Story By: Rob Munn
Planning our 2024 Montana hunting trip, my brother-in-law Neil Hart and I decided to bring our families, just as we did in 2023. Last year’s hunt was unproductive but filled with family fun, so we were eager for another. This time, another of my wife’s sister’s families joined, promising an even livelier Thanksgiving in Montana.
In early November, with limited time due to my son Luke’s college schedule, we made a quick trip to a new area to fill our deer tags. The first day was quiet, but we spotted a buck bedded in sagebrush. Luke deemed it big enough. I bleated to make it stand, and Luke’s perfect shot dropped a 4x3, smaller than we’d hoped. As we packed it out, we jumped a larger buck near the truck, a classic hunter’s irony we laughed off.
The next morning, as Luke brushed his teeth at camp, he spotted does. Through the spotter, we found a buck watching them from a ridge, partially obscured by trees but promising. We hustled to get in range. As we reached our spot, a nearby shot rang out, likely spooking our buck. I rushed to a knob, spotting him on the move. He paused briefly, allowing me to range him, dial the turret, and fire. The buck leaped and vanished behind the ridge. We found him expired at the edge of a steep drop-off, just yards from the shot, a clean and quick end.
Fast forward to our Thanksgiving trip. We rented a house for the families. Luke and I targeted elk, while my youngest son, Blake, had a youth deer tag. Neil and his son Colton focused on deer. On Tuesday night, a small group of cows fed out of the timber before dark. I asked Luke if he wanted a cow, but he held out for a bull. With our freezer low on elk meat, I took the shot. The cow dropped in a meadow at the edge of a steep, snowy slope. I should have slid her to the bottom for processing but didn’t, a decision I’d regret.
The drainage was new to us, steeper than expected, with downed timber and slick snow. We deboned the elk, loaded two heavy packs, and started down. Snow fell, darkness set in, and I chose a poor route through dense timber on a steep incline. We slipped repeatedly. I fell, sliding into trees that stopped me. I took Luke’s pack, telling him to crawl backward. Then I fell again, losing both packs, which cartwheeled down, spilling meat bags. I tried to stop against small, dead trees, but they snapped, and I tumbled, gaining speed like Chris Farley in Black Sheep. Fear gripped me as I hit more trees, breaking them. My rifle sling caught a root, halting me upside down. I yelled to Luke that I was okay, found my headlamp, and gathered the scattered meat and gear. Luke, shaken, said he thought he’d watched his dad die. We hung most of the meat in a tree and limped to the truck, my tripod broken, puffy jacket torn, and leg aching.
Back at the house, we shared the story, half-laughing, half-wincing. My left shin swelled, my right had a deep cut, but I was grateful to avoid a broken leg. The soreness lingered for weeks.
Thanksgiving morning, we hunted a small public land parcel with Blake for his whitetail. Nearly a mile away, a nice buck chased a doe from a creek bottom. She ran toward us, but I couldn’t stop them until they were far off. Blake set up, made a great shot, and dropped a fine whitetail, his excitement lighting up the day.
Friday evening, Luke and I returned near the cow’s location. Luke spotted elk emerging from the timber above. We stayed hidden behind a hill, climbing quickly despite my sore leg. Luke positioned on a knob, scanning for a bull. Crawling through rocks, he found a 5-point, the group’s only bull. One well-placed shot, and we had another pack-out. This time, we slid the bull to the bottom, making processing easier and avoiding another tumble down the mountain.
The week was a blend of chaos and triumph. Luke’s 4x3, my ridge-top buck, the cow elk’s harrowing pack-out, Blake’s whitetail, and Luke’s 5-point bull filled our trip with stories. The family time was the heart of it—Thanksgiving dinner in the rented house, kids laughing, and shared tales of the day’s hunts. Montana’s rugged beauty, from sagebrush flats to snowy timber, tested us, but the memories forged with Neil, Colton, Luke, Blake, and our families were worth every bruise.