The Part of Hunting That Haunts You

My buddy Smoke missed a big bull elk last week.

His first shot was high. There was no second shot. The extractor on his rifle failed to grab the empty brass. He worked the bolt to no avail as he watched the bull run by at 100 yards.

Now he’s haunted by that image.

“I can still see him,” Smoke told me, as he wiped away a tear.

Hunt long enough and something similar will happen to you.

We’re haunted by our misses.

Who hasn’t seen the tail end of an elk or deer or pheasant — that earlier offered an easy shot— disappear unmolested over the horizon?

Whether due to mechanical malfunction or simply errant marksmanship, the result is the same.

I hit the trifecta of misses a few days ago. During a morning hunt I missed shots at pheasant, sharptail grouse and partridge. Although it didn’t bother me as much as a missed opportunity at bigger game, it stung nonetheless.

All the misses were the result of operator error. I was either not watching the dog, not moving my feet or not getting my head down on the stock.

But I’ve hunted long enough to realize sometimes you just miss. I pity the hunter who claims to hit every shot. How empty his dreams must be.

I still see the muley buck above Gardiner that I fired four rounds at, missing every shot until he got annoyed and left. His widespread, towering antlers made it difficult for him to walk through the timber.

Or so I recall.

Those that got away are seldom small.

Smoke, a seasoned guide and hunter, rarely exaggerates. He doesn’t need to, having collected trophy critters of all stripes over the years. The missed bull, however, would have been his largest. Like the mule deer buck that still haunts me, that bull had a heavy rack of unusually large size.

The only recourse, Smoke told me, is to buy another rifle. A new gun would not only ease the pain of the miss, but also assure it would never happen again, at least not with the old gun.

I like the way he thinks.

I’m due for a new shotgun. Although I took the blame for my trifecta of misses, the firearm isn’t entirely blameless. Had it been a bit better balanced, pricier perhaps, I might not have a flock of birds flying through my dreams.

On the other hand it sure beats counting sheep.

Parker Heinlein is at [email protected]