Your "Best" Big Game Animal

[gerry]

I know that every big game animal is special and a wonderful thing on it's own but I bet you have one that you would consider your best whether in size or a wonderful memory involved with taking it.

It would be neat to see some pictures and get some stories behind why you consider it to be your finest big game animal. I'll let some of you go first and post mine up in a day or two.

 

[Osprey78]

I've not as much experience as some of you fine folks, but this bruin was taken in in S.E. BC. I just realized how young I look in this photo, but it's been nearly 5 years so that's fine.

The father in law and I were specifically targeting bears. It was my first season with my 300 WM and my reloaded bullets. My confidence in my skills and setup was lacking. Even though I had practiced at the range.

The hunt started the day before. It was really cool as I was on a sidehill looking down to where the bears had been traveling recently. Yes bears, plural. We didn't see any traveling the route at all and being newish to hunting I was a little disappointed. As I am glassing around I hear this very audible crunch, crunch noise. Looking over to my left, I nearly shat as I was on this finger of the side hill, and noticed that on this other finger about 30 -40 yards to my left, there was this black bear crunching on a recently caught rabbit. I just sat in awe watching him for about 5 minutes. I decided not to take the shot at all, because where it would have rolled down to was dang near impossible to get to. It was just amazing to watch this thing totally unaware of my presence.

Later that day, I went up one side of a gulley. My side was in the sun, and barely a goat trail to be had, but I forged my way up. As I looked over to the other side of the gulley (probably just under 200 yards) I see this beautiful cinnamon walking back toward from where I had started up the gulley. As I mentioned before, I lacked the confidence as it more more about unfamiliarity with my setup than anything.

I watched him walk away. He would have been easy to collect in the bottom of the gulley, but I did not take the shot. Had it been this past hunting season, or would a shot present itself like that again, I am very confident in my setup and skills now, i would have no problem taking the shot, however he walked away.

So the next day we head out to the same area I first saw the bear dining on breakfast, but about 100 yards more to the right. I look over to the right and see a black bear just booking it through the bushes down into the valley bottom. No shot as he must have gotten spooked by something and was too quick. I was less than pleased. Almost ready to just give up after lacking results on so many sightings, I hear down in the valley bottom; crashing and thrashing through the bushes...then the bugger popped up on the trail down below...taking his sweet time!

I set up prone over my bag, put him in my sights and pulled the trigger. I was using a 180 gr Barnes bullet. I saw him go down instantly in the scope. I raised my head and was so excited I yelled out woo!hoo! It must have been enough to startle him or something because he had enough to get up, stumble and fall into the thick brush and expire. I never found the bullet but it went through the outer part of his vertebrae, through his shoulder and out. 160 yards, downhill.

He's not huge, but he's the first bear I got.

 

[Anonymous]

Oh man...I don't know. So many that meant so much.

Probably my favorite is this one-

Mine son's first big game animal. I've worked my butt off for some animals and some just fell into my lap... but the boy and I really put in the days and miles to get this one. He passed 4 prior opportunities before he shot this guy. Not a giant..but he's proud of him and I am too.

The photo itself doesn't do the day justice. We shot 4 that day- Evan's, then mine and our buddy Gary got two . We paced meat all day and it was the first time the kid faced some real adversity due to a fouled out outboard in the raft- we rowed the whole 4 miles up current (which took hours), in the dark with a big raft of meat...and then the kid and I hiked 2 miles in the dark to get the truck... he was a total trooper though a 20 hour day. First time we've been out I saw the man in him rather than the little boy.

 

[gerry]

Great stories. Nice bear and nice caribou

I know what you mean there have been so many great hunts they are all special in their own way.

 

[gerry]

I just copied the text from HuntingBC of this billy from November 2009, this goat was a giant in every way and was aged at 12 years old. He probably would have lived a few more years because he was in great shape. This was the goat of a lifetime and I was glad to have gotten him, hunting for them has always been one of my favorite things.


This fall was a bit difficult to find a goat but on November 7 it all came together for me. A friend and myself went up a mountain that I had never hunted before. We saw several goats up in a basin just below the snow line so with the rut getting close and the boys definitely getting interested in the girls all ready up we went.

