After 26 years of applying in Nevada, I was surprised when the draw results came out early this year. I didn't expect anything, but out of habit, I checked and was delightfully surprised to see my name next to an archery elk permit. It was time to go to work, but it was also a day I’d been preparing for most of my life.
Many years ago, I was in my dad’s garage sorting through several gross of Port Orford Cedar arrow shafts, preparing them for tapering and spine testing. My father, Al Sisam, was nothing short of a phenom with a longbow in his hands. It was almost a joke every year at the Redding Trail shoot, “But did you win the buckle?” The vast majority of those years the answer was by many points, yes.
Working alongside my dad that day, I was struck by his skill and the proud tradition this work represented. I made the decision that one day I too would be a great bowhunter.
Since then, every season has been a training ground, and with each, I refined my skills. I was very fortunate to have a father who taught me many things, including work ethic, because each hunt holds a lesson and many of them end in what would appear as defeat to the untrained eye. You see, when you choose to be a bowhunter, it is a decision to make our pursuit harder. However, success behind the bow tastes better in every way. When you then decide to trophy hunt, you are making an impossible decision. We can all agree that any animal that makes the B&C minimums is a special creature and they are not common.
As the years went by and my skills improved, I began to set my sights on a new goal. One of my key mentors and hunting partner, Kirk Westervelt, had won the Nevada Big Game Belt Buckle for a mountain lion killed with a bow in 1985. Over the years, I had heard other stories of the Kit Carson buckle and the amazing animals taken in the great state of Nevada. That buckle was set on the shelf as a serious goal should one day a permit come my way.
I have had the good fortune of putting hard miles down in the most unforgiving mountains on the globe, the vast majority of them with my good friend Sean Thomas. In 2004, we had the opportunity to open the Republic of Kazakhstan to the world of modern bowhunting, a trip that was unforgettable. Having him by my side on this hunt in Nevada was natural. After all, our first hunt together took place in Nevada nearly 30 years ago.
Sean and I arrived in the unit on July 1 with the goal of scouting every day possible prior to the season opener. If I have learned one thing in 30 years of bowhunting, it is nothing beats time in the field. We used every tactic in our tool kit to scour the unit. The amount of precipitation in the desert was unbelievable. We saw prickly pears blooming like flowers, and the desert was lush and beautiful. Our goal was to leave no stone unturned seeking the largest bull in the unit. We found some truly outstanding bulls.
Opening day arrived, and we were excited to get a closer look at a couple of bulls. When deciding to pass on a bull we affectionately called “Caribou” the first week of the hunt, my sanity was questioned. Since my sanity is in question virtually every day of the week, the decision was easy. He was a solid up and comer with a lot of potential next year, a B&C Jar Licker, but he wasn’t the bull I had waited this long for.
After passing on Caribou the first week of the hunt, we were coming up empty. There was a dry lakebed that we checked, hoping for magic. We turned up another respectable bull there, but still not “the one.”
We moved camp to meet up with more help. After two days of hunting, it became apparent that we did not have the same goals. Commercial hunters are just that. The lesson here is that the guide-client relationship is an important one and the goals must be clear for everyone involved. Again, I was reminded, trophy hunting is not for the weak of heart.
Scratching my head, I thought, “Who can offer insight to my current situation?” Craig Hubbard immediately came to mind. I first learned about Craig Hubbard right here in the Huntin’ Fool Magazine where he was pictured with an absolute giant mule deer. Craig is an old sage of the desert; he knows the country inside and out. Frankly, Craig is one of the original desert rats who has put more bone on the ground than many will see in their lifetimes. I called him. He laughed and then said, “I have been hiking a lot this summer and stumbled across a bull we need to take a look at.” If Craig says you need to look at a bull, take it seriously.
Busy with other hunters he had an obligation to, we came up with a plan to check on a bull he had scouted in the summer. It was a hunch that paid off big time. We found him. This bull was sneaky! At first glance, he appeared to be a good typical 6-point; however, the more you looked, the bigger this bull got. When he turned his head, you could see that every point was nearly perfect and he was big, really big. The decision to go “all in” was made.
The next morning, I found myself on a ridge with several bulls bugling before daylight. It is nice to have a lot of activity, but when you are trying to zero in on a specific bull, it makes it tough. I managed to look at several nice bulls but not the 6-pointer from the night before. Soon, the morning was becoming afternoon again. The bulls shut down, so I sat down to regroup. Another day without success.
I was preparing to hike out when I heard a growl in the distance. Not a bugle, not a glunk. I heard what could best be described as the sound you would expect from a hog. And then I heard it again. Forty-five minutes later, I found myself on a ridge. Quietly moving through the cedars, I caught a cow moving and then another and another all inside of 60 yards. The wind was good, so I found shade under a cedar and stood silently. After what seemed like an eternity, I heard that growl up close and personal. It was loud and deep, gnarly enough to shake your soul, and as luck would have it, it was moving my way.
What happened next was something out of all of our dreams. A giant set of antlers sideways, almost upside down to squeeze in between the junipers moving right into my shooting lane. At full draw I placed my pin center of the vitals and then began to assess the bull. Starting with the basics six points on each side, yes. Pot belly, yes. Then the bull erupted again and I got a good look at his brow. It was him. I recentered my pin and started my shot sequence. The arrow was sent, and it hit home. I heard the bull die inside of a hundred yards. In complete disbelief, I followed the blood. I couldn't fathom what had happened. When I’d first laid eyes on the bull, I knew he was big but still didn't really realize just how big he was.
Sean and I were carrying out the last load when we stopped for a break and I said, “It might sound crazy, but I was really trying to get us that buckle.” We both laughed as only tired elk hunters can on the last load.
When I called my dad with the news, he was ecstatic. I told him the story, and he said, “Well, what do you think? Did you get the buckle?” I don't know. It was a great year for precipitation with a lot of exceptional hunters out there, but I was blessed to kill a great bull.
The list of people who have helped me along the way is endless, and I thank them all. In the end, I was fortunate to spend over 40 days scouting and hunting, passing over some exceptional bulls. After drying, the bull officially grossed well over 400” and net scored B&C 392 2/8”, earning the 3rd place buckle for 2023. Nevada will always be a special place for me. I cut my teeth there, I learned how to stalk in the open country, I learned how thermals work, I nearly died in a rollover accident, and I killed the bull of my dreams there.
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