Hunter: Hunter Sherwood
Species: Rocky Mountain Elk
Location: Arizona
Method: Rifle, long range
January 16, 2025, is a day I will never forget. At just thirteen years old, that was the day my Grandpa Wayne called and asked if I would be interested in going on my first big-game rifle elk hunt in Arizona. Arizona allows a tag to be transferred to an immediate family member, and he had enough points to draw a tag. When he asked if I wanted to go, my answer came instantly: Absolutely. I didn’t even think about missing school or traveling halfway across the country from our home in Nebraska. A dream had just been handed to me.
Once all the necessary details were worked out, including school, football, asking my parents, and Grandpa applying for the Arizona draw, we began making serious plans. Grandpa had hunted this unit four times in his life and knew the terrain well. He explained that we would need mules to pack out an elk and that long-range shooting would be essential. He had been shooting long range for over thirty years, so we chose his .338 EDGE with a 300-grain Berger VLD bullet. I had practiced with this rifle many times over the past few years, shooting out to 1,500 yards. As word spread about the hunt, more family members wanted to come along to help. My dad Jason, my sister Sierra, and I had never traveled out of state like this before. After we received notice that the tag was officially drawn, we added my great uncles—Grandpa’s brother Mark and his brother-in-law, Lyle—to the group. That gave us six people in total to help glass this enormous country. We decided to take one truck with two Polaris side-by-sides for covering ground and glassing while Grandpa drove his truck pulling the horse trailer with three mules to help pack out the elk. We would be hunting in a wilderness area, so the mules were essential.
On the drive down, I rode in the back seat with Mark and Lyle, and Sierra rode in the back seat of the other truck. It was a nonstop, twenty-hour drive, breaking only for gas and snacks, and I enjoyed having the back seat to myself. Crossing the mountains for the first time was an incredible experience for me—though not so much for Sierra, who ended up getting altitude sickness. I thought driving through the long mountain tunnels was awesome.
When we arrived at our destination, we discovered it had rained heavily the day before. As we pulled off the main forest road toward the trailhead, we had to put chains on the trucks to make it in. We spent the afternoon setting up camp and getting the mules organized and turned out to graze. That evening, we headed out for our first glassing session. It was promising—Grandpa, Lyle, and I spotted ten good bulls about two miles away, along with a couple smaller bulls closer to us. I was very thankful to have my Vortex spotting scope, which made it much easier to see at those long distances. Meanwhile, Dad, Sierra, and Mark were riding the Polaris to their glassing point and came across a herd of about fifty elk, though most of them were cows.
The next morning, the day before the hunt opened, we went out to glass and observe elk movement. I went with Mark and Lyle, and Sierra went with Dad and Grandpa. Almost immediately after sitting down, the first place I glassed revealed a really nice six-by-six bull at about 400 yards. I knew right away that I wanted to shoot him the next morning. Later that afternoon, grandpa and I packed into the wilderness to a high vantage point for evening and opening-morning glassing. This spot was not far from where I had seen that bull earlier. The rest of the group went to their assigned glassing locations, and about an hour before dark, Mark spotted the same bull almost exactly where he had been that morning. That confirmed our plan. Grandpa and I packed up and headed back to camp with the intention of being right there for opening morning.
Opening morning arrived, and we were in position, hoping to glass up the bull. For the first hour, we didn’t see a single elk. About an hour and a half in, we finally spotted three bulls about 1,300 yards away in thick timber. They kept moving in and out of cover, making it nearly impossible to get a clear shot. We thought one of them looked like a really good bull and set up, but we just couldn’t make it happen. Eventually, we lost sight of them and assumed they had bedded down. By then, it was around 11:00 a.m., so Grandpa and I headed back to camp for breakfast.
While eating, we discussed our plan: Dad, Sierra, and I would walk through an area with heavy elk sign. Around 1:00 p.m., the rest of the group dropped us off at the top of a large drainage and went back to the trailhead to glass. Shortly after, they spotted the same bulls from earlier, now up and feeding. They called us and told us to head back to the trailhead so we could make another attempt.
By the time we returned to the glassing point, the bulls had once again vanished into heavy cover. Around 3:30 p.m., Grandpa and I moved to a higher peak for evening glassing. At about 4:30 p.m., we spotted the bulls again in nearly the same location as earlier that day. We set up on a flat spot, rested the rifle on a backpack, and ranged the better bull at 1,253 yards. We dialed 30.75 MOA of elevation and 1.5 MOA left for wind.
With everyone on glass to spot impacts, I fired the first shot. After about two seconds, we saw it miss right. Grandpa immediately said, “Dial another 2 MOA left.” I took the second shot, and it hit right behind the left front shoulder. Grandpa then said, “Shoot him again.” The third shot hit a little farther back than the lungs, but it was enough to bring him down. After the high fives, hugs, and congratulations, we headed back to the trailhead to see if there was enough daylight to pack him out. By the time we arrived, it was dark. With cool weather in the forecast, we decided to wait until morning and bring the mules down to pack the elk out of the canyon.
The next morning, Dad, Sierra, and I went down into the canyon while Grandpa brought the mules to the trailhead. Mark and Lyle stayed up on the rim where the shot had been taken to help guide us. The dense tree canopy made it hard for them to see us from above, so we started a small fire and added green foliage to create smoke. Once they located us, they directed us toward where the bull was down.
Not long after, Grandpa arrived with the mules. After taking a few pictures, we began boning out the elk. Once the meat was loaded, the head caped, and the antlers removed, we started the climb back up the steep canyon. It was tough on all of us—especially Dad. When he finally reached the top, he said, “I saw Jesus twice on the way out.”
I am incredibly thankful for my entire family and all the help they gave on this hunt—especially Grandpa, for giving me the tag and making this dream become reality.
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