Many of us were fortunate enough to get our start hunting with a parent or grandparent, and those memories are cherished and seared in the minds and hearts of those with those experiences. That is the case for me growing up in Texas where kiddos tend to really get these experiences early. I recall mine started with a strong thump from a Sweet 16 shotgun to harvest my first rabbit. Fast forward through my youth and college years, I had the opportunity to share all sorts of hunting experiences, mainly in Texas, with my father, brothers, and friends. More times than not, my dad was along on these trips.
I grew up in a middle-class family in Texas where hunting is almost exclusively done on private land, which normally requires a lease fee to access. My parents almost always managed to carve out some funds to allow us to access hunting experiences this way. Periodically over the years, there was a trip to Colorado or Wyoming for a mule deer hunt, but those trips were really cost prohibitive for my parents with four boys. Not complaining at all, nor did I miss or know any different. Just an observation as an adult looking back on the sacrifices made as a parent. I appreciate them making hunting experiences one of the priorities for us.
As a young man, I was fortunate enough to marry an adventuresome young lady who ventured to the beautiful state of Montana to live and work. Thirty-two years later, we are still here and have raised three young ladies who have grown up having hunting experiences with their dad, uncles, and grandfather. Teresa, my lovely and supportive wife, enjoys the stories but is not a huntress. Once based in Montana, members of my family, including my dad, started to come up to Montana to hunt for elk and other game.
As mentioned, my dad had seen some elk while hunting deer in Colorado and Wyoming as a young man, but he never really had the means to afford going on those hunts as
a young man. As such, it was a big goal for me to experience him harvesting some elk in his retirement years. I was fortunate enough to be by his side in Wyoming when he harvested his first bull in his 70s.
Since that time, my parents have also moved to Montana and we have enjoyed some opportunities about every year to get out and chase the elk around. While he has not harvested a second bull in those years, we have had several opportunities to have him harvest cow elk on hunts we shared together. In addition, in Montana, my dad has made friends with some of his contemporaries and, like tough old Montanans, venture out together to chase the Wapiti. One special friend is Glenn Hoffman, who also showed me the lay of the land in Montana over 30 years ago. My dad, Bryan Teagle, and Glenn discovered some special opportunities to hunt river bottom land with slug-loaded shotguns and have managed to harvest a couple of cow elk on their own in recent years. While neither of them are grumpy, I can’t help but think of the movie “Grumpy Old Men” when I hear their plans to head out to the river bottom. Not bad for a 90 and 88-year-old!
Every year since my dad has moved to Montana, I have worked with him to apply for Montana elk permits, balancing opportunity and quality. Finally, in 2023, he drew a bull permit in a limited draw area that afforded him a good opportunity to harvest another bull. As you all know, there is no sure deal in elk hunting, and at the age of 88, harvesting a bull would be quite an accomplishment. Coming off open heart bypass and knee replacement surgery in recent years, my dad had worked hard to regain and retain a strength and conditioning level beyond his years. Once he drew that tag in June, he went into overdrive preparing for the hunt that fall. His favorite workout was trips up the Mount Sentinel M Trail in Missoula. It’s a relatively busy and iconic trail frequented by “regulars” and visitors from many places alike. I think he met most all of them as he recounted the tales back to me. By the time hunting season rolled around, he had about 50 trips up and down the M Trail under his belt and was ready to go. In October, in advance of elk season, we had an opportunity to do some pheasant hunting and take part in a few failed stalks on antelope in Eastern Montana. Come November, it was elk hunting time!
A good friend of the family and my dad, Matt McAfee, had graciously invited my dad to hunt with him in the area where his permit was valid. As a limited draw area, it was a given there would be some opportunity to see bulls, but harvesting one would be the trick. We only had three days to get it done, and while we wanted to harvest the best bull we could, at 88, it was most important to close the deal. We arrived at camp to be warmly greeted by Matt and the hunting crew, and they were most engaged in making the experience fun and successful for my dad.
The first morning out, we saw several bulls early on from a good distance and in an area that would not give a good approach. Given the wind was blowing, Matt suggested slipping through some timber late morning would be a good strategy, and sure enough, we slipped up on a bull right away. While not spooked, he had us nailed and given the situation and size. A shot attempt was not advisable. We saw several other bulls through the patch and from a distance but ended day one with high hopes but no attempts or success.
On day two, we found a bachelor group of better bulls up on an open ridge grazing. Getting to them would require a hike, and my dad was up to the task. It was a 45-minute climb up to get close enough to set up. Unfortunately, by the time we arrived, the bulls were feeding over the summit toward the bedding area. We set up briefly for a 300+ yard opportunity, but it just did not happen and the bulls grazed out of sight to the timber. We climbed on up to verify they were out of sight, and they did not show up for us in the open that same evening.
On day three, the pressure was on, and unfortunately, the wind was howling and finding bulls in the open, like the day before, was less likely. After some early morning glassing of open areas, Matt suggested the timber strategy would be best. We decided to go back to the same drainage and timber where we had seen bulls on day one. We immediately saw a bull as we entered, but he did not present a shot before moving out of sight. Patiently, we hunted slowly, and after about an hour, Matt spotted a bull bedded in the timber with no semblance of our presence. After maneuvering around for a shooting lane, my dad made the .300 Win Mag rumble and delivered a connecting shot through a narrow window in the timber. After staying down, the bull eventually got up and walked a bit downhill where a final shot closed the deal.
While it was not the biggest bull we saw, it was a nice 6x6, and the location made for a nice pack out. The hunting crew was excited for my dad, and all rallied to congratulate him and assist with the pack out. We learned 88 was not too late in this case, and we feel blessed and don’t take that for granted in any way. I regularly hear from others, “Cherish those opportunities because they won’t always be there,” and I validate that and share the same with others.
Special thanks to Matt McAfee and the rest of the hunting camp crew who made the experience so special. Also, thanks to Glenn Hoffman, who showed me the ropes in Montana 30+ years ago and at 90 still goes out and kills an elk with my 88-year-old dad. That is something to strive for!
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