Some dreams are so long entrenched in our minds it is nearly impossible to identify when they first appeared. For me, I vividly recall being a triumphant three year old with the shopvac hose scaring the bejesus out of my mother as I discovered I could make an elk bugle with it. From that day onward, I dreamt of hunting a big bull elk. It would be five years later before I saw my dad bring a bull home in his truck, and to me at that time it seemed huge. Now looking back, I know that the size of his first bull wasn’t all that impressive but there is still something special about a hunter’s first branch antlered bull.

Over the 25 years following that fateful vacuuming discovery I was privileged to see 3 limited entry elk hunts up close with bulls from 230-365” inches harvested by my dad and wife. I also had the privileged distinction in my family of being the unluckiest hunter—despite being the only one who truly loves hunting and is admittedly obsessed by it. I watched as my siblings pulled limited entry deer tags with little or no points, and there I struggled year after year to draw even the easiest of tags. I remember my first year being old enough to hunt in Wyoming, and being the first in our family ever to not draw a doe antelope tag. So when I received my 14th unsuccessful elk result in May 2015, I resigned myself to thinking I’d never draw my Utah elk tag before moving out of state. I had a job lined up in Alaska for the summer before my last year of law school, and if all went well I was going to be moving there after graduation. Given the requirements for Alaska hunting residency I was eager to figure out the best way to fulfill them so that I could start hunting the fun stuff up North as soon as possible. It wasn’t until January when Taylor Albrecht posted a video of a bull he chased last fall that I even considered delaying my Alaska residency requirements to be able to hunt Utah as a resident in 2016. The same night he posted this bull, I reached out to see if it was even a possibility that I could draw the right tag.


The bull that started it all


Sheds from last spring

It was. Moreover, I was stunned to hear that I would be a complete shoe in with my 15 points going into the 2016 draw. I applied the next day for the Panguitch Lake Late LE bull elk tag, despite never having set foot on the unit. I knew full well it was a long shot that I’d even see that particular bull, let alone shoot him, but you’ll never get a shot if you don’t ever try. In order to apply and hunt as a Utah resident I had to be domiciled in Utah for the 6 months preceding the purchase of the tag. I carefully selected my family’s tickets to move to Anchorage for ten days after the usual credit card charges, and the day after the regulations official counting date. Brown bears and other things could wait another year; it was time for me to hunt bull elk!

In March I about had a heart attack when the tag number proposals were released. The DWR cut the number of tags for my hunt by half. I went from having bonus points to spare to possibly being below the bonus pool and not drawing the tag. Just my kind of luck. Now, some of you might remember 2012, when I was selected on November 18 for a late December Henry Mountains cow bison permit, shot a cougar on the same trip, then drew a depredation cow elk tag 3 weeks later. To this day I’m convinced the Universe screwed up and gave me some other Jonathon’s luck for a couple months. The Universe probably screwed up a Jonathan Green with my Jonathon. Granted, I had 11 points going into that cow bison draw and had they initially allocated the number of tags they ended up with from the start I would have been in the guaranteed bonus pool…but still.

But all the concern was for nothing, as my long suffering was rewarded in May with the $285 credit card charge I was hoping for! But the very next day I received a call from Taylor, who I had already arranged to be my guide. He was switching outfitters and couldn’t guide me on that unit for the price High Top charged, but that Spenser Owens who also guides for High Top could and that Spenser knew the unit better than anybody. At first, I wasn’t so pleased, but we hadn’t signed anything yet and the budding attorney in me knew it wasn’t worth making waves over. Eventually, I would realize just how great this would work out in my favor.

Fast forward to the end of October and my guide Spenser Owens starts sending me pictures of his scouting efforts. For the two weeks leading up to my hunt, 3:00-6:00 pm my time was the most exhilarating three hours of my day as he sent me pic after pic. He had roughly 100 bulls located with many very nice ones


Scouting pic of one of the companion bulls to my bull (aka, the ugly one)





However, it wasn’t until the week before the hunt that he started to send me a couple pics of bulls that were truly interesting.


