The dark timber made it difficult to see them, but the rattle of antler against antler unmistakably drew me closer to the sparring bulls. Straining my eyes against the dimness and creeping every closer the bulls materialized as if coming out of a fog. A hundred yards, maybe a bit more, and they weren’t paying any attention but to each other.

Jay, my hunting buddy, and official caller on this hunt, signaled that he would stay at the edge of the timber while he encouraged me to edge in closer. If I couldn’t close within bow range he would try to call one or both of the bulls toward him.

We were hunting public National Forest land in mid Colorado, a place where Jay and I had hunted on three other occasions. It was the third week of the bow season and the week of muzzle loader season as well. It had been a warm week and the bulls had not been very talkative. This morning was different.

The morning broke clear and cold. The temperature had dropped below freezing overnight and we climbed the mountain in the predawn darkness to the music of bugling bulls. We worked our way up about a half mile from a valley meadow to an old timber cut. We were staked out at opposite edges of the cut, where we had spotted and called elk to on other occasions. The elk liked to feed in the valley below, and would work their way back up the mountain in the early morning light.

We listened for more than an hour to a bull that kept calling below us in the timber at the far edge of the meadow. We kept expecting him to work his way up the ridge, but our alluring cow calls were not moving him. Jay and I finally, decided it was time to go to him before he quit screaming.

We boogied down the mountain, staying within the tree line and skirted the edge of the meadow. We knew this meadow well, my son Talon, a couple of years ago had come face to face with a nice five by five. As we reached a smaller overgrown meadow within the timber the bull bugled again, and then we heard the rattle of horn against horn.

We quickly moved toward the sound of the sparring bulls, every watchful for cows that might give our approach away. As we entered the deeper timber beyond the overgrown meadow, we slowed our approach and moved only when we could hear the sparring. At a hundred yards or so, we spotted the bulls. It was still too dark to see what their head gear looked like, but these we mature bulls!

Keeping timber between me and the bulls, I crept ever closer as they continued to jostle each other. This was not a full blown fight for cows, just a little pushing and shoving, but it was music to my ears. We were near the edge of the Forest land, and I knew the bulls would be very close to if not on private ranch land. I continued my stalk, pausing whenever the bulls paused, and trying to keep cover between me and them.

As I drew within fifty yards I ranged the bulls and got my first real look at them. Both were six by six bulls! I was certainly within bow range at this point but I didn’t have a clear shot. I needed to close a bit more. I put more cover between us and eased my way closer, five yards, ten, fifteen. I leaned around some brush to range them again and my Bushnell read 31 yards, but they were on the other side of the fence – on private ranch property. Oh, were my hunting ethics challenged at that point! Forcing my instinct to shoot down, I turned to look toward Jay to start calling, hoping to bring the bulls across the fence. As I scanned the space between where the bulls were and Jay was looking for an opening to shoot through is when I saw the spike! And he had obviously spotted me as well! He was at full alert and starring right at me. As our eyes met, he barked and the timber exploded with elk running in every direction but toward Forest land.

I was a quivering mass of adrenalin filled jello when Jay caught up to me. But I was elated to have gotten within 30 yards of two sparring bulls. No kill, not even a shot, but hey, I guess that is why they call it hunting, not killing.