My dad began his elk hunting career in 1987 at the age of 25. His first elk trip took him to the Gunnison valley in our home state of Colorado. Since then, my dad's passion for elk hunting has grown. He has harvested many elk since that first trip, including some nice bulls, but that one true monarch that roams the deep canyons and oak-brush covered hills around our home still eluded him.
Fast forward to 2017 and Colorado’s opening of the first rifle season. In weeks prior to the opener, my brother, Jason, had seen some slammer bulls on the trail cameras from the archery season. We were hoping one of those bulls would want to play the game and this would be the year my dad would hang his tag on one of these mountain monarchs. As opening day arrived, all of the excitement and anticipation had built, but we were met with 30 mph winds. My dad sent me a text message early that morning, and we decided to stay home and not go out due to the high winds. Little did we know, that decision would pay off in a big way.
As the alarm clock sounded off on the second day of the season, we were greeted with a cold, crisp Colorado morning. A cold front had moved in and dropped the temps into the low 20s. It was a perfect day for chasing bulls in Colorado.
As we drove the 30 minute dirt road to our spot, excitement and anticipation ran through my head. Was this the day he killed a big bull? Would we get a shot, or would we even see anything? As we arrived at the spot, we met up with Jason and Matt. As they were loading their gear up, I told my dad, "Maybe there's a big ol' bull in the flat this morning." Little did we know what was awaiting us. As we made are way up to the flat, the cold, crisp smell of mountain air gave way to the fresh smell of elk.
As we rounded the corner of an oak thicket, my brother whispered, "There's elk out in the flat." As we all hurried to raise our binoculars to get a peek, I remember the first elk I saw was a wide, massive tank of a bull.
I whispered to Matt, "There's a stud of a bull out there and we need to get a shot at him."
As my dad got his first look at the bull, he was locked into him and only him. There were about 50 head of elk feeding at the far end of the flat with several bulls in the bunch. The wind was at our faces, so my brother and dad slipped up to try and get a shot. My dad was lying prone, but the grass was too tall, so he backed up and set up on as T post. As the monarch was tending to his harem of cows, my dad was settling the crosshairs on the bull's lungs. My brother called out the range at 400 yards, and with one more deep breath, my dad sent a missile through the mountain air.
As the 7mm Ultra Mag rang out and broke the silence of the crisp morning, it was followed by the unmistakable sound of a solid hit. As my dad was reloading, I frantically tried to locate the bull as the herd filed out of the flat. I looked about 100 yards behind to see the big ol' monarch taking his last steps. The bull was done. He had done it. My dad's 30-year quest for a trophy bull was over, and what a bull to end it on. As we approached the bull, the morning sunrise was breaking over the hills, glistening off his massive set of antlers. What a beautiful sight it was! As my dad kneeled beside his bull, emotions overcame not only him, but my brother and me as well. We took tons of pictures and reflected on what this bull meant to my dad.
We have been on many hunts with our dad, but I think that this one will top them all. A special thanks goes out to Matt. Thanks again for helping my dad harvest the bull-of-a-lifetime. And thanks to my dad for introducing Jason and me to hunting and for all the help, tips, and advice and teaching us appreciation for these animals. No one else deserved this elk more than you. The bull went a little beyond his wish for a 330" bull as it gross scored 370”. What a great day for a father and two sons in the flat!
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