Over the past four years, I have been blessed to draw some amazing tags in the West, and this season was no different. Every year, I play the point game in seven different states in the hopes of drawing some easy draw tags and building points for the premium units in the future. Fortunately, this year I drew an early rifle tag in one of Utah’s premium units.
In August, I decided to go scout the unit to see where all the roads and trailheads were. It’s very frustrating to drive around for three days and not see an elk, hoping they would be there in a few weeks. Although it takes days off from work and it's expensive to fly and rent cars, I believe that scouting a unit to familiarize yourself with it is more beneficial than almost anything you can do in the off-season.
My dad and I had always wanted to go elk hunting together, and our first elk hunt was three years earlier when he got bucked off his mule, broke ribs, lost his heart medicine, and almost didn’t make it out of the mountains. I knew it was going to be very interesting getting him involved with this hunt while also keeping his safety in the back of my mind.
After the long, dreadful Texas summer came to an end, I was finally done prepping for the hunt. I had found an old 1970 camper shell at a friend’s house to slap on the back of my truck, threw all the gear in the back, and off we went.
We arrived Thursday before the Saturday opening hunt. That evening, we hiked about 300 yards and my dad started getting headaches and throwing up. I thought to myself, Not again! We were camped at 9,500 feet, and the elevation was getting to him. From then on, I knew I needed to keep him reigned in close to camp. I found him some easy spots to glass for me while I went on three to four-mile hikes in the mornings/evenings. Friday morning, I was on a glassing location and listening to seven bulls bugle and push their cows into the cedars below me. I thought, Now this is what a premium unit is suppose to look like. Most of the bulls were younger, but there were two that stood out to me. One was really wide and long tined but had just lost some of his length on his fifths. The other was a 6x7 that had everything I needed in my first bull.
That evening, we had lost the cord to charge our cell phones and I needed to access my onXmaps. I decided to drive the Kawasaki eight miles down the mountain to the truck, but on the way back, I cut a sidewall and now we had a problem. Without a way for my dad to get around, I decided to miss the opening morning hunt so I could fix the tire. With five plugs in the tire, I got it back in commission and now I could focus on the task at hand. Luckily for me, the 6x7 was in a spot that took a lot of effort to get eyes on him and none of the other hunters had even attempted to hike his direction.
Sunday evening, I found a way that was the perfect location to stalk the bull from. It was an hour hike straight up to get to a crow's nest that overlooked the entire valley below. From there, I could see all of the road hunters on their locations, but they couldn’t see the bench below me just off the face of the mountain peak. On that bench laid the bull out in the open grass at 6 p.m., bugling his head off and laying down in front of his cows without a care in the world. I radioed my dad and told him I had found the bull but was going to leave him for the night because I had forgotten my phone with my GPS along with my main headlight. I always respect the mountains and am very mindful to be prepared every time I leave camp. I thought that the bull was safe from other hunters because of where he was. They would have to walk three miles uphill to even see him, and I didn’t think they would do that.
That evening, I texted a Utah resident whom I had met while scouting, and he said that he would bring a couple of guys to help me pack out a bull if I shot one. Knowing this, I was committed to going after the bull I wanted.
Monday morning, I hiked up to the crow's nest, and at 6:15, I saw the bull headed to the timber, bugling all the while. I decided it was now or never and bailed off the front of my perch. I knew once I came off that point I wasn’t going to be able to climb back that direction. My only option was to shoot the elk and pack him three miles over to where my dad was glassing from. The cows must have been out in the burned area because they took off running. I was 330 yards from the bull and decided I was going to have to shoot from there. He was only 10 yards from being in the timber, which was straight up and out of sight for the day. I dropped my pack and extended the bipod out for the shot. I needed more elevation for the shot, so I put my pack under my bipod legs. Trusting my level bubble, I leaned the gun into the mountain and squeezed a round off. I saw him hump up, and I threw another round his way, which sent him plowing downhill, wedging into some deadfall.
After my picture session, I proceeded to cape, quarter, and debone this mammoth on the side of the mountain. This was my first elk to process, and I was amazed at how difficult they are to maneuver by yourself. Trying to hang a hindquarter in the trees without another hand was the hardest for me. At 4 p.m., the extra help had arrived and we loaded all of our packs and were off to the truck, or so we thought. I had never been this route, so I was just going off what they had told me to do. They said to drop off the bench into the deep ravine and follow it down until I hit a mule deer trail, which then lead to a four-wheeler trail that would take me to the truck. It sounded easy enough, but as we dropped off the bench and into the dark bottom, we all got separated. I waited for a while in the bottom, calling for them but without an answer. I decided I needed to get hiking with dark on its way. The dry creek bed was miserable to walk down with dead trees, 15 foot drop-offs, and sandy soils. I followed it forever, it seemed, and then I saw the only cut in the terrain that would allow me to climb up and out of the bottom. I took it, and it was a suffer fest from the get-go! At one point, I was on all fours with 100 lbs. of meat in a “resting” position. Once I got to a small opening, I took off my pack and looked around. It was now 7:30 p.m., and I was surrounded by small mountain peaks on all sides of me. I was exhausted and out of food and water, had low battery on my phone and radio, and was not sure which direction to head. I got my dad on the radio and told him I wasn’t sure if I was going to make it out of there and was seriously debating leaving my pack just to ensure I had enough energy to get back. After a five-minute break, I decided to keep pushing ahead and luckily I hit a mule deer trail. This little bit of good fortune allowed me to push on and eventually make it just at dark.
When I got to my dad, none of the other three guys had made it back yet. This concerned me seeing how they should have beat me. The guys didn’t bring any other gear with them because they assumed we had all day and it was going to be a straightforward pack out. Now they were all in the dark with heavy packs, no lights, wind gusting 40 mph, no compass, and no cell service. At 10:30, a sheriff pulled up next to us with one guy who some other hunters had picked up on their way out on the valley floor. He said once he realized he had missed his right turn out of the timber he had lost it mentally and had to drop everything just to get out of there. I was relieved to see him, but we were still missing two guys. It was a very long, sleepless night, and once the sun broke the next day, we called the sheriff’s office so they could get search and rescue organized. Finally, at around 10 a.m., a sheriff showed up with the other two guys who had also dropped their packs and headed down into the valley floor. They had gone 13 miles and were hitchhiking on the main highway when the sheriff had picked them up. Once everyone was accounted for, we then went searching for their packs that contained some meat and my antlers. Just after lunch, we all shared our versions of the epic pack out, shook hands, and parted ways.
Even though my first pack out experience was such a disaster, I will never forget it nor the gentlemen who volunteered to help a rookie. I guess these are the sort of things we learn from and what makes every hunt unique and memorable. All in all, I accomplished my goal of heading out west with a premium tag, having a blast in the woods with my dad, and meeting some new lifelong friends along the way. Like all hunts, it ended too soon and I am already ready for next year's draws!
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