How to Pick a Fight with a Bull Elk

The bull stopped and looked at us. It bugled and I immediately cut it off with a bugle of my own. We found the herd early. We could hear them. It was too dark to see them.

As daylight slowly crept into the forest, yellow bodies of Roosevelt elk could be faintly recognized moving into a canyon. I thought the situation was perfect. By the time we hiked to them I figured the herd would be bedded down, making it easy to slip within bow range as the thermals continued to move downhill. I was wrong.

Four hours later we were still tracking the herd. The bull kept pushing the cows, and with over 30 head to manage, it wasn’t an easy task. Up and down the mountains they went. When the herd moved into an opening on a long ridge, we quickly dove into a canyon and hiked up the other side, hoping to get ahead of them. It worked.

But just as we broke into the open, a cow spotted us. At 90 yards away, it was decision time. Sit and wait, hoping they’d calm down? Or move right at them? I chose the latter.

When To Be Aggressive

We were in heavy shadows. I took the lead. Cameraman Bret Stuart was on my heels. We moved fast. I cow called as we went. We covered 45 yards without stopping, occasionally slowing down so as not to appear too unnatural. In the heavy shadows the elk were unsure of what we were, though we were in plain sight. The continual cow calls calmed them, even made them curious.

Fifty yards from the herd, I dropped to my knees, arrow knocked. Stuart set up behind me, his hefty film camera anchored atop a large, bulky tripod. We’d only seen half the herd. No bull. When we stopped, the lead cows grew nervous and quickened their pace. The bull shot out from the back of the herd, intent on heading off the scrambling cows. That’s when I let out a hyper cow call and followed it with a sharp, short bugle.

The bull stopped and looked at us. It bugled and I immediately cut it off with a bugle of my own. We were hidden in the shadows but still exposed. The bull walked closer, then stopped to look back at the cows. At 51 yards the arrow hit the mark. Soon we were packing out a bull with another TV show in the can.

That hunt took place 19 years ago. It changed how I hunted elk with bow and rifle. Over the next several years I averaged three elk hunts a season. All were filmed for TV shows I used to host. Always in a rush to fill multiple tags, time was rarely on our side. That’s when I started hunting elk more aggressively. I forced things. It worked more times than not.

Noisy Ninja?

I don’t really care if an elk sees or hears me. If they hear you, cover the sounds with calls. Stay in the shadows, don’t walk upright, move at a moderate pace, and you’ll be amazed at what you can get away with in plain sight of elk. But I’ve never killed an elk that’s smelled me. An elk’s nose cannot be fooled. Wind direction can change, carrying your scent away; that’s not fooling their sense of smell. That’s a lucky break.

On many hunts over the years I’ve found consistent success killing quiet bulls by getting them fired up with aggressive calling. From the archery opener on the hottest days of the season, through all of September, and well into mid-October, aggressive calling and moving can ignite a bull, even multiple bulls at once.

While filming another hunt in Montana, a big bull was over 800 yards away. It was opening day and I figured I had no prayer of pulling it from a huge harem. It bugled at the first cow sound I made. Then it started walking in our direction. Quickly we moved through a ravine, over a ridge and into another draw to get closer. I called again. The bull bugled right back. It had covered a surprising distance.

Cameraman Travis Ralls and I tried cutting the distance even more. Halfway through a knee-high sagebrush flat, we saw the bull’s rack twisting and turning through thick pine trees on the ridge in front of us. We were pinned down. Fortunately, the morning shadows hung heavy in the draw. I got on both knees, knocked an arrow and took multiple ranges on brush. By the time I was ready, Ralls was rolling tape.

More Sample Size

The bull came out of the trees, searching for the cow. It swung wide, trying to get downwind to detect a scent. I cow called. The bull stopped, looked at us and bugled. Then it walked straight for us. It slowly but steadily covered 80 yards. When it hit a sage bush I’d ranged at 40 yards, I cow called. The bull stopped and bugled, staring directly into the camera. Sending an arrow over knee-high cover was simple. Had many hunters seen how sparse the cover was all around us, and the fact the bull paid no attention to a big camera on a tall tripod, let alone the way it came in, they wouldn’t have believed it.

