Never Give Up: Double Down in Idaho

By Bryan F. Child

For many, the thrill of the chase, the surge of adrenaline, and the camaraderie shared with friends and family are all that is needed to make for a successful hunt. For me, it’s all of that—and more. It’s also a chance to escape the world's noise, embrace the serenity of nature, and reconnect with my roots.

Growing up in a family that loves the outdoors, I spent my childhood in the mountains, fishing a nearby stream or running my German Shorthair chasing pheasants in the fields near home. But it wasn’t until my late 20s that I discovered my true passion: bow hunting. Today, nothing compares to the exhilaration of chasing elk in September. Each year, I hope to find myself on the mountain, trying to outwit these majestic creatures and test my skills as a hunter. While every hunt brings new life lessons, one of my most memorable experiences came during an archery elk hunt in Idaho in 2016. This hunt tested my patience, skill, persistence, and ability to work in sync with my 2 brothers-in-law, Dave and Shawn.

A Discouraging Start

We’d been hunting this particular area of Idaho for five years, returning each year in hopes of outwitting these incredible creatures and filling our freezers with delicious, organic elk meat. This year, we first set foot in the rugged Idaho wilderness on September 9th, and we spent nearly a week chasing elk with little to show for our efforts.

The first morning of the hunt was promising—a distant bugle echoed through the deep canyon full of aspens and tall grass. It was a faint call but enough to get my hopes up. I moved toward the sound, calling back to the bull, but after 20 minutes of calling, he went silent, and I never saw him. I hunted hard for the rest of the week, exploring different canyons, but to no avail.

By Thursday, our spirits were low. Discouragement had begun to set in, and we all felt the exhaustion of a hard week on the mountain without even getting close to drawing back our bow. But as any experienced hunter knows, the mountains can surprise you when you least expect it.

The Return to the Canyon

On the final morning of our hunt, we decided to return to the canyon, where I had heard that faint bugle on day one. We hiked up the long-rugged ridge at first light and let out a bugle into the cool morning air. To our surprise, a bull answered—his call returned from the same canyon where I had started the hunt.

Excitement surged through us. It wasn’t over yet. Dave, Shawn, and I scrambled down the mountain, eager to close the distance. Once we were in the heart of the canyon, Shawn, who didn’t have a tag but was there to call, took over the bugling, hoping to bring the bull in closer. Dave and I scrambled to get into position.  However, after just a few minutes, we realized the bull wasn’t coming toward us—it appeared he was pushing a small herd of cows away from us.

At that moment, we knew we had to make a decision. Try to get him to turn, which wasn’t very likely, or hustle up the canyon in hopes of getting close enough that we could convince him that we were a worthy challenger for his cows.  We chose the second option. Shawn stayed behind to continue calling so the bull wouldn’t feel threatened by a challenging bull in pursuit, while Dave and I took off running through the trees to close the distance.

The Final Push

We moved fast, weaving through trees and thick brush, not knowing exactly where the bull was heading but hoping to cut him off and get into range of putting out a threatening call that would cause him to hold his ground and fight. After about 20 minutes, we realized we were much closer than we thought. The bull was within 100 yards. To this point, our plan was working. Shawn’s distant calling had kept him from pushing too hard, and we were in a position to set up and see if we could get him to turn our way for fear of losing his cows.

I crept forward until I was within 50 yards of the bull. I could hear him, but I still couldn’t see him. I waited, standing still in the tall grass and sparse aspens, my heart pounding in my chest. Dave had settled in about 50 yards behind me and began calling. Suddenly, I saw movement. The bull was coming my way, head down, and unaware of my presence. I drew my bow and calculated the distance.  I had previously ranged a few trees and bushes and now guessed him to be at about 35 yards, but he was walking directly toward me.

In my mind, I urged him to turn, just enough that I could sneak an arrow in behind his left front shoulder, but he continued to approach me, head down.  I counted down the yards as he approached. Thirty, twenty, fifteen, ten. I started to think that he was going to walk right over the top of me. I’d be lying if I said the thought of bailing out of the way didn’t cross my mind.  Then, all of a sudden, at just seven yards, the bull lifted his head, turned to his right, and let out a thunderous bugle. In that split second, I knew it was my shot. My bottom pin found its mark, and I let the arrow fly. The moment I released it, I knew it was a good shot. The bull bolted into the trees, and I heard him crash just 50 yards away.

I stood there in awe momentarily. I couldn’t believe what had just happened. Our plan had worked out flawlessly. I turned and hustled back through the heavy brush to find Dave. To my surprise, it wasn’t Dave that I found, but it was Shawn, instead. I was confused.  How did he get there, and where was Dave? He put his finger to his lips, signaling for me to be quiet.  He was looking back in the direction we had come from, but from the side, I could see a big grin on his face. Softly whispering he told me that while he had been calling my bull, he had drawn in another bull from the next canyon over. Without a tag, and knowing that both Dave and I had tags, he hustled in our direction to pull this second bull towards us. 

A Hunt to Remember

As Shawn closed in on Dave, he alerted him to this second bull that was making his way towards us. Dave quickly made his move toward the oncoming bull. Within just a few minutes of getting set up and not even knowing whether or not I had gotten a shot at my bull, this second bull was within 50 yards.  He presented Dave with a small window and a quick shot, and that’s all it took. The impossible happened. We spent a week on the mountain with nothing more than a faint bugle on day one, and then, in the final hours of the hunt, we had two mature bulls down within 100 yards and 10 minutes of each other. 

The rest of the day couldn’t have been better. We would spend it prepping, quartering, and hauling out these beautiful animals. A sore back, hips, knees, shoulders, and the satisfaction of a hard-earned harvest is something that I hope for every year.  However, it wasn’t the physical labor that left the greatest mark on me—it was the journey we had taken to get there. After a week of silence and frustration, our hard work and persistence had paid off. At that moment, I was reminded of one of the most important lessons of the hunt: never give up. Just when you think it’s not going to happen, the mountains often surprise you with an experience that you’ll cherish for the rest of your life. 

The True Reward

Although I love elk meat, elk hunting is about more than just filling a tag. It’s about the bond shared with family and friends, the beauty of the wild, and the lessons learned in the face of challenge. Sure, harvesting a beautiful bull elk is the pinnacle of the hunt, but the time spent on the mountain—the early mornings, the quiet moments, the struggle, and the triumph—makes it truly unforgettable.

As I look forward to another September in the elk woods, I know one thing for sure: I’ll have a bow in hand and the hope of another adventure that leaves me grateful for health, opportunity, and a heritage that enables me to do what I love.