The big 7 headed out.


a nice 6

That final week was torture. He had found the big 7x7 several days in a row where he had hung out last year…but then Monday before my hunt he went MIA. Spenser’s wife sat morning and night overlooking that area for the next 5 days, but to no avail. But, there were several other really big bulls that Spenser, his brothers, and his friend had all found but nobody was able to get good pictures since the bulls were staying in the trees until just before dark.

Thursday November 10th arrived at last, and after an excruciating day at the office, my wife and I packed up the kids and headed to the airport at 10 p.m. We took the redeye to SLC with a layover in Seattle arriving in SLCE at 10 a.m. on Friday the 11th. That flight just sucks, and with 2 toddlers, well, it is pretty unbearable! After the chaos of wrangling our luggage to the rental car agency, we drove down to my dad’s house in Highland and I started to get the final touches on my packing taken care of. I had a rather robust group of family and friends who had planned to come down with me the opening weekend to help us cover more ground spotting, but literally from 11a.m. to 11:30 a.m. Friday I went from 6 companions to just my dad. Sometimes I swear that cars, work, and wives know when we are planning to have too much fun and do everything in their power to trip us up—but genuinely, everybody had very legitimate reasons to cancel last minute and though I missed them, I would have had to do the same in their shoes. Honestly, I was a bummed that I wouldn’t have that boisterous camp camaraderie, but I was very happy to have some better time alone with just my dad. We decided to book a motel room, in part so I could keep in touch with work at night, but mostly because I’m not skeered to admit I enjoy a real bed and a hot shower sometimes after a long day hunting.

We pulled into Panguitch at 7:00 p.m. Friday night, touched base with Spenser and he came over to our room after he was off the mountain. They had just put a group of 20 bulls to bed, which included a very nice +360” 6x6 and a massive 5x5. There were a couple groups watching bulls in the 7x7’s neighborhood and we didn’t want to draw extra attention to him since nobody seemed to have spotted him after they moved into the area. So for opening morning we planned to go look for the big 6 and the 5 point, to see what I thought.





As first light started, we found ourselves creeping along a sparsely wooded ridge top. With help from two of Spenser’s brother’s and Mike a friend of Spenser’s like unto a brother, we eased into position. Suddenly, there were bulls everywhere. All around us, within 70 yards there were bulls. I lost track of how many “small” 330-340” bulls we dismissed quickly as we searched for the two largest. Just as we crept around a tree I caught a quick glimpse of the big 6 and the big 5 facing away from us. I had a round chambered and my shooting sticks ready to set up as we hoped for a better shot. Within ½ a second the wind swirled and we were busted. I had one more glimpse of the two large bulls at the back of the herd as they vanished over the hill. What a rush! As my dad, Spenser and I all giggled over the excitement I confessed that while I only had a fleeting look at the two big ones, I didn’t think I was ready to punch my tag on the first morning knowing that there were a couple of other bigger bulls hanging around close by.



We spent the rest of that day watching from miles and miles away a smattering of other bulls, mostly raghorns or small 5s and 6s. Although I had zeroed in my gun in October and left it in Utah for this hunt, I wanted to double-check it again not having had a chance on Friday. So in the middle of the day I reconfirmed my zero at 400 yards (the big 7 was in a place that a long shot would likely be necessary) and with a nice grouping at 100 and 300 yards my concerns about the gun were relieved. As the sun set, I was in heaven. I had waited most of my life dreaming of this trip and it was finally happening! We got word that night that one of our targets, a +380” bruiser 6x6 had been taken by a great local guy, and even though that meant one less giant out there for me I wanted the 7x7 and I wanted him bad.



Sunday morning found our group glassing the same ridge from the opener hoping for a better look at that herd and the big 5 and 6, but to no avail. We did however spot one of the other six points that Spenser had sent me scouting pictures of. However, we also could see the truck of another hunter down the ridge from the bull. Sure enough, a couple hours later we heard a shot. As that hunter was the only one in the general vicinity of the 7x7s final whereabouts we felt it was time to move in on him while they packed out their nice 6 point. I was able to see the bull in the back of their truck and he was a very beautiful 6x6, but not one I was ready to have hunted opening weekend. I craved a full hunting experience, and little did I know how much I would get one! As we sat on a draw in the middle of antelope country, Spenser reassured me that despite there only being 3 interconnected patches of thick junipers surrounded by open sage that this was where the big 7 was hiding. Sure enough, the guys who shot the six point confirmed having seen the big 7 the night before, but they weren’t able to pass up the bull they shot when he gave them a chance. To say I was excited is an understatement! My dad had to return to work the next day, so we said goodbye that night and he left me alone to fitfully dream of enormous tines snaking their way towards me through the trees. Spenser’s brothers also had to return to reality so it was down to Spenser, Mike, and myself.



