In northern New Mexico, the success rate for elk hunters bowhunting on private land is roughly 18 percent. Five West Virginians apparently didn't read the script.
In northern New Mexico, the success rate for elk hunters bowhunting on private land is roughly 18 percent.
Five West Virginians apparently didn't read the script. "There were eight in our hunting party, and five of us ended up taking bulls," said Todd Warner, a physical therapist from Charleston.
Warner spent four days in late September hunting near Chama, N.M., with his brothers, Bobby and Boyd Jr., both of Charleston; their father, Boyd Sr., of Clarksburg; Bobby's father-in-law, Don Dalton, of Landonberg, Pa.; his brother-in-law, Eric Dalton, of Greenville, Del.; and friends Kevin Harris and Eric Holmes of Ripley.
"We had hunted all over the country, but we had never done a hunt with all us brothers and our dad at the same time," said Bobby. "What really made it special was that we were able to share the experience with my father-in-law, my brother-in-law and two close friends."
The hunt got off to a fast start. Harris and Holmes, hunting together, found four or five bulls together chasing cows. Their guide called one of the bulls in and Holmes shot it. Ten minutes later, Harris killed a bull in almost the same spot.
Their success freed their guide up to hunt with Boyd Jr., who enjoyed three days' worth of phenomenal hunting.
Boyd Jr.'s bull
"That guide was amazing," Boyd Jr. said. "He was very aggressive, and a great caller. Every morning and every evening, he had me in elk. I had shooting opportunities almost every morning and every evening."
Though he had plenty of opportunities to take smaller bulls, Boyd Jr. spent most of the time holding out for a monster he saw on the first morning he hunted with the talented guide.
"It was a monster, a big 8-by-8," Boyd Jr. recalled. "The guide called it away from a hot cow and got it within 25 yards of me. I was at full draw, just waiting for it to turn right and come broadside, when it turned left and moved away."
The next two days followed the same script: Call in a bull, pass on the shot. Call in another bull and pass on that shot, too.
"I was having so much fun with it, I kept thinking, 'Why end it now?'" Boyd Jr. said. "I knew that 8-by-8 was out there, and I was kind of holding out for it."
On the hunt's final day, however, he and the guide arrived at their hotspot determined simply to fill a tag.
"Elk were bugling everywhere that morning. On one hill alone, we saw eight bulls. One of them was a 5-by-5. We decided to try for him."
Boyd Jr. and the guide settled into a small clump of aspens near the meadow and started calling. "A big 6-by-6 had come out into the edge of the meadow, and he had cows with him. When the guide started calling, the cows started moving our way. The bull came along, just screaming at us.
"He got within 80 yards, and all of a sudden we heard a loud crashing in the trees. It was another bull, coming hard toward us. I could see he wasn't as big as the 6-by-6, but I figured I'd take him if I could get a shot. The guide made a soft cow call and the bull stopped, 16 yards away. That's when I shot."
The bull sported five antler points on one side and four on the other.
"As far as I'm concerned, the hunt couldn't have been any better," Boyd Jr. said. "I'm as die-hard a whitetail hunter as there is, but I'd give it up if I could do this every year. We couldn't have picked a better place to hunt, and to do it as a family made it very special."
Bobby's bull
Bobby, in the meantime, was having a much more difficult time with the elk on a piece of property a few miles away.
"The land was controlled by the Jicarilla Apache tribe, and they had allowed two weeks' worth of gun hunting before they opened it to two weeks' worth of bowhunting," said Bobby, a Charleston lawyer. "The bulls weren't at all receptive to calls. They'd bugle, but they wouldn't come in. By the second day, we'd come to realize that the only way I'd get one is to have the guide keep him talking while I moved in."
In northern New Mexico, the success rate for elk hunters bowhunting on private land is roughly 18 percent.
Five West Virginians apparently didn't read the script. "There were eight in our hunting party, and five of us ended up taking bulls," said Todd Warner, a physical therapist from Charleston.
Warner spent four days in late September hunting near Chama, N.M., with his brothers, Bobby and Boyd Jr., both of Charleston; their father, Boyd Sr., of Clarksburg; Bobby's father-in-law, Don Dalton, of Landonberg, Pa.; his brother-in-law, Eric Dalton, of Greenville, Del.; and friends Kevin Harris and Eric Holmes of Ripley.
"We had hunted all over the country, but we had never done a hunt with all us brothers and our dad at the same time," said Bobby. "What really made it special was that we were able to share the experience with my father-in-law, my brother-in-law and two close friends."
The hunt got off to a fast start. Harris and Holmes, hunting together, found four or five bulls together chasing cows. Their guide called one of the bulls in and Holmes shot it. Ten minutes later, Harris killed a bull in almost the same spot.
Their success freed their guide up to hunt with Boyd Jr., who enjoyed three days' worth of phenomenal hunting.
Boyd Jr.'s bull
"That guide was amazing," Boyd Jr. said. "He was very aggressive, and a great caller. Every morning and every evening, he had me in elk. I had shooting opportunities almost every morning and every evening."
Though he had plenty of opportunities to take smaller bulls, Boyd Jr. spent most of the time holding out for a monster he saw on the first morning he hunted with the talented guide.
"It was a monster, a big 8-by-8," Boyd Jr. recalled. "The guide called it away from a hot cow and got it within 25 yards of me. I was at full draw, just waiting for it to turn right and come broadside, when it turned left and moved away."
The next two days followed the same script: Call in a bull, pass on the shot. Call in another bull and pass on that shot, too.
