The Prequel
Taylorsville, UT circa July 2010.

“Wow. Now that’s a BULL.” I muttered over and over again as I admired the stubby and chipped gray/black horns adorning a skull covered in half-healed battle marks.

Up to that point I had never considered that one mature bison bull could even distinguishable enough to stand out from another. But this warrior, taken the previous fall on Utah’s Henry Mountains, was in a class of his own. Even a casual glance screamed at you that he was ancient among his peers. He was undoubtedly the shortest horned of the six skulls laying on the taxidermist’s floor, but where the other bulls had needle sharp tips and smooth polished jet-black horns, he had stout, broomed ends the size of my fist. It took both of my hands to be able to circle his bases—and I could only just barely make my longest fingers touch at the tips when I tried—and that mass carried out evenly for the entirety of what was left of his horns. Every other bull I could encircle with knuckles to spare at the bases to say nothing of the rapid thinning those horns made towards the end. One thing was clear, I knew if I ever got to hunt a wild bull bison, I’d be looking for his equal, a true dinosaur of a bull.

A couple of years later I had the incredible opportunity to chase cow bison on the Henry Mountains, and took a prime 4-year-old cow on my first morning hunting in late December. But you probably already know that story.




From then on, I resigned myself to knowing that unless I dropped some money to chase a bull on a reservation in the states or up in Canada, the likelihood of me ever getting to hunt wild bison again was slim to none. Which is not to say it was zero.



Prelude
Anchorage, AK February 15, 2019

No. This can’t be right. There must be a mistake. No freaking way.

And yet, no matter how hard I tried to fight it, this was not just some cruel, heartless joke by a demented individual. I had actually drawn a bison permit for the wild herd in Delta Junction, Alaska. Either sex.

From that moment forward there was zero question: I was hunting for a dinosaur bull, the older and uglier the better.

Every time I conveyed my intentions, I heard the same thing: “But, why? Bison is really tasty. Why would you want to shoot an old one?”

To which I typically would respond with something to the likes of, “If I just wanted to put tasty bison in the freezer, I could do that anytime, any year, by putting up the cash and going to one of the countless operations that raise bison and shoot a 2-4 year old bull. I will likely never get to hunt a wild bull bison ever again, and I want a frickin’ dinosaur. Besides, none of those places keep bulls around long enough for them to become dinosaurs. I want what I want. Grind it four times, and sharpen the blades in between and it’ll be edible enough.”

No bones about it, this was a trophy hunt to me, and if you take issue with that—that’s your problem.

I started immediately inviting anyone and everyone to go with me. Having hunted a cow bison before (and seen her dwarfed by the mature bull she was next to when I shot her) I knew this would be a big job. I was shocked when AJ told me he would be coming, I just needed to get him the dates. You might remember him from our misadventures with a certain flight-challenged caribou named Chester a couple years ago, or perhaps his gargantuan efforts in carrying ½ of my bull moose, dubbed Charlie, nearly 3 ½ miles by himself in a single trip last fall. After those adventures, it may not surprise you to hear that AJ fled 4,000 miles away from me and moved to New Mexico last winter. And yet, here he was, begging for more misery. Shocker.

As the months dragged on, I was finally informed of the dates for my season: October 19 to November 17, 2019 and February 17 to March 22, 2020. I set that first week of my season on my work calendar in stone and told the office that there was nothing, NOTHING, that was going to interrupt that plan. I could always find another job, but I can’t count on ever drawing another wild bison permit again. A number of my potential victims—idiots—err, willing hunting assistants wizened up and informed me that they couldn’t make the trip. But one particular character was not so quick to realize how painful hunting with me can be. Poor Rich, if only he knew then what he knows now. Had I been able to join him on his sheep hunt like I briefly hoped to do last August before work crushed my dreams, maybe he would have had a chance to reconsider. But no. All he knew was the somewhat sane, bird-dog training Jonathon. He hadn’t yet met the mindless, heartless, moron that is big game hunting Jonathon.

AJ booked his flights and it looked like I would get to torture him all by myself from Friday to the following Tuesday before he could escape back to New Mexico. If we hadn’t killed a bull by then, I would pick Rich up on the way back to the unit, where a 7-hour drive without radio or cell service was sure to give Rich second thoughts about spending 5 days alone with me. I had to be back at work on 10/28 so I was really hoping we’d have enough time to find and kill a dinosaur—but I had a 60-day season so I was not willing to lower my goals.

