Family, Fate and a Big Bull | Utah Elk Hunting

It's hard to put into words how much this hunt meant not only to my dad but also to my entire family. As we all age and get older, we are profoundly reminded of the important things in life and how truly special opportunities like this are. We regarded this hunt as something particularly special due to the fact that my dad’s health hasn’t been the best over the last two years. Between chronic obstructive pulmonary disease (COPD) affecting his lungs, heart surgeries, and knee replacements, we knew mobility was going to be limited to close proximity to the truck.
 
After helping my dad with the family’s hunt applications, I couldn’t believe my eyes when I looked at his results and saw that he had drawn the Panguitch Lake muzzleloader elk hunt. He hunted this exact elk hunt in 2006, and I was able to join him then as well. Growing up, these mountains helped raise our entire family and still, to this day, almost feel like hallowed ground.
 
Seven. It’s a number that, for some reason, has been the lucky number in the family when it comes to drawing these limited-entry elk tags. In 2023, my brother-in-law was the lucky recipient of a late-season rifle tag on the same unit. With a lot of luck and some hard hunting, we’d ended up harvesting a great 375" bull. Both my dad and brother-in-law drew these tags, which usually take 23 points to draw, with seven points—talk about some luck!
 
Summer scouting yielded some fantastic bulls. I spent a lot of days with my wife running cameras and late nights and early mornings getting an inventory for my ol’ man—not to be confused with calling him my old man. He hates it when I say that.
 
Anticipation was high leading up to the hunt; I was lucky enough to guide an archery hunter on the same unit and had quite the list of bulls to chase with Dad. We had an absolute dream team assembled to help with this goal of harvesting a giant bull. It takes an army when it comes to these hunts. A lot of that army operates behind the scenes: the cooks preparing mountains of food for seventeen people; the folks setting up warm cozy places to make game plans, eat dinner, and help bolster lasting memories; and the guys who sit on the glassing knobs, no matter how cold, rainy or windy the weather, relaying information through constant phone calls, texts, and radio communications to help us get in on bulls.
 
Opening day was almost picture perfect. We had my dad set up on a tripod, steady and ready. We had a good bull read the script perfectly and come into our meadow at 75 yards. Buck fever got the best of him I guess, because he missed not once but twice! When I say it takes an army, it truly does—especially after a miss. As much as everyone was there to help my dad, I know they also all helped me keep my morale and head up.
 
We spent the next five days experiencing the highs and lows of hunting between more misses, tough rut conditions, and being what felt like one step behind these bulls in every way. We chased some great bulls; we had a few that we thought tipped that 370"+ range. Right when we thought we were getting a lucky break, more missed shots and missed opportunities came raining down. Morale seemed to dip most days, and as the hunt wore on, it seemed to be having more lows than highs.
 
On day nine, we could almost feel the tide changing on the overall hunt. That morning, we were able to get in close on some timbered-up bulls that only needed to take a few more steps to be in the shooting lane. We had some great help that morning from Isaiah, who was able to keep the bulls entertained by bugling at a distance as we slipped in. When those bulls lost interest, we headed back to the truck to go chase the next bugles. As we were driving down the road, our golden ticket—or so we thought—stood there at 100 yards in all his 370" of glory. Chaos ensued as we got my dad out of the truck: guns were capped, and, again, multiple shots were fired. We thought we had taken a state championship and made the impossible possible. After canvasing the area, it was nothing but heartbreak; we didn’t find a drop of blood, and once we had reviewed the footage, we found we had missed again.
 
On top of the miss that morning, it was the day that ninety-five percent of the help had to go home to other responsibilities, including our camera man. Spirits were low at that point, what with goodbyes being said and the reality of the situation setting in. But prayers were answered that fateful evening.
 
We got a phone call from our good buddy Skyler Richards. He and his wife had found a giant in a very killable and stalkable position for my dad. After getting in as close as we dared by vehicle, my dad, brother, wife, and I parked the truck and headed in slow and quiet as could be. As we made it to the tree line, we were franticly trying to locate the bull; we’d found his cows but not him. Just then, my brother whispered, “I’ve got him.” We moved my dad a few yards to the left and got the tripod and the Pure Precision muzzleloader set up for a chance at redemption and making the dream come true. The trigger was pulled. Smoke filled the air. The moment seemed to stand still. “He’s hit! He’s hit!” my brother yelled. “He’s down! He’s down!”
 
Goosebumps. Nine days of hunting. All the highs and lows lead up to the most intense wave of emotions to ever come over me. I didn’t know whether to cry, yell, cheer, jump, hug, or throw up everywhere. After some of the best hugs and my dad telling my brother, “Let go you’re hugging me too hard—it hurts,” we finally walked up to the bull. What an intense feeling of gratitude—seeing that true monarch of a bull lying at our feet. A true giant. The next two hours were spent taking in every moment, capturing every angle, and calling everyone who had a hand in helping this dream come true for my dad to express our thanks.
 
It's hard to try to put this story into words and relay the emotion that comes with the territory of these hunts and seeing the ones we’ve looked up to and idolized in life start to slow down. I’m forever in debt and thankful to the big man upstairs for blessing us with not only the opportunity to hunt these animals but also for the memories that will forever be engrained in my being. A huge thank you to every single person who helped on this hunt, whether through a big or small role. Thank you for taking the time to read this story; we’re looking forward to the film being released!