It was a good feeling to once again be in the woods hunting with my daughters Andrea and Patricia.
Jo-Anna, my youngest daughter, is a true angler but big game hunting never called her like it did her big sisters. So once again we found ourselves along the Athabasca River near Whitecourt hunting in the fall. My girls had taken some nice whitetails and moose in previous years but on this hunt we were focused on elk. Neither of the girls had knocked down an elk yet and I was keen on seeing that happen. Although they were experienced hunters, being the Dad I was still keen on teaching and passing on my experience (sometimes the girls called it Dad just being bossy again).
I decided Andrea and I would try some steep river bank areas we knew held elk. Just as it started to break light we entered the woods. I was so excited to be there and was giving out more pointers as we walked in. Andrea looked back as we walked in and said, “Dad, I’ve been hunting for years now and I think I know what I’m doing.”
Ouch! I was just helping out like all fathers like to do.
Now I’ve shot some really nice whitetails and great moose but elk still get the hunting dander up on me the most.
We had to cross one trail before heading steeply down to the river where the good hunting is. So I was moving ahead pretty quickly and just happened to glance to my left and there stood a good 5X5 bull elk with two cows on the trail. I dropped down and crawled back into the bush and whispered to Andrea about them being about 400 metres down the trail. I knew of a game trail we could use to get within a hundred yards quickly and quietly. And without waiting I busied myself picking my way down the side trail knowing Andrea was right behind me. The farther I got down the trail the more excited I got. Elk can still do that to me. I eased onto the main trail and whispered to Andrea to get ready to shoot on three. “Ready... ready... Andrea, are you ready?” The elk started to go into the bush so I urgently said, “Now Andrea. Shoot now!” And BANG she did. But the elk just picked up speed. What had happened? She’s a very good shot and the elk didn’t appear hit. I looked back at my daughter to find her red-faced and puffing on one knee. She just looked at me and looked really upset.
“Dad I couldn’t keep up. You were going so fast down the trail I almost had to run and you were saying, ‘shoot, shoot’ while I was still in the bush coming onto the trail. So I ran up and got down on one knee and shot as well as I could.”
Man, I felt so bad. Over fifty and all I could come up with was “buck fever I guess”. We trailed the elk for over a kilometre but found no sign. No elk.
Back at camp for dinner I had a hard time eating as I went over and over the stalk and the hundred other ways it could have come out better.
Andrea and I made plans for the next morning’s hunt in the same area and along with my nephew Patrick we arrived once again before light. No excitement on the way down to the river this time and Andrea went upstream to sit on the trail and Patrick and I went downstream and into the bush. Forty-five minutes later we heard a shot from upstream.
“That’s a .270 going off and Andrea packs a .270,” I said.
We waited and sure enough a couple of seconds later another shot came from the same area.
“C’mon Patrick! Let’s go see what Andrea’s up to,” I said and off we hustled.
The first person we saw was my godson Shawn and then Andrea, both just standing there looking very pleased. I asked what got shot. Andrea smiled and said come on and see.
As I walked with her down the trail she asked if the elk we had missed yesterday was a big one. “Yes it was a nice one and I’m sorry I messed it up for us,” I said.
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Andrea poses with her prize bull.
Below Dad and Uncle Dan pack out the meat. |
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“Well I’m not,” she smiled and I looked where she was looking. DAMN! Were those antlers sticking out over the high grass?
Now Andrea was smiling and she looked like I’d have to put rocks in her pockets to keep her on the ground. “I had just gotten down on the trail and was looking to start calling when a spike bull came out from the bush,” she said. “So I watched him and he was interested in something on the other side of the trail so I sat still and got my rifle ready and waited and this really big bull came out and headed right into the open after the little one.
“So I lined up just behind his shoulder and squeezed the trigger. He spun around and headed back to the bush so I shot him in the same place from the other side and he just went down hard and stayed there. I didn’t even have to finish him off because he was dead when I got to him.
“I poked him in the eye like you taught us to and he didn’t flinch so then I just stood there and stared at him until Shawn walked up and we waited for you and Patrick,” she said.
I just stood there and stared at the big bull. Then I started counting tines and finished with a non-typical 8X7 count.
Then we dressed him and took pictures. Lots of pictures and as you can see it’s hard to tell who’s prouder or happier in those pics, my happy hunting daughter or me.
I watched her retell the story again and again to each member of our hunting camp. To her uncle’s Dan and Reg who came in with their quads to haul the elk out and just about anybody else in the area. And I knew that story would get retold at every hunting camp every year and maybe ease the painful one of that first morning’s hunt.
And I knew I was mostly forgiven by the answer Andrea gave to the fellow on the road admiring her elk who said, “How did a little lady like you ever shoot such a big bull?” And she said, “Well, I was taught how to hunt by the best teacher I know.” ■
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