September 5, 2025 • 20 mins
The first time doing anything with a high level of anticipation is a recipe for strong memories. That perfectly describes Brent's first elk hunt. It was an experience of a lifetime that has as potent of an effect on him today as it did fourteen years ago. Brent details that hunt on this episode with what seemed like the perfect setup that went from good, to bad, to great, all in a matter of moments. It's time for MeatEater's This Country Life podcast.
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Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
Speaker 1 (00:05):
Welcome to this country Life.
Speaker 2 (00:06):
I'm your host, Brent Reeves from coon hunting to trotlining
and just in general country living. I want you to
stay a while as I share my experiences in life lessons.
This country Life is presented by Case Knives from the
store More Studio on Meat Eaters Podcast Network, bringing you
the best outdoor podcast that airways have to offer.
Speaker 1 (00:29):
All right, friends, grab a chair or drop that tailgate.
I've got some stores to share here. Have an elk.
Speaker 2 (00:43):
Archery season is kicking off in a few days and
is already begun in some places. In my seemingly unending
desire and habits of most things outdoors, both hunting is
close to the top for me. Now I'm gonna share
the story my first bull elk. It's my only elk actually,
but it's also the only one I ever drew my
(01:05):
bow on. Every trip before since that hunt was to
film someone else. I'm one for one on six or
six bull elk, and I should stop right there.
Speaker 1 (01:16):
If I want to keep my elk.
Speaker 2 (01:18):
Harvest to hunt average above average. But I can't in
theory anyway. I just need to get drawn in the state.
Speaker 1 (01:27):
That allows it.
Speaker 2 (01:28):
But that's that's another story, and I'm fixing to tell
you this one. I was on patrol with my phone
ring caller, ID said, Leon Boyd. It was July twenty eleven.
(01:50):
Leon is a friend of mine from Virginia. I'd met
him a couple of years before when I was hired
to film him and some of his friends and employees
on a deer and elk hunt in Colorado. They put
on a big hunt nearly every year and were some
of the absolute best folks I ever had the pleasure
to meet. Humble to a fault, and their generosity was
(02:14):
beyond measure. I like these people, and Leon was a
shining example for all of them. His accent and tonal
voice would fool you if you'd only talk to him
on the phone. Seeing him in person was a little
more intimidating. He is a big rascal, but his equally
(02:35):
big smile and polite nature put me at ease from
the moment I met him. Two years before that conversation,
I asked the phone, and in his easily identifiable accent,
he said, Brent, you're gonna be able to make it
out to elk kin this year.
Speaker 1 (02:55):
Now.
Speaker 2 (02:55):
I had to smile and said, of course, Leon I'll
have my camera ready. He told me that was what
he wanted to hear. But I didn't need to bring
my camera this year. Well, I assumed he was renting
some better equipment for me to use. That's when he said,
I want you to bring your boat and kill you
(03:16):
a bull. I sat there in the parking lot where
I'd pulled over to talk to him, eyes unblinking and
staring at the phone like a cow stairs at a
new gate. You're kidding, now, oh, my friend, I want
you to kill a bull. You worked your tail all
(03:36):
feeling for us, and now we want you to hunt
with us. You know where we're going, so get your license,
get practice at we your boat, and we'll pick you
up in a little rock on our way to Colorado
in septem Now, what do you say to that think
he doesn't seem like enough? He still doesn't, and that's
(03:58):
been fourteen years years ago. Leon is the kind of
friend that you can have and not speak to for weeks, months,
or even years, and when you do, you're right where.
Speaker 1 (04:10):
You left off, as if you'd spoken to him the
day before. A true friend. I'm blessed. We called him might.
Speaker 2 (04:21):
The days, weeks and months passed like cold molasses pores,
and finally September, the drive out seemed even longer. I'd
practiced and practiced shooting my bow in the backyard religiously
every day, rain or shine. I was ready for anything
out to sixty yards, even though I'd drawn the line
(04:42):
myself at fifty. That was the mark I'd set, the
limit I'd put on myself to keep from doing the
thing I feared most, and that was to make a
bad shot. Everything else would be acceptable. No opportunity. That's
called hunting. He keeps you from hunting.
Speaker 1 (05:01):
It happens.
