Canadian Elk Hunt
The though of a “high Fenced” hunt has never appealed to me. Perhaps it is because growing up in the wide open spaces of the west where a fence is regarded with distain or maybe its juts the whole idea of “man against beast” with the beast having the edge. I even wince at hunting big game with guns because of the inherent advantage that today’s high powered rifles offer. All that being said I found myself saying, “okay” when a persistent friend pressed me about a Canadian hunt. Steve Efird is a proud bowhunter from North Carolina with many trophy animals to his credit, and he assured me that this was no “canned” hunt. His grandson Hunter Killed two incredible bull elk the year before with the assistance of his father, Heath: and I remembered well the massive antlers from the story Hunter published in the magazine last year.
I flew into Saskatoon Saskatchewan and knew the bulls would be screaming. Our guide Barry Fairbairn greeted us at the airport and shuttled us quickly to the local sporting goods store so I could make some purchases. You see I arrived at my destination with my bow, but my hunting clothes did not make the trip. Thankfully I had learned o wear my hunting boots on the plane and didn’t need boots, but everything else was missing. I wish I could say that this was my first time this had happened, but unfortunately, it seems o me more common now than ever.
With new camo clothes and toiletries we drove to Barry's lovely home and admired his awesome of whitetail and mule deer, enjoyed a sumptuous dinner made by his wife, and hit the road for the ranch.
The lodge is a rough hewn cabin in the middle of the densely wooded compound and very adequate for our needs. Running water, hot showers, and comfortable beds were a welcome site after a long trip: and the 460-inch bull hanging on the wall was enough to give any hunter something to dream about.
The following morning started before daylight with breakfast and anticipation, as Steve would be the first hunter and I would follow with my camera. Coyotes were howling in every direction as sunlight spilled over the horizon and the hunt was on. In the distance you could hear the muffled bugle of the bull in the dense forest. Birch and pine filled the compound of some 240 acres and the sight of the fence around the perimeter felt out of place in the wilderness setting. It would take some getting use to. But we pressed on away from the fence and towards the bugeling bull. The under brush was heavy, and on occasion we would catch a fleeting glimpse of horn or hide as the bulls moved deeper into cover. After working hard the entire morning to position Steve for a shot, it was obvious this was going to be a lot more difficult that shooting fish in a barrel.
Back at the lodge we lunched and planned the attack for the afternoon. Wind was key, and we knew that these bulls would never let us within shooting distance unless we used all our skills and had the wind in our favor. We busted several bulls that afternoon and had a couple of “almost’ situations, but nothing that would work. We saw dozens of bulls in the 300 – 350 class, bulls that anyone would be proud to have, but we just couldn’t close the distance for a shot.
Steve is an avid bowhunter and gas chased elk in Colorado on six different occasions, but never been able to fling an arrow. It appeared that his luck was still intact in Canada! However we knew that with four days to hunt this would be the year for Steve. As the afternoon progressed, we made a close stalk o a 300-plus bull and almost positioned hunter and camera for a shot before the bull spotted us and moved out. As we were just about to talk and plan the next stalk, I spotted a bull upwind and feeding jut sixty yards uphill. The brush was thick, but we could see his polished antlers moving through the trees, as he fed away from us, completely unaware that we were there. Steve moved closer and the camera rolled. The manual focus wasn’t working properly, and I feared the camera would focus on the brush and not the elk as Steve stalked forward. At last the manual focus kicked in, and I located the bull just seconds before Steve let the perfect arrow fly. The Easton aluminum shaft with the muzzy broad head found the magic spot and the bull thundered off through the trees – then all was still. A few seconds lapsed and then we herd the crash and fall of the mighty bull and knew that he was dead.
We didn’t wait the traditional hour, as we were sure the bull was down. Just twenty minutes later we followed the crimson trail to the bull of a lifetime. Steve Efird had just arrowed a magnificent 326-inch monster in Saskatchewan Canada! Well done, Steve!
Kimble Parker
Reprinted from “YTB Outdoors” magazine January 2008
I flew into Saskatoon Saskatchewan and knew the bulls would be screaming. Our guide Barry Fairbairn greeted us at the airport and shuttled us quickly to the local sporting goods store so I could make some purchases. You see I arrived at my destination with my bow, but my hunting clothes did not make the trip. Thankfully I had learned o wear my hunting boots on the plane and didn’t need boots, but everything else was missing. I wish I could say that this was my first time this had happened, but unfortunately, it seems o me more common now than ever.
With new camo clothes and toiletries we drove to Barry's lovely home and admired his awesome of whitetail and mule deer, enjoyed a sumptuous dinner made by his wife, and hit the road for the ranch.
The lodge is a rough hewn cabin in the middle of the densely wooded compound and very adequate for our needs. Running water, hot showers, and comfortable beds were a welcome site after a long trip: and the 460-inch bull hanging on the wall was enough to give any hunter something to dream about.
The following morning started before daylight with breakfast and anticipation, as Steve would be the first hunter and I would follow with my camera. Coyotes were howling in every direction as sunlight spilled over the horizon and the hunt was on. In the distance you could hear the muffled bugle of the bull in the dense forest. Birch and pine filled the compound of some 240 acres and the sight of the fence around the perimeter felt out of place in the wilderness setting. It would take some getting use to. But we pressed on away from the fence and towards the bugeling bull. The under brush was heavy, and on occasion we would catch a fleeting glimpse of horn or hide as the bulls moved deeper into cover. After working hard the entire morning to position Steve for a shot, it was obvious this was going to be a lot more difficult that shooting fish in a barrel.
Back at the lodge we lunched and planned the attack for the afternoon. Wind was key, and we knew that these bulls would never let us within shooting distance unless we used all our skills and had the wind in our favor. We busted several bulls that afternoon and had a couple of “almost’ situations, but nothing that would work. We saw dozens of bulls in the 300 – 350 class, bulls that anyone would be proud to have, but we just couldn’t close the distance for a shot.
Steve is an avid bowhunter and gas chased elk in Colorado on six different occasions, but never been able to fling an arrow. It appeared that his luck was still intact in Canada! However we knew that with four days to hunt this would be the year for Steve. As the afternoon progressed, we made a close stalk o a 300-plus bull and almost positioned hunter and camera for a shot before the bull spotted us and moved out. As we were just about to talk and plan the next stalk, I spotted a bull upwind and feeding jut sixty yards uphill. The brush was thick, but we could see his polished antlers moving through the trees, as he fed away from us, completely unaware that we were there. Steve moved closer and the camera rolled. The manual focus wasn’t working properly, and I feared the camera would focus on the brush and not the elk as Steve stalked forward. At last the manual focus kicked in, and I located the bull just seconds before Steve let the perfect arrow fly. The Easton aluminum shaft with the muzzy broad head found the magic spot and the bull thundered off through the trees – then all was still. A few seconds lapsed and then we herd the crash and fall of the mighty bull and knew that he was dead.
We didn’t wait the traditional hour, as we were sure the bull was down. Just twenty minutes later we followed the crimson trail to the bull of a lifetime. Steve Efird had just arrowed a magnificent 326-inch monster in Saskatchewan Canada! Well done, Steve!
Kimble Parker
Reprinted from “YTB Outdoors” magazine January 2008
