Karl Zueger and I met at Kansas University in 1984 and began a kinship that lasted more than 34 years. Very early on, we discovered a mutual love for the outdoors, especially hunting, which always was a cornerstone of our friendship over the following decades. Huntin’ Fool readers may know Karl from his April 2017 article “There Are No Guarantees” where Karl detailed his diagnosis with Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis (ALS) and our long-awaited reunion during the 2016 Kansas whitetail deer season.
We ended up having an incredible hunt in 2016, but 2017 was hard on Karl and his family. In spite of his failing health, he was determined to live out his outdoor life to the fullest. Karl asked me to accompany him back to Kansas in 2017 to chase whitetails one more time. We met in Kansas City where his exceptional wife, Jill, cautioned me that his physical condition had become perilous. He made an incredible shot on a beautiful buck. As we headed for home, we made a pact. We agreed that he would continue to fight ALS with everything he had and I would hunt his bucket list. We would share in every element of the hunts together.
Before we had completed the drive, Karl decided that I was headed to Wyoming to hunt elk in 2018. TJ Tavaglie of Beartrack Outfitters in Buffalo, Wyoming had won Karl’s respect as both an outfitter and a good man. Karl dreamed of someday hunting a trophy bull elk with him. Now, that was my mission to fulfill. Luckily, I had 9 preference points saved to hunt Wyoming someday. In short order, I called TJ, booked the hunt, and subsequently drew my tag. Since every part of the upcoming trip would be as much Karl’s as mine, I involved him in all aspects of the preparation.
September rolled around, and I was off to Wyoming to meet TJ and my guide for the week, Lane Qualm. My heart was full as I drove alone towards Buffalo, Wyoming. I could feel Karl’s presence as if he were sitting next to me, taking in the majestic landscape. After meeting up with Lane, we drove up the mountain to our camp for the week. After arriving, we decided to scout the area close behind camp the first afternoon. As the sun settled low in the western sky, a beautiful 6x6 bull stood out in the open all by himself. It was a good omen.
Before light the next morning, we hiked higher up the mountain. TJ had joined us and we had a close encounter with another 6x6 bull that never offered a shot. Instead of being destroyed by the lack of an opportunity, I felt nothing but peace. Somehow, I understood that everything was unfolding exactly as it should.
That afternoon, Lane and I set up on the ground overlooking a wallow. Two hours later, the ridges above us erupted with multiple bulls bugling and moving all over the mountain. Elk crossed a small creek just out of sight and popped out into a clearing 100 yards away with a herd bull in tow. For the next 90 minutes, the bull put on a show in full view of us.
The next day, we hunted hard and had some great encounters with young bulls but never found the herd from the night before. It seemed as though they had moved on, until we made it back to camp. TJ was waiting and told us that he had watched what he thought was the same bull we had seen the day before exit the mountain with his herd headed in the direction of some cover 2,000 yards away. We decided to give the area a try.
Dawn found us on the side of a sage drainage out in the open as the sky turned from grey to orange. Suddenly, a bugle crashed through the morning close by. Like a ghost, the bull appeared out in the sage a couple hundred yards away. We dropped down in the limited cover we had and watched him crest a hill and disappear. We shouldered our packs and gave chase. We crept forward until we caught sight of the bull. It was a definite shooter.
All of us hustled behind a large, lone cedar. The bull was almost 400 yards away. We were all convinced he would work his way down into the timber as the sun came up and we would end up with a long, slow stalk on him while he was in his bed. Lane and TJ were glassing the bull as I was behind the tree getting my head and equipment ready for what could unfold. Colorful language ensued from the two lookouts about another bull that had just appeared on the same side drainage we were on. The new bull was even bigger. TJ announced, “He’s at 100 yards, and he’s the same big bull you watched at the wallow!”
I began to prepare for a long, steep angle shot as the elk passed below us until I heard TJ whisper, “Thirty-seven yards!”
Still behind the cedar, I was ready, and then the bottom seemed to fall out. Over TJ’s right shoulder, I was looking directly into the eyes of a cow elk 30 yards away. Simultaneously, a quick glance over TJ’s left shoulder, I saw a great black face and a massive set of antlers looking right at TJ. I am a left-handed shot. My only chance would be to step out behind TJ and execute a left pivot followed by a quick presentation and shot. Thankfully, this is something that great Marine Corps Sergeants and Corporals had drilled into me countless times in my other life. I drew as I stepped out and pivoted with a feeling of absolute calm. The bull wheeled like a quarter horse and broke to go as I was coming around. TJ let out a “mew,” and the bull paused for an instant just as I cleared TJ. My 40-yard pin came up on his ribs, and the arrow was away before I knew it. We saw it sink into the bull, and then the sage exploded with what we later estimated was 20 head of elk that we had not seen before, blowing out in a cacophony of sound and dust. And then there was quiet.
As I looked towards where the herd had disappeared, I saw a spot 100 yards away that crested into a deep depression and out of sight. I announced I was going to look over the edge to investigate. As my eyes cleared the edge, I was met with the sight of majestic antlers sticking out of the sage. The great bull lay there stone dead.
We dressed the big bull and packed him out. I became more emotional with every load of meat. The grind became an opportunity to give everything I had left to the hunt and to Karl. To be able to do it with great new friends was a blessing. After packing out the meat, my only thoughts were of finding a spot with cell service. When that moment came, I was overcome and simply sent Karl a single photo of the bloody fletching of my arrow on which his initials were emblazoned.
We got off the mountain, and I sent Karl more pictures of the elk. By the time the pictures reached him, he was in end-of-life hospice. However, he was still able to text and the story he shared was as unexplainable as anything we had experienced so far. He replied that he had been escaping the prison of his body for months through meditation and in his dreams. In fact, he had walked with that same bull in his dreams and had even sat with him in his bed. This had happened a number of times, and he was certain it was the same bull from the very unique swords that made him so identifiable. He knew both the bull and the outcome before the hunt but never shared it with me or anyone else. I had to complete the journey myself.
Karl passed away peacefully last night as I type this. He left behind an incredible wife and two boys who are destined to be great men, carrying the best of both their mom and dad. This story is the final chapter of a preordained tribute hunt in which Karl was a full participant, and while heartbroken along with the legions of his many friends, still there is peace.
He would have wanted me to remind you that life is about who we share it with and that our great passion for the outdoors carries with it the responsibility for respecting and protecting all of the great natural resources we have been blessed with. Most of all, make the time to appreciate the kindred souls we are blessed to encounter along the way and do not wait to reconnect with old friends. As Karl reminded us, “There Are No Guarantees.”
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