Speaker 2 (05:02):
Wildfires closed down the area where we're going. That happens too. No,
the one thing that I had total control over was
to shoot or not to shoot. That was all up
to me, and no one else could or would be responsible.
But now practice was over. It was time to climb
(05:23):
the mountain. The bugles in the distance hadn't faded in
beauty or frequency from the last six days, and the
mountain I found myself on resonated with those echoes that
will forever haunt my memory of that September afternoon in Colorado.
All during the week, as I stumbled along behind my
(05:44):
guide I felt as if I may have been trespassing,
not in the sense of being somewhere I shouldn't, and
maybe trespassing isn't the word I'm looking for, but I
felt as though this ritual that I was witnessing wasn't
me for me to see. The dynamic of what I
was seeing and hearing was so overwhelming that the majority
(06:07):
of time that I was staggering through the woods, my
mind raced to record all of what was happening. I
would replay in my head what I had just seen
and heard. As I was logging that memory, it would
quickly be replaced by yet another amazing display of nature.
We hunted hard all week. One morning, the light rain
(06:30):
fell as I raced from place to place at the
direction of my guide to intercept the bulls that were
responding to his calls. Young bulls slipped into where we stood,
and at twenty yards, I let him walk. He had
some growing to do, but I'll never forget how he
looked as he stood close enough for me to hear
him breathe. Another bugle and we were off again. I
(06:55):
could hear limbs breaking in the bulls bugle sounded like
a roar. It was loud than what I'd expected. I
stared into the trees and strained to see the elk
that was making all that racket. How could something be
so loud, so big, and so close and me not
be able to see him. My heart was beating fast,
(07:15):
and I was trying not to hyperventilate when he was
getting closer. And I didn't know how this was going
to play out. But I knew right then, right there
in that vast wilderness I had dreamed of all my life.
Speaker 1 (07:28):
That I was right where I was supposed to be.
Speaker 2 (07:31):
I imagined every scenario I could think of, trying to
anticipate what was going to happen next. I arranged every
possible place the bull would emerge from, and tried to
remember each point, calculating which pen I would use and
when to draw my bow. Cal trotted out from behind
the brush, stopped and stared at me. The bull I
(07:55):
could hear getting closer and closer as he broke limbs
and racked his antlers on what sounded like every tree
between where he and I stood. I saw the city
limb shaking, and from less than twenty five yards he
walked out until the opening he faced me and bugle
so loud.
Speaker 1 (08:13):
It hurt my ears.
Speaker 2 (08:16):
He was a heavy five by five, and I could
draw my bow now without him ever knowing I was
there two more steps. He's two steps away from giving
me the opportunity I've dreamed of since I was a kid.
The cow that I'd forgotten about had stood at all
she could, and with one swift motion, she wheeled and
(08:38):
ran into the woods. He followed on instinct and stopped
at fifty five yards, offering a marginal quartering shot. I
wasn't steady enough or confident enough in the angle to
wrist trying to slip that broadhead into the narrow kill zone.
I just I wouldn't do it, and he walked away.
(09:03):
Now I didn't regret not shooting. I tried to breathe again.
I tried to realize all that I had just seen
and felt, and couldn't keep from shaking all over this
thing that was happening to me, The transformation that was
taking place inside me, and the insignificant role I was
playing in the grand production occurring all around me was
(09:23):
changing how I thought, felt and saw the world. All
of the events that led up to this September afternoon
hadn't prepared me for what was about to happen. Walking
around a mountain trail and standing face to face with
a black bear, listening to the literally countless beautiles day
(09:46):
in and day out, and standing on a small portion
of this magnificent place on Earth aching to share with
what I was seeing with my loved ones didn't offer
a clue what I was about to experience. We settled
(10:08):
into the blind above the pond. Bulls had been bugling
above us since we left the truck as we snaked
our way up the mountain to the watering hole we
hoped would give us a shot at a decent bull.
By the time I got my gear stowed and caught
my breath, it was time to put on the rest
of my camera and try to find a comfortable place
(10:28):
to sit on what had to be a forty five
degree grade. I had never shot a boat sitting on
my behind, but I had no choice in this spot
unless I moved further away, and that wasn't an option.
