Fireside Stories: How I Killed My Smallest Bull Elk on The Best Tag I’ve Ever Had – Part 3 of 3

Estimated reading time: 11 minutes

Before you read about the three elk my hunting party kills, glance at parts one and two of “Fireside Stories: How I Killed My Smallest Bull Elk on The Best Tag I’ve Ever Had.”

2 For 3

We were a few days into the hunt. With two-thirds of the tags filled by decent bull elk, mine remained the last unpunched. Mainly because I was being picky. Derek, Jolene, and Warren had already gone home to take care of their elk quarters. This freed up three of our horses. With all the livestock exhausted, Don and I decided to take the next day off. Don lives in the hunting unit, so we stayed at his house. We just drove to our targeted hunting locations early in the morning for the remainder of the hunt.

The Search For The Bull Elk Continues

A couple more long days of hunting blurred by. Each outing yielded multiple bulls, sometimes dozens, similar in size and maturity to the elk my friends had already harvested. There were a few times I could have easily taken one. However, I was still being picky, with a 350″ bull on my mind. I wasn’t willing to fill my tag with anything less too early in the hunt.

Just when I was about to cave, we received a picture message from a local guide and friend: a close-up through a spotting scope of a very nice 6×7 bull. He was far bigger than anything we’d seen so far and turned out to be the biggest bull we’d see during the hunt. After a phone call, we knew where to find this bull and made our plan of attack.

The Big Bull Elk

As you can tell by the title, I didn’t kill this bull, so I’ll keep the next 30 hours brief. Unlike the areas we’d been hunting, this bull patterned down on private hay fields. He and about 70 other elk would feed in the fields at night and then wander up the adjacent mountain to bed during the day. We decided to ride over the top of the mountain from the backside. This would give us the best shot presentation and the sneakiest path to where these elk could be found.

We put miles on the horses, climbing and dropping major altitudes to get into position above the herd. By this time, we’d identified the targeted 6×7 bull, which wasn’t hard. The whole group of around 70 elk was bedded in the sage, but the big bull’s antlers towered above the scraggly brush, ivory tips gleaming in the sunlight. I was starting to get excited.

A Hard Call

A short stalk toward a rock outcropping on the ridge above the elk put me within 600 yards of the bull. It was only at this point that I noticed an orange T-post holding up a barbed wire fence just a few yards below me, separating me from the target bull. I could have, albeit illegally, ended my hunt with a single shot from this rock pile and escaped with a nice trophy. Instead, I decided to leave before the devil on my shoulder started whispering sweet nothings about how easy it would be.

The rest of that day was a long, hot, and defeated ride back to the truck.

“Kill Day” Approaches

A few more days of hunting passed, similar to the others. We spotted and passed many bulls, but nothing noteworthy. On the 6th day, I was cataloging all the reasons why I needed to kill a bull soon: I had a job interview in a neighboring state in just a few days, the horses were nearing exhaustion, and I was also exhausted. Don still needed time to hunt his own elk and deer in a different unit, and I had almost lost hope of finding my trophy bull elk this year. Rumors of a harsh winter kill, speculation on poor antler growth, and the relative lack of other hunters finding trophies in this unit had our spirits down.

After watching a decent bull bedded in the mahogany for most of the 6th day, Don and I resumed our long journey on horseback for the trophy bull. Other small bulls were located and passed that evening, but it wasn’t until the very last minutes of light that I spotted a nice 6×6 bull on the highest peak of the range, nearly 2200 yards away.

Coming Back To It

When I say he was on the highest peak, I mean he was walking across the precipice with nearly 20 other small bulls and cows, feeding. “We could probably get in range for a shot,” Don casually suggested. I knew he was right, but I also knew we didn’t know that peak or the surrounding canyons well, and we’d most definitely be navigating them back to the truck in the middle of the night if I took him up on that offer. “Let’s look at a map and get there in the morning,” I said.

The Final Stretch

Back home, we combed over maps at midnight and made a plan. We marked where to park and what ridge to ride up. Don is usually right on these matters, so I only remarked, “That ridge was pretty rocky,” when the idea of riding up the right side was presented. He countered with, “Yeah, but the other side is likely not as rocky.” He’d turn out to be wrong.

