"Hello GrizzlyStik, I took the GrizzlyStik Challenge last year, as a skeptic like so many. I was trying to stabilize fixed blade broadheads with lightweight arrows in preparation for archery season here in Oregon where as you know we cannot use mechanical broadheads. An avid archer since age 12, I have always loved the long shots, so I set out on a conquest to break the 80 yard mark. What I realized when I came upon the Grizzly Stick system, is lethality is more about penetration, and less about yardage. I had to come to a place in my experience where it was either get within fifty yards, or don't attempt. My pride had finally broken. And so, confident to 60 yards and armed with my GrizzlyStik Momentum 250s and Monarch 150 grain forged single bevel broadheads, I set out into Oregon coastal timber country with cow call and bugle horn. Most of my bow hunting is done solo, but this morning, I woke and had the idea to bring my 13 year old son and his visiting nephew from Florida. Against all the odds with our young party of three, thirty miles deep into mixed private/BLM coastal forest, we found ourselves moving silently down a BLM timber-cut side hill road with elk sign and steaming manure piles everywhere. Finally, we came upon a bedding area used that night, fresh with a bee hive we barely missed stepping on. We let out a soft cow call, and an even softer bugle, confident the herd had fed just downhill within earshot, but to no avail, nothing. So, we decided to shift across the ridge we were nearly already cresting, and call out the opposing draw. As we scrambled through the understory on all fours and breached the tangling briar mess, we came into the first clearing, with the next timber road in sight, this road cut onto the spine of the same ridge. As we moved silently, here comes Mr. Bull, looking for us. Without making so much as a peep, horns teetering back and forth, he is closing in on us from a hundred yards or so downhill. My son spotted him just as soon as I did, and he takes cover behind the tree, hushing his flat-lands cousin. I setup on my knees and go through the shoulder square shooting, breathing, and praying motions- Bull Fever set in. The spot Mr. Bull must stop at is exactly 15 yards across from me. I have shots at 50, then 40, and closing in to 25, but wait. He comes into the 15 yard hole, sticks his head through the hole, wind still, but he stops! "Wait", I tell myself, at full draw. All of a sudden he rears back like to run, but rather than running, he comes right toward me through small reprod doug firs. I take aim and let the arrow fly through three small trees most guys would have never attempted, but my only shot on an animal closing so quickly at ten yards or less. The arrow busts through all three trees, strikes into the lower part of the bulls neck, penetrates through the scapula and then drives all the way into the animal with only four inches of fletching and arrow showing, as the beast rears back, and heads back down the spine of the ridge the way he came. He stops at the ridge crest, makes a wobble, and then vanishes down the backside out of view. After ending the bull with a follow up shot in his death bed at 35 yards and proceeding to clean the animal, I became sold, hook, line, and sinker on Grizzly Stick arrow and broadhead systems. I've had plenty of shots on plenty of lighter skinned game previous whose endings were much less glamorous, and for which I've lost plenty of sleep considering the meat and trophies left sacrificed to the coyotes and bears. But this arrow penetrated so deep through the hardest neck meat and shoulder bone and sinew, that it still had sufficient energy to just put a perfect hole into the right opposing lung of the animal, and bring him to his knees. I emptied maybe two gallons of blood from that right lung. Thank you!" - Justin in Roseburg