"I was having so much fun with it, I kept thinking, 'Why end it now?'" Boyd Jr. said. "I knew that 8-by-8 was out there, and I was kind of holding out for it."
On the hunt's final day, however, he and the guide arrived at their hotspot determined simply to fill a tag.
"Elk were bugling everywhere that morning. On one hill alone, we saw eight bulls. One of them was a 5-by-5. We decided to try for him."
Boyd Jr. and the guide settled into a small clump of aspens near the meadow and started calling. "A big 6-by-6 had come out into the edge of the meadow, and he had cows with him. When the guide started calling, the cows started moving our way. The bull came along, just screaming at us.
"He got within 80 yards, and all of a sudden we heard a loud crashing in the trees. It was another bull, coming hard toward us. I could see he wasn't as big as the 6-by-6, but I figured I'd take him if I could get a shot. The guide made a soft cow call and the bull stopped, 16 yards away. That's when I shot."
The bull sported five antler points on one side and four on the other.
"As far as I'm concerned, the hunt couldn't have been any better," Boyd Jr. said. "I'm as die-hard a whitetail hunter as there is, but I'd give it up if I could do this every year. We couldn't have picked a better place to hunt, and to do it as a family made it very special."
Bobby's bull
Bobby, in the meantime, was having a much more difficult time with the elk on a piece of property a few miles away.
"The land was controlled by the Jicarilla Apache tribe, and they had allowed two weeks' worth of gun hunting before they opened it to two weeks' worth of bowhunting," said Bobby, a Charleston lawyer. "The bulls weren't at all receptive to calls. They'd bugle, but they wouldn't come in. By the second day, we'd come to realize that the only way I'd get one is to have the guide keep him talking while I moved in."
The tactic worked. On the hunt's third day, Bobby had five shots at smaller bulls but passed on each one. On the fourth day, he had two close calls but couldn't get an open shot.
"Finally, we had this really nice bull come within about 80 yards of us," Bobby recalled. "The guide kept him bugling while I eased toward him. Fortunately, when I got within range, the bull was preoccupied, using his antlers to thrash a pine tree. I worked my way around to an opening about 25 yards away and put a nice shot on him."
The bull, a big 6-by-5, turned out to be the largest Bobby had ever taken. He said, though, that the antlers weren't what made the hunt memorable.
"I don't know if I'll ever again get to hunt with such a great bunch of guys. The combination of the people and the hunting made it one of the best trips I've been on."
Todd's bull
Though he told his guide he'd rather go home empty-handed than to kill a small bull, Todd arguably wanted to succeed as much as his brothers did.
"I didn't even think I was going to make the hunt," he said. "The arrangements had all been made when I found out my wife, Kimberly, was pregnant. I called Bobby and told him I wouldn't be going. Without me knowing it, Kimberly called Bobby and told him I would be going."
The first morning out, Todd's guide called up a spike and a small 4-by-4. He passed. On the second day, he and the guide hiked to a mountaintop meadow and found "bulls going off all over the place."
Todd ended up drawing on two smaller bulls, a 4-by-4 and a 4-by-5, just for practice. "I was trying to see how steady I could hold," he said. "I'd hold the pin on the target for a few seconds and then let off. I was amazed how steady I was able to hold."
The next day, as darkness approached, Todd and the guide encountered "a really huge 6-by-6," but couldn't get a shot. "It got within 70 yards, but caught our scent and moved away," Todd said.
The two men returned the next morning to try to close the deal. They found a 6-by-6 bull bugling its head off, surrounded by 10 cows and a satellite bull. As the hunters moved toward a nearby fence line, they heard a deep, resonating grunt emanate from a draw 100 yards away.
"We dropped to our knees in some brush and looked that way. We saw a cow about 50 yards away, moving steadily toward us. I caught a glimpse of movement behind her. All I could see was antler points," Todd said.
"The guide said to draw. He had a rangefinder, and he called the distance at 55 yards. My bow's sight didn't have a 55-yard pin. Just by chance, while practicing earlier in the year, I had learned that the bubble on the sight was at just the right level for a 55-yard shot. I put the bubble on the bull's back. The arrow went off, nice and smooth, and it looked perfect."
The elk jumped sideways and tore off down the hill.
"The guide said, 'You hit him hard.' We ran up to the fence line to try to see where he'd gone, but we couldn't see anything. We spent five hours looking for a blood trail, but didn't find anything. I thought I'd missed. We had lunch and kept looking. We looked the whole evening and into the next morning."
Late the next morning as they searched, the guide saw a magpie fly onto an adjoining piece of property not far from where Todd had shot. When a couple of crows joined the magpie, the guide called the landowner for permission to search the spot. They found the bull.
"The shot had been perfect," Todd said. "The bull had only run about 150 yards. We found a sow bear and two cubs feasting on the carcass. The meat had gone bad, but at least the bears got a good meal out of it."
The bull sported a heavy-beamed set of 6-by-6 antlers. "The guide said I'd killed one hell of a bull. The head guide, one of those westerners who never gets excited about anything, got really excited. He said my bull was the biggest anyone on the ranch had ever gotten a bow shot at."
The bull green-scored 329 inches, far more than the 260 required for the Pope and Young Club's register of big-game bowhunting trophies. Like his brothers, however, Todd treasures the hunt's memories more than the trophy.
"To be able to spend time with my family and friends in a place like that, to have hunts like we had, and then to come home and have my wife deliver a healthy baby boy - well, the only thing I can say is, 'Life is good.'"
Reach John McCoy at johnmc...@wvgazette.com or 304-348-1231.
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