It took us 2 1/2 hours to get up close, as we went from the timber into the slide we started to see fresh beds and tracks including some huge ones so we knew somewhere was a big bodied billy. As we walked up the slide I noticed an odd white shape in the slide alder it wasn't moving but I thought it has to be a goat. As I went farther all of a sudden there were nannies and kids running so I ran forward to see where they went and saw another goat looking at me at around 50 yards it was a mature billy I double checked to be sure it wasn't one of the nannies it was definitely a billy so I shot him (with my 264 Win Mag and a 130 gr Swift Scirocco for those who care about such things) and he went down but he got up and was trying to walk away on me so I hit him in the neck to drop him, he flipped a couple of times and was awfully close to tumbling into the canyon so I held him by the horns until he stopped kicking (which is not really recommended but I wanted to keep him out of the canyon).

On the way down I fell with 140 pounds in my pack and got at least 3 rotations and somehow didn't get hurt. My partner took some of what I had and I had 120-125 lbs after that. On the way down I was very grateful to God for his guidance and safety. The goat could have gone into the canyon and we would have had a much harder time and would have had to spend the night, I only got cuts, scrapes and bruises in my fall, no broken bones and he led us perfectly through the cliffs in the timber before dark.

 

[Thebear_78]

I have two that are foremost in my mind. One is my bull caribou from two summers ago because it was the biggest set of horns and trophy on the wall. The second is a very large cow moose I shot a few years ago with my muzzle loader.

The bull caribou was in a draw area about 4 hours north of anchorage. I had a friend who was in the area with the same tag eariler that week and he had seen some caribou. It was a new area I had never hunted before but I loaded up the 6x6 and headed up for a weekend hunt. I took a pick up camper along to stay in as it had been raining for weeks and a warm dry bed is a rare treat when hunting in september in alaska. I got there late that night and settled in for a cozy evening.

The next morning I jumped on the 6x6 and ran up a well established trail to a higher area where I could glass a range of lower surrounding tundra/scrub brush areas. I glassed the lowland areas for several hours switching areas several times covering the valley.

About 11 am I headed up a trail that appeared to go all the way to the top of a bald dome. It took about an hour of rough riding to get to the top but it afforded an excellent view of the surrounding area. The only down side was just as I got to the top a low cloud/fog bank came in and made seeing more than 20-30 feet almost impossible. I got lost up there for a few minutes before heading back down.

No sooner did I get to the bottom of the dome the fog started to lift. I was sitting at the bottom looking up at the dome and noticed a lone caribou almost to the top of the dome in a wedge shaped ledge. Even thru the binoculars I could tell it was a decent bull. I rode up the side of the dome until about the same elevation and parked he 6x6. I was probably 3/4 of a mile away as the crow flies. I started circling the dome at an elevation that would bring me within a few hundred yards below the caribou.

The only problem was that the terrain was MUCH steeper than I had imagined it. It was very steep and completely choked with tightly packed alders. It was apparent in just a few hundred yards that I was never going to make it this way. It would take too long and was way to noisy to ever dream of getting within range this way. My only choice was to climb straight up to above tree line and circle in the rocky/shale at the crest of the dome.

My plan worked but still took me over an hour to get within 500 yards, I was on th edge where the curve of the dome would bring me into view if I headed any further around. I found a nice rock pillar to hide behind and my hope was that he would feed down the ledge for a nice 200-250 yard chip shot as he circled below. I watched him for several minutes, he was plaiying along at first but after the wind changed it was clear that he was winding me. It was do or die time, ranged him at 519 yards.

My 300 RUM is loaded with 168gr TTSX @ 3340fps sighted in for 300 yards. This gives me about 25” of drop at 519yards. I settled in and aimed a half a caribou chest deep high and touched it off. At the shot the front leg facing me went limp and the bull humped up. Assuming I hit low only hitting the leg I aimed 10” higher and shot again, this time it dropped and started rolling down the hill. I sent one more after it for good measure as it rolled down the hill until one of the antlers dug in and stopped his roll.

