ARTICLES
IF I ONLY HAD A TOILET
By Richard McFalls

a.k.a. "One Distressed Hunter"
My story takes place in early September in the Rocky Mts. of Colorado. It was my first archery elk hunt and I had never seen an elk in real life. I went out of my way to go to two different zoos before going hunting just to see an elk, but in both cases the animals died before I got there.

I'm a 45-year-old 185 lb. Alabamian who had never been out west. So I thought I would prepare for the worst and get in shape. But little did I know God took all the oxygen out of the air in the Western mountains. This Alabama boy almost died a couple of times, but that's another story.

After an 8-hour plane ride I arrived in Colorado at I p.m. and the guide picked me up at the airport. He asked if I would shoot a spike bull elk. I said I would if the opportunity were to arise. He said he had seen a spike and a 5 x 5 at about 9 that morning and that the older elk ran the spike into the mountains behind his house. He said this would be a quick afternoon hunt... however, nothing at 800 feet above sea level is quick or easy.

As soon as we arrived at his house I changed clothes and shot one practice arrow at a 50-yard target (bullseye). I was ready to go. We went up the side of this hill (not mountain), and by the time we reached the top I thought I was going to die for the first time. I had to stop for about five minutes and catch my breath. The guide said we needed to hurry a little to make sure we got there before dark. It was only about a mile away but straight up and down. We got to the crest of one of the hills and he said, "There he is." Of course, I saw nothing. After a few minutes I saw the elk he was talking about, and he was across the canyon about a half a mile away.

Then he asked me again if I would take this spike and again I replied yes.
The guide said that after he bugled he would need me to run down this hill as fast as I could until I reached a flat place on the hill. He said I couldn't miss the spot and to get ready to shoot up the hill as soon as possible because he was going beyond and below where I was stopping and was going to bugle and make a lot of elk type noise. My comment to the guide was, "That elk is a half a mile away. Why are we running?" His reply was, "Just believe me, he will be here before you can get set up". I did what he said and sure enough the elk came straight at me locking up only 15 feet from me. (If you have ever seen a bird dog lock up on a quail, you will know what I am talking about.)

He is the biggest animal I've ever seen that wasn't behind a fence or in a zoo. It looked like a horse with horns. The guide is breaking branches as big as my leg. And this spike (still in velvet) has about 20" horns and he's tearing branches off the tree between him and me. The more the guide acts up behind me the worse this spike acts. He is now blowing snot everywhere. I'm at full draw (80 tbs.) and have been for the last couple of minutes. I have no shot even at 15 feet. The only part of him I can shoot at is his sternum, his right eye or that giant orifice that was a giant blowhole with snot coming out of it. After what seems to be hours but was only minutes I hear the guide laughing which causes the elk to run back the way he came in.

I asked the guide, "What was so funny?" "I thought your head was going to blow off," he said. "You held that bow so long that your head looked like a zit that was going to pop." What an exciting first day, but I was tired and glad the day was over.
The second day we drove about three hours and stopped to pick up some food and gear because we were not planning on coming out of the woods for the next week unless we harvested an elk. After arriving at the tent site we were due a good night's sleep. We got up at 4 a.m. and hiked to a vantage point where we were going to set up a spotting scope. We glassed for elk on the mountainside and not only saw a couple of nice elk but we also heard them bugle. We decided to hike to the other side of the mountain and set up on a couple of bulls that were headed in that direction.

After about three hours of hiking up and down the sides of a mountain, we finally got ahead of the herd. We decided to-gef the bull to come to us the same way the first one did. The guide set up behind me and started bugling, racking large limbs, and breaking limbs on other trees. It sounded like a war. But sure enough here comes a nice sized 5 x 5, about the same distance and almost the same situation. The only thing I can see to shoot at is his right eye, or his sternum. The only difference was he was bigger, a small 5 x 5, and he smelled really bad from rolling in his own urine.

I was almost sure I knew which way he was going to exit because of the last situation just one day earlier. I knew I couldn't hold forever, so I stamped my foot and when I did he whirled around and the elk started back the way he came in. I took a shot and it went under him. A clean miss. And for the second time in three days I came up empty.

With five days still left in the hunt I still felt pretty lucky. We saw a number of elk and elk were bulging everywhere but were unable to get close enough to the bulls without being spotted. We decided to change our strategy the next day and walk the crest of the mountain until we heard bugling and stalk from the top of the mountain. We arrived at the top of the mountain about 8 a.m. after about five hours of climbing. The mountain crest was treeless. It was easy to hear elk bugling, and to see the herd of elk down in the meadows and in the treeline. I thought this plan was excellent and we were already seeing elk.

We walked about a half of a mile more, seeing elk but not one we wanted to stalk, and all of a sudden my stomach started to rumble. Anyone who has gone camping or hunting knows that's trouble. I knew I was in an embarrassing situation. It was about a thousand yards to the nearest woodline and I was sure I wouldn't make it. I told the guide to go ahead quickly and I would meet him about a half mile on down the ridge.

I was right... it was bad. I used all my toilet paper, handy wipes, and proceeded to cut my tee shirt into strips. As I started to leave I was ashamed of the mess. I didn't have a shovel so I covered it with some rocks. As I was leaving, about five feet from the event, I saw this stick that looked like a cross and you can guess. Yes, I placed the stick at the end of the stack of rocks.

Now feeling better and chuckling to myself (how corny can one person be) I proceeded on with my hunt. We met up, and ate lunch and proceeded along the crest of the mountain. We spotted a nice 7 x 8 herd bull, fighting a 5 x 5 in a large blow down area. We circled down and within about 90 yards. The wind was in our favor, the bulls are still fighting and no cows are between the big bull and us. It looks as if the 7 x 8 is going to be mine.

As luck would have it the little bull races up the side of the mountain and the 7 x 8 bull flips the 5 x 5 bull straight at me, so I have to make a quick decision. He was coming down the mountain only about 40 yards away. He stops to see if the big bull is still chasing him. When he stops, I shoot. In a very awkward position I make the shot and he only goes about 80 yards. What a feeling! The guide was ecstatic and I was in never-never land.

He was not the big boy, but what an experience. We went to get the horses to pack the elk out. What a job! It was like packing out four whitetails all at one time. It was still early enough to hunt for a couple of hours, but too late to head home. So the guide asks if I would mind if he took a chance at the big bull. I hunted around camp for a mule deer. I told him I had no problem with that. That night, just at dark, I heard something or someone coming through the woods kicking, cussing, brushing up against trees. I see it's my guide and he has his bow around his neck. He is taking some pine limbs and rubbing his pants and jacket. I ask him what in the world he is doing and he replies that some dumb a- put a cross on a pile of rocks. When he kicked it a number of pieces of towelettes and cloth landed all over him from the chest down.

By then you can imagine how hard I was laughing. At the time he didn't think it was funny, but I just couldn't help myself. He pulled his bow off and I thought he was going to shoot me. I couldn't stop laughing. When I got control, I ask why he kicked it and how hard (he could have kicked for Alabama). His only reply was that he thought it was a dead animal and wanted to see what kind. At that, I broke down again and said, didn't your dad ever tell you not to kick a dead skunk? I apologized to him later and stuck this event in the archives of funny hunting tales.