Idaho's archery elk season was a scorcher, and spooky dry. The air was filled with an ominous haze from distant forest fires most mornings, making glassing fruitless. By 8:30 soaring heat sent elk into cover and silence. It proved the most challenging elk hunting I've faced since moving to Idaho.

I've faced simular conditions during 20-some years bowhunting New Mexico's Gila region to be sure; the corn-flake ground, each step an auditory assault. Idaho normally affords quiter footing, though thick brush that clutches and trips can turn this long-time denizen of open Southwest habitat occasionally ill tempered.

In New Mexico dry years were banner seasons - limited, scattered stock tanks and wildlife drinkers making guarding water for thirsty elk deadly effective. Maybe too much so. Hunting water became so popular -- even during "wet years" -- stories of fist fights over possession of certain sites became commonplace.

Northern Idaho, even during the driest seasons, relinquishes perhaps too many watering options. Sitting water or wallows certainly can reap big rewards, but even during a year like this, when we haven't witnessed a drop of rain in nearly three months, there's plenty of water to go around. It becomes a hit-and-miss proposition, unlike the near surety of a Southwest water-hole during dry weather.

When Idaho woods turn this crunchy-noisy it really leaves only one option - calling. You're still going to be required to "dog" bugling bulls to stay in the game, use all the stalking skills at your disposal, but ultimately calling skills creates the shot.

This involves wearing the quietest duds possible and pulling "stalking slippers" over clumsy boots to insulate steps across grinding gravel and snapping twigs. This season that was First Lite's lightweight Merino wool (in Max-1 camouflage). Merino's the ultimate stealth wear, naturally antimicrobial on those sweaty days, and it doesn't shine, absorbing UV rays to eliminate the "glow" perceived by cervids if not humans. Rancho Safari makes the stalking slippers I prefer (Cat Prowlers), which include bear-paw-like, synthetic-fur soles, high fleece sides and front zippers to secure snagging boot laces. 

Calling isn't exactly a novel enterprise here in Idaho. The morning I got on the herd I plucked my bull from there were two others calling to those elk. I knew this because, well, they sounded like hunters opperating calls and not elk. I guess I sounded more like elk than hunter, as after shadowing a mixed herd of talkitive elk a couple hours, closing to within 70 yards, one of those bulls turned to ingestigate my mixed cow/calf mews and squealing "spike" bugles.

I shot him at 7 yards in extra-tight cover. It was one of the coolest elk hunts of my career, even if he was my smallest bull to date; a big-bodied 4x4 with four or five seasons behind him (judging from tooth wear). Idaho doesn't relinquish the best genetics in the West, but tags are easy to secure, and bowhunting elk every season for average elk is certainly more fun than bowhunting every fifth, or 10th, year for the best around.   

Do you believe in the October Lull? And does it really begin in September?

My big plans for a velvet white-tailed buck fell through again. I had some nice bucks on camera but uncooperative weather -- ill winds mostly -- permitted limited stand time. My best stand was also being haunted by a cougar (a young calf was killed nearby), and that didn't help either. It's been a strange fall; half the West is seemingly on fire, and hot weather and scary-dry conditions making even elk hunting unappealing (though there have been some close calls). I checked cameras a few days ago. Every single buck is now hard horned, and edging toward nocturnal schedules.

So begin the toughest days in whitetail hunting. Velvet bucks remain relatively predictable, running in bachelor groups, keeping gentlemanly hours, sticking close to food (or water). The minute they strip velvet everything changes completely. Bucks generally turn nocturnal, split up and seek thicker cover where they lay low until the rut.

It's often referred to as the October Lull, but it really starts in mid-September in most areas (the October designation is due to the fact many Eastern archery seasons don't open until then). Daylight buck movement remains minimal.

But obviously whitetails can be bow-killed during this time, as witnessed by scads of early season bucks arrowed annually. Food (or water) remain the hot ticket, but plan on getting into your stand an hour before daylight to be on hand for the dimmest shooting hours, staying until the last second of shooting hours in the evenings. This is especially true in regions where baiting is legal, or when conditions are such that food is scarce, like the situation I discovered in Oklahoma the first week of season last year. Persistent drought and corn feeders supplemented by protein feed meant 12 bowhunters tagged eight 3 1/2- and 4 1/2-year-old bucks that week, but admittedly this was exceptional luck.

Post-velvet early seasons can leave you jumping from one foot to the other, as while daytime movement might be rare, the trail-camera junkie discovers bucks continue to appear on cameras just often enough -- normally when you're somewhere else -- to inspire hope. My two biggest Idaho bucks to appear on camera last season showed while I was in Oklahoma, naturally, before disappearing for good.

I guess the message here is trophy bucks can still be tagged right now; it's just a matter of how unpleasant or enjoyable sitting in treestands is for you. If sitting for hours with few deer sightings dosen't bother you, by all means put in your time early. The bucks are still out there. They still must eat. You just never know. You might win the treestand lottery game and pick the right stand on the right morning or evening.

Me? I can assure you, in the next couple of weeks, if I'm not chasing elk (or I'm lucky enough to punch my elk tag), I'll be spending every spare moment on stand, hoping for early whitetail success.