Monday morning we returned to the same vantage we had sat the night before. Nothing. We sat. And we sat. And sat. Finally, at 10 a.m. and nearing 70 degrees we decided to go check some cameras Spenser had placed at water around the 7x7’s hiding hole. We had many bulls hitting a few of them, several very nice in the 340-350 range, but no 7x7 and nothing that piqued my interest enough to back away from my vigil. We returned to watch the ridge that afternoon to sit until dark, not seeing anything until a couple of bulls appeared out of nowhere 300 yards below us. They matched the description of two of the bulls that were seen with the big 7 and we all immediately noticed this! Let’s just say things got real, and got real very fast! As the small 6 and 5 sparred, unaware of my gun perched at ready 360 yards above them, we soon realized that they were alone as the darkness swallowed the bulls and with them our hopes.







Tuesday morning found us waiting again to see if the big 7 would come out during light. All of the bulls we had seen were only in the open for the first 20-30 minutes in the morning and the last 5-10 at night due to the ridiculous heat. Although it was the November late season, it sure felt much more like a late August or early September hunt. We sat on the ridge from before light until about 1pm when we went back to the truck for a bite to eat and bid Mike farewell as he returned home to work and family. As Spenser and I munched on our food, we told stories and lies then watched a truck rumble up the road and head to where we had been hiking out to look for the big 7. We finished our food, looked at each other and took off back to our spot a few hours ahead of schedule hoping to still be alone. When we got to the place where we had been parking the side by side, we found their truck and trailer. Tense, we decided to drive down and not walk to the ridge to see if these newcomers took our spot. As we crested the final bend in the trail, our fears were confirmed. There where our boots stood for the past 2 ½ days, alone and unmolested was somebody else’s rig. But hey, that is public land hunting and just the way it goes. We turned around and headed to a nearby ridge from which we could glass the area and keep an eye on the new comers but not crowd them, hoping the big 7 would either stay hidden or decide to come out at the top of the draw where we might be able to make a move.

Ten minutes before dark we noticed our new friends get back in their side by side and drive towards us. They waved as they passed and turned down a trail back towards the top of the draw where they’d been watching. Tense, Spenser and I looked at each other and said that we sure hoped they had seen something else or were leaving dejected, but we were still happy with our choice not to crowd them out as neither of us liked to hunt that way. Two minutes later a shot rang out. Then another. The hunter and her companion quickly reappeared at their vehicle and took off racing for the road on the other side of the draw. With light fading fast we ran down the ridge to where the other people had just left to see if we could figure out what had happened. When we dropped off the side, we could see a dead bull in the sage at the edge of the trees 706 yards away. We sat watching till dark as the two people made their way around the canyon, down the draw, and reached their bull. He was truly magnificent, and she should be very proud of her amazing shooting skills given the range and the wind. It was not a shot I would have tried, and she managed to put both shots right where she needed to. I’ll admit, that hurt me a lot to see the big 7 for the first time in real life lying dead in the sage by another hunter’s bullet, but I’m sure Spenser felt it more given that he had chased this bull for 3 years. He had the left side shed from last spring and offered to sell it to the huntress, but she wasn’t interested. I happily bought it to remember a piece of what “might have been”. Last year he was a mid 370’s bull, and this year he taped out at 394” green. It was incredible to be so close and yet so far from getting a chance at this caliber of bull.



As I returned to my motel room, Spenser and I discussed a plan for the morning. We’d try a few other spots and hopefully find a couple other large bulls he’d seen last week. A good friend of mine from law school drove 6 hours from AZ to spend that night and Wednesday with me—he’s nuts and I am lucky to have a friend like him. The next morning found us in a different place where we glassed up a pair of good bulls. We crept through the sage until I had a better look and I decided they weren’t what I was looking for at that time, as I still had 4 days. We chased a handful of similar sized bulls throughout the day and until dark, when 2 minutes after legal shooting light a herd broke out of the trees. We quickly counted 10 bulls with several looking like the bulls from opening morning. As we backed out we planned our Thursday morning attack. The forecast predicted high winds and some snow, with temperatures plummeting to single digits—a welcome relief from the high 60’s we had been suffering through. I said goodbye to my friend and he drove away back to reality.