I referenced this place as a blind, but there was
nothing man made or manufactured about it. It was just
(10:49):
a couple of bushes that offered a place for me
to sit down behind. I wanted every advantage in my favor,
and I would have to deal with the uncomfortable conditions
and just make the best of it. I wadged my
left foot against the stump of a long gone sapling
and sat on my right leg I had tucked underneath me,
and it was actually somewhat comfortable.
Speaker 1 (11:10):
The minute to minute and a half it took before the.
Speaker 2 (11:13):
Circulation was cut off to my leg didn't take long,
and my leg was killing me. I tried to ignore
the stinging that plagued my lower extremities. I ranged every
large rock and bush I could find, trying to determine
the lay of the land. Bugles were inching closer and
becoming more frequent. I practiced drawing my boat from this
(11:37):
terribly uncomfortable position. It had been a long week. My
muscles ached, I was hot, I was nervous. I was
ecstatic to be there, and the beauty of this rugged
land was surpassed only by its lack of oxygen. The
guy that taught me how to film was serving as
my cameraman on this hunt, and he said it best
when we first arrived at our hunting area earlier in
(12:00):
the week, as I looked up the mountain at the
awe inspiring scenery. He said, don't let them pretty woods
fool you. Bub There ain't no air up there. He
wasn't kidding. The movement caught my eye and I focused
into a gap in the timber across the water hole,
and I sat motionless as a bull elk walked out
(12:22):
into the opening and announced his presence to the world,
as only those majestic creatures can. Other bulls answered him
in the distance. The spike bull walked to the opposite
side of the pond and drank. And yet this one
he strode confidently to the water's edge, ignoring the challenges
that were being thrown in his direction. He drank loudly.
(12:44):
I could hear him slurping down what seemed like gallons
of water. Is a mere thirty yards away, well within
my range. When I started breathing so hard and trembling
that I closed my eyes and I said a prayer
to calm my nerves, steady my aim, and for my
arrow to fly true. Immediately I calmed down, relaxed, and
(13:10):
I concentrated from a mission at hand. He drank as
he waited closer and farther into the water hole, stopping
twenty yards in front of him. Then he turned broadside.
He looked away in the distance and started the bugle.
This was my chance. The dream was about to become
(13:31):
a reality. He was a half second into his bugle
when I decided to draw my bow, And with all
the adrenaline that was coursing through my veins, the excruciating
pain that had rendered my right leg useless, and the
excitement of what was about to happen, I failed to
take my left index finger off the arrow that lay
(13:53):
in wait on the arrow rest, and I drew my
bow back so hard and so fast, I pulled the
string right out of the knock. Then, like an axe
handle Postuman, who just had what a little sense he
had left knocked out of him, I released the pressure
of my left indexed finger, and gravity took control.
Speaker 1 (14:17):
My arrow dropped and clattered.
Speaker 2 (14:19):
Against the bottom lemb of my compound, and held short
from falling completely off only by the broadhead that caught
on my arrest. The bull stopped just short of finishing
his bugle. He turned his head and he looked dead
at me, and I felt my dream slipping away as
I held an empty string with a perfect sight picture
(14:40):
focused on the twenty yard pen and decreased behind the
shoulder of the bull elk I'd been waiting on all
my life. A bull bugled in the distance, and he
looked in his direction and slowly started moving away. I
whispered to my cameraman, I can't shoot. My arrow fell off,
(15:03):
he said, put it back on. I said, I can't.
He pleaded, why not fix my arrow? He turned and
saw my predicament, and in one smooth, subtle move, he
gingerly picked up my arrow, placed it back on my string,
and resumed his duties on the camera. I remained calm,
(15:23):
more calm than I had been on the whole trip,
and at a point in the hunt when the worst
thing possible could have happened actually happened. I followed him
with the top pen and transitioned to the middle pin.
When he reached the forty yard mark, he stopped to
grab a few bites of grass, and my camera man whispered,
(15:44):
he's about forty five yards, three more steps, and I
fixed my bottom pin on his right front leg that
I could see as he quartered away, exposing the left
side peep site settled perfectly around the pin and I
remember out loud, he's fifty yards, and without realizing a
conscious effort, the string left my release and I tracked
(16:07):
the orange knock of my arrow and watched it as
it buried up in the fletching, right where I had
envisioned it going only a split second before they helped
charge into the timber, kicking rocks and breaking limbs as
he disappeared. Now, I looked at my friend, who was
running the camera, and ask about the shot placement. I
(16:28):
replaced it in my mind and felt confident it was good.
