Every year, I look forward to possibly drawing a limited tag, exploring new country, and overcoming the many challenges of that facet. However, picking up an overthe- counter elk tag in Colorado and hunting familiar ground is hard to beat. The nostalgia of going back to the mountains where I first started elk hunting and with my dad joining me, this hunt wouldn’t be like any other!
At 60 years old, my dad was trying to fulfill a lifelong dream of tagging a bull. He invited his friend, Norm, who has taken his share of elk and wanted to see my dad succeed. With my dad living in Florida at an elevation of six feet, I knew we would have an uphill battle. I decided to invite my friend, Connor, along for some extra muscle. He’d been in elk country once before and wanted in on the experience.
After a grueling 23-hour drive from Michigan, we wasted no time and got to scouting. We unloaded my side-by-side and followed a rugged trail nine miles up the mountain. We came up to a big L-shaped meadow that was surrounded by tall aspens on one side and thick, dark pines on the other. The first thing I saw was a giant dark-horned mule deer that had multiple kickers coming off one side. I was thrilled since I also had a mule deer tag. We continued up to a larger meadow that leveled off and was surrounded by deep canyons. As I glassed across the canyons, I counted 12 different bulls, including a big 6x7.
After finding a promising location that evening, we set up base camp. I felt tired and drained but merely shrugged it off. The next day, I awoke with a severe head cold and told myself I wasn’t going to let it slow me down. I didn’t know it at the time, but I was setting myself up for disaster.
In the predawn hours of opening morning, my dad, Connor, and I headed up the mountain. Connor and I left my dad at the L-shaped meadow for the day as we explored some of the ridges that broke off the plateau. We spent the morning glassing canyons and hiking small, scattered meadows. By late afternoon, we had covered a lot of ground and the only thing we saw were two other hunters.
While looking over onXmaps, I found an area with some very steep, aspen-studded chutes that were surrounded by dark timber. I wanted to drop off the plateau and hunt the chutes, but all the hiking drained my energy and I wasn’t feeling well. Instead, we sat in a meadow near the edge of the plateau in hopes that the elk might come up. We weren’t sitting very long when I heard a bugle come from below. We tried to cut them off in the dense timber, and I caught a glimpse of a big bull only 50 yards away. It was too thick for a shot, so I backtracked towards the meadow. There were 30 elk already crowded into the end of the narrow meadow. I could see the big bull was fighting with a satellite bull beyond some cows 150 yards away, but I still had no shot. I located another bull amongst the cows that offered just enough room for a clear shot. One shot to the vitals followed by two more anchoring shots put him down. After high fives and pictures, I field dressed the bull. With just over an hour before dark, we headed for my dad two miles down the mountain.
We met my dad before dark and quietly exchanged events of the day. He was sitting in a poor spot as he couldn’t see the far corner of the meadow. He had moved because another hunter came and sat nearby before moving on. We were skirting the meadow to get a better view when I suddenly noticed elk. I froze instantly! There were 40+ elk bunched up as they had just emerged from the timber. Two giant bulls started fighting and chasing each other, causing the herd to fragment. I threw my pack down and told my dad to get set up as I ranged them at 400 yards. He waited for a clear shot that never came as neither bull stopped long enough to make an ethical shot.
From there, we grabbed the side-by- side and headed back up the trail to retrieve my bull. The pack out was going to be easy as the bull was only a half-mile off the trail. My dad and Connor readied game bags and gear as I struggled with the hide. It had been a long day, and I still wasn’t feeling well. I had a small cut left to make when my knife became dull. Instead of changing the blade, I forced the knife to cut. I suddenly slipped and rammed the knife into my left leg above the knee. As I ripped the knife out of my leg, I felt a strange bubbling and knew I had cut an artery. Completely terrified, I thought I was not getting off this mountain alive. As I straightened my leg, I grabbed for my knee, but my fingers went into the cut. My dad rushed to my side, and I said, “Push down as hard as you can and don’t let go!” I used my belt as a tourniquet, which reduced the bleeding but not enough. The bleeding slowed more after tying a game bag around the wound and tightening the belt over the top.
Lying there, I knew I had to make some important decisions. Time was of the essence. Luckily, Connor and I had hiked much of the area earlier and felt he might be able to get the side-by-side to me using onXmaps. I told him to do whatever it took as he ran off into the darkness. When Connor pulled up a while later, I started to feel a sense of relief. Loaded in the machine, we raced down the mountain to the truck. It took over an hour to finally reach the hospital. The doctor worked on my leg for quite a while but couldn’t stem the flow of blood. The cut was too deep, and the artery had retracted into my leg. Another two hours in surgery with an orthopedic surgeon and I was finally fixed up.
The next morning, the crew packed out my bull. I was very thankful. As I spent the next few days recovering, I felt terrible I couldn’t join them in the field. By the fourth day, I couldn’t sit around anymore, so I hobbled into an area with Connor that I knew held mule deer. That evening, we saw three bucks, including one that was very tempting. However, Connor had to fly home early the next morning, so I held off.
After dropping Connor off, I sped back to meet my dad at daybreak. He told me about a big buck he had seen the night before and wanted to show me the spot. I couldn’t walk far, so he was trying to get me as close as possible without spooking everything. We were nearing the area when he stopped the machine to look at a map. I sat there looking around the landscape and noticed three elk up the narrow canyon. I threw my binoculars up to confirm what I was seeing was a heavy framed bull. We snuck in to 250 yards where I instructed my dad to shoot the one on the left. The bull soaked up three shots from his .270 before collapsing. I’m not sure who was more excited as we both jumped up and down. Using trekking poles, I struggled up the incredibly steep canyon with camera in hand. I captured my dad admiring his bull-of-a-lifetime. He asked, “How many points does your elk have?” I stood there perplexed as I watched him count. He then said, “6x7, I beat you!”
Luckily, Norm was there to help pack meat out since I wasn’t much help. As it was, I slipped, causing extreme pain and swelling in my leg and I ended up back in the ER. All was well after the nurses rebandaged my leg and told me to take it easy. Evidently, keeping my leg elevated didn’t mean climbing mountains.
This certainly was a hunting trip that we will never forget! It’s crazy how fast your life can change in the blink of an eye, and I’m extremely lucky with the way things turned out. I’m thankful for my hunting partners and all the ER staff who took care of me. Thanks to everyone, I was able to make it home to my wife and son.
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