My friend with a pair of sheds from a giant 5x6 that never showed up this season. Seriously, ridiculously big.

I awoke to a skiff of snow and the thermometer reading 6 degrees outside. Perfect, except for the 40 mph wind howling down the ridges. We trekked out to our vantage from the night before and vainly tried to glass in the blizzard. After a mere 2 hours sitting exposed to the wind we called it quits. Nothing was moving in that storm, not even the deer that seemed to be more common than rocks at times. We slowly drove through some dark timbered back roads and jumped a few small bulls but nothing that I wanted to pursue. I still had time, and my wife was doing better than expected with the kids, visiting family and keeping busy.



That night we watched a few other areas, and although there were several good bulls and we had heard reports of a few other giants that were on our list having been killed already, I wasn’t ready yet to punch my tag. Besides, the next day was my birthday what could be better than a bull for my present?

We had discussed completely changing things up and heading to new ground the next morning, but on a whim I suggested that we first glass the valley from Wednesday morning to see if something new had showed up. This turned out to be a great idea. We immediately found more than a dozen bulls sprawled out among the sparsely scattered trees on the far side of the valley. We moved in another mile to get a better look, and Spenser asked me what I thought of this bull. I put my eye to the spotting scope and immediately recognized the big 5x5. His left beam was wickedly bladed and hooked in a half circle towards his right, and his right beam after the sword went back for 15” and then made a harsh 90 degree downturn for another 15” or more. He had mass like an old ponderosa and fronts and thirds that defied gravity. “I want that bull!” I whispered to Spenser, to which he said, “Hang on, let me see something else”. Intrigued I tried using my binoculars to find what might have caused Spenser to hesitate. “Here’s your bull” Spenser said to me and backed away from the spotting scope. I dropped to my knees, and placed my eye to the glass. Immediately, I knew this was something special. He was a 6x6, and his mass was off the charts. The 5x5, though thick, looked like a willowy child by comparison to this bull. Tall, long beamed, thick, with stunning ivory tips. “Wow” was all I could say as we scrambled back to the side by side to drive around to the back of the ridge where they were. Before we rounded the final curve to begin our stalk, Spenser grinned at me and started singing “Happy Birthday”. I was happier than a fat kid in a pool full of ice cream.

We parked the side by side, and started to climb. I racked a round in my gun and placed it on safety. We crept up the hill, higher and higher until we found a vantage point to the clearing that we knew the bulls were headed towards. I settled my tripod and sat down to await the bulls and a perfect shot. There. Two bulls fed into the clearing 302 yards away. They were a nice 6x6 and a small 5 point, but we knew more were coming. I was torn though, what if the big 5 and the 6 show up at the same time? I really didn’t and still don’t know what I would have done. They both simply just had it. I knew from my first real look at either that they were what I had dreamed of hunting for 25 years since I first became an elkoholic. Luckily, the choice was made for me when that massive 6x6 stepped into the clearing. The two smaller bulls were sparring but it only took the big 6’s lowering his head to make them scramble apart in different directions. My target stood quartering towards me at 300 yards tilting his antlers in the morning sun, defying anything to try to challenge his dominance. I sat with my scope cranked up to 18x steady as a rock, waiting for him to turn. Spenser had the camera rolling, but unfortunately it kept focusing on a bush near us so the bull is blurry. Finally, he turned to his right and I took a deep breath. I relaxed my whole body and slowly exhaled squeezing the trigger effortlessly as I had been taught by my dad.