A few things to know about the area I hunted. This is in the interior of Alaska. The area with the bison is relatively flat and about 20 miles by 10 miles, but I figured I could still find a nasty mountain or something to get into just so AJ could grumble and whine ever so delightfully. The land is mostly farmland, growing barley, wheat, or hay, with dense spruce forests and rivers surrounding it. Many farmers charge $50-3,000 for access to hunt bison on their land, and many more are happy to let you just hunt if you introduce yourself and spend some time getting to know them. In an attempt to keep the bison from the farms, the state has cleared several miles of fields on the other side of the highway on public land, and there are many more miles of undeveloped military land that you can get a permit to access if need be.

Temperatures in late October could be anywhere from +50F and sunny to -50F and whiteout blizzard. The later you get into November, things just get colder and darker. Hunting light on 10/19 would start around 7:30 a.m. and be done around 7:30 p.m., but by the time 10/27 would roll around we would have to wait until 8:45 a.m. and be done by 6:00 p.m. Light changes fast this time of year up there.

With the high likelihood of heavy snows either before or during the hunt, I opted not to drag my RV the +350 miles each way at 5.2 mpg in my absurdly large truck. Instead, we would rough it. There is a roadhouse smack dab in the middle of the primary area the bison roam during the fall and winter. It has gas, a small shop (with an excellent selection of Tillamook ice cream) and several cabins you can rent. Just the fuel savings by not dragging the trailer paid for most of the nights in those cabins. But I’ll tell you what, you really don’t know true suffering until you have had to come back from a long day of truck hunting, only to have a pellet-stove heated cabin with a shower, flushing toilet, running hot and cold water, and a sauna to rest in. There even is a full kitchen with range, oven, sink, refrigerator, and microwave. Simply the worst.

This was nothing like the luxury of my three-person ultralight tent, inflatable pad, quilt, and cold nuts, cheeses, and salami that people come to expect when they come hunting with me. We didn’t even have Mountain House to look forward to at night. Instead, we had to make do with things like prime grade beef tri-tip, ruffed grouse in cream sauce, potatoes au gratin with roasted asparagus, sautéed chanterelles and onions, and bearnaise sauce. Or halibut ceviche. We may have even sucked in our guts and suffered through a seared halibut and tortellini alfredo or ptarmigan-langostino gumbo at times. Peach cobbler/upside-down cake with Tillamook French Vanilla ice cream may have made a few appearances, and maybe we had to gag down a doughnut-hole-salted-caramel bread pudding one night. And for breakfast? Bah. Real bacon and eggs and oven toasted Danishes. What fresh hell is this? Don’t even get me started on lunch. We either had to eat leftovers, like animals, or make do with grilled ham and Havarti sandwiches. Some sadist forgot to bring lettuce or tomatoes so we just had to make do with lime-pickled red onions. Poor AJ, poor Rich. The things we put ourselves through to chase and kill critters, really makes you wonder sometimes.







And after you managed to force down all of this hot, fresh food, maybe had a steaming shower and healthy poop, what was next? You had to either sit on the leather couch and try to scroll through Facebook on the weak internet, or go upstairs to crawl in the clean sheets on a soft, real mattress. Those monsters even give you pillows and a comforter. How dare they. Don’t they know this is huntin’ and not some hoity-toity spa-weekend?! They wouldn’t even let me book a couples’ massage or mani/pedis for AJ and I. I know, you are just as outraged as I am right now.

Chapter 1
The Good

“Well, crap.” There it was in bold, blinding color: 18” of heavy wet snow and still coming down up in my unit, with less than a week to go. My friend Don was up there at his cabin bird hunting, and waiting for his bull only bison tag to start on November 2. Poor bastage had to wait 27 years, but that ain’t nothin’ like the pain I dealt with getting rejected two whole times for this tag before getting drawn. I’m still convinced that he did some sort of blizzard dance in his red one-piece pajamas just to spite me for getting an earlier start date than him. Now I was really glad I snagged that cabin back in July.