Thirty seconds later I heard him crash. Calm that I
felt during that near calamity of my air coming off
the string was replaced by the realization of what had
just happened. A flood of emotion rushed from within, and
(16:50):
I struggled to think of something to say. I tried
to compose myself, but was overcome by the fact that
I had just seen a lifelong dream come to fruition.
All I could think of was how proud my dad
was going to be of me, and that's when I
started crying. My family is so supportive of me and
(17:14):
what I do, and to have experienced that moment knowing
they were going to be just as proud as I was,
seemed to be a little more than I could deal with.
I was a wreck, and when the tears started, it
didn't stop. Waiting to prescribe thirty minutes from shot to track,
(17:36):
it may have been tougher than they sent up the mountain,
but eighty yards later we were kneeling beside my trophy
and thanking the Good Lord for giving us the opportunity.
What a release of emotion. Outside of events involved in
my family, this was the most moving experience I'd ever encountered,
and one.
Speaker 1 (17:56):
That has changed my life.
Speaker 2 (17:59):
The people that don't do what we do, that don't
challenge themselves to seek out their dreams and struggle through
the hardships and obstacles that separate just getting by from
getting it done. We'll probably find humor in the fact
that a grown man cried on the side of a
mountain after shooting an elk, But it was a pivotal
(18:25):
moment in my maturity as a person of faith who
needed help and asked for it, and in an instant
was granted to reprieve from losing my mind when a small,
seemingly inconsequential mistake nearly cost me the opportunity of a lifetime.
(18:46):
It's funny now that always seems to work out. Good night, Nurse,
what a hunt. I'm thankful for that day, my friend
Leon and all of you who give all of us
here on the Beargreas Channel some of your attention each week.
If you're close to eleven and Missouri, come see me
(19:07):
tomorrow September the sixth at the celebration of the Ozarks
Case Knife event put over by my friends at Shepherd
Hills Cutlery. It's gonna be so much fun. And Alexis
and Bailey they're gonna be there too. Then on next Saturday,
September the thirteenth, we'll all be at the World Championship
(19:28):
Squirrel Cookoff in Springdale, Arkansas, where the love of humanity
the fund never stops until next week.
Speaker 1 (19:36):
This is Brent Reeves signing off. Y'all be careful
Welcome to this country Life.
Speaker 2 (00:06):
I'm your host, Brent Reeves from coon hunting to trotlining
and just in general country living. I want you to
stay a while as I share my experiences in life lessons.
This country Life is presented by Case Knives from the
store More Studio on Meat Eaters Podcast Network, bringing you
the best outdoor podcast that airways have to offer.
Speaker 1 (00:29):
All right, friends, grab a chair or drop that tailgate.
I've got some stores to share here. Have an elk.
Speaker 2 (00:43):
Archery season is kicking off in a few days and
is already begun in some places. In my seemingly unending
desire and habits of most things outdoors, both hunting is
close to the top for me. Now I'm gonna share
the story my first bull elk. It's my only elk actually,
but it's also the only one I ever drew my
(01:05):
bow on. Every trip before since that hunt was to
film someone else. I'm one for one on six or
six bull elk, and I should stop right there.
Speaker 1 (01:16):
If I want to keep my elk.
Speaker 2 (01:18):
Harvest to hunt average above average. But I can't in
theory anyway. I just need to get drawn in the state.
Speaker 1 (01:27):
That allows it.
Speaker 2 (01:28):
But that's that's another story, and I'm fixing to tell
you this one. I was on patrol with my phone
ring caller, ID said, Leon Boyd. It was July twenty eleven.
(01:50):
Leon is a friend of mine from Virginia. I'd met
him a couple of years before when I was hired
to film him and some of his friends and employees
on a deer and elk hunt in Colorado. They put
on a big hunt nearly every year and were some
of the absolute best folks I ever had the pleasure
to meet. Humble to a fault, and their generosity was
(02:14):
beyond measure. I like these people, and Leon was a
shining example for all of them. His accent and tonal
voice would fool you if you'd only talk to him
on the phone. Seeing him in person was a little
more intimidating. He is a big rascal, but his equally
(02:35):
big smile and polite nature put me at ease from
the moment I met him. Two years before that conversation,
I asked the phone, and in his easily identifiable accent,
he said, Brent, you're gonna be able to make it
out to elk kin this year.