“I don’t know where your bullet went, but you clearly missed. Hold lower since you have your zero at 400 and try again. He doesn’t know where we are.” Frantic I racked up another and lined up my shot. I steadied my breath again and pulled the trigger. “Still high”. Again. “Miss. I don’t know where your bullet is hitting but it isn’t anywhere near the bull, hold lower.” I had to fumble for more bullets in my pocket as I only had 3 in the gun. My hands were frozen and wouldn’t work so Spenser crawled over and tried to get my bullets out. The circus of keeping your chap stick with your extra bullets in a shirt pocket under your coat and vest would have been hilarious to watch if I wasn’t the ringleader. Let’s just say a .300 Weatherby Vanguard Mark V does not chamber Carmex very well, and this is one lesson I learned and will not repeat: Chap stick goes in a different pocket. Period. But I guess I needed three tries to realize that as I kept putting it back in the pocket! Finally, we threw the chap stick to the ground and found the bullets. I loaded up the four it would take with one in the chamber and got back on the bull—who miraculously was still was standing there unsure of what was happening. I tried two more shots holding lower each time with my final shot aimed below his hoof. Finally I said that I couldn’t justify to keep shooting at him not knowing what was going on—it had to be the gun. Although this all happened in less than 2 minutes, it seemed that my whole life fit within that chaotic span. We raced up the hill to watch the bulls retreat into the trees, catching a final glimpse of the big 6 trotting away. We confirmed that there was no blood, hair, or anything over on the ground where he stood. We watched the video and you could see my bullets zooming way above the bulls into the vacant hillside a mile away. It still haunts me, and will for a while, knowing I sent 5 bullets into the unknown.

Crushed, but positive it wasn’t me, I looked at my gun. The vertical turret on the scope had a big dent on the top and a crease on the side. Flabbergasted neither of us could remember anything happening in the days since I had shot it Saturday that might have caused that damage. Even though it wasn’t even 8 a.m. on the third to last day, we headed off the mountain and to the range. At 25 yards my gun was shooting 12” high. We set up the sand bags and bore sighted it to 100 yards—or rather, we tried. Nothing we did made the scope adjust down and when the crosshairs were dead on the target at 100 yards, the picture through the bore was of the hillside +30 feet above the target. With nothing left to do but use another gun, I gratefully accepted Spenser’s offer to use one of his. We double checked it’s zero and I put 3 rounds in a 5” circle at 300 yards. If only this had happened yesterday on a different bull, or if I had only noticed the damage before hand.





There are lots of what ifs and if onlys that still go through my mind on that. Oh well, there is nothing to do but try again. Luckily, we had noticed that the bulls had just gone to the top of the ridge and bedded in a saddle under the mahoganies. We stayed in town for a bit, grabbed lunch and headed out at 3 p.m. to see if the herd would feed down into the general area again. Unfortunately, we had no such luck and the sun set on my birthday behind very beautiful framed and well proportioned 330-340ish 6x6 with perfect ivory tips, but he just didn’t make me want to stop hunting yet so we left him to soak up the rays unmolested. Luckily, my younger and ridiculously lucky brother was coming down to join me for the remainder of the hunt. I had hoped to go out and have a birthday dinner and some pie with him but by the time he got into town everything was closed. I sat alone in the motel room until he arrived, spoke to my wife and kids as my heart broke that night. Hearing my three year old daughter earnestly promise that she would help me shoot my “very little elk, it will be so tasty! It will be nummy nummy and dewishus” was adorable and made me miss them so much! And yes, my daughter has been adamant for months that I wasn’t going to shoot a big bull, just a little one that is going to be “dewishus.” I should have listened more seriously!



We vainly tried to see if the big bulls would return the next morning but to no avail. We finally decided to head to higher, rougher country to see if we could pull a rabbit out of a hat. That afternoon after a truly rough trail ride followed by a brutal hike to a vantage point we started glassing. We were encouraged to find ourselves alone for miles and miles, and quickly started to glass elk. Every time one of us would find a new bull and start to describe to the others where we were looking, somebody would find a different group. It was ridiculous in the best way possible. We found over 20 bulls in the last hour of light scattered over 2 mountains and a dozen ridges. Two of the groups on the other mountain seemed most promising as they were fairly close together and between them had 3 very nice bulls in the 350-370” range we guessed based on the view through the scope at +2 miles. But, where they were was anything but easy and we were staring down the barrel of the last day of the season. Just to make things even better, I needed to be leaving my dad’s house 4 hours away no later than 4 a.m. in order to get my family on the plane back home. And if I were to get a bull on the last day, I would still need to pack it out, get the head and cape to a taxidermist and the meat to a butcher, clean gear, pack, etc. It was going to very difficult but go big or go home, right?

