Story By: Creg Davis
Spring of 2024, I was sitting at the kitchen table applying for the year's fall hunts in Utah. I had no intention of drawing any premium tags or even a general season tag, for that matter. In that case, I decided that if I wanted to receive at least a preference point for my limited-entry application, there was no better way of doing that than applying for one of the most premium tags the unit had to offer, the multi-season bull elk. Sitting on about 5 points, I had no intention of drawing the tag, which I didn't. That was until the second week of the archery hunt when I received a phone call that someone had turned in a tag and I was next on the list to receive it. Of course, I accepted.
Not having spent my summer looking over bulls, I knew I better get started quick. In disbelief, I recruited friends and family and began scouting over the unit, trying to find one of the biggest bulls I could. Being able to carry a bow right from the start and knowing I was able to hunt for the next two months almost nonstop almost felt like I was breaking the law. With that in mind, I knew I couldn't settle for just any decent bull I found.
I spent most of my archery hunt in a place I had spent a lot of time in. The number of elk I had seen in this area was by far the densest elk herd I had ever witnessed. Bulls and cows were running all around, bugling nonstop in every direction I looked. It seemed unreal to me. Picking through the bulls and calling in multiple bulls well within shooting range, it seemed like there were no mature bulls worth shooting in the area.
The first rifle hunt started a short time later, and I found myself with my family hunting a different area, looking for “the one.” Opening day came, and in disbelief, we found a bugling bull down a canyon, pushing cows. Without hesitation, we knew he was worth going after and made a move with only a few hours of light left. Fortunately for us, we relocated the bull in some thick quakings across a small canyon. I quickly settled down for an available shot while he pushed the cows across the ridgeside. Full of “bull” fever, I made three shaky shots across the canyon and missed as the bull walked out of sight, screaming at opposing bulls heading his way. My father-in-law was able to video the experience, which helped me to reflect on what I did wrong in the situation and caused me to miss. We checked the rifle and its accuracy after.
After kicking myself in the butt for what seemed like an amateur mistake, we spent the next few days trying to relocate this bull to try my luck again. We were never able to find the bull again. The area went quiet with no elk, so we moved locations to start over. For the rest of the first rifle, muzzleloader, and second rifle hunts, I searched hard and put what felt like hundreds of miles on the boots. Seeing a lot of bulls, nothing was quite big enough to let my shaky hands pull the trigger again.
Now with a few weeks’ break before the start of the late hunt, I knew I had to do some more work. At this point, it seemed I was out of luck and was really down on myself for missing the first day at that caliber of a bull. After searching hard since then, it almost seemed like that was the last mature bull around. Fortunately, a week before the late hunt, some friends spotted a mature bull up the canyon. I spent the rest of that week watching and trying to pattern this bull so on opening day we could make a play on him.
The morning before the opener, a family friend sent us a video of another bull that had more to him than the one I was watching. Anxiously, I decided this newfound bull would be more rewarding to hunt. The bull was located in the area I was originally hunting from in the beginning. I felt I had seen every bull in the area and was surprised for this bull to come about. The evening before the hunt started, we found the bull again far up a canyon and made a game plan on how to hunt him come next morning. The plan was to walk the ridgetop and try to spot him to the west on the ridgeside, so that's what we did.
First light came, and we located a bull in the frosty morning's light but realized it was not the bull we were after. My father-in-law stayed down at the bottom of the mountain to get to a vantage point of areas unseen. Fortunately, he did because the bull had moved three ridges east and quite far away from where we were. When we got the news that he had moved so far, I made an executive decision to barrel down the ridge and up the other side in hopes of getting an open shot before I was too late.
On my way up the other side while bushwhacking through the thick scrub oak in a rush, I came across a dead head mule deer of substantial size. Leaving it behind, I made my way to the top of the ridge to prepare for a shot. Once at the top, I got set up in a better position than I had before and remembered all the mistakes I had made the first time. I did not want to do the same thing again and needed it to be perfect. Realizing that the spot I was in was not a suitable clear shot to take, we made the decision to move up the ridge a ways to get a better vantage point.
With the bull bedded down, I got set up again and caught my breath to control my shot. The first shot went above the bull’s back, and I thought to myself, “I have done it again!” The second shot hit almost the exact same place, and I realized the gun was shooting high this time. I just needed to aim lower, which I did. The next two shots hit the bull, but the sheer strength of these animals seemed to only make him uncomfortable. I took one final shot, and he dropped in his tracks. It was the best stress relief to know I had done it. I had accomplished what had seemed like was not going to happen.
After recruiting family and friends, we got him off the mountain. I was able to report and collect the dead head the week after and add to the memory. So many memories were made and so much was learned about these incredible animals. To be so fortunate to hunt them for so long and be with the animals almost every day is a memory to last a lifetime.