Speaker 1 (02:55):
Now.
Speaker 2 (02:55):
I had to smile and said, of course, Leon I'll
have my camera ready. He told me that was what
he wanted to hear. But I didn't need to bring
my camera this year. Well, I assumed he was renting
some better equipment for me to use. That's when he said,
I want you to bring your boat and kill you
(03:16):
a bull. I sat there in the parking lot where
I'd pulled over to talk to him, eyes unblinking and
staring at the phone like a cow stairs at a
new gate. You're kidding, now, oh, my friend, I want
you to kill a bull. You worked your tail all
(03:36):
feeling for us, and now we want you to hunt
with us. You know where we're going, so get your license,
get practice at we your boat, and we'll pick you
up in a little rock on our way to Colorado
in septem Now, what do you say to that think
he doesn't seem like enough? He still doesn't, and that's
(03:58):
been fourteen years years ago. Leon is the kind of
friend that you can have and not speak to for weeks, months,
or even years, and when you do, you're right where.
Speaker 1 (04:10):
You left off, as if you'd spoken to him the
day before. A true friend. I'm blessed. We called him might.
Speaker 2 (04:21):
The days, weeks and months passed like cold molasses pores,
and finally September, the drive out seemed even longer. I'd
practiced and practiced shooting my bow in the backyard religiously
every day, rain or shine. I was ready for anything
out to sixty yards, even though I'd drawn the line
(04:42):
myself at fifty. That was the mark I'd set, the
limit I'd put on myself to keep from doing the
thing I feared most, and that was to make a
bad shot. Everything else would be acceptable. No opportunity. That's
called hunting. He keeps you from hunting.
Speaker 1 (05:01):
It happens.
Speaker 2 (05:02):
Wildfires closed down the area where we're going. That happens too. No,
the one thing that I had total control over was
to shoot or not to shoot. That was all up
to me, and no one else could or would be responsible.
But now practice was over. It was time to climb
(05:23):
the mountain. The bugles in the distance hadn't faded in
beauty or frequency from the last six days, and the
mountain I found myself on resonated with those echoes that
will forever haunt my memory of that September afternoon in Colorado.
All during the week, as I stumbled along behind my
(05:44):
guide I felt as if I may have been trespassing,
not in the sense of being somewhere I shouldn't, and
maybe trespassing isn't the word I'm looking for, but I
felt as though this ritual that I was witnessing wasn't
me for me to see. The dynamic of what I
was seeing and hearing was so overwhelming that the majority
(06:07):
of time that I was staggering through the woods, my
mind raced to record all of what was happening. I
would replay in my head what I had just seen
and heard. As I was logging that memory, it would
quickly be replaced by yet another amazing display of nature.
We hunted hard all week. One morning, the light rain
(06:30):
fell as I raced from place to place at the
direction of my guide to intercept the bulls that were
responding to his calls. Young bulls slipped into where we stood,
and at twenty yards, I let him walk. He had
some growing to do, but I'll never forget how he
looked as he stood close enough for me to hear
him breathe. Another bugle and we were off again. I
(06:55):
could hear limbs breaking in the bulls bugle sounded like
a roar. It was loud than what I'd expected. I
stared into the trees and strained to see the elk
that was making all that racket. How could something be
so loud, so big, and so close and me not
be able to see him. My heart was beating fast,
(07:15):
and I was trying not to hyperventilate when he was
getting closer. And I didn't know how this was going
to play out. But I knew right then, right there
in that vast wilderness I had dreamed of all my life.
Speaker 1 (07:28):
That I was right where I was supposed to be.
Speaker 2 (07:31):
I imagined every scenario I could think of, trying to
anticipate what was going to happen next. I arranged every
possible place the bull would emerge from, and tried to
remember each point, calculating which pen I would use and
when to draw my bow. Cal trotted out from behind
the brush, stopped and stared at me. The bull I
(07:55):
could hear getting closer and closer as he broke limbs
and racked his antlers on what sounded like every tree
between where he and I stood. I saw the city
limb shaking, and from less than twenty five yards he
walked out until the opening he faced me and bugle
so loud.
Speaker 1 (08:13):
It hurt my ears.