With the rush of trying to wrap up work, I barely had time to pack and still ended up being an hour late to pick up AJ at the airport. He then informed me that he’s already complained to Uber about me. Great, there goes my back up plan. From the airport, I headed to Sportsman’s while AJ hit up the liquor store because the three other places I looked the night before for his special fru-fru brew didn’t have it…but he managed to find his Denali Brewing Company Agave Gold pisswater. “If you want to kill a bison, I have to have my Agave Gold and a six pack of Dr. Pepper. It simply must be done.” Who am I to argue with our previous track record?

“Oh, by the way, we’re going to need to stop somewhere on the drive up to re-check the zero on my scope. I didn’t have time to do that before you got here.”

“Seriously?! This is just great. Circus grade amateur act over here. I was promised a flawless and professional operation before I came 4,000 miles up here.”

Ahh, just like old times. The next several days were going to be great.

After a few hours, we found the coldest spot on the drive to pull over and set up a target to check the zero.

“When was the last time you checked your scope?”

“August, and it was dead on then. I just want to be sure.”

Inexplicably, the first shot completely missed the paper.

“Well, that’s not good.” AJ quipped dryly.

“I might have pulled it, let’s try a couple more” I muttered wincing at the $8 a shot price tag for these bullets.

Thankfully, the next two shots were dead on, so on we went, resigned to the fact that we wouldn’t get to the area before dark.

We made it to Glennallen for gas around 6pm, and decided to give the little Thai food shack a go. It was not as good as I remembered it being from prior trips. But it was hot, and it was food.

While eating dinner, Don called me. “Where are you? What’s your plan? Have you talked to [farmer] yet? There’s about a hundred head hanging out at his place right now.”

After thanking Don for the tip, I called and left that farmer a message.

“I still think tomorrow morning we should start at the end of Cummings road. There’s a side road into the public forest that cuts over to the Gerstle river and I think we can probably find some clearings or try to hunt the river banks. I don’t really want to just shoot one in a field with a swingset in the background. I would really like to try to find a dinosaur out on the public ground somewhere.”

“Yeah. We’ll see. Now shut up and start driving again.”

A few hours and a couple hundred miles later, after the sun had set, we were getting to the final mountain pass with only about 90 miles left to go.

“So this is gonna be one of those trips I guess that I don’t see a moose” griped AJ.

“Just because you said that, you know that now one is going to jump in front of the truck and we’re going to end up rolled over in the ditch on the side of the road.”

“Ha, probably.”

That ended up nearly being true a half dozen times over the next hour, starting with the specter of a nice bull moose standing in the middle of the black-ice covered road. Thanks AJ.

On the drive in, we (I should say, “I”) spotted a two different lynx on the edge of the road, which was pretty cool and a first for me. Rolling into the cabin a little after 10pm, we got settled in for the night.

“Ok, so we shoot your bull tomorrow and then we head up to the Haul road and do the 5-mile death march to go shoot a couple caribou. That’s the plan, don’t argue.” AJ proclaimed dryly.

“Actually, yeah, I was kinda thinking something along those lines. I brought gear to be able to do that if time allowed. I mean, we’re already about 1/3 of the way there, so what’s another 10-12 hours’ drive up to pop a couple ‘bou and then bomb 18 hours back to Anchorage in time for you to catch your flight.”

“I know. I figured you were dumb enough that talking you into that wouldn’t be too hard.”

“Shooting light is going to start around 7:30, and I think it’ll be about a 30-minute drive to where I want to start walking. What time do you need to get up?” I asked, knowing that my little princess needs his time in the mornings.

“Well, you figure, breakfast, I need to make my coffee--”

“Crap. I forgot to get your fuel cannister for your Jetboil so you can make your burnt water.”

“Unacceptable. Do you see what I have to put up with over here? Complete amateur.”

“Whatever, you can still make your coffee with a pot on the stove. Oh look! There’s even a coffee maker, so shut it.”

“Anyways, so maybe 6:15?” AJ suggested.

Let’s get this clear, Jonathon is NOT a morning person.

“Whatever, princess. I swear, I could shower, cook, eat and be out that door in 15 minutes, but sure, we’ll get up nearly an hour before so you can burn your water. Why did we even bring this guy, huh, Ava? He won’t even let you sit in his lap in the truck!”

