Hunter: Brandon Roering
Species: Rocky Mountain Elk
Location: Arizona
Method: Rifle (300 PRC), guided hunt
I would describe 2025 for my family as the kind of year that really tests a person. Loss and grief at home that I do not care to experience again, strides made in my professional career that were exciting but exhausting, and a fall hunting season that I likely will never top. I experienced it all last year.
This story begins long before the slow squeeze of the trigger sent a loud bang echoing through the manzanita-infested canyons of Arizona, capping off my fall hunting season. This story begins almost a full year ahead of time, when I sent off my annual payment to Arizona Game and Fish to add to my collection of elk bonus points. This year was different, however, as this was the first year that I entered my name into the draw, essentially throwing out a Hail Mary for the best late-season rifle tag that Arizona (and likely the country) has to offer. Fast forward about six weeks, and I see rumblings on some Facebook groups about Arizona Game and Fish hitting credit cards. Upon logging into my own online banking account, I could hardly believe my eyes! I’d received a charge in the amount of the bull elk tag that I’d applied for. I spent more time than I care to admit trying to figure out if there was a technical glitch somewhere.
On the application, I’d put in for a first and second choice. I didn’t know yet which tag I drew of the two that I’d put in for. What I did know was that regardless of which one it was, it should have taken me twenty-plus non-resident points to draw, and I could very well be in for the hunt of a lifetime.
The next part of this process was a new one for me. As a diehard do-it-yourself guy, I did not want to take a chance on this hunt and squander a potentially once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, so I began my search for a good outfitter that I could rely on to help me succeed. I had several conversations with several capable outfitters and opted to wait until official draw results were posted before I made my final decision. When the day arrived, it wasn’t thirty minutes after the Game and Fish website was updated with the results that the fine folks at Shadow Valley Outfitters were calling me back to learn more about which tag I had drawn. That told me all I needed to know about how they run their operation, so I booked my hunt with them.
Time is a funny phenomenon. Days and weeks flew by while, at the same time, the ten months waiting for this trip to arrive seemed to drag along at a snail’s pace. As the months passed, it became increasingly more apparent that my usual hunting buddies had other commitments and I would be going on this adventure alone, at least until I met up with my guide. Being from northern Minnesota, I had a 1,600-mile drive. Not exactly the kind of thing that a person enjoys doing alone, but I certainly would not complain!
After a full two days of driving, I arrived at my camp and met up with the guide I would have the pleasure of hunting with for the week. He’s an old-school cowboy who has forgotten more about hunting bull elk than I have learned in my lifetime. He knows the country like the back of his hand and can glass up a fly from a mile away. Most importantly though, he is a great man. A brutally honest, no-nonsense guy who helped me manage my expectations, let me help construct the hunt plans, but took full control whenever it was needed—the exact kind of guy to give me the experience I was looking for. After our time spent together, I would call him a friend.
I showed up two days before season opener so that I could partake in some scouting and get the lay of the land before it was go time. As a self-guided hunter who loves the process more than the kill, this was important to me. Our first morning behind the glass, we happened to find a bull from several miles away that certainly warranted a closer look. That evening, we got closer and found him again—almost too easily. I knew right away that he was the one. A beautiful six-point that was completely unbroken. Dark horns, long main beams, and plenty of character. I was in love. We spent the following day sitting on the same bull to keep close tabs on him. That night, I had a hard time sleeping. I was in the middle of living a dream that I had had since I began elk hunting a decade ago: chasing big bull elk in the heart of Arizona!
As we waited for the sun to come up on opening morning, optimism was high. Not long after first light, we found him right where we’d left him the night before. We’d game planned this exact scenario ten times over already; now it was time to execute. We made our stalk to get closer to where the bulls were feeding in a sea of manzanita and other brush—treacherous stuff to try and navigate through, but these bulls didn’t seem to think anything of it. In one step, these giant animals could disappear and not be seen again.
As we crept up over the rise and finally got into range, we noticed that something wasn’t quite right. The bulls, whom we had lost sight of during our stalk, now seemed to be spooked by something. They were making their way out of our lives. I got set up with enough time to squeeze off a shot as my target bull was cresting over the ridge. I plum missed him. We found his tracks and followed them. With no sign of blood, heartbreak had set in. Those are opportunities that you don’t get back. I was sick to my stomach.
We spent the next day and a half working that same area with glass, trying to turn him back up again or find another that fit the description of what I was after. The evening of day two found us looking at a different bull from a long way off that warranted a closer look in the morning. As the sun came up on the morning of day three, we found another group of bulls to put eyes on while looking for the bull from the night before. As luck would have it, right in front of our very eyes was the big six-point that we had been after originally! We found him four miles away from where we had missed him on opening day! Over the next three days, we made several stalks on this bull but always found ourselves just a step behind. That said, every stalk was always one canyon closer to where he originally came from. One thing was certain: he was headed home.
On day six, we found him once again in the morning as he went off to bed. He had made it home. He was in the exact same spot where we’d missed him on opening morning. I made the same approach and got set up while he lay in his bed chewing his cud. I perched my rifle on an old burnt stump that ended up being as solid as a shooting bench. After three hours of waiting on him to stand up, I finally had him in my crosshairs. After a slow squeeze, the bark of my 300 PRC rang out, and my bullet met its mark. It was all over. A dream more than a decade in the making had become reality. The bull dropped and expired in seconds, less than one-hundred yards from the very spot where he’d stood when this wild goose chase began six days earlier.
If I were to offer any advice to the reader who might be thinking this stuff is out of reach, it can be summed up in one word. Go. Build the points, buy the tags, go on the hunts, experience the adventure, meet the people along the way, and cherish the relationships you build. Whatever your thing is, go after it. Fall in love with the chase. Time is a very finite thing that we possess in this life, and we are never getting it back. Dreams do come true after all—mine did!