Bow Hunting Elk in the Spanish Peaks

Nestled in the rugged terrain outside Bozeman, Montana, the Spanish Peaks offer a pristine wilderness setting for bow hunting elk in September. As the crisp autumn air sets in and the bugle of bull elk echoes through the mountains, hunters embark on exhilarating expeditions in pursuit of the ultimate trophy. Join me on a thrilling bivy hunting adventure, where I delve into the challenges and triumphs of bow hunting elk in the majestic Spanish Peaks.

I’ll tell you now that I didn’t put an elk down on this trip. If you are here for a dramatic shot or an adventurous tale, then I’m sorry this isn’t it. If you enjoy simple hunting stories about being in the mountains, you are in the right place.

In the weeks leading up to the hunt, preparation is essential. Gear is meticulously checked and double-checked, ensuring that every piece is in optimal condition for the rigorous demands of backcountry hunting. From packing essential hunting gear and navigation, to the logistics of bivy hunting, attention to detail is paramount. With my BowTech Assassin in hand and backpack loaded with supplies, I set out for the Spanish Peaks, eager to connect to the spirit that is bow hunting.

Day 1

As dawn breaks over the rugged landscape, anticipation mounts with each step into the wilderness. Only a mile in to hike, the crisp mountain air is electrified with the haunting bugle of bull elk. This is going to be easy I thought. With calls in hand, I attempt to mimic the melodious sounds of cow elk, hoping to lure a bull within range. Despite my best efforts, my lackluster calling skills leave much to be desired, and the elk remain elusive. Undeterred, I press on, scanning the landscape for any sign of movement and listening intently for the telltale bugle that pierces the soul and drives me forward.  

Amidst the towering pines and sweeping vistas, my basecamp becomes a sanctuary amidst the wilderness. Fueling my adventures are the meals provided by Mountain House, a trusted companion in the backcountry. Despite the simplicity of freeze-dried fare, I find myself savoring each bite, relishing the flavors of home amidst the wilderness. Although after three days even these started to taste the same. The sun sets early in the shadows of the trees, I retreat to my bivy sack pondering the hard but simple pleasures of mountain life.

Day 2

I’m sorry, but day 2 was mainly spent huddled under a tree trying to stay dry. Even at 60 degrees during the day, cold rain can chill you quickly if you don’t stay dry. Between the bands of rain I’d move around some but told myself I would be better off listening and waiting. I did have some amazing conversations with my bow. Mainly asking why I was out there. (comment below if you’ve you have had similar conversations)

Day 3

With all the rain it made it easier to stalk or stumble hunt as I call it. With the wind in my face, I cut a game trail with fresh tracks.  Finally, I thought to myself. I followed the tracks slowly, I was in such thick timber the sun barely showed through the trees. I would take a few steps then pull up my Vortex’s and peer through them hoping to catch some movement or color. I follow the tracks for about 45 minutes never seeing the animal I was pursuing. All the doubts started creeping into my head about I was too loud or just not a good hunter. Then I was about to give up, I saw him.

I find myself faced with the ultimate challenge: a bull elk within bow range. With adrenaline coursing through my veins, I told myself to stay calm. I ran through my mental check list. He is facing away from me; he is slow feeding which means he doesn’t know I’m here; the wind is in my face. I ranged him at 18 yards, because of the angle and the amount of under growth and deadfall I can’t get a clear shot. I look at the terrain and position myself anticipating that he’ll step to his left. I come to full draw, heart pounding in anticipation of the shot. Yet, as the majestic creature stands before me, obscured by the dense underbrush, I hold. And hold and hold, without a clear shot at its vitals, I make the difficult decision to hold, shaking at this point, unwilling to risk injuring the animal. When the pain becomes to much I slowly let my string go forward. This movement was all he needed. As quickly as he appeared, he was gone. Though disappointed by the missed opportunity, I find solace in knowing that I made the ethical choice, prioritizing the well-being of the elk above all else.

As my hunting adventure draws to a close, I reflect on the highs and lows of my time in the Spanish Peaks. While the trophy may have eluded us this time, the memories forged amidst the wilderness are priceless. As I pack up my gear and bid farewell to the mountains, I carry with me not only the memories of the hunt but also a renewed appreciation for the beauty and majesty of the natural world. Amidst the rugged beauty of the Montana wilderness, hunters find themselves immersed in an exhilarating pursuit that transcends the boundaries of the ordinary. The adventure of bivy hunting in the Spanish Peaks is an unforgettable journey into the heart of the wild.