On a late September archery hunt, no matter what calls I offered, a big bull wouldn’t leave its cows. That’s when I gathered an armload of dead branches, set up by a short pine tree surrounded by rocks, and got to work. The sequence began with a hyper cow call, then a deep bugle, followed by a higher pitched bugle. I kicked rocks and broke branches as I called. I raked the tree and made as much noise as possible. When the bull bugled I immediately cut it off with a loud, raspy bugle.

The bull tore down a shale slope. The timber was too thick to see the bull from where we stood, but the air was dead calm. We could almost feel the earth shake under the heavy bull, shale tumbling non-stop to the bottom of the canyon as it dove off the mountain.

When the bull started up the steep ridge on which we stood, it’s breathing grew heavy. It paused. I raked the tree while stomping and kicking rocks. Sound travels far and fast through solid objects. The bull bugled and came charging in. Two cows were with it. At 27 yards the 340” bull bugled in our face. But it wasn’t the bull I’d hoped for. Earlier that day we were on to a bull that was every bit of 380”. The shot would have been easy. Ralls recorded the encounter and we kept hunting. Aggressive moves brought that bull in. I called in 11 more bulls on that hunt, and didn’t send one arrow. I often regret not shooting that slobbering, heavy-racked bull.

Play the Boys Against Eachother

Many times over the years I’ve spotted or heard satellite bulls trying to get in on a dominant bull’s harem. When the wind is right and the terrain and cover allow, get between the bulls and start a fight. A mix of cow chatter and insubordinate bull sounds can often ignite a herd bull. At the very least, it often results in the satellite bull, or other bulls in the area, coming to the calls. Don’t feel like every bull you kill has to be a giant. Meat in the freezer is always a win.

During a mid-October general rifle hunt in Idaho, bulls were bugling like crazy. The first ridge I called from, five different bulls responded. Some were with cows. One bull was alone. It was the biggest of all. We were filming a TV show and I wanted the big bull. TV ratings drop when killing small bulls, so it was my job—as per the direction of the network—to kill big bulls. I didn’t always like that.

For nine hours, Ralls and I worked that bull. We slowly hiked around the canyon throughout the day, calling every once in a while. The bull bugled at every sound I offered but would not leave the timber. Finally, with only a few minutes of daylight left, the bull came out, bugled, then began feeding. Solid in the shooting sticks, the cross-canyon shot hit home. We got back to camp at 2:00 a.m., and finished packing out that bull the following day.

On another mid-season rifle hunt for Rocky Mountain elk, a bull was with a dozen cows. They fed up a steep mountain that looked more fitting for bighorn sheep. The terrain was all rock, with boot-top-tall dead grass. The cows moved so quickly we couldn’t catch up to them. Every time I cow called the bull would bugle. Its pace slowed but it never stopped.

Testosterone is a Powerful Thing

Out of desperation I let out a series of aggressive bugles. The bull finally stopped, then began making a wallow on the dry ground. Dirt and dust flew. It rubbed, urinated, rolled some more and bugled on its own, multiple times. While the bull’s testosterone was pumping, we closed the distance. When the bull stood, I was ready with a solid rest on a rocky ledge. The .325 WSM hit the mark, and at just over 300 yards, the bull was down. I would not have killed that bull were it not for calling and moving, for nearly two hours.

Testosterone is a powerful thing in bull elk. And it can be ignited in a split second with one sound. Then again, it may take aggressive calling, raking and more to get a bull fired up.

I used to travel the country delivering seminars at sport shows and events. I’ve given hundreds of talks on elk hunting. The number one concern I heard from fellow hunters as to why they failed to fill a tag was they were afraid to move for fear of spooking a bull. Most hunters would shake their head in disbelief at what I learned to get away with over the years. I’m not saying elk are stupid, nor to be careless. You have to learn when to move, how fast, and what sounds to make, and when. But I’m confident that such bold moves and getting bulls fired-up boosted my success rate by well over 50%. I no longer host TV shows, but still apply an aggressive, smart approach when chasing elk, whether it’s with a rifle or camera in my hands.

Back in my high school days I was the quarterback and point guard in basketball. We went into every contest with a game plan. My role was to make things happen. If plan A didn’t work, I’d switch to plan B or C, sometimes in the blink of an eye. Elk hunting is similar. The more you hunt, the more you learn, the more confident you’ll become in knowing what moves to make, when.

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