The first shot had been spot on breaking the front shoulder and punching out the far side destroying the heart/lungs, the second shot hit high shoulder/spine. Either shot would have been effective. Then there was the recovery!

Try as we might there was no way to get the wheeler closer than 1/4 mile, and because of a little creek carving an impassable crevasse directly in the way I had to hike up and around it and down the other side, effectively making it twice as far to pack it out as I had to go up and then over and down. I finally got everything out and back to the camper at just before dark, and had the pleasure of a warm, dry nights sleep (it is very rare, usually its cold and wet!)


The red arrow shows the rock pillar I shot from as viewed from where the caribou was standing at the shot.

 

[rjm158]

I don't have any photos of mine but it was a very average 8 point whitetail I killed during the 2006 season. On a whim I took it to my parents house to show them and my dad stood at the back of my truck for the longest time slowly and gently stroking it's neck. His behavior was kind of unusual but I didn't put much importance on it at the time. This would have been in November.

My dad was not much of a deer hunter, preferring upland birds and squirrel hunting. He had tried deer hunting a few times but it never really appealed to him.

The following January he was diagnosed with lung cancer and it was suspected he had it other body locations as well. His condition degraded quickly and he died in March.

I never saw him act like that with any other animal (not counting family dogs) and, while to some it might sound silly, I believe there was a force that brought all the circumstances together to give him some inner solace. I have no clue what his thoughts were that morning, I only know the peaceful expression on his face and that same contentment was evident in his body language.

Gerry, I know this isn't exactly the idea you had in mind when you started this thread but I hope you don't mind if I veered off course a bit.

Ron

 

[gerry]

Gerry, I know this isn't exactly the idea you had in mind when you started this thread but I hope you don't mind if I veered off course a bit.

Ron

That s exactly what I had in mind, thanks for sharing. This was about what you think is your best or favorite animal and why which you have done.

 

[maverick2]

My "best" animal is probably my moose. It's a "once in a lifetime" tag in Idaho, so once you've filled it, you're done. We lived in the heart of moose country in SE Idaho and could hunt from my backdoor, so I spent an enormous amount of time at it. Hunted solo most of the time, but took my Dad on a couple hunts, friends on a couple, and my wife on quite a few -- everyone got the excitement of seeing nice bulls and it was an awesome experience to share. Found moose every time I went out, and during the course of the season found 3 "trophy bulls". Had numerous opportunities to shoot #2 and #3, but never #1. (He was in a class all by himself, and never showed himself until right at dusk and always in a spot I couldn't get to in time.) By mid-season, I was dead set on finding #1, and we ended up playing cat-and-mouse the rest of the season. I ended up turning my tag back to the state a the end of the year with a big grin on my face -- I don't think I could have wrung out any more fun that season than I did, and this way I could do it again. I drew again 4 years later, did much the same, and then a third time in north Idaho around Priest Lake after we moved back to our home turf in the northern part of the state. Hunting in north Idaho was significantly different because of dense timber and the mountains, not offering the opportunities to see as many animals, and the bulls I did see were a little different (less antler width but more mass) so I had to re-calibrate a bit. I did manage to find this guy late in the season -- he wasn't in quite the same league as #1 from the first season, but had everything I was looking for (and being close to my folks place, allowed my Dad to take part). Sharing this experience with my Dad made it pretty special -- don't think I'd trade it for anything. True to form for me, I shot him right at last light in really lousy late November weather, so pix were a bit of an afterthought until after the work was done.

 

[DrMike]

It has been quite a few years now, and there are no photos to share, but it was my first BC mule deer. I and a friend had gone into the Caribou to hunt, driving an old Ford two-wheel drive pick-up with a camper in the bed. Ron was a phenomenal driver, managing to guide that pick-up into places 4X4s could only dream of. He was a master with what he had; we never, in all the years I hunted with him, got stuck or had to be pulled out. We skirted an Indian reserve and climbed a rather steep mountain with virtually no access until we were at the peak. Ron set up house and we began hunting. I did a bit of exploring and found an old tree stand someone had made and abandoned many years before. There was a reason the tree stand was abandoned. No one had any business in that stand, and I wasn't about to climb into the tree.