We got up an hour earlier than normal, and drove in darkness to our impending plan. We loaded up our packs and began to hike through the wash at the base of the mountain where we had seen the bulls. I decided to leave my tripod at the truck as one of the legs was malfunctioning and it wouldn’t collapse or extend without making a ton of noise. I should have just busted that leg off and taken it with me.







In the dark I could see the twisted green sandstone cliffs and hoodoos that we somehow needed to climb, and I first began to truly doubt the sanity of our undertaking. But, gasping for air, still not yet accustomed to being above sea level for the past 6 months, we crawled our way upwards. After 45 minutes, 1.5 miles, and 2,500 feet elevation gain we were at the base of the slope where we had spied the biggest bull the night before. It was ten minutes past shooting light and we started to glass.

We quickly found bulls from 400-900 yards away—everywhere. We crept along the top of our ridge towards the biggest bull we could then see. He was a gorgeous mountain monarch, a six point with beautiful shape and unbroken tines easily a 350-class bull. But he was staring right at us and we had nowhere to hide. I quietly chambered a round in the gun I had only ever shot 3 times, and made my way to the best rest I could find—a scrawny mahogany tree. Half standing, half crouching using a twig as a rest I asked the range. “560, but if you are going to get a shot you better do so fast”. Pack still on my back I panicked trying to find the bull in the scope. “Where is he?!” I kept whispering until I finally found him. I put the crosshairs on his shoulder and squeezed off a round. Dirt. Right below his hoof. I quickly loaded again and shot, knowing that I flinched. Dirt. Down and to the right. Again I reloaded full blown panic enveloping me as I knew that this was likely my last chance to get a big bull after waiting all this time. Again I flinched and shot right between his back and his main beams. The herd had had quite enough and started to file up the slope into the trees. The other two big bulls from the night before, including the 370ish monster appeared right behind the bull I had failed to kill and vanished in the morning light.

We were hopeful that the bulls had only gone over the ridge towards a burn area as they weren’t in any rush. As we sat and what if’d I refused to accept Spenser’s attempt that he should have taken the time to build a rest with our packs. It was truly my fault for rushing a shot that I shouldn’t have with a gun I wasn’t very familiar. I’m just glad that I didn’t wound anything. We went over and double-checked for signs of a hit knowing that there were none having seen the dirt impacts of all three shots. Looking up the mountain I had an idea. There, two thirds of the way to the top was a set of cliffs that overlooked the slope that the elk had disappeared into. I suggested we hike up to “those red rocks” and see if we could spot anything below us, possibly having sufficient vantage to peer through the tops of the mahoganies onto bedded bulls.

I guess I didn’t describe the right rocks. Because the next thing I knew we were literally on the top of the tallest peak in the area, having gained a total of +3,700 feet elevation from the side by side. The wind tried vainly to rip us off the cliffs and onto the slopes 200’ below. We spent nearly an hour first trying to find any elk near us, then looking for any from a distance. At 11 a.m., we started down to the side by side for a bite to eat and to readjust for the evening. We considered hiking around to the other side of the plateau towards where the herd had vanished and hunting until dark. However, while I was confident that I would get a chance at one of these bulls again if we did this, I was also sure that by doing so I would certainly miss my flight. All the way down I sweated and stewed this plan. At the truck I had enough signal to check what it would cost to push my family’s flight back to the afternoon: $6,000.00. That was just not something I could even remotely handle at this point, having already spent well above where I had planned for this hunt.
















The rocks we are sitting on are at the very top in the center of this picture. Just a little ways up there.

As we loaded the gear I raised my concern to my brother and Spenser. And despite my full confidence in Spenser’s ability to get lots of help should we drop a bull way up there, we all knew it would likely be after midnight before we got it back to the truck. I could not justify that risk, not even close. Besides, I truly was satisfied and had been for days with the experience I had had on this hunt. Shooting a big bull would be incredible, but not necessary to have had the hunt of my life. I made the decision to head back to the scene of my birthday catastrophe to hope against hope that the big 6 or 5 had returned.


