The day started like any other September day does for me: bow in one hand, hiking up the hills to mule deer bucks. My little brother, Billy, and I put the stalk on a decent 4x4 mule deer, and it darted from cover, out of range. We continued the hunt, walking towards the edge of our family property. My little brother looked back to see how close I was. I looked up just in time to hear him say, “Is that an elk?”
I looked behind me and pulled up my binoculars. Under a tree lay a huge 6x6 bull elk. Elk season opened September 1st in that area, which we both had tags for. We quickly but quietly rushed back to the house to grab two rifles as our deer hunt had just become an elk hunt. We crawled back up to where we had seen the bull. He was now standing, and I had to wait for a good shot. He took a few steps and was in the clear. Bang! The bull bolted into a draw where I chased after it. I crawled up the draw and fought my way through some thick brush. When I cleared some brush out of the way, there he stood five yards away. I instinctively raised my rifle and shot. The bull dropped out of the draw and stopped at 20 yards. I quickly shot him again, and this time, the bull dropped right where he stood. As I approached him, I realized how big he was, both his antlers and his body. I had shot a few cow elk before this, but this bull was much bigger than them.
After field dressing the bull, we went to tell our grandparents. They didn't believe us as they had been elk hunting that morning close to the same spot. Well, they didn't believe us until my little brother walked through the door holding the heart. We went up and took some pictures and then proceeded to pack the elk out. The elk, which is now displayed as a European mount in my room, ended up scoring 336”.
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