I hunted pretty hard that first day, seeing black bear and moose and lots of ruffed grouse. I wasn't particularly interested in shooting a bear as it would be difficult to keep until we tagged out on deer. Though it was early November, the temperatures were surprisingly warm, so it would necessitate getting out meat out within reasonable time to preserve it. Toward the end of the first day, I had settled under a large bush that allowed me to watch a small opening where I had seen quite a bit of deer sign. I had with me one of the first doe bleats I had ever seen--the can that you tip to make a bleat. I had such toys when I was a child that was supposed to mimic a cow, and now someone was making a fortune with my childhood toy by selling it as a doe bleat. It worked! I bought one, despite my suspicion that it was something like many of the fishing lures that are more effective on fishermen than on any fish.

I tipped my can to give my first bleat in the field--once, twice; and now wait. I must have waited all of five seconds (I hadn't even replaced the can in the pocket of my jacket) when I heard a crash to my right. A second crash brought a very nice buck bounding to precisely ninety degrees off my starboard. Being right handed, it would be difficult to shoot to starboard without turning. Making such a maneuver more difficult still was the fact that the buck had frozen to stare at what must have confused him terribly. We were looking one another in the eyes from a distance of about five yards. The confusion in his eyes was evident. He knew he had heard a hot doe and all he could see was a lump situated under a bush. He wrinkled his nose, no doubt thinking, "My she stinks. Ain't never smelled anything like that!" I was frozen, not wanting to send him scurrying away into the bush. Still, I was unable to move.

He dropped his head as if to feed and quickly jerked it upright again to see if the lump moved. It didn't, but he still knew something was amiss. He dropped his head yet again and jerked it upright in a vain attempt to make the lump move. He performed this maneuver three times in total, but I managed to hold my position, not even taking a deep breath. His concern was not allayed, however, so he cautiously took one step back and then another, which was sufficient to give me cover. At this, he whirled and bounded into the dark woods. I never got a shot. After hyperventilating for a bit, I managed to get to my feet and headed toward the camper. What a tale.

Dreams all that night were of that buck (which grew to mythical proportions in my memory). He had been a 3X3, though decent. However, in my dream his antlers kept growing and getting larger until they attained an unbelievable size. It did assure that I would be up well before first light and headed back into the general area to do a bit of searching.

At 0 dark-thirty, I was out of the rack and eating a granola bar before grabbing my trusty .356 and heading to the northern slope of the mountain. The old tree stand was situated to permit a hunter to look at the slope by which deer would transit from the valley floor to a small meadow. I calculated that the big boys would feed in the valley floor during the evening hours and come up into the meadow before moving onto the various fingers during the day from whence they could observe any assassins creeping up on them.

I knew the old tree stand should have been condemned some years prior, but it was there and I was feeling somewhat desperate. Thus, slinging my rifle and hugging the tree while cautiously using the dilapidated steps to ascend into the rotted floor of the old tree stand, I managed to make the ascent. I took a moment to marvel at the fact I hadn't fallen (I can't stand to become a fallen preacher), found a portion of the floor that was reasonable secure and which would hold my bulk before seating myself about twenty-five feet above the earth.

It was just beginning to get light when I retrieved the now proven deer bleat (the childhood toy that mimicked cows), tipped it once in hopes of alluring the giant buck. Delighted that I was alive and situated where I could observe the surrounding area, I was startled when, before I could return the bleat to my pocket, I heard a grunt. Looking up into the tree from about seventy yards away and directly in front of me was a truly beautiful mule deer. His face betrayed his confusion. "Now, how did she get up there? How am I going to make that climb? She sure does look ugly? But, hey..."

Drats! Busted! Moving as slowly as I dared, I carefully unslung my rifle, moving it cautiously into firing position, I chambered a round, took aim and slowly squeezed the trigger. At the shot, the lovely 4X4 dropped immediately. There would be no need for a second shot. As I came out of battery, I heard another grunt. Looking to my right, I was startled to see an even larger deer observing all that had transpired. Had I waited, taken a bit more time or simply looked around a bit, I would have dropped the largest mule deer I would have ever taken. As it is, I dropped a great specimen. I've shot larger mulies since then, but the first is undoubtedly the most memorable.