We got up way too early. I took a shower to shake the misery out of my eyes, popped a couple apple Danishes in the oven, and waited for her majesty to get ready. We loaded up the truck and headed out into the darkness, while the rest of the hunters stayed nice and warm in their darkened cabins.

We headed down the highway, turned down the little country road that was our target, and proceeded to crawl in the darkness down the road vainly looking for sign or animals in the snowy roadway. Even before the sun crept over the horizon, the lack of visibility in the forest was abundantly clear. There are forests and FORESTS in the world. This place was a hellstorm of tightly interwoven black spruce, birch, and willows with all manner of brush undergrowth and deadfall liberally sprinkled to add a different challenge. By the time we reached the end of the road, the dawn was strong enough for shooting light, and we located the now snow filled two track that wound its way through the trees, with the promise of the river ahead.

“Ok, so that drive there at the end of the road is Jim and Nadine’s. I have the coffee for them from Costco, and if we decide to hunt their place it’ll be $500. They have about 1000 acres of fields and regrowth, and are bordered on three sides by public lands with the Tanana river to the east. Let’s go check out the Gerstle river first, and then we’ll stop in and visit with them.”

“Really? It’s 10F out there, and I haven’t even finished my coffee yet.”

“You’re welcome. Let’s go.”

We made it a hundred yards down the trail before AJ went back to get his snowshoes. I had a pair but hadn’t ever used snowshoes so I decided to continue on with Ava at my side and told AJ to catch up.

As we slogged through the snow, Ava enjoyed tracking some rabbit trails and being out for the hike. At one point she located a fat spruce grouse and was thoroughly disappointed that neither of us even tried to shoot it. “Sorry girl, you know we’re big game hunting right now. Maybe later we can chase some birds.”

“I thought you said this was only going to be a few miles? Uuugggghhh. How much farther? Are we there yet?” AJ flawlessly moaned.

AJ is like hiking with my 4-year-old, if my 4-year-old could carry +200lbs and hike for several miles.

“I think we can cut through the woods right here and hit the river in only ~300 yards or so. Or we can keep going for another 2 miles or so before the road ends at the river. What do you think AJ?”

“No. Stick to the trail. I thought we’ve already learned this. Multiple times. You want to bust through all THAT for hundreds of yards and for what? You don’t know if we can walk along the bank, or if there is any visibility once we get there. And what if you in your unlimited idiocy shoot a bull out there? How would we even get it out?”

“Piece by piece, duh. Besides, I have the Sawzall, come along, jet sleds, and pack frames. That’s a future us problem. I figure we could try to cut down some spruce poles, set up a tripod thing over top of the bull, then use the come along and straps to lift him up off the ground so we can work on him better. Easy peasy.”

“Riiight. Suuure we will. Stick to the trail.”

“AJ, you’re about to hear something very rare and valuable.”

“Really, now what would that be?”

“You are right. I am wrong. We should just stick to the road. This is why you are the pathfinder.”

“Why do I put up with you?”

“Because I’m pretty good at killing stuff, and my dumb ideas produce results. Obviously. You’re welcome.”

After another mile, and still no sign of bison, the river, nor any clearings with greater than 50 yards of visibility it was time to head back to the truck. Ava was getting cold, and I was realizing my hopes of avoiding private land were foolish and we were wasting our time, so we turned around.

“Congratulations. We just completed the death march and you could have shot a caribou now. But no, you just wanted to look at trees and freeze my nips off.”

“You’re welcome.”

"Why can't you just do things the easy way for once?!"

"Look at my license plate. What does it say? 'nuff said. Admit it, you love me for this kind of stuff."

After returning to the truck following our +6mile trudge through 10-15” of snow I delightfully pointed out to AJ that it was positively warm out there at 22F. Plus, the sun was shining. It was gorgeous. We ran back down the road to talk to a property owner that is known to let hunters access her place for free, and there was pretty fresh sign in the road right by her driveway and torn hay bales by the house. Unfortunately, another hunter was already hunting it and they only allowed one hunter on at a time, and returned to the end of the road to talk to that landowner.

