Another time, bull elk bugled all around me, lost in a huge sea of scrub oak. The one I wanted to kill wasn’t far away, only about 130 yards. Problem was, I couldn’t see him. Spotting a meager-sized rock, I stood on it, and leveled my rifle. It was almost clear of the brush. I could see the bull, but the oaks surrounding me were still too high for a shot. I stood on tiptoe, stretching as high as I possibly could. It looked like it would work. I relaxed, slipped the safety off, and stretched to my tiptoes again. An instant later the bull was meat, lying atop the oak-leaf covered forest floor.