I had never field dressed a deer prior to that time. I have performed surgery on hundreds of laboratory animals. So, I informed myself that this was simply an antlered rat and set to work. In about fifteen minutes, the animal was field dressed and ready to drag out back to the camper. I tied a rope to his antlers and began the haul. It would be about two and a half kilometers back to where the camper was situated. I finally stopped about five hundred meters from the camper and went to get Ron to give me a hand for the final haul. We got the deer back to camp, skinned it, covered the meat in black pepper and wrapped it in cheese cloth before hanging it in a tree. It was on the lee side of the mountain and in a spot where breezes would keep the meat somewhat cool, allowing us a bit of time to hunt for bear or to permit Ron to tag a mule deer. It was a memorable hunt, and though decades have passed since that hunt, it lingers fresh in my memory. No pictures could ever do justice to that hunt. After that, we moved past the Indian reserve into an abandoned ranch situated miles from civilization; but that is another story that will have to wait for another time.

 

[Guy Miner]

GREAT STORIES and photos guys! Wow...

 

[SJB358]

Awesome stories folks! Great reading them all!

 

[gerry]

Guy, Scotty and others we are looking forward to your all time favorite hunts Keep them coming......

 

[SJB358]

Will do. I think I've got one.

 

[cloverleaf]

This one:

Hunting in NW South Dakota along the Belle Fourche river. On private property on a big piece of pasture where we watched a group of Pronghorn stay just out of range for the better part of 2 days. We finally had a "pattern" down for them but unless we could alter that pattern we weren't going to get close enough. Dad left me with my back against lone fence post and went for a hike. My instructions were, "just sit tight, they have been feeding through this valley. I'm going to walk over to the ridge on the far side, (about 3/4 of a mile away) and sit up their and give them something else to watch. Maybe they will come by closer to you if they are tring to stay away from me."

Sure enough, couple hours and they start making the daily lap around this big pasture. Since they can see Dad, they angle more my way. Sitting on the ground like I was, there was just enough rise to hide me from their approach until they were about 100- 150 yards. This little buck topped the rise, watching dad the whole time. When he turned to look at me I sent a lucky shot (I was shaking so bad I could hardly sit up) his way and broke his neck. He collapsed on his feet, kicked once and that was it.

Later when Dad got back I heard him tell my wifes uncle John, "I watched the whole thing through the binoculars....it worked out just like we planned....just like they do it in the magazines..... and he made a good shot". Even after I confessed that the shot was mostly luck, I think he was proud.

That shot cemented my obsession with the 250 Savage. We had such a good time, good company, lots of goats, a good shot, enough of a challenge, and the most beautiful country any where.

The cartridge case from that shot rides in my pocket every day, to this day almost twenty years later.

Oh, the "buck" had about six inch horns.... Dad said, "you just had to shoot the first one you saw didn't you?" Yup the "best" one. CL



Too bad this copy of the photo is saved in B&W. originally it was in color, the grass was tall that year and cured a perfect tan/brown. The sky was so blue it made your eyes hurt. Behind the camera was the rest of a huge pasture and over the hill behind us was the black hills and the Belle Fourche river valley. So beautiful

UPDATE- found the color copy....so much better.CL

 

[Thebear_78]

My second memorable hunt was a large cow moose that I shot with my muzzle loader a few years ago. I drew a cow tag for a nearby area that I have a lot of experience in. It is one of our favorite riding location for 4 wheeling in the summer and I have baited black bears in the area in the past. I figured being a familair area I would make it more interesting by using my muzzle loader. A T/C Encore with 209x50 barrel with a peep sight and shooting 250gr Barnes Expander MZ with 2 777 magnum pellets for 1800fps. Accuracy was really good with this setup but I still had an effective range of 100 yards or so with the large fiber optic front bead.

My easy hunt was off to a rough start, three days I had ben cruising around with out seeing a single moose. In a location where I regularly see moose about every time out. It was my fourth and final day off and I started out early and headed back to swampy valley where I often see moose. I was off to another poor start. About mid day I came across another set of hunters having lunch at thier camp. I asked them if they had seen any moose. They mentions seeing a very large cow at a river crossing not far away earlier that morning.