Speaker 2 (08:16):
He was a heavy five by five, and I could
draw my bow now without him ever knowing I was
there two more steps. He's two steps away from giving
me the opportunity I've dreamed of since I was a kid.
The cow that I'd forgotten about had stood at all
she could, and with one swift motion, she wheeled and
(08:38):
ran into the woods. He followed on instinct and stopped
at fifty five yards, offering a marginal quartering shot. I
wasn't steady enough or confident enough in the angle to
wrist trying to slip that broadhead into the narrow kill zone.
I just I wouldn't do it, and he walked away.
(09:03):
Now I didn't regret not shooting. I tried to breathe again.
I tried to realize all that I had just seen
and felt, and couldn't keep from shaking all over this
thing that was happening to me, The transformation that was
taking place inside me, and the insignificant role I was
playing in the grand production occurring all around me was
(09:23):
changing how I thought, felt and saw the world. All
of the events that led up to this September afternoon
hadn't prepared me for what was about to happen. Walking
around a mountain trail and standing face to face with
a black bear, listening to the literally countless beautiles day
(09:46):
in and day out, and standing on a small portion
of this magnificent place on Earth aching to share with
what I was seeing with my loved ones didn't offer
a clue what I was about to experience. We settled
(10:08):
into the blind above the pond. Bulls had been bugling
above us since we left the truck as we snaked
our way up the mountain to the watering hole we
hoped would give us a shot at a decent bull.
By the time I got my gear stowed and caught
my breath, it was time to put on the rest
of my camera and try to find a comfortable place
(10:28):
to sit on what had to be a forty five
degree grade. I had never shot a boat sitting on
my behind, but I had no choice in this spot
unless I moved further away, and that wasn't an option.
I referenced this place as a blind, but there was
nothing man made or manufactured about it. It was just
(10:49):
a couple of bushes that offered a place for me
to sit down behind. I wanted every advantage in my favor,
and I would have to deal with the uncomfortable conditions
and just make the best of it. I wadged my
left foot against the stump of a long gone sapling
and sat on my right leg I had tucked underneath me,
and it was actually somewhat comfortable.
Speaker 1 (11:10):
The minute to minute and a half it took before the.
Speaker 2 (11:13):
Circulation was cut off to my leg didn't take long,
and my leg was killing me. I tried to ignore
the stinging that plagued my lower extremities. I ranged every
large rock and bush I could find, trying to determine
the lay of the land. Bugles were inching closer and
becoming more frequent. I practiced drawing my boat from this
(11:37):
terribly uncomfortable position. It had been a long week. My
muscles ached, I was hot, I was nervous. I was
ecstatic to be there, and the beauty of this rugged
land was surpassed only by its lack of oxygen. The
guy that taught me how to film was serving as
my cameraman on this hunt, and he said it best
when we first arrived at our hunting area earlier in
(12:00):
the week, as I looked up the mountain at the
awe inspiring scenery. He said, don't let them pretty woods
fool you. Bub There ain't no air up there. He
wasn't kidding. The movement caught my eye and I focused
into a gap in the timber across the water hole,
and I sat motionless as a bull elk walked out
(12:22):
into the opening and announced his presence to the world,
as only those majestic creatures can. Other bulls answered him
in the distance. The spike bull walked to the opposite
side of the pond and drank. And yet this one
he strode confidently to the water's edge, ignoring the challenges
that were being thrown in his direction. He drank loudly.
(12:44):
I could hear him slurping down what seemed like gallons
of water. Is a mere thirty yards away, well within
my range. When I started breathing so hard and trembling
that I closed my eyes and I said a prayer
to calm my nerves, steady my aim, and for my
arrow to fly true. Immediately I calmed down, relaxed, and
(13:10):
I concentrated from a mission at hand. He drank as
he waited closer and farther into the water hole, stopping
twenty yards in front of him. Then he turned broadside.
He looked away in the distance and started the bugle.
This was my chance. The dream was about to become
(13:31):
a reality. He was a half second into his bugle
when I decided to draw my bow, And with all
the adrenaline that was coursing through my veins, the excruciating
pain that had rendered my right leg useless, and the
excitement of what was about to happen, I failed to
take my left index finger off the arrow that lay
(13:53):
in wait on the arrow rest, and I drew my
bow back so hard and so fast, I pulled the
string right out of the knock. Then, like an axe
handle Postuman, who just had what a little sense he
had left knocked out of him, I released the pressure
of my left indexed finger, and gravity took control.
