Yes, I do hunt like a girl

Yes, I hunt like a Girl
Debra Jameson

I have bowhunted in New Mexico for fifteen years and, like so many hunters, I live for the elk hunt every year. The 2007 season looked promising for harvesting a nice bull thanks to the record amounts of moisture the state had received over the previous winter and spring. As the draw date approached, I prayed fervently for success.

June 15th finally arrived and, like a child on Christmas morning, I sprang out of bed and went directly to the computer to discover what gifts we had received. All of my fellow hunters must have been just as anxious because I was unable to access the draw results on the New Mexico Department of Game and Fish website until late that evening. It was worth the wait though. My husband and I, along with our elkaholic hunting buddies, had pulled the coveted Quality/High Demand bowhunt from September 19th to the 24th in our favorite unit.

In our group’s repository of good hunting spots, we had a waterhole that was everyone’s favorite to hunt in the evenings and, with half a dozen hunters, each one of us had just one opportunity to sit in that tree stand. Mine turn fell on day two. On that afternoon, my spirits were high as I made the twenty-minute drive to a location that, through the years, has become an old friend and memory-maker, but I had never bagged an elk out of it. The weather couldn’t have been better; it was hot, dry and calm. I was feeling lucky as the magic hour neared, at twilight when the elk materialize out of the woods, but in spite of the good conditions and earnest prayers, nothing happened.

Darkness settled in and I sat there bummed that my best chance at a big elk was gone. I lumbered to the ground and immediately saw a camo-clad figure hastily exit the woods from behind the tree stand, where the elk should have been. I stood quietly at the base of the tree watching the unknown hunter for several minutes. None of my guys would have been in the area – we respected each other’s space. Even on the outside chance that this dude was from my camp, he would have come over and accompanied me back to my vehicle.

Slowly, I began the trek to the alligator juniper where my Ranger was parked. I began to worry when I realized that he was on the same heading. What made it worse was that I never heard another vehicle drive up. Pausing at a respectable distance, I contemplated the situation as the beam from his flashlight searched for who-knows-what around my vehicle. It was dark and all I had to defend myself with was a bow and some arrows. As a woman, I had to consider my safety. Was he a friend or foe? How effective would my bow be as a club? OK, he might take me out, but he wouldn’t enjoy it one bit. After a last minute prayer, I got a burst of confidence and headed on in with my mini-mag flashlight illuminating the way.

He was securing his gear on a red four-wheeler parked on the other side of the tree from me. I couldn’t believe my eyes, it was one of my hunting partners! Gary was a lovable character and prone to off-the-wall hunting strategies, but this time he had gone way over the line. I was incredulous and asked, “What’s going on?” He casually replied, “I thought I would give you at least some excitement tonight.”

At this point, I was too mad at him to continue the conversation and knew I would regret using my bow as a club. I couldn’t believe he would mess up my only evening at the “honey hole” and then scare the be-Jesus out of me on top of it! I vowed to never forgive him. He had frightened me so bad that I cried on the drive back to camp, but the guys would never know. I had every intention of handling this like a man.

Arriving at camp with my composure fully regained, I unloaded my gear, changed clothes and joined everyone to exchange stories. Around the warmth and security of the campfire, I dealt with it – like a woman. (I couldn’t help myself) After venting to everyone about my feelings concerning the events of the evening, they all agreed that I could go there again the following day. I’m glad they love me.

The next morning’s hunt proved unsuccessful, so that afternoon I found myself once again in my favorite tree stand. The weather was a carbon copy of the previous day. I love sitting in tree stands to commune with nature, to drink in the serenity and for the quality of the quiet time. It really was ok if no elk came in, but I still begged God for a big bull with every fiber of my being. The only elk I had ever harvested was a small, broken-antlered bull seven years earlier.

After the sun had descended and shadows dominated the landscape, I heard the deep bellowing screech of a big bull elk pierce the silence like a knife. He was back up in the woods behind me. Adrenaline instantly kicked in and my body began to tremble. It had taken years to control the shaking, but I felt confident I could make the shot if he would come into the waterhole during daylight. The big bulls usually came in after dark.

The bull was getting closer, blasting out intimidating screams every few minutes. Another bull was now answering his challenge and seemed to be on his way to the waterhole as well. Trying to stay calm, I closed my eyes and envisioned a T-Rex dinosaur stalking in. I was now standing with my release clipped to the serving, frozen in position, wondering which side of the stand he would come in on. I heard the sound of footsteps behind me and caught sight of a small cow elk out of the corner of my eye on my left side. She was cautiously advancing to the water’s edge. I knew this was one of his cows and my heart started racing. Very slowly, three more cows followed and joined her at the water.

Eyes closed, I concentrated on breathing slowly, in and out. Suddenly, the most blood-curdling scream I have ever heard in my life erupted from less than ten feet directly beneath me. It was immediately answered by the other bull that was now at about the same location where I had heard the very first bugle. Relieved that I had not instantly died of fright, I kept telling myself to not look down at him because seeing his antlers would mess up my concentration, but I couldn’t stand it any longer.

I turned my eyes slowly as far as they would go in their sockets, then inched my head down. All I saw were the two end tines on his right side. They were massive and each looked to be about eighteen inches long. That was enough; all I could think of was that he was a King’s Outdoor World Calendar Bull! He walked out fifteen yards in front of me and drank. I heard the long deep sipping as he filled his belly, but couldn’t take a shot because there were pine boughs in the way.

Suddenly, something spooked him and he bolted. My heart sank, but he only went a short distance. Not wanting to leave his cows, he stopped next to them. I now had a forty-yard broadside shot and he was fully preoccupied with the other bull that was closing in. I took the opportunity to draw, but it was like I had lost all of the strength in my right arm. Finally, after a desperate struggle, it broke over. The bull let out one last mighty roar as I aimed and released.

The shot felt and sounded good, but I was too excited to see the point of impact. The bull and his cows shot out across the open mesa. It was one of the most agonizing minutes of my life, as I prayed like crazy for him to fall. When he had covered about eighty yards, I saw his back end hunker ever so slightly. Within seconds he stumbled and my heart stopped. I was going to get this one! Finally he folded and dropped. There was a few seconds of kicking and then, silence…I just kept whispering to myself, “Oh my God, I did it!” I waited until dark then climbed out of the tree and walked slowly out to him with my little mini-mag flashlight illuminating the way.

In the silence of the night, with only the sound of crickets and the pounding of my heart, I reached his motionless body, bent down and gingerly caressed his side where the arrow had entered. I made a double lung shot and the arrow had completely passed through the body. I felt so honored to have been able to engage this magnificent animal and win.

On the way back to camp to gather the reconnaissance team, I picked up my husband from his hunting spot. We arrived at camp and he announced to the guys, “Guess what, Debra shot a bull, but there isn’t much of a blood trail.” There was an audible moan until he added; “He only went a hundred yards before he dropped.” They were all very relieved. I had a newfound respect for Gary’s offbeat hunting tactics and God’s way of answering prayers. As everyone bustled around camp collecting everything needed to retrieve my trophy, I went over to my friend and gave him a big hug and a kiss as I thanked him for messing up my hunt the night before.

My 6×6 bull elk scored 388 7/8 Safari Club International, 376-5/8 net Boone & Crockett and Pope & Young. He is the highest scoring typical Rocky Mountain elk ever taken by a woman unguided with a bow on public land.