I went to the area where they said they has seen the cow that morning and quickly found some of the biggest and deepest moose tracks I had ever seen in the mud. They looked pretty fresh still having some water in the bottom of them, being a rare warm bluebird fall day I new it would have dried quickly.

For the next two hours I tracked this moose. Moving slowly and deliberately, following the sign and guessing when I lost sign. It was some of the most enjoyable hunting I have ever done. It is rare to have the time to spend following a single moose since the chances of it being a legal bull are so low. We generally get high and glass until we find something we think is legal. Its like hunting should be. I finally came across the cow laying in some thick cover of flood falled timber. This whole valley floods in the spring and leave large areas of fallen timber piles up like matchsticks.

I didn’t have any shot from the angle that came across the cow and started trying to make a quiet circle to get a better angle. While stepping over a fallen tree I leaned against the standing portion to steady myself as it was a little too big to easier step over. I no sooner put my hand on the standing portion of the tree than it started moving. I could only watch in horror as it came crashing to the ground and sent the cow charging out of the area. I was discouraged and pisssed. All that careful tracking only to be wasted in a clumbsy moment.

Knowing the area I knew there was an established 4 wheeler trail several hundred yards to the north and decided it would be easier to beeline for the trail as it would double back to where I had stashed my 4 wheeler. As I dejectedly ambled back to my wheeler I came around a bend in the trail and there 70 yards away was the cow. Standing there looking at me. I couldn’t believe my eyes.

I wasted no time cocking the hammer and settling that big orange bead on the point of the shoulder as the cow quartered towards me. At the shot the cow turned and pigeon walked about 20 feet before settling straight down on its belly. It wasn’t long for the world but I didn’t want to leave it suffer so I quickly reloaded and shot here at the base of the ear, turning off the lights permanently.

The cow died in the strangest position, her legs splayed out effectively locking her in place I couldn’t even push it over to get started dressing it. I ended up having to run back to the wheeler and using the wench to pull it over to its side. I spread out a tarp and started quartering the moose up. This was one of the bigger moose I had seen, the quarters were heavy enough that I couldn’t hold them up and pull a game bag over them. I ended up using my wench to hoist them up using a nearby tree to get the game bags around them. Before I started quartering out and bagging the meat I rode up to a nearby summit to make a cell phone call to get my buddy to help pack her out as it was warm and I didn’t want to leave the meat out any longer than necessary. I was about 15 miles from the truck and it took my buddy over an two hours for my buddy to get to me. By the time he got there I was almost finished with the butchering.

This was my first solo moose. Here you can see how the moose ended up positioned and the extremely rare sight of blue sky in our normally gray and rainy september season.



One of a couple trips back to the truck, I got over 400 pounds of meat out of this cow.

 

[Africa Huntress]

My grandfather taking me on my first lion hunt. The hunt itself was not that exciting as he turned and headed for us after my first shot hit him, but he expired when my second shot hit him and he was still 100 feet away. But my grandfather ( who was a big Swede ) told everybody who would listen about his granddaughter's first lion hunt. He told the story in such detail and with so much pride and love. I loved that old man, I miss him, and will never forget that hunt.

Each of our daughter's" first hunt" are hunt's that are very special to me, as well as many of our "family" hunt's

Sorry, not much of a story

A

 

[SJB358]

Wow-- great hunts folks, lope, moose and lion. Very cool.

 

[DrMike]

My grandfather taking me on my first lion hunt. The hunt itself was not that exciting as he turned and headed for us after my first shot hit him, but he expired when my second shot hit him and he was still 100 feet away. But my grandfather ( who was a big Swede ) told everybody who would listen about his granddaughter's first lion hunt. He told the story in such detail and with so much pride and love. I loved that old man, I miss him, and will never forget that hunt.