On the way back to the end of the road, we gave Ava a break to locate a ruffed grouse I had spotted before it ducked off into the woods. Ava worked it beautifully and AJ was introduced to the wonderful world of grouse hunting with a versatile dog, just weeks before his German shorthair pup arrives.

Ok, I will admit that before the ruffie, I stalked in and missed a fat sharptail. This would become a recurring nightmare.

“I spoke with Nadine several times over this past week, and if I decide to pay the $500, we can hunt it to ourselves today through next Wednesday, and maybe again after that if the next hunter tags out early. Earlier hunters took some bison on the property last week and as recent as 2 days ago even, so it seems like they are around here right now. Let’s go give them their coffee and chat a bit.”

“I don’t think that’s the right turn. Gawwd why don’t you ever listen to me?!”

“I think that’s the house right there, and she said they might be in the shop too. It’s after noon now so I think we fine. Look, that must be Jim.”

As we rolled over to where the tall figure stood next to various farming equipment, I could feel AJ’s skepticism at my navigation skills.

“Hi, are you Jim? I’m Jonat—”

“You must be the bison hunter who can’t find the right road. You want to be on the other side of the shop and take the driveway up to the house.” rumbled Jim pleasantly.

After talking to Jim and getting acquainted we headed to meet him over at the house to talk to Nadine. Nadine gleefully accepted the coffee beans, and we enjoyed some great conversation with these two experienced landowners. Jim and Nadine showed us various pictures of bison on the property, and gave us lots of great information about how to hunt the herd, and recounted tales of various other hunters they had hosted over the 40 years they have had the farm. I decided to pay for access, and we returned to hunting.

Leaving the farmhouse, we decided it would be wise to put on the chains before trying to drive around the farm.

“I’ve never put these on before, but I’m sure we’ll figure it out. I’ve never had chains with cams before, only those rubber straps.”

“You’ve never put on these chains? Just great. So much for the professionalism and experienced operation I was promised before coming up.”

“You’re welcome.”

We quickly got the chains figured out and began to drive the perimeter of the property. We ran into some sign from earlier in the week, presumably the herd that the other hunter had harvested their animal from. After a few hours of clearing brush and trees from the little two tracks around the property mostly with the front bumper and the windshield, but occasionally with the Sawzall too. We took a bison trail that left the property and cut through a few hundred yards of dense forest until we reached the Tanana river. This time, I put on the snowshoes.

“Looks like they either crossed before it iced over, or that ice is stronger than it looks. It is clear, but I doubt it is more than an inch thick though.”

“We’re not crossing that bud.”

“I know…but I’m just saying, if a dinosaur popped out of the trees on the far side there, I’d drop him and then let future Jonathon figure it out. I bet we could use the jet sleds to slide across the ice, distributing our weight enough, and worst case, they are basically little boats and I’ve floated in one before. We’d figure it out.”

“Yeah, sure, but I’m saying we’re not following these old tracks across there right now. Why risk it?”

“Oh, totally agreed.”

So back we went and finished our tour of the property, marking all tracks we came across to timestamp them.

“That hunter shack looks pretty good. I think in the morning we creep out there in the dark and sit for a few hours to see if anything pops up. I’ve got chairs and the buddy heater, some cards, should be pretty pleasant.”

“Yeah, we’ll see. I am still stuck out here with just you, so how pleasant can it be. You didn’t even let me eat lunch today.”

“I told you there was stuff for sandwiches in the cooler in the back. You could have made one any time.”

“I was promised a 5-star chef would be cooking my meals.”

“Breakfast and dinner dude, lunch is on you.”

Leaving the property, we decided to look at a nearby ranch that charges $2000 for access just to see if we could spot any bison. A couple miles down the road, and many spruce grouse flushed by the truck later (sorry Ava, she tried her best to point them through the windshield from the center console), we entered the edge of the field.

“What’s that over there…” AJ began.

“That’s a bull bison. Look to the right, there’s more.”

We had found a herd, but not where I had permission to hunt nor where I wanted to.

“He’s a nice bull, but young. Maybe 4-5 years old. See how his horns only just barely point up? And look at him next to that cow, his body isn’t that much bigger than hers. A fully mature bull will be obviously larger with horn tips that just start to tip in to the center. A dinosaur will simply stand out undeniably more massive both in body and horn.” I lectured AJ for the first of what would be many, many times trying to educate him in the task of aging and judging a bison.

