Mulies and elk just aren't as exciting to hunt, I told myself. Then, during one particular foray for elk, I sat down to rest on a knoll overlooking a game trail. Seconds later, a cow came crashing through the woods and stopped at 20 yards. My heart began to race. I lifted my bow slowly, picked a spot just behind her shoulder, steadied the pin and touched off the release. The fact that I missed her, trimming only neck hair, is inconsequential, but not irrelevant.

Since moving to Colorado, this was my first case of elk fever--and it happened on a cow! After some thought, I concluded that my "real thrill" results from waiting in ambush. I prefer to let the animals come to me. There is no other way for my anxiety level to reach that fevered pitch that first attracted me to hunting. While stalking, I am preoccupied with too many thoughts: Which way now? Where's the next piece of cover? Is the wind swirling? Is he still bedded down? Are there any other animals nearby that might blow my cover?

Although I have acknowledged that I quite possibly was hurting my chances for a trohpy mule deer, opting to hunt from a tree brought a smile to my face and the potential for what I consider an incomparable and awesome thrill.

On the third day of the season, I did manage to take a bear, adding a little spice to the mix. I had passed up two decent 4x4 bucks on opening morning, despite a great amount of temptation to drop the string. So far, I calculated that things were going quite well.

I made the five-hour drive home to butcher my bear, spent one day relaxing and then headed back to the Uncompahgre for deer. With the recent opening of the turkey and grouse seasons, I experienced a sudden increase in visitors to my camp.

Now I spent a certain amount of time socializing each day. I welcomed the human contact. Most of my hunting was early in the morning and late in the afternoon. A week slipped away without a big buck sighting. I began to second-guess my opening day decision to pass up those two four-points, but I knew I must hold true to my early decision to arrow nothing less than a five-point. My main objective was to harvest a better buck than one I had taken years earlier in Montana. He was a high-racked, 20-inch 5x5, killed while hard horned. I really wanted a nice velvet buck, and I knew that time was not on my side. The further I progressed into September, the weaker my chances of finding a good buck still in full velvet. I decided to curtail mingling with my fellow hunters and to spend more time in the woods.

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Every two or three days, I would relocate my stand based on in-season scouting. This practice helped me avoid the boredom and monotony that can sometimes occur while tree stand hunting. I sat in heavy timber, on edges and main game trails. I was enjoying the variety of scenery. The poplars were turning yellow and orange, wildlife was abundant, and the leaves of the scrub oak were now a deep red. The fields were green and lustrous. On one occasion, a bobcat skirted along a trail 10 yards from my stand. He was on the prowl, totally unaware of my presence.