Speaker 1 (14:17):
My arrow dropped and clattered.
Speaker 2 (14:19):
Against the bottom lemb of my compound, and held short
from falling completely off only by the broadhead that caught
on my arrest. The bull stopped just short of finishing
his bugle. He turned his head and he looked dead
at me, and I felt my dream slipping away as
I held an empty string with a perfect sight picture
(14:40):
focused on the twenty yard pen and decreased behind the
shoulder of the bull elk I'd been waiting on all
my life. A bull bugled in the distance, and he
looked in his direction and slowly started moving away. I
whispered to my cameraman, I can't shoot. My arrow fell off,
(15:03):
he said, put it back on. I said, I can't.
He pleaded, why not fix my arrow? He turned and
saw my predicament, and in one smooth, subtle move, he
gingerly picked up my arrow, placed it back on my string,
and resumed his duties on the camera. I remained calm,
(15:23):
more calm than I had been on the whole trip,
and at a point in the hunt when the worst
thing possible could have happened actually happened. I followed him
with the top pen and transitioned to the middle pin.
When he reached the forty yard mark, he stopped to
grab a few bites of grass, and my camera man whispered,
(15:44):
he's about forty five yards, three more steps, and I
fixed my bottom pin on his right front leg that
I could see as he quartered away, exposing the left
side peep site settled perfectly around the pin and I
remember out loud, he's fifty yards, and without realizing a
conscious effort, the string left my release and I tracked
(16:07):
the orange knock of my arrow and watched it as
it buried up in the fletching, right where I had
envisioned it going only a split second before they helped
charge into the timber, kicking rocks and breaking limbs as
he disappeared. Now, I looked at my friend, who was
running the camera, and ask about the shot placement. I
(16:28):
replaced it in my mind and felt confident it was good.
Thirty seconds later I heard him crash. Calm that I
felt during that near calamity of my air coming off
the string was replaced by the realization of what had
just happened. A flood of emotion rushed from within, and
(16:50):
I struggled to think of something to say. I tried
to compose myself, but was overcome by the fact that
I had just seen a lifelong dream come to fruition.
All I could think of was how proud my dad
was going to be of me, and that's when I
started crying. My family is so supportive of me and
(17:14):
what I do, and to have experienced that moment knowing
they were going to be just as proud as I was,
seemed to be a little more than I could deal with.
I was a wreck, and when the tears started, it
didn't stop. Waiting to prescribe thirty minutes from shot to track,
(17:36):
it may have been tougher than they sent up the mountain,
but eighty yards later we were kneeling beside my trophy
and thanking the Good Lord for giving us the opportunity.
What a release of emotion. Outside of events involved in
my family, this was the most moving experience I'd ever encountered,
and one.
Speaker 1 (17:56):
That has changed my life.
Speaker 2 (17:59):
The people that don't do what we do, that don't
challenge themselves to seek out their dreams and struggle through
the hardships and obstacles that separate just getting by from
getting it done. We'll probably find humor in the fact
that a grown man cried on the side of a
mountain after shooting an elk, But it was a pivotal
(18:25):
moment in my maturity as a person of faith who
needed help and asked for it, and in an instant
was granted to reprieve from losing my mind when a small,
seemingly inconsequential mistake nearly cost me the opportunity of a lifetime.
(18:46):
It's funny now that always seems to work out. Good night, Nurse,
what a hunt. I'm thankful for that day, my friend
Leon and all of you who give all of us
here on the Beargreas Channel some of your attention each week.
If you're close to eleven and Missouri, come see me
(19:07):
tomorrow September the sixth at the celebration of the Ozarks
Case Knife event put over by my friends at Shepherd
Hills Cutlery. It's gonna be so much fun. And Alexis
and Bailey they're gonna be there too. Then on next Saturday,
September the thirteenth, we'll all be at the World Championship
(19:28):
Squirrel Cookoff in Springdale, Arkansas, where the love of humanity
the fund never stops until next week.
Speaker 1 (19:36):
This is Brent Reeves signing off. Y'all be careful
Host
Clay Newcomb
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