I was going through a first time experience
as a licensed guide for Elite outfitters from Ruidoso, New Mexico. My anticipation and
stress had reached an all time high as I had no idea what to expect; trying to bring in a
bull for someone I did not know. I have been bowhunting elk for the last 14 years so I
knew I had the experience. I had brought many bulls within bow range for friends and
myself, missed a few and bagged a couple. I determined it was going to be a new and
exciting experience, but little did I know just how exciting it was going to be.
I met my hunter Mike Willett at the LazyDay cabins near Cloudcroft, New
Mexico. We would be hunting the Sacramento Mountains for our bowhunt. Mike had harvested a
nice 320-bull two years prior from a unit just north of us. This just heightened my worry
that he would want to bag something within that range again. Boy, did I have my work cut
out for me.
We were able to spot some nice bulls and actually bugled in a
magnificent one with huge mass and long sword points. We couldn't put a successful stalk
on this massive bull, but his bugle was something you would not soon forget. Mike was
finally able to arrow a nice elk and after a grueling eight hours, we finally recovered
the bull. That hunt took place on Sept. 9, 2001, and everyone knows what happened on the
eleventh. It stunned everyone at camp. I had to cut short my guide hunt to return home for
a couple of days and Mike returned safely to his home in Kentucky.
After taking a couple of days to spend with the family and making sure
they were OK, I contacted my friend and coworker Pete Silva and asked him if he wanted to
hunt with me Friday morning, Sept. 14. It had rained all day Thursday and I was hoping
that on Friday the bulls would be feeling a bit friskier due to the weather change. We met
at Cloudcroft and took off in his jeep with his brother Marty to the same location we had
harvested Mike's bull five days earlier. I knew there were other bulls in the area, but
had no idea what we were about to experience.
We made the same hike, up the same ridge and got the same bugle at
about the same place. It felt like deja vu. Of course Pete and Marty had no idea what was
going through my mind. As we topped the same ridge there he was! A huge bull across the
canyon. This time, however, he was bedded down with his huge rack tilted back. What a
monster! There was no reason to ask whether he was a big 5x5 or a small 6x6; he looked
like a huge 6x6. He was the bull we had seen the first evening coming out of the timber on
Mike's earlier hunt.
He was bedded down on the same side of the canyon where Mike's bull had
been and with the same five cows. Unbelievable! I told Pete and Marty the story and they
could hardly believe it either. We now had the same dilemma. How were we going to approach
this bull with such sparse cover? He was well over 600 yards away in full view with five
cows watching out for him.
In my mind I was thinking, "Well if I did it once, I can do it
again." I decided to call and let Pete shoot. Pete insisted that I do the stalking,
but I felt we had a better chance of harvesting the bull if I continued to spot and call.
Marty went with him and I backtracked and came up higher to have an
even view across from the big bull. We had our radios and kept communicating as I watched
the bull and relayed the information to them as they progressed up the draw. I kept
bugling and cow calling hoping to distract the bull and the cows. When I got a call from
Pete and he said, "I think I screwed up Reyne." I answered, "Why do you say
that?" He said, "There are two cows staring right at me and they have me
pegged." I told him not to move and then called Marty on the radio. He was still
farther back and I told him to start bugling and see if he could distract the cows from
Pete. It worked and as soon as they turned toward Marty Pete slid into the draw again. I
told Pete to continue up the draw until he hit a landmark that we had picked earlier.
About that time one of the cows barked and the five cows herded up and
started out the canyon. I told Pete they were leaving, but the bull wasn't with the cows.
I could not see the bull from my position but I knew he was there. I told Pete to keep an
eye out. Later he told me that at about the time he heard the bull grunt and the oak brush
breaking. At the same time that he heard the noise, he saw the tips of the bull's antlers
slowly walking in the direction of the cows. Pete had to run parallel with the bull for
about 50 yards in order to find an opening.
I could not see Pete from where I was sitting. I saw the bull come out
of the scrub oak, which was about eight feet tall, and Marty and I started bugling
aggressively to get his attention. Not knowing exactly where Pete was, I saw the bull stop
and look in our direction. At that moment Pete found an opening and was waiting at full
draw 30 yards from the bull. He released his arrow as the bull appeared to be taking off
again. I saw the bull bolt and thinking that Pete had spooked him I yelled at Marty on the
radio that the bull was leaving the canyon.
All of a sudden I watched in shock as the bull stumbled, got up,
swirled, made a 360 back flip and fell to the ground like a big redwood, dead as a
doornail. He didn't even move. Watching this I was stunned, and yelled at Marty,
"Someone shot the bull, he's dead, he's dead!" I couldn't get Pete on the radio
so I didn't know if he was the one who had shot him. After what seemed like minutes, Pete
got on the radio and excitedly told me he was the one who had shot and believed he had
made a good hit. He saw the bull stumble and was beyond words in this conversation with
me. I told him I could see the bull from where I was sitting and that he was dead. Not
wounded, but dead.
We took the 30 minutes allowable to let him die but I knew he was dead
when he hit the ground. The arrow entered just above his left shoulder blade severing the
main artery above his heart. The bull bled internally and died within 30 seconds. It was a
perfect shot.
