Thought you fellow handgunners migt enjoy this story, it is true.

NO BULL

Such a beautiful fall day in the Clearwater mountains of Idaho had me riding high that afternoon. Pleased that I had taken a four point muley in the morning and a 6 x 6 elk the day before, I figured I would seek out a wily cinnamon colored black bear seen a few days earlier in a watered canyon a few miles from camp. I headed out to find my quarry with my trusty 500 Linebaugh on my hip not knowing what lay ahead hidden in the depths of that canyon.

I rode the Grizzly a few miles to the head of the canyon where I was certain I could slowly work my way towards my quarry with the breeze in my favor. Spirits high and a light step accompanied me as I inched my way through the cottonwoods and berry patches listening so intently I could hear my heart beat. As I neared the spot where the bear had been feeding on a cow kill from earlier in the season my senses became keenly aware of the eerie feeling of being watched. Hesitating every few steps I proceeded carefully till I was within twenty yards of so of the kill. Still upwind I waited motionless, as the gentle breeze drifted towards me, for what seemed an eternity but alas, no bear.

What had I done wrong? Perhaps the time of day or a sound or a sense of my presence had alerted the old sow and she had hunkered down only to watch as I strained to hear or see her. Maybe she had moved farther down the draw to a cooler spot. Maybe she would bolt out in front of me as I contemplated my next move and began to creep farther down the canyon. I crept. Carefully, I adjusted my movements and began the stealthy approach to points further down the shadowed and cool canyon.

The stalk continued and my hopes diminished as I moved out into the edge of a winter-feeding area next to an old barn and corral. There were remains of past kills; the bones bleached white from the unforgiving sun that swept the area day in and day out. I began to relax and move with a little less deliberation as the trees and bushes fell behind and the visibility improved to a hundred yards or so. The brown grass spread out thirty or forty yards on either side of me and the old road I was on wound around down through the barren pasture. Suddenly, I noticed movement about a hundred yards or so ahead. Yes, there it was, something black on the left side of the road hidden behind some rather tall brush. I froze and peered and waited, thinking my patience had indeed paid off. Then, as though I had been assigned some humbling task, I stood frozen as the black spot moved. It was HUGE! This had to be the biggest bear on the face of the earth. I inched forward to try to get a better view and to try to close some of the distance that remained between me and what I knew was a MAN SIZED killer black bear. Then it happened. The black spot rotated and moved onto the road directly in front of me. It was the largest Angus bull I had ever seen! What the h�? He wasn�t supposed to be there. This was some kind of cruel joke and try as hard as I might I simply could not turn that 2000 pound bull into a bear.

My heart rate slowed as I proceeded down the pasture road and the bull begun to mosey off to the right, out into the pasture. He looked at me with contempt but I continued on, trying not to make eye contact with him lest he consider me a threat. It always worked before when I came upon some bovine beast. So it went. The bull moved nonchalantly and was at a quartering angle to my right at about 70 yards when he suddenly came to life. That is, really came to life as though he had seen the devil in me. He whirled around and without a millisecond of hesitation he started picking �em up and laying �em down - straight for me! What happened in the next six or seven seconds etched vivid scenes into my hapless memory, never to be forgotten.

Now, keep in mind, that immediately prior to the bull turning I was the most relaxed hunter there was having resolved that no blackie was in the cards for the day. It wasn�t like I had crept onto a gut pile and woofed a couple times to try to get griz to charge and had the accordant amount of adrenaline in my body to do such a dumb thing. I had relaxed to the point that I had not even considered the possibility of a charge except for the cursory look around for possible cover. There was none.

Now, at about 65 yards the bull is moving at what I considered to be maximum speed. How do they move so fast? Fortunately I had not placed the leather loop over the Linebaugh�s trigger so I was able to draw quickly and fire a �warning shot� directly over the bull�s head. Yes a �warning shot�, kinda funny, huh, since this kind of beast isn�t preconditioned to respond to a �warning shot�. Now keep in mind that John�s guns are five shots, I have wasted one and I am trying to rationalize in my mind that things are happening WAY too fast here and that I must decide whether or not to kill the beast, what I am going to say to the rancher and yep there is NO cover.

My second two-handed shot, hurriedly decided, was a 440 grain Sundles Special which cut dead center through the end of the bull�s nose and out through the bottom of his chin. Now my senses were really starting to come into focus. I began to take steps backwards and was painfully noticing that the bull had no reaction to that neat little hole in the end of his nose. The distance had closed now to about fifteen yards and I was already beginning to flashback on stories by the likes of Ruark, Bell and Hunter chasing those nasty little Cape buffalos around. I just knew that this was how I was going to die. Crushed by a huge black drooling head in some lonely canyon and all that meat I had hanging was going to end up as raven food. Mashed and stomped into a lifeless pile of pulp whose identity would only be known by the serial number on my 500. Bummer. I knew I could no longer cut him any slack - he was mine! My third shot (only two left) was a one handed cock while stumbling backwards, fired from a half bent arm at a HUGE head that was now only about six or seven yards away. Do you have any idea how big that head was at that distance? I missed. You are probably now thinking about the recoil of that little 5-1/2� barreled revolver and just what might happen if you fire it with the elbow bent while stumbling backwards. You�re right! The recoil sent the top strap directly into my nose with the Bowen rear sight ears and trigger spur cutting some of the neatest little runway strips down my front lip that you could ever imagine.

Now once again keep in mind that only about five seconds have elapsed since this all started. I have gone from a casual, no bird in the hand hunter, to a man who is about to die and who, by this time, has a broken bloody nose, skid marks on his lip and one whose hearing has all but disappeared. I was not a happy camper at all. Well, I didn�t quite miss on that third shot. The 440 grainer paralleled his neck and entered the point of his right shoulder and exited his chest without apparently hitting any bones. I say that because my eyes never left his and he didn�t even blink! By now he was really getting mad!

I think we are probably at the six-second mark with only two rounds left and I am no longer measuring the distance in yards. Round #4 is a one handed cock as well, but silly me, I didn�t fire #4 with my elbow bent. I straight-armed that round and was aiming at that huge head knowing for sure this would be the one. Yep, square in the noggin it would be and I would have my picture taken with my foot up on that bad beast just like in ole Africa. I missed his head. Yes siree I did. The bullet, #4, followed nearly the same path as #3 except it was angled slightly more into his body and about 3 inches closer to his neck. He blinked, finally, and collapsed. It�s no bull when I say that when he had stopped his forward motion, the distance between the muzzle end of that Linebaugh and his head was measured in increments less than feet.

So there you have it. A sunny day in Idaho. One bullet left, the rest of the day to hunt and I still had clean jeans. Oh yeah, I did have to talk to the rancher.

Forrest

Interesting story, Angus bulls are not noted for that kind of orneriness. I did have a Angus cow with calf run me out of the field. Fortunately the fence was close by but the briars on the other side were not much fun. Good thing it was not a Holstein bull. They are down right mean and noticably larger as well.

Did you have to buy the bull?

[ 06-24-2002, 23:15: Message edited by: twillis ]

Any where near Randle? Slim

Didn't have to buy the bull. I think the rancher was just glad I wasn't stomped. I think he was so cantankerous cause he was eating sumac.

And No, not near Randle.

great story. At least you got to use your linebaugh for what it was designed for must have got the heart pumping!!

Forrest,

Praise the Lord that you weren't mauled and stomped!

And very good providence that you had your Linebaugh with you! I bet you are glad for every penny that went into that pistol