As I was drifting off to sleep, I heard someone barge into my room. As I looked up, I could see the outline of a man and I immediately knew it was my dad. “You just drew a junior elk tag in the Marble Mountains Wilderness Area!” he announced excitedly. Not knowing how majorly important that was, I responded with, “OK, cool! Can we talk about it tomorrow? I’m sleepy!” If I had only known what adventures awaited me.
I remember the day when Dad told me he found the guide for my hunt. As I looked at Tusks, Horns, and Claws Guiding and all the pictures that Vose had posted on his website, I was in disbelief that I, a 17-year-old kid, could get a Roosevelt elk of that mass. Throughout the four months of waiting, anticipating, and about going crazy, we were able to go to the mountains multiple times and practice, but the major event that let me to know I was ready was when I shot a group of three within 0.5" of each other at 400 yards.
Finally, it was time to leave! My dad and I loaded the truck on Monday morning and headed to Yreka, California. We arrived, ate, walked around the town a bit, and then hit the hay. Of course, no real sleeping was done due to all the excitement from what the next few days held for us. That morning, Vose’s wife, Jamie, met us in the parking lot of Dottie’s Corner Kitchen. As we followed her up the winding, jagged roads, I had my full attention on the scenery around me. The beautiful mountainside was shining with the sun beaming down upon the pine trees that were glazed with the morning dew. After two hours of driving, we arrived at the trailhead where Vose and one of his helpers, Tanner, were preparing for the ride into camp. After we got all of the “meeting and greeting” out of the way, my dad and I did what we could to help. Then, we jumped on the horses and off we went. The ride was absolutely stunning. The babbling creeks, the grassy meadows, and the golden sun painted a picture that words could not describe.
After two hours of riding, we arrived at camp. There, we met Alex, who had stayed at camp while Vose and Tanner met us at the trailhead. After we unloaded our packs, I laid down and drifted off to sleep for a bit. When I awoke, my dad and I walked up the hill a bit and glassed the towering mountainsides that surrounded us. That evening, Vose made an amazing meal and we sat around the fire before it was time for bed.
On opening day, we woke up early, had coffee, and then off we went. It was still pitch black outside and the grass was crisp from the frozen dew that lay upon it. As we made our way up the zig- zagged, jagged pathway, the sky started to become a little less dreary. After hiking in the dark for an hour, we came to the top of the ridge where we hid behind the rocks for another hour until it was light enough to see the entire bowl-shaped valley. As we waited, we heard the first bugle. We were certain that it had come from beneath us but could not see the bull. We decided to move into position and wait for the bull to come out. No matter where he exited, we would see him.
As we scanned the area, we ended up spotting at least three other bulls that were out of range, and one of them happened to be the herd bull. We still had not seen the one that was underneath us, though. We sat there for a while, but when the bull wasn’t coming out, it was obvious that we needed to take action. The only problem was, what did we need to do? We decided our plan of action would be to head back up to the top of the ridge, circle around, and drop down to where we could see what was under us. If he was not what we wanted, we would continue circling around and hopefully drop down in the right position to get a good shot at the herd bull.
As we dropped down to see the bull that was under us, there was nothing there. The only thing we could think of was that when the other bulls had their faces pointed in certain positions, it echoed off of the mountainside and made it sound like the noise was coming from underneath us. We were glad that we didn’t stay where we were.
We continued to circle the bowl until we thought we were in a good position. As we made our way down the steep mountainside, we were all pumped. When we peeked over the ridge, there he was, a massive 6x6! He was 377 yards away and standing broadside. The pressure was on.
As soon as we spotted him, I got into position. There happened to be a burnt tree stump that was the perfect height with a slot burned out that the gun cradled in perfectly. As I started to sit down, the words my dad and Vose had said to me earlier rang in my ears, “Keep shooting the bull until he is down. Don’t stop until we say so.” As I cocked the gun and took some deep breaths, Vose said, “Shoot whenever you feel ready.”
As the echo of the first shot rang through the bowl, it was quickly followed by a second and then a third. The bull was down! We were all celebrating and were relieved until Dad looked down and said, “I don’t see him!” As Vose looked through his binoculars, he said, “He is up and walking away. Shoot him again!”
I jumped back into position, aimed, and fired my fourth shot. The bull collapsed with no hope of ever standing on his feet again. Now we were really celebrating. Vose contacted Alex and Tanner, and they started heading our way with the mules.
As we made our way down the mountain, I kept finding myself wanting to start walking faster. When we finally made it to where the bull was, Vose said, “Let’s stand back a bit and make sure he’s dead.” As soon as those words left his mouth, the bull raised his head, looked at us, and started bellowing. He dropped his head, took some breaths, and started trying to stand, but he was unsuccessful in his attempts. He then bellowed at us again.
There was a rise in the ground beside us, so Vose had me get up there, and when I got in position, I was directly beside, yet above, the bull. As I made my final shot into his heart, he bellowed one last time, did the “death kick,” and died.
As soon as we finished with the pictures, we immediately started skinning him, and by the time Alex and Tanner got there with the mules, we had all the meat off of him. We ended up having 378 lbs. of meat. Vose, on his horse, took off towards camp with the mules packed with meat, and the rest of us headed out with the horns.
After we got back to camp, the meat got hung up and it was time to start cooking. After we ate, we sat around the roaring fire again. We were amazed about the day, in awe over the bull, and a bit sad that the adventure was already over.
The next morning, we loaded the horses and mules and headed back out. After we made it to the trailhead, Jamie was waiting with ice chests and ice. After we loaded our gear into the F-150, along with the meat and horns, we said goodbye and started towards home.
The bull ended up with an official Boone and Crockett score of 300 2/8" and weighed over 1,000 lbs. This was definitely a hunt-of-a-lifetime that I will never forget. Thank you so much, Vose, Jamie, Alex, and Tanner for all you did to make my hunt absolutely amazing. It couldn’t have been better.
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