Some hunts happen spur of the moment, and those are the best ones. I received a call from a friend saying he had a line on a tag for my dream hunt – the California Northwestern Roosevelt bull tag. I immediately was all in, calling the landowner and figuring out a way to obtain this once-in-a-lifetime tag. He stated they hadn’t seen many elk on the property, but they had a landowner tag from the drawing and were eager to sell it. We struck a deal, and I was ecstatic.
The season was already a third of the way through, so we had some ground to cover to make up for lost time. The tag was overnighted to the office, and the next day, we met up for the exchange. As soon as I had confirmation on receiving this tag, I started calling in all the favors from buddies I knew with elk experience.
I planned to meet up with the party selling the tag on September 8th, which was already eight days into the short 23-day season. I loaded up my best pack and my rifle, the one that has been through it all with me. My father gave me a Browning X-bolt rifle 13 years prior. The nimble .270 had always served me well for our coastal blacktail, but this would be a true test for the sentimental gun.
My crew of guys and I met at a designated place, ready to roll as soon as the tag was in hand. Isaac Townsend and Zach Rocha would both call for me and had a wealth of knowledge of the area. Isaac’s brother, Wyatt, and my best buddy, Matt McBride, both came as spotters and potential packers after the shot. While I had never taken an elk, I knew from those around me that it would be no easy feat packing an elk out of the woods.
It was like Christmas morning as we grabbed the tag and headed straight to the hills. We got on the mountain at about 5:00 p.m. It was still a little early for bulls to respond, but we were too eager to wait. Isaac said he would save his most promising hillside for our final hunt of the night.
The elk are few and far between in our tag’s area. The few bulls that call this mountainside home are known for awesome genetics, and we couldn’t wait to see where the tag would lead us. We walked into a few areas to glass and call, but no elk were heard or seen. We returned to the truck after a few hours and made a game for the final hunt we would do that night.
We made our way around a big ridge where we could get down into a cut block and hopefully make a play on one of the big bulls that resided in this area. As we made our way down this ridge, Zach motioned that he had heard a bugle off in the distance, probably 600-700 yards away. We all froze in place with ears at attention, and sure enough, another raspy, deep bugle could be faintly heard through the tall fur timber stand. The whole demeanor of the crew changed. We ramped up our efforts to be more cautious by keeping the wind in our faces. We decided on a small flat within the cut block roughly a quarter mile down the mountain in which we would make our stand from. We kicked into high gear, scrambling down the cut as fast as possible, all while trying to maintain some stealth with our approach. We waited until the wind was hitting our faces for the guys to let a bugle rip. Instant return bugles from the bull let us know he was hot and ready to defend his harem. This area has a small population of cows, so any intruder in this dominant bull’s vicinity would not be tolerated. Hunkered in for a game of cat and mouse, Zach and Isaac exchanged vocals with the approaching bull. Throughout the duration of 30 minutes of calling, we could tell the bull had cut the distance from 600 yards to under 200, and he intended on making it all the way to our location. Isaac gave me the decision of whether I wanted to move to a rim above our position for a better vantage or stay put. I made the call, and Isaac and I cut up the ridge. We left Zach, Matt, and Wyatt behind us to draw him closer with calling.
We made our way up, and as we crested the hill, the bull erupted on his own without provocation. The hair stood at attention along my neck as we both realized we had a legitimate shot at the bull in question. With adrenaline pumping, we hit the dirt. This bull had snuck 100 yards on us, and he was intent on finding his challenger. Isaac slowly peered up and immediately hit the dirt once more. “This one is a tank, Logan. You need to get a shot,” he whispered to me.
I eased over the hill, but some brush was obscuring my view. This cut block was a few years old, and the vegetation wasn’t optimal for a clear line of sight at ground level. After adjusting to my left, the line of sight was perfect, and I had an enormous black-maned elk bearing down on us. I just happened to shoulder my gun directly on the bull facing us broadside at 125 yards. His super stout beams with ivory tips from the deep timber he resided in stood out immediately. He began to circle to our left to get a better view of the commotion that had ensued with our excitement. I asked Isaac to stop the bull, and he ripped a few short cow calls. The bull stopped on a dime and let out a throaty bugle that I will never forget.
This entire hunt, I had doubted the use of my trusty .270 Winchester given to me by my father. With copper ammo and 130 projectiles, it was on the light side for these 1,200-pound elk. I knew this was my moment and the gun would do its job if I did mine. With a final step, he moved his left shoulder forward, revealing his vitals. I let half a breath out and squeezed one off. The shot entered perfectly, centering up the heart and coming to rest on the opposing shoulder. He hunched up and took off at a slow pace, letting us know he had been hit. Isaac and I immediately gave chase, but that effort would not be needed on this occasion. The bull made it 20 yards, tried to let out another bugle, and fell flat on his face. I was overrun with adrenaline and excitement. I high fived Isaac, and we both grinned ear to ear. We headed up the hill immediately, and the boys behind us scrambled to catch up. As we came to the bull, we were all in awe. We had accomplished the hunt of my dreams.
The bull lay on his left side, exposing his super heavy right beam with eight pearl white-tipped tines. I checked to make sure he was expired, and we all celebrated as we pulled his entire rack from the brush. He was a magnificent 8x6 Roosevelt elk. Isaac and Zach, both being familiar with the area, had never seen this particular bull before but stated it was a trophy caliber bull without a doubt. For the first time in my hunting career, I was speechless. I ran my fingers along his horns and mane in awe. The guys and I had accomplished the hunt of my dreams in a single day.
Sometimes luck strikes quickly, and in this instance, it did. We spent a good deal of time capturing the moment with pictures and videos to look back on for years to come. However, the real work had only just begun. We spent the next five hours cutting and packing the elk back to the truck. I was on cloud nine as we pulled into the driveway at Isaac’s to unload all the packs into coolers and prep the cape for mounting. Isaac and I finished up around 1:15 a.m., and I made it back to my place shortly before 2:00 a.m. I came home and crashed immediately after a long day.
The next morning, I had to be at the firehouse at 7:15 in the morning for work. I was exhausted but still smiling with all that had taken place. As I left, my fiance´ informed me the mount would be my wedding present, and it was icing on the cake for my dream hunt’s closure. I would be getting married and had harvested my dream animal all in a 30-day period! I had spent 13 years hunting in Northern California, and my dream hunt all came down to a single day in the woods. Would I have enjoyed a longer hunt? Maybe, but I am one happy man hanging a tag on this stud bull with some awesome buddies helping along the way.
California Elk
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