Each of our daughter's" first hunt" are hunt's that are very special to me, as well as many of our "family" hunt's

Sorry, not much of a story

A

First hunts tend to be memorable. There may be larger animals, better representatives of the species and more excitement in later hunts; but the first tends to remain firmly fixed in our memories. I can still see that first black bear, the first grizzly, the first whitetail, the first mule deer, the first elk, the first moose, etc. The memory of each is a rich treasure that reminds me of God's blessing to have permitted me these opportunities. Great gifts bestowed on a Kansas boy.

 

[Guy Miner]

Years ago I was invited on a real horseback wilderness elk hunt in Wyoming. I'd chased elk around here in Washington, but had never shot one. The fellow who invited me was a long-time Wyoming elk hunter and had actually been hunting the same portion of the Wind River Mountains for over 20 years, horse-packing in each year. What was incredible to me, was that we really didn't know each other very well, but he wanted to extend a hearty "thank you" for my military service. Dang. I was overwhelmed and gratefully accepted the offer. Didn't think I'd draw the tag, but dutifully put in for it and actually drew an elk tag for that area! Better yet, it was in September when the rut would be starting!

We clambered up on our mounts, I only ride every few years, so am NOT an accomplished rider... Still I managed to hang on and actually enjoy the nine mile ride that climbed a few thousand feet. Set up camp. Tried to get used to the altitude, we were camped at about 9,000' ASL, and I live at about 1,000' ASL. BIG change. Fortunately I was in very good physical condition at the time, and we arrived a few days before the season started.


Scouted afoot and on horseback for a few days. Got to know the country. Located the elk. Found a nice 5x5 bull and some cows. Stayed the heck away from the elk after locating them, so as to not spook them out of the country. Did some fishing. Got used to the altitude.

Pre-dawn on opening day, quick breakfast in the wall tent, then out we went. Silently moving through the dark, towards where we'd located elk. My pard busted out with a challenge call, which was answered in short order by what we figured was the 5x5 we'd seen earlier. We edged closer to the "park" or clearing. The 5x5 was pretty ticked at us, thinking we were another bull. He let his displeasure be known. Then suddenly there was an answering bugle! Louder, more ticked! The new bull and the 5x5 were screaming at each other and closing in on the open area. We remained silent and worked our way forward.

The new bull entered the clearing. He was clearly larger than the one we'd seen. He set about thrashing a small evergreen, really tearing into it, and bugled more. I estimated the range at about 180 yards, dropped to sitting, wrapped the leather sling around my arm just like at the target range, put the crosshairs right behind his shoulder, about 1/3 of the way up and gently pressed.

The 175 gr Nosler Partition at about 2900 fps struck him with little visible effect. I had automatically worked the bolt and was about to send a second shot, when my pard said softly "wait." The bull took a few faltering steps forward and fell heavily, done. Turns out he was a 51" wide 6x6 bull, a real nice one. The bullet had performed superbly, in and out, pretty much wrecking the vitals.




I was keeping a wary eye on him. The echo of my shot had hardly died away. The 5x5 screamed again, and we headed into the timber, looking for him. My buddy had a tag, and was itching to use his .454 Casull revolver on a bull. We got within 40 or 50 yards a couple of times, but never quite had a clean shot, so that bull lived.

My pard showed me how to "wing and drumstick" the bull, his version of quartering it. All the meat was removed, and the only entry into the rib cage was to get the tenderloins. I'd never done that before. Very slick way to "clean" a carcass. He hiked back to camp to get a packhorse and a mule, I started carrying elk antlers, cape, and quarters down the hill about a quarter mile, to where the horses could get to him more easily. Every trip found me with my 7mm mag on my shoulder, just in case. We were in grizzly country.

Got the various elk parts back to camp, spent a night there, then packed all the elk down the hill and into town for processing. While we were returning to camp, it started snowing, and snowed us in for three days. Did a little more hunting, some general scouting around. Broke camp and headed out. My horse was needed for packing, so I jogged the whole 9 miles to the trailhead, in boots and jeans, with my rifle across my back.

What a great hunt! I've never been able to properly repay that fellow, but we are friends to this day. He gave me one heck of a hunt, and those big elk antlers are here in the room where I can see them and be reminded of what I'll likely always consider my best big game hunt.

Regards, Guy