Hunters: Eric and Robert Reeck
Story by: Eric Reeck
Species: Rocky Mountain Elk
Location: Wasatch Mountains, Utah
Method: Rifle (.270), guided hunt
After patiently applying for twenty-two years for a limited-entry elk hunt, my father and I finally drew a coveted Utah tag! Working closely with Matt White from the Huntin’ Fool Advisor Team, we’d leveraged his knowledge and experience to ensure we’d have a high probability of getting drawn in an area that would meet our elk expectations. After several insightful and information-filled calls, Matt recommended HFA-endorsed Mossback Outfitters and a hunt on the Wasatch Mountains just outside Lehi, Utah.
Our mid-season rifle hunt was scheduled from October 4 through 8, and I made the long, 2000-mile trek from Columbus, Indiana, to Lehi via a stop in Staples, Minnesota, to pick up my dad for our ‘hunt of a lifetime.’ Although a long and circuitous drive, it did allow us to take in some breath-taking western scenery through South Dakota and Wyoming. Most importantly, this three-day drive went as planned, and we arrived in Lehi by mid-afternoon prior to our start day, which allowed some time to settle in, unpack, and mentally gear up for the days ahead.
Our first day brought wind, rain, and snow, and consequently, hearing and seeing elk was a challenge. Ryan, our guide, let us know that vocal and visible elk activity had been prevalent leading up to this change in the weather. The familiar “should have been here yesterday” feeling came over me, but Ryan was confident elk were in the area, and we had several days of hunting in front of us. As such, we muscled through a soggy and snowy day one without seeing elk.
Day two brought some cooler temperatures just at or below freezing. The fall foliage was at its peak, with a mixture of vibrant yellow, orange, red, and green colors. This, coupled with the previous evening’s snowfall at the higher elevations, created stunning scenery I’d never seen replicated in all my western adventures to date. It really boosted energy, morale, and confidence that we’d see or hear some elk. And indeed, we did hear and see some cows, but the bulls we were after were not yet showing themselves. Nonetheless, Ryan was confident that mid-week would produce more vocalization and sightings.
Day three brought similarly cool temperatures, and given the elk activity I’d experienced the day prior, I offered to switch locations with my dad. If nothing else, the scenery was spectacular where I was at, and he should have the opportunity to take that in. However, he declined and opted to stay at his location. As such, Ryan and I headed back to the previous day’s location. The snow-capped mountains were draped in low-hanging clouds and fog: a magical view straight out of a National Geographic magazine. Could life be any better than standing here, right now, with a limited-entry elk tag in hand? I didn’t think so.
As we nestled into our spot and the sun started to rise, Ryan informed me that he heard a faint bugle behind us. I didn't give it much thought. I hadn’t heard it, and it must have come from far off in the distance. Not long after, we both heard a faint bugle in the same direction, and Ryan was convinced it was coming closer. Again, I wasn’t so sure and resumed watching over the area in front of me while Ryan glassed the mountains across the valley in the opposite direction. Ten minutes later, I was startled and stunned to see a massive bull coming down the trail we’d walked in on only fifty yards away from me! I contemplated shooting without Ryan knowing the elk was there; however, I thought that might scare the hell out of him or give him a heart attack. I spun quickly behind me where he was still glassing. “Bull!” I hissed.
I pivoted back to the elk in front of me, took aim with my .270, and fired at the bull in front of me, now about eighty yards away. The elk spun with what appeared to be a visible hit, and Ryan encouraged me to shoot again, which I did—two more times before the elk crashed out of eyesight. Wow! What just happened? Hours of silence and non-activity punctuated with seconds of chaos and rapture!
Ryan was super excited and launched into celebration mode with handshakes, fist-bumps, high fives, and other celebratory compliments. He was soon on the phone with his family members, who guided as well, telling them what had happened and instructing them on where to meet us to help with the quartering and packing out. I, on the other hand, was a bit apprehensive about declaring victory before seeing my elk on the ground and being able to poke it in the eye with my gun barrel—no doubt a reaction to a painful memory from a Newfoundland moose hunt six years prior. It seemed like we dawdled forever between gunshot and heading over to pick up the blood trail to confirm a dead elk.
But once we finally found an elk on the ground and gave it the confirmatory poke in the eye, the celebration commenced in full. The elk was massive. He had an absolutely huge body that reminded me of a big bull moose I’d shot two years prior and a chest about as wide as my ATV. Ryan was amazed at the size as well and commented that he’d never seen an elk that big. And antlers—gorgeous length and girth out to the ends. A perfect 6x6, exactly what I had longed for for so many years, now at my feet. Elation!
My dad caught up with us shortly thereafter, offered his hearty congratulations, and stated, “That’s what we came here for.” We took some fabulous pictures of us together with the elk and grand scenery in the background. They turned out perfect. Memories etched indelibly in my mind and, no doubt, Dad’s as well.
The rest of the guide crew showed up with butchering and pack-out gear, and Ryan’s entire family pitched in to make the pack out a breeze. The Team did an absolutely impressive job of taking lots of pictures and videos and put a lot of effort into different poses and clearing brush to allow an unobstructed view of the mountains in the background. Lots of pictures with smiles all the way around, and it truly felt like the entire outfit was as happy as I was with this trophy experience. I will never forget.
The next day, we picked back up on some elk we’d been glassing in the evenings the previous few days. As the late afternoon approached and more elk came into view, we picked out several elk that met expectations and decided to put a stalk on before daylight ran out. We quickly got into the UTV and made our way up miles of switchbacks to sneak in from above. After several hundred yards of downhill stalking, we were in the thick of it with cows mewing, elk bugling, and the scent of elk in the air... Just like how you’d dream of it, but in this case, it was no dream—it was real. My dad had forecasted this to be his last hunt out West, and at seventy-five years young, here we were in the thick of it, watching it all play out like it only does on TV shows. It was just awesome to take in each minute.
The elk were on the move, and it took us several attempts to pick out the right bull, range the yardage, and get set up on the sticks. But just as the light was beginning to fade, Dad dropped a dandy six-by-six some 400-plus yards distant! With hearty congratulations, I shook his hand and then shook my head with amazement at what had just happened. After all these years of building points and hoping that “someday” would come, “someday” was here, right now.
Given the time of day and logistics of getting to the elk, we opted to retrieve Dad’s elk in the morning. It was a good call in hindsight, as we hadn’t realized how much elevation loss there was from the UTV parking spot to the site of the kill, and it would have been a treacherous and lengthy ordeal by headlamp. Returning the next day also gave us an opportunity to take some stunning photos of my dad’s elk and the scenery that surrounded us. More photos, videos, smiles, hugs, laughter, and memories were made with Dad and the team as we quartered and packed out his elk.
With our hunt concluded, we parted ways with Ryan and team, who made us feel like a part of their family. We headed back east, each of us grinning from ear to ear and savoring what no doubt felt like a “hunt of a lifetime.”
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