Growing up, I always dreamed of the opportunity to hunt bull elk with my dad. At the young age of 10, that dream was crushed as my dad was taken from this earth. While I only had 10 short years with him, he instilled the love of hunting in me. Fast forward 19 years and I was putting in for limited-entry elk, just like I had for the past 13 years. This year was different from all the others, though. I had two little girls, and my wife was due with our third child in September. Knowing my time in the mountains would be limited with the new baby coming, I didn’t want to waste a year by not putting in for elk. My wife was apprehensive about me putting in, so I assured her that I had better odds of winning the lottery than drawing a premium elk tag.
When I finally got my email, I was standing in the kitchen with my wife, mom, and brother and read an unfamiliar word associated with limited-entry elk, “Successful.” Amidst all the excitement between everyone, there was one person I couldn’t share this excitement with, my dad. However, I knew he would be with me every step of the way. The year before my dad passed away, he received a beautiful Weatherby Mark V Lazermark in a .300 Weatherby Mag from my mom for Christmas. He was only able to mount a scope on it before he passed away. That gun sat in the safe for 19 years, occasionally getting taken out but never shot. This gun holds a very special place in my family’s heart, and after some convincing, my mom let me pull it out and I began getting loads worked up for it.
Klayton Tony Smith made his appearance the day after the archery hunt started. With my wife and baby doing well, I left for my hunt a few weeks later. The first evening hunt revealed just what we feared, hot temperatures with a lot of elk but no bugling yet.
The next morning found me by myself in a much higher part of the unit. Hiking in the dark with my bow, I couldn’t help but feel like I was hiking in a dream. After about a two-hour hike, I found myself right where I wanted to be. With the twilight of the morning, I started to hear the faint sounds of bugling and knew today was going to be a good day. As I started to make my way up the burnt ridge away from the meadow, I soon realized I had forgotten my diaphragm call and only had my Trophy Wife cow call. While this bull responded back to every cow call, he just wouldn’t seem to come any closer. The more I cow called, the less interested he seemed in me and the more interested he seemed in the bugling bull across the draw. My frustrating morning of not having my diaphragm and bugle tube continued as I realized all the bulls here were fighters and not lovers. However, the more I chased bugles, the closer I was able to get to the bulls as they were too interested in each other to notice me.
As I made my way across a meadow and up a thick pine ridge, I soon found myself surrounded by four bulls. With a few soft cow calls, I found the lovers and had bulls coming in to me. What a rush it was as I was able to call one of those bulls into five yards! The words of my two friends echoed in my head, “He has to be a giant if you shoot one before we get there!” While all the bulls were great 330 class bulls, they were not quite the ones we were after.
The evening hunt found me with three of my friends, Rylan, Garret, and Emerson, there to help. It was more of the same rutting action as the morning. This time, I had someone to call for me, though, and they had a bugle tube. We had multiple bulls screaming in our faces that night, but none of these bulls were on our list. Pumped about the evening we had had, we got back to camp where Kyle was waiting with a smile on his face. He said, “Take a look at these bulls I found from camp!” After looking at the videos, we were shocked to find out that one of the bulls was on our hit list. Our plans for the morning soon changed, and we decided to hike straight from camp up the steep ridge. Switching my bow out for my rifle, I couldn’t help but feel a deep connection with my dad. He may not have been able to be there physically, but I know he was there with me in spirit.
When morning finally came, we began our steep hike in the dark. As we hiked, Brennen and Emerson drove up the road to see if they could glass up our shooter bull. After about an hour hike, we soon found ourselves 200 yards from bugling bulls. Slowly creeping through the dead fall, I found myself shaking as the thought of filling my elk tag started to become a reality. Finally, we came to a place where there were elk everywhere on the hillside in front of us. As Rylan, Garret, and Kyle set up their spotting scopes, I was getting my gun ready and started ranging the hillside. There were bulls screaming and chasing cows everywhere, and the best part was that they were all within range. We picked over five bulls on that hillside, but our two bulls from the night before were not there. Just then, Brennen came and told us one of the bulls that we were after was on the other side of the ridge. We gathered our things and began a death march to the next ridge.
As we crested the ridge, we found that the entire next draw was burned and we could hear two bulls bugling below us. Making our way down the ridge to hopefully see what was making that raspy bugle, we heard the horrifying sound of hooves running like thunder on the other side of the ridge. In desperation, we started running back to the top of the hill to hopefully catch a glimpse of the elk. We were almost to the top when a bull let out a bugle back down the hill to our right. As Garrett responded with a bugle, I slipped down the hill about 10 yards from them. As we all stared at the burnt standing pines, seconds seemed like minutes. Just as I was starting to think the bull gave us the slip, he let out another raspy bugle and was on the run right towards us. My heart began to pound out of my chest as the bull had to twist his antlers around some branches 100 yards away. Continuing to run towards me, I could see he had long fronts with a giant third on one side and a great back end. Turning around to verify with my friends that I wasn’t seeing things, they all mouthed the word, “Shooter!”
Quickly finding him in my scope, I could not find a clear shot. Finally, the bull came around a tree and was facing me at 25 yards. Settling the crosshairs, I pulled the trigger but nothing happened. Realizing I forgot to click the safety off, I flipped it off and pulled the trigger. To my surprise, the bull turned and began to run. Did I really just miss a 25-yard shot? I loaded another round and found the bull on the run. There was one last shooting lane in the thick, burnt standing timber. As the bull entered the shooting lane, I put the crosshairs high on his shoulder and pulled the trigger. The rifle went off, and the bull collapsed to the ground. The flood of emotions seemed to hit me all at once. We began celebrating like we had just hit a walk off home run in the World Series!
Slowly making the walk over to where the bull lay, all of us stood in awe. After years of dreaming, I had finally experienced the elk rut with a tag in my pocket. Minutes passed by before any of us began to take pictures or even touch the elk. It was an unreal feeling to finally be able to not only chase big bulls with my friends but to do it with my dad’s favorite rifle. I feel truly blessed that I was able to share this hunt with my friends and family. It will be one that I will never forget. I couldn’t have done it without the support of my beautiful wife, and I can’t thank her enough for letting me pursue my passion.
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