A chance encounter along a dusty road led to a friendship between two elk fanatics. Last fall, that friendship produced one of the largest bulls ever killed by a bowhunter.
The bull got up from his midday nap in the thick juniper trees and eased down the open grassy hill, feeding slowly. He did not seem to be worried about much except for getting his belly full. As he wandered down the slope feeding rigorously, I saw Michael slip ever so close to fulfill one of his lifelong dreams. The day was September 16th and we were hunting elk in Arizona. The rut had been sluggish due to dry monsoons, but we were still optimistic about our chances for Michael to harvest a great bull. It was the fifth day of the hunt, and even with several different mechanical failures on our vehicles, Michael just laughed and said it was all happening for a reason. He shook the calamities off with a smile and kept us on task. The task was finding bull Number 42 that Michael could harvest with his bow and arrow.
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