On the 7th day, 4:00 a.m. came too soon. A drive into a familiar area and a horseback ride into the night in an unfamiliar area went suspiciously smooth. Finally, at the first sign of light on the horizon we hit our first rock ledge on the ridge near the peak that we were trying to get to. Don and I got off the horses, shed our warm clothing, and half led, half ran from the now-following horses as they scrambled across the steep hillside and slick rock, breathing hot, humid air down our necks.

During one of our rests, I said to Don, “Today is kill day. I’m running out of time and need to get to my job interview.” I said this, fully expecting to find the 6×6 that I spotted the night before, but knowing that I’d fill my tag on another branch antlered bull elk later that day if that is how things turned out. From this point, I must have had “shoot” on my mind, because that’s just what I did a few minutes later.

Shots Fired

Soon after this exchange, Don and I arrived at the peak which is mostly covered in low sage but scattered with rock outcroppings. While riding toward one of these large rock piles to glass, I heard the sound of hooves and Don pointed to the left, signaling that I should see the elk as they run across the hillside there. Already busted by what I presumed to be the same group of elk as the night before, all stealth was abandoned as I simultaneously spurred my horse toward a good vantage point and ripped the gun out of my scabbard.

Now the elk are in view, running across the hillside as I jump off my horse and load a cartridge into the chamber of my 338 EDGE. There was no time or place to tie the horses, so I dropped the lead rope to the ground and raised the gun up. Scanning the group, I picked the biggest bull of the bunch without examining him too closely and tried to squeeze a shot above a cow, into his high shoulder.

Whoomph! The whole mountain went silent and the sound of tinnitus rings in my ears. Unfortunately, there was no time for earplugs. I didn’t need to watch the impact to know already that I’d overshot by mere inches. The whole herd lurched into a full gallop and I shouted to Don, “Which one is the big bull?” as I chambered another round and threw my backpack onto the ground to use as a rest for the follow-up shot.

High Energy

You should know about the dynamic between my dad and me. In this scenario, if things run from him, he can’t help but get excited. These animals typically die when he has a tag and a gun. However, I’m usually the one to keep my head and analyze the situation before shooting. There was even an instance before where he jumped off of his horse while I watched a tiny 3×3 buck run across the hill 300 yards away. I thought I must not see what he saw, only to then watch him drop that tiny buck in its tracks.

“Well…” Don said to me, “The front one.” I panned over to that bull, put my crosshairs on his neck, and pulled the trigger. The mountain stilled once more and the bull hit the ground as if there wasn’t an active electrical impulse left in his body.

Finding the Targeted Bull Elk

It was at this point that I took time to look at his antlers through the scope. I could see the crab claw of a 5-point sticking up out of the sagebrush, and although slightly disappointed, I couldn’t help but be relieved, excited, and feel accomplished with all of the hard work that had led to this moment. High fives and hugs between father and son, laughter, and a few sarcastic comments. At this point, Don said to me, “I still have a deer tag, let’s ride around the hill and see what there is up here.” But I knew what he was actually looking for, so I chuckled, “No, I don’t think we should!”

A short 200-yard ride around the rolling peak landed us up on top of a rock cliff, looking down over a rolling sage ridge that was a mile or two long. Below us, 180 yards away, fed a spike, a couple of raghorn bulls, a handful of cows, and the 6×6 that I had seen the night before. The whole reason we were miles away from any trail, on top of this peak, was right below me.

My Bull Elk

More laughter was exchanged between father and son and pictures were taken of the lucky bull. As the elk caught on and ran away, he inquired, “Are you upset?” I answered with candor, “No. I’m extremely happy with what we’ve done and with the bull that I’ve taken. Those few moments were exciting and now I’ve got what I came for… Sort of.” To this, he answered, “Good. You know, that is your smallest bull yet and we could have killed one of him every day we’ve been out here.” To this, we both laugh yet again and jump back onto our horses, ready to get to work processing the animal and head back home.