Growing up in the Midwest, I had only dreamed of being able to hunt the West, having to satisfy the want to hunt by chasing rutting whitetails in Minnesota. Luckily for me, my father, Mark, who got me involved in the sport had paid attention to what was going on in the western hunting world. Managing applications and preference points since I was 14 years old, using information like that which Huntin’ Fool shares, we applied and waited. Finally, after 13 years of applying, we drew the tag that we were waiting for, an exclusive late season elk tag for unit 59.
We had passed the time in the summer months training by carrying our loaded pack frames up and down the local sledding hill and spending our weekends at the shooting range. We had been in contact with our guide, Carl Sauerwein of Boulder BasinOutfitters, over the summer and started to gather our gear and prepare for what would be our first true wilderness hunt together. As the summer days started to turn to fall nights, the hunt grew closer and it was all we could do to keep up with our other hunts. Dad, who also drew a Super Tag in Wyoming for Shiras moose, was always on the go, and I was archery hunting in South Dakota. We saw time pass in a flash. Before we knew it, November 2nd was here, and as we were sitting at the farm out in South Dakota, we got the long-anticipated call from Carl and his crew, “The hunter before you has filled his tag on the second day, and the bulls are pushing through the basin.” We proceeded to pack our bags and head for Wyoming, and after a day and half of driving, we arrived in Cody.
We would ride out the following day into what I can only describe as the wildest place I had ever been. The terrain was steep and trails were icy, and with every switchback, we wound higher and higher into the mountains until even the clouds and weather were below us. We made our way into camp, and we were finally there, the place we would call home for the following week. The camp was comprised of a horse corral, a meat cache, and three tents to stay in for us and the crew. Tomorrow would be the first full day in the mountains and our first test in the untamed mountains of Wyoming.
The first day, we awoke to cold temperatures and blowing wind as could be expected in the mountains and we made our way to the ridgetops to glass for groups of bulls making their way down the migration trails that fed into unit 59. Low and behold, we had located a group of several bulls, one of which was truly a magnificent specimen, noticeably bigger than the rest and one we knew we had to pursue. We spent the remainder of the day trying to get ahead of the bull and intercept him along the migration trail further down the ridge system. However, like all big bulls, they certainly make themselves hard to keep up with, which he proved as we only caught a glimpse of him just before dark on our way back to camp for the night. Tomorrow would be a new day and another chance to try and catch up with the bull.
On the second day, we encountered more of the same weather as the day before. I guess what they say about the Wyoming wind is true as it almost never stops. We made our way back to the area where we had spotted the bull the night previously and started to glass but to no avail. We pushed further down the migration trail and the ridge system than the day previous, hoping to catch up with the big bull we had been after. Hopes were high that he had not yet left the basin, so we sat all afternoon to try and locate the bull but still had no luck finding him that afternoon.
Day three was one to remember as it was the coldest day yet, and with a plan to ride to the far reaches of the ridge system, we would certainly be gone all day trying to close the deal on the massive 7x7 from the first day. As we rode further and further into the peaks and valleys of the mountains, it happened as we finally caught glimpses of the big 7x7 after two days. We were overjoyed and knew we had to make our move. We set up on the bull and the other bulls that were with him as they were currently bedded 700 yards away. As we made our move to try and get closer for the shot, the bulls stood up and were on the move. As we tried to close the distance, they only got further away and we never could close the deal on the giant bull as we painfully watched him walk up and out of our lives after the three-day affair.
As we sat on the ridge in disbelief that we had come so close, another bull from the second night came to mind and we wondered if he had made his way this far down the migration trail. As we glassed the ridges while eating our lunch, there he was. The bull had paired up with a smaller bull and made his way to within a mile of where we were, and as we looked the bull over, we developed our plan to get a shot. We dropped down into the deep ravines and slithered our way through the creek bottom until we came to a rock outcropping. As we crested the rocky formation, we could see the bull milling below us. At this point, he was 550 yards from us, and as Carl called out the yardage, I dialed up my scope and steadied my aim. As I sat there in anticipation, he had since bedded. I lay there, letting the time pass. Nearly 30 minutes were gone just waiting for the opportunity to close the deal. Finally, the great bull stood, and as he turned away and stopped, I took my shot. The bull stumbled as I put one into his chest. As he stood there staggering in his current state, he gave me his shoulder at 570 yards and I squeezed the trigger once more. The second shot rang out. Before I could even comprehend what had happened, Carl exclaimed, “Hell of a shot, Tyler! You dropped him in his tracks.”
As we approached the bull, it became more apparent that with each step he became much larger than we originally thought. My bull scored 401 6/8" SCI. The ride back to camp was long, but with our panniers full, it was fun. The rest of the night was filled with happy chuckles and stories around the camp stove, and the rest is history. It was certainly an adventure-of-a-lifetime that I won’t soon forget.
Wyoming Elk Hunting
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