Like everyone else, 2021 was a pretty challenging year for me with Covid and the country seeming to be going in the wrong direction. My family and I had a couple other tough things to deal with, too. Early on the morning of January 5th, I got word from my parents that my younger brother, Scott, had lost his yearlong battle with esophageal cancer at the age of 51. My parents had basically lived with him in Texas for the last year, helping him through his many treatments and multiple surgeries as he was not married and lived by himself on his small farm while also holding a full-time job with the Texas Highway Department. About the same time, I got word that the family- owned business I had worked for the past 23 years was being sold to a large corporation and I would need to reapply for my job. Not being really excited about having to reapply, I realized that at age 58 I was too young to retire but basically too old to want to start over. Today, I am still with them but not enjoying the corporate world. With all this going on, one of the bright spots was filling out the tag applications for the many states and hunts that I dream of and wondering, "What if?"
One Monday morning, I got into the office and checked my email. I had one from Nevada. I opened it, expecting the usual "Unsuccessful" notice. To my complete shock and surprise, after 18 years of trying, I finally had a tag coming my way for my first- choice area. My first call was to my friend Thomas Brunson of Timberline Guide Service out of Ely. He was very happy for me but said he already had a hunter booked for that time. However, he would be setting me up with one of his other guides, Matt, whom I had met the year before on a deer hunt with my dad. Knowing these guys and how well they all work together, I was very happy with that arrangement.
I left for Nevada a couple days before the season opened in early November, and on the way, I got the news that Matt would have to quarantine for a few days until he could get a negative COVID test as his kids had tested positive. In speaking to Thomas, he said to meet him at his house as he was scrambling to put together a new plan on short notice. I got to his house about noon the day before the opener and he said that another of his guides had adjusted his schedule to hunt with me a couple days until it was clear what Matt’s situation was.
I met up with my new guide, Jay, in town. He was a 25-year-old professional wildland firefighter whom I had met last year when he helped us pack out a deer my dad had shot with the Timberline crew. We headed out to camp as the season opened in the morning. He was totally honest that he was really depending on the information Thomas and Matt were giving him on where to look as he had not spent a huge amount of time in the area this season.
Coming to Nevada, I had pretty high standards as to what I would like to look for. I was hoping for something really special that this area of Nevada is known for. Thomas had showed me a couple photos of bulls in the area that were not broken up from fighting that might be of interest. One really stuck out because he was almost totally white in color. They felt he was not quite 370" as he was declining due to age and a dry year, and they did not see him very often. I was pretty intrigued as I had never laid eyes on a bull quite like him. He was a great mature animal.
Jay and I hunted hard the first couple of days and found several bulls. There were a lot of young bulls, and it seemed like most of the mature bulls were destroyed from fighting. Over the first few days, we found just one that was about 340" intact. Late Sunday afternoon, we got word that Matt had tested negative for Covid and another friend of theirs and fellow guide Hal had a few days off and would also be coming to help look. I now had quite a team in place to help on this hunt. Things were falling into place. Monday was more of the same, warm and broken bulls, but a front was coming in Tuesday with some much- needed moisture and cooler temps.
Tuesday morning as Jay and I reached our glassing point and were looking at more broken and young bulls, we got word that Matt and Hal had eyes on the white bull and he was still intact. It looked like he was heading for his day bed. Jay asked what I wanted to do. My thought was that he was a big, mature animal unlike anything I had ever seen. If there was even a slight chance and they knew where he was, we should go over there and see what happened.
We went back to the truck and drove around the mountain to meet up with Matt and Hal. They showed us where they last saw the bull and a short video they had taken through the scope. All three of them said if it was their tag they would sure like to harvest that bull. My mind was made up. We got back in the truck and drove to a spot to hike from. We gathered our gear, knowing we could be gone all day, and started hiking at about 9 a.m. By 10:30, we were in position to glass the burns, mahogany, and fir fingers he might be in. The weather was cooling and getting very windy.
At about noon, Jay moved a bit and said, "I have him. He just stood up in the mahogany and adjusted his day bed." He was on top of the mountain across the valley. Again, we put our packs on and started hiking down and back up the other side. He was in a very tight spot on top out of the wind. At about 1:30, we got to a spot below him that we felt was as close as we dare go with the swirling winds, rain, and snow showers coming and going. We crept out into a little opening in the trees, and Jay spotted a tine move in the trees. I found a small piece of hide lying in the very thick cover. He was 300 yards away, so I set up with my 7mm that my parents had given me for college graduation. We waited for him to stand and move, hoping for a shot. By 3:30, he was still laying down, and at 4:30, it would be too dark to shoot.
At about 3:45, I whispered to Jay, "It would sure be nice if someone would just poke him in the backside a little to get him to stand up." Five minutes later, he did just that, but we still had no shot due to the very heavy cover. He stood there for what seemed forever and then he turned and started going left through the trees. There was a very small shooting lane he was going to cross. Jay said that when I saw his white shoulder in the hole to send it. At the shot, the bull fell in his tracks. I reloaded as he was twitching a bit. We watched as he lay still for a while and then tried to get to his feet. I sent a final round into his chest.
I am not what you would call a religious person, but I do consider myself spiritual. At that moment, I could not help but think about my younger brother, Scott, and the fact that just
maybe he had something to do with getting that bull out of his bed and moving. Jay, thank you for understanding my tears of both joy and sorrow as I truly miss my brother. We hiked up to the bull. It was almost dark and lightly raining and snowing. We tied him off to a tree and dressed him out to cool for the night. We would get him out in the morning.
The next morning was clear and very nice, so Jay, Matt, Hal, Hal’s two kids, Cali and Chas, and I along with four of Matt’s pack goats walked back in, broke the bull down, and brought him back to the truck. Hal, you have two great kids, and I was very happy they missed school to help with and get their hands on "White Privilege."
I want to thank my wife for the love and support she provides and the company of hunting with her in our home state of Montana. It was truly a once-in-a-lifetime hunt for a one-of-a-kind animal. I feel truly blessed to have such good people like the Timberline Outfitters crew to make it all happen, and I still feel my brother had a little something to do with the outcome.
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