Despite my pleading cow calls and aggressive bugles, the bull elk wouldn’t budge. Grabbing a thick, rotten tree limb, I began raking a pine tree in front of me and kicking loose rocks I was standing on.
Instantly, the bull let out another bugle, just as he had been doing for the past 45 minutes. But this time was different. Before the screams subsided, it sounded like a landslide on the opposing ridge. Shale avalanched its way down the mountain, and it sounded like the whole herd was sprinting my way.
Down the cliff they came, then all went silent as the elk made their way up the timbered, north-facing ridge from which I called. Arrow nocked, distances through multiple shooting lanes already established with my rangefinder, a slight crosswind in my favor, I caught a glimpse of yellow. Then another cow materialized
