead bull had clammed up, and so had we.  Time stood still as we waited and waited for any sound, or a sighting.  The guide bugled a loud challenge, the challenge had been accepted, the deep bugle of the lead bull told us so.  He was coming, and he was fighting mad.  We could hear him raking branches above us, but very close.  Greg and the guide saw about 30 feet to my right, and I was near the other hunter.  That way I could pan from one hunter to the other.  The first bull to show himself was a young 5 x 5.  He was cautiously looking for the intruder.  I was taping him when a larger 6 x 6 walked out looking behind him.  I followed his gaze; the huge bull was coming into view.  I glanced at Greg to see his reaction, there was none; he couldn’t see the third bull from his angle.  Then my heart dropped when I caught a motion from my left just as I focused in on the big bull.  The hunter was shouldering his rifle, and he just clicked his safety off.  I whispered to him, which bull are you aiming at, the third one, he whispered back.  No, I almost shouted back, take the second one after Greg shoots.  Now I could see Greg aiming, I desperately tried to find the bull in my viewfinder, but it was too late, two quick shots brought him down.

I turned my attention onto the second bull just as the guide came crawling over to my hunter.  He was urging the hunter to fire.  I had that 6 x 6 locked in perfectly as the lead began to fly.  The first shot hit a tree, and the third shot was another miss.  The bull fell exactly at the same time that the third shot was fired, from the effects of the first shot.  What a thrill to witness a double.  Both bulls were down within 20 yards from one another.  Everybody was congratulating each other.  After everything quieted down I did ask the hunter if he had intended the big bull?  His response sent chills down my spine.  Yes, he conceded.  He thought Greg was passing up the bull because Greg didn’t lift his rifle, and that was his signal to shoot.  We understood.

For information on any of these guided hunts or equipment we use, comments or questions visit us at www.awayhunting.com or call us at (989) 435-3879,