The final afternoon

As we pulled into the vantage point from where we first spied the bulls on Friday, we got an immediate jolt of hope. Not 2 minutes into glassing we saw there were bulls on the hillside. We flew down the road to the next closest vantage point to better study out the prospects. Could it possibly be the perfect redemption story? Would this actually all come together at last light? Even if not, why not just take a bull here—regardless of size—as it was close to a road and wouldn’t jeopardize my flight home? As we left the side by side and crept of the hill to glass my hands started to shake and my heart beat wildly. Spenser set up the scope and started to look through the 5 bulls we had spotted. Through my binoculars I could see that there was a pair of nice bulls bedded but they were too far away for particulars. “I think I see the big 6” I whispered desperately, then described where I was looking to Spenser. “Nope, that isn’t him. Remember the good sized 6 point with the busted right horn, and the kinda ugly looking 6x6 that I found the first night I sent you pictures? These are those bulls, who knows where they’ve been for the last 3 weeks.” “Wait, there is another bull, 6 point both sides, not broken. I didn’t get a good enough look and he might be 300” or he might be the big 6 from your birthday, I just don’t know.”

We decided to try to approach these bulls for a better look. I told Spenser and my brother that unless Spenser’s brother spotted a better bull elsewhere in the valley before we got under 300 yards I’d shoot one from this group. If a bull wanted to commit suicide that evening, who was I to deny him? Besides, we had to cross nearly ½ mile in the wide open directly in view of the 5 bulls before we got to any sort of cover. I was confident that they’d bust out of their beds well before we got into a tempting range for a shot. With the wind swirling we drove as close as we dared, then walked nonchalantly through the sagebrush towards the bulls. We reached the small ditch and dropped in, stunned that they hadn’t spooked. With Spenser’s brother having seen nothing else in the valley besides a small raghorn, we committed to the final approach at 3:52 and began to climb the small rise. Just as we reached the top we saw a bull staring straight at us. We eased our way left to a juniper hoping to spy one of the larger bulls in the group. There. The Busted Wonder and the truly ungainly 6 point were staring at us. But where was the other 6 point? We stayed frozen at just under 200 yards with 4 bulls staring at us from their beds unable to move. According to Spenser’s brother, we stopped stalking towards the bulls at 4:10. It wasn’t until after 5:00 that any of us could move to relax our cramping legs, when the bulls decided to stand up and start to feed. We quickly took advantage of their casual movements and went 10 steps left to have a better look at the body attached to the nose of the only bull we couldn’t really see from our position. He was a very pretty 6 point, but not a giant. He was mostly unbroken with a couple of chips for character, well shaped and hard earned. I knew as soon as I truly saw him that I was going to be very happy to take him home with me. I told Spenser that he was my bull, even though the other one just below him was bigger, he just had the right look. We set up a good rest and I found him in the scope. It was almost ten minutes before he stood up to start feeding with the other bulls, but as soon as he did I flicked off the safety and started to relax myself. It was surprisingly difficult given I had just spent more than an hour basically laying down, and this was definitely not even close to the size of so many other bulls that I had passed. My heart pounded every bit as much, if not more, for this bull than it had on the two I missed or even the big 7x7 that I watched get killed right out from under me. He was perfect.

I pulled the trigger. WHOP! I watched him hunch up as soon as I fired, but racked in another round to be safe. Bang! He hunched even more, his companions all alert and confused as to what was happening. Bang! This time I was a bit low and watched as his front leg just below the shoulder flopped useless as he stumbled a bit across the hill. Bang! Finally, he tumbled to the ground tangled up in a juniper as his once pride and joy cruelly prevented him from regaining his feet. We hurried in closer while the rest of the bulls stayed waiting for their companion to rise. Finally, as we approached the last few yards the remaining bulls filed over the hill in the fading light of the season’s end. All of my shots were where they needed to be, and at last I had MY bull. We pulled him out of his coniferous cage and I held his antlers for the first time. They just simply had the right look, and came at the perfect time. I carefully cleaned off the dirt, blood and debris from his body, admired his battle scars from what must have been one intense September and October, then we took pictures to remember him by.


If you look carefully, you can see 4 bulls above my head on the hill. My bull's antlers are on the ground around the 11 o'clock position behind a juniper 2/3 the way up the hill.

