Page 13 - November/December 2022 Outdoor Oklahoma Magazine

would discretion prove the better part of valor and lead That’s when the bull turned.
me to pass up such an opportunity? Would I ever have a Where once he’d been broadside and barn-sized, the
chance at an elk again? Would I be able to live with myself bull was now quartering sharply away from me, throwing
if I wounded an elk and couldn’t finish it off? Although the nervous glances over its shoulder. I centered my crosshairs
country is wide open in Oklahoma’s Panhandle, there are in the crease of its armpit, took a deep breath, and said a
still cuts and draws into which an elk could easily disappear, little prayer. Then I flicked the safety back on, and I lowered
never to be found again. the crossbow to my lap.
On and on, the deliberation in my mind continued, until I watched as the one bull joined the other. Together, they
the sun finally set and settled the moral debate for me. faded into the corn circle and disappeared into its depths.
There would be no elk sighting that first afternoon. And, I decided there were just too many factors working against
thankfully, I wouldn’t have to answer that ethical question me in taking an ethical shot that afternoon: low light condi-
that kept circling in my mind. tions, the limitations of a crossbow’s range, and a bad shot
I didn’t see an elk that whole trip. But last year, I got another angle on what had clearly become a nervous animal.
chance to hunt elk with Chandler. He’d been given permission Again I left the Panhandle empty-handed. But the ques-
on property where elk had been seen, and he said I needed tion that haunted me for years was finally answered. I do
to drive up and hunt before the corn was cut. Oklahoma’s have the ethical decision-making ability necessary to call
archery seasons for elk, deer and pronghorn are open con- myself a true sportsman. That knowledge may not fill my
currently the first two weeks of October, so I made my way freezer with venison or hang a shoulder mount above the
to the Panhandle then, full of the daydreams and optimistic fireplace, but I’ve decided I’d rather have an empty stom-
confidence all hunters share at the beginning of the season. ach than a sour one any day.
“If you see an elk, feel free to shoot it.” On my next trip to the Panhandle, I’ll be confident and
Chandler set me up on a stool tucked just inside the first well-prepared for taking an elk. I won’t have to endure
row of a corn circle. Later that afternoon, sipping lukewarm another afternoon of moral dilemma again.
water and staring straight into the setting sun, I sure didn’t “If you see an elk, feel free to shoot it.”
feel like I was on an elk hunt. In fact, if the crossbow in my If I ever I hear those words from Chandler again, I’ll
hands had been a shotgun, I’d have sworn that I was on my be ready.
family’s annual Labor Day dove hunt in Harmon County. But
sure enough, we saw elk on this property. Bulls, too, but PROVIDED
they were hundreds of yards away, well out of range for the
crossbow I was carrying.
Daylight was draining from the sky on the last afternoon
of my hunt when I saw a bull elk step out of a corn circle 500
yards to my north. I checked my watch and saw that I only had
10 minutes of legal shooting light left. Reminding myself that I
had nothing to lose, I started walking straight toward the bull.
That bull immediately saw me approaching but didn’t
seem worried in the least. I stopped to range him as I
walked, and by the time I’d cut the distance in half, I start-
ed thinking that I might actually get close enough for a
shot. The last time I ranged the bull it was 146 yards away.
Feeling confident in my crossbow’s setup, I told myself that
I’d count off 100 more steps, take a knee to get one last
range, load my bolt, and squeeze off a shot if one was pre-
sented. I resumed walking.
Then another bull emerged from the wheat to the east. I
felt like this elk hunt was preordained, as if the good Lord
was orchestrating the events that would culminate in my
first elk kill. The original bull I was stalking was clearly dis-
tracted, rubbernecking between me and the rival headed
his way. Before I knew it, I’d not only reached but surpassed
my 100-step goal. I knelt on a bare patch of earth, ranged
my bull one last time, loaded my bolt, flicked off my safety,
and got my eye into the crossbow’s scope. Kyle Wright with a white-tailed buck he took during deer gun season
in 2020.

10 OUTDOOR OKLAHOMA