March 2026
The Big Guy | Utah Elk Hunting
Story By: Chad Gates
In 2025, I was fortunate to draw an archery elk tag for a unit in Southern Utah that I had hunted often. Because it is a high-desert archery hunt in the late summer, the heat (mid-nineties during the day) and lack of rut activity or bugling make it challenging.
I started by scouting early in the summer. I knew the key to finding a great elk on this hunt would be hours of glassing and lots of patience. On the Fourth of July, I found the “big guy”—the caliber of bull that you dream of. He was in a spot that I knew well. The problem? I knew others would go after him. I knew he wouldn’t stay a secret for long because this unit draws serious hunters, and word spreads like wildfire. Still, I was determined to keep track of him as best I could for the next month. I committed to scout for him every weekend.
Come August 1, I found out that other people who were hunting that area had video of the giant as well. He was public knowledge now, and, at this point, he was highly sought after. As the hunt approached, I located some other good bulls because I didn't want to compete with a lot of other people for the big guy while hunting with a bow and arrow.
During the first week of the hunt, the week of August 16, I went after other bulls. A week into the archery hunt, my son Kaleb and some friends joined me. Fortunately, we found and videoed the big guy again. That night at the camper, we all watched the video of him on the TV and the decision was unanimous—we were going all in on this bull.
For the next four days, my wife, Anne, and I went out twice daily, rain or shine. We'd hike to our vantage points before dawn to watch this bull’s routine like hawks. He favored the same bedding areas and made his feeding patterns predictable. Unfortunately, day after day, the wind was not in my favor, fog set in after rain, or he was not in a good spot for me to stalk him. Then a good soaker hit Thursday evening, turning the ground spongy and quiet—perfect for a stalk.
Friday morning, we loaded up early. Kaleb and his wife, BayLee, joined Anne and me. My buddy Garett glassed from a flanking ridge for extra eyes. We slipped into position well before shooting light. Kaleb picked him up first—a dark shape moving through a burn of standing dead trees, bedding in his usual spot. Heart pounding, I shouldered my pack, grabbed my bow, and started the approach on foot.
The rain-soaked brush muffled my steps. I covered ground quickly at first, then slowed as I closed in. The wind held steady in my face—critical for bow range, where scent can instantly ruin a perfect opportunity. At 90 yards, I spotted him: bedded, quartering away, and with antlers moving above the brush.
The final 40 yards were pure tension. I made each step deliberately while scanning for dry sticks or crunchy leaves. I ghosted through the knee-high brush, heart hammering. Finally, a shooting lane opened. I ranged him at 44 yards—checked it five times with my range finder for certainty. He was laying down, vitals wide open for a good shot. Then I had to choose: wait for him to stand and risk spooking him or thread the needle now?
I took a deep breath. I knew I had one shot, one chance—this bull wouldn't give seconds. I settled my 40-yard pin (accounting for the angle), drew smoothly, anchored, and let fly. The arrow zipped true, burying behind the shoulder with a solid thwack. As he stood up, I nocked another arrow fast. Before I could draw, he staggered, tipped, and crashed—stone dead!
I charged in, ready with a follow-up, but he was done. Adrenaline surged as I yelled across the canyon, "Bull down, boys! Bull down!" Everyone in the canyon could hear me. I knew this was a once-in-a-lifetime archery bull.
Harvesting a giant like this takes a village. Kaleb's sharp eyes, Garrett's backup glassing—it all clicked. And Anne? She'd been filming through the spotting scope, flipping record on and off every two minutes, not knowing if or when the moment would come. She nailed the shot video—a treasure I replay daily, reliving that perfect stalk.
In bowhunting, it's the grind that makes the glory: scouting through the rain, building family bonds, and respecting the wild. This bull reminded me why we chase the mountains. Hunt hard, hunters—your dream awaits.