His cape was torn, tattered, and scarred unlikely to be of interest to a taxidermist. I had from the beginning intended to do a euro and maybe keep the cape frozen in case I changed my mind in the future. So I made the decision to simplify the logistics and expenses and not save the cape. We had him thoroughly admired by us and Spenser’s brother, niece and nephew before we quartered him up and packed him out. We were headed north before 8 p.m. with just enough time for me to do what I needed to prior to flying home.


As he lay.




I wasn't kidding when I said last light of the last day.


I might not have slept at all from Sunday at 4 a.m. RMST until Monday night at 8:00 p.m. Alaska time, but I was able to briefly show my daughter my “very little, dewishus” bull before loading her in her car seat. She and my son both were very proud of their daddy, and I couldn’t wait to spend the next 12 hours cuddling them at various airports and planes as we made our way home. I don’t know when I will get to see my bull next, or when I will be able to get the rest of the meat home (I brought the backstraps and tenders with me and left the rest to get burgered---and I got the call 24 hours after I landed in Alaska that it was ready for pickup…so close!) I cannot wait to be able to chase giants again, and I have no doubt that I will. Hopefully, it won’t take me 15 years of eligibility to get another tag and it might cost me some money to make it happen—and my wife was quick to remind me that it is her turn again first—but I definitely intend to get back to the Lake to chase big bulls through the pinions once more. Hopefully next time my daughter will get to tag along and allow me to shoot a big giant bull, not just a little dewishus bull.


My son was so happy to see me again that even with the chaos of airports, layovers, and lack of sleep he refused to let me out of his reach! Ugh, I can't wait to take him and his sister everywhere! It is just too hard to leave them for a long period of time!

And THAT is a hunting report. Congratulations on your bull.

Congrats on not getting discouraged. nice write up.

Mark

Did you know Taylor before talking to him about that bull?

Coyote, I had known Taylor a little through High Top as they guided me in 2012 on a bison/cougar hunt on the Henry Mountains.

Thanks, I had fun writing it and living it. just-a-hunter, I love the La Sals and we've taken 3 LE early rifle bulls off of there (2x my dad, 1 for my wife) and there are some beauties for sure. Ugh, now I just have to hope that i can line my ducks up properly the next several years to buy a landowner tag on the Panguitch because I fell hard for that country!

quote:

Originally posted by justanotherhunter:
Coyote, I had known Taylor a little through High Top as they guided me in 2012 on a bison/cougar hunt on the Henry Mountains.

Thanks, I had fun writing it and living it. just-a-hunter, I love the La Sals and we've taken 3 LE early rifle bulls off of there (2x my dad, 1 for my wife) and there are some beauties for sure. Ugh, now I just have to hope that i can line my ducks up properly the next several years to buy a landowner tag on the Panguitch because I fell hard for that country!

That is easy to do. The Panguitch area is one of my favorites in the state. Congratulations Jonathan, that is quite the Saga. I would venture to guess that you can consider your jinxed luck to be officially over..

My vacation plans got changed due and I have to work this morning. This story made it all worth while!!! Thanks for putting serious effort into your story and thanks for sharing!!!

congrats.

Wonderful story! You lived my dream.
Cal
PS. I've a table at the Wasilla gun show, Jan 21, stop by if you can. Also, come up and shoot anytime this winter. The heated shooting shed is great. And, May 6 is the double shoot.

I'll be sure to plan on the wasilla show and we'll set up a time soon to come shooting. I'll bring you a package of backstraps

great report and wonderful bull!

Talk about trials and tribulations. Way to stick with it to the end. I love those 11th hour successes.

quote:

It is just too hard to leave them for a long period of t

Very true...
Great hunt! Good luck in Alaska!

What a wonderful story and congrats on your success.

Great write up and pictures. Quite the memories!

That was one of the most stressful stories I have ever read lol very intense!

I felt like I was there, great job.

That is one of the better hunt reports that I have read. Congrats on your bull. You earned him. Great writing style. We are able to live it with you. Bruce

Glad you guys enjoyed it! If I could just figure out a way to hunt and write stories for a living, I'd be on it in a heartbeat. Maybe someday I'll figure that out.