Early in 2022, I anxiously awaited draw results. My dad pulled me into his office with a big smile on his face. I was successful along with my older brother, Madsen, for late season bull elk. I was so happy that I began jumping around the room. Fast forward to November, my brother, Stockton, and I drove to Arizona with my dad to begin our Thanksgiving adventure. Madsen would join us along with mom and my sister, Emma, the following day.
Country music has always been a necessity on our long road trips. Tequila Little Time by John Pardi stuck in my mind as we covered the miles and made our way up the canyon to our campsite. The site is the home of my 9th birthday party as Dad, Grandpa Rigby, and I had been there four years earlier with Gramp’s elk tag. Thanks to the support and direction of Austin at Huntin’ Fool, not only did Gramps harvest an elk, but it was now mine and Madsen’s turn to bag our first elk!
We hit the field and glassed up a couple bulls the next morning. Returning to set up camp, I could hardly wait to glass in the evening. We glassed until sundown and then returned to camp as Mom, Emma, and Madsen arrived. We made game plans for the next two days that included our Thanksgiving celebration prior to opening day. We split up to glass different areas while Dad unfortunately hung back at camp trying to overcome a rough chest cold.
After our Thanksgiving feast, we stoked the fire in the tent and bundled up to endure the frigid night. My heart raced as opening morning came. Emma, Mom, Stockton, and I hiked to a point to glass a big canyon while Madsen hiked down the opposing ridge with Dad. As the morning sun warmed us, we were unable to spot a single elk. We hoped for better for Madsen and Dad. Several gunshots from other hunters broke the morning silence, but there was still no word from Dad. We had dropped off the ridge to get out of the cold wind but had decided to start to hike back to the truck. We then heard another shot. I knew that shot. That was Madsen! It was then followed by another shot. We anxiously waited until Dad radioed, informing us that Madsen had landed his first elk. We were all so pumped!
We returned to camp to unload our packs and get some food for the pack out. Not knowing how far the hike would be was a good thing because it was a long way and the elk was at the bottom of a steep canyon. It was a great bull, and I was really happy for Madsen. Each of our packs were filled, and we began the ascent out. I gasped and my lungs burned for air as the hike seemed to become shortened as Stockton spotted three traveling bulls. Heavy packs made it impossible to get in front of the bulls for a shot, but we successfully returned to the truck. A tasty dinner was followed by the blessing of sleeping in the following morning. We played card games and shot pellet guns prior to Emma, Madsen, and Mom’s return home for school responsibilities.
Stockton and I went out that evening while Dad stayed back at camp to care for his bad cold. We managed to find ourselves in the middle of the famous Arizona locust bushes (plants with razor sharp thorns) as we searched for elk that had been stirred up by other hunters. As the sun was going down, Stock finally spotted a bull 2,000 yards away, but there was no time to make a move. We backed out and headed back to camp to make a plan on where to glass in the morning.
We arose Sunday morning at 4:30 a.m. to get to our point before others. Dad went to another point to cover more area with hopes to bed a trophy for an afternoon play. We said a prayer and read Psalms 23 before the sun arose. The sunrise was beautiful, and we knew God was with us. Nothing was spotted at first light, until it happened! Stockton caught a glimpse of the rear of an elk in some trees about 3,000 yards away. I got the spotting scope ready for him to see how big he was. As the scope focused, there was no question. He was a shooter! We radioed Dad, and he said he would rush our way and arrive in about an hour. Dad was in full agreement that the bull was a trophy. We watched him as he fed and disappeared into the trees. We figured he would bed down, and Dad identified the best route to hike in for my afternoon play. We headed back to camp for a drink and sandwich and circled around to the other side of the canyons.
As we pulled up to the trailhead, there was a guy named KT on mules. We got his number in case we needed him to help get my elk out since Dad had a pretty bad cold. We hiked two and a half miles to the predetermined glassing point. We set up and immediately spotted other hunters 800 yards across on the other ridge above where the bull had disappeared. Frustrated, Stockton informed us of his intention to glass elsewhere. As he began to hike away, Dad stopped him as he had spotted a good bull bedded at the bottom of the canyon. Dad directed us to get down and get our binos on the elk. Zooming in with the spotting scope, we could not believe what we were seeing. He had an extra tine that had to be three or four feet long, not to mention he was heavy, mature, and had amazing fronts. Without hesitation, Dad directed me to get ready to take a shot. We were no longer interested in the big trophy 6x6 spotted earlier that morning.
We backed up the hill to get an ethical shooting lane. Dad set up our two backpacks for me to take a solid rest. Stockton ranged the elk at 523 yards. Dad adjusted the range and asked me to calm my heart and breathing. The wind was moving from left to right, and he directed me on where to hold. The elk was bedded broadside, and now was the time to deliver my shot. I could literally hear my heart pounding in my ears.
“Shuck one in. It’s off safety,” Dad directed and continued, “It is ready to fire! You are alright. Take your time.”
The first “Boom!” came. I missed! Dad adjusted the range and provided directions to calm my nerves. “Find him again,” he said. I shucked another one in, quickly found him behind the crosshairs, and boom!
“Good shot!” Dad exclaimed. “Watch him, Stockton. Keep an eye on him.”
I asked, “Where did I hit him?”
Dad responded, “It looked like a good hit.”
I had hit him in the base of the neck, but it was still good enough to hit one lung and keep him from going far. We had thought the wind would have pushed the bullet more to the right and did not suspect there to be no wind down in the canyon.
Stockton kept an eye on the bull while Dad and I dropped off the edge to get another shot. I took two more shots and quickly retired this amazing animal. Stockton pulled up his playlist and played Tequila Little Time over the radio while we dropped into the canyon to my elk. As we got up to the elk, I was shaking. I could not believe it. I figured I would name the elk “Tequila.” We field dressed Tequila and hiked out. We called KT that night to pack the elk out for us in the morning with his mules.
Amazing sunrises and majestic sunsets! Thanks for a fun trip, Dad and Mom! And a special thanks to Austin (one of the kindest men I know) and Huntin’ Fool for helping set the stage for such an amazing Tequila Sunrise. Of course, it’s not the kind of Tequila Sunrise most people would think of.
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