In the fading light we returned to the cabin, discussing dinner options. We made plans to meet up with Don for tri tip and potatoes at his cabin.

The next morning, we returned to Jim and Nadines in the dark, and crept in the truck to the hunter shack at the back end of the property just as first light started. We spent a few hours playing cards, and listening to “Wait Wait Don’t Tell Me” pod casts without seeing anything more than crows.

In our boredom, we decided to circumnavigate the property on foot, strapping on our snowshoes to see if any bison had entered overnight. After several miles and stiff legs, we made it back to the truck. We headed back to the farmhouse for a productive chat with Jim and Nadine, which yielded lots of updated contact and property ownership information for other farms in the unit. There was nothing on the property right now, so it was time to explore again. There were also some other roads that headed to the Gerstle river that we wanted to check out.

While doing so, we picked up some more grouse, despite AJ’s protests that I needed to “just, FOCUS” and not be distracted by my bloodthirsty habits. AJ was not successful. We found a nice bison trail while exploring a road that ultimately crossed the frozen Gerstle river over into some private fields. At this point, the Gerstle river was a very minor creek, as opposed to the 1/2 mile wide glacial braided river that we crossed down at the highway, which made it clear that our +6mile effort the morning before was entirely futile. While on this road, we ran into another hunter, Chris with his buddy Mike, they were the ones hunting the property with the fresh sign we stopped in at the day before. They too had seen the herd the night before, but like me weren’t ready to pay thousands of dollars to chase a bison. Chris was looking for a mature bull, but one that would still be good eating—not a dinosaur—we were not in competition, and I squirreled that information away in case I might could use it later. One thing became apparent, there were roughly 25 head of bison hanging out in this corner of the unit, and there was not a dinosaur among them.

We headed back to the cabin for lunch and to replan. We had tried to access the public Gerstle Fields earlier, but the snow was simply too deep to get out there without miles of walking. Heaven forbid we have to walk on this hunt! A decision was made to poke around the farms in the center of the area. After a few phone calls using numbers and tips from Nadine, I quickly managed to secure free access to several properties that seemed promising. While heading to look at one of them we ran into Don and invited him along to see what we could see. As we hit the end of the road, Don decided he was going to head back to his cabin to take care of the dogs. While we were talking, we realized there was significant bison sign all over the road right where we were parked. And it was fresh.

As AJ and I plowed a pathway down the tree row to access the property we had permission for our eyes were peeled, trying to glimpse through the trees into the adjacent fields. These fields are approximately 2 miles long, 100-400 yards wide, and separated by 10 to 20-yard-wide strips of trees for windbreaks. As we crept along in the truck glancing the back end of the fields, I spotted the tall shoulders of bison poking above the brush at the far end.

As I rushed out of the truck and started to close the distance, AJ voiced his displeasure at having to walk all that way.

“AJ, if I find a dinosaur and kill him, we can slap the chains back on and drive down here afterwards—but I’m not going to risk spooking them before we’ve got a good look at the herd. Let’s cut over to this other field, sneak down, and then we’ll pop back out through the trees to get a look at them.”

“Uggh. Fine. Snowshoes?”

“No, it’s not that bad and I don’t want to waste time. Let’s go!”

And so off we went. What was originally estimated as a 600-yard gap between us and the bison, quickly revealed itself to be closer to a mile. Finally, we had closed the gap to under 300 yards. What seemed at first to be 10-20 animals had swelled to roughly 200 head in varying sized bands, scattered across the back ends of several fields for about ½ of a mile.

“That cow is ENORMOUS!”

“That’s a big bull, shoot him!”

“Are you serious? He’s too pretty. I want a dinosaur.”

“This again?! But he’s right here, plenty big, and we could be done and headed to the Haul Road tonight. Would you shoot him on my last day? What about your last day?” probed AJ.

“AJ, no. I wouldn’t shoot him at last light on the last day of my entire season, let alone just this first trip. I want a dinosaur. Period. Ok, maybe on the last day at last light I would shoot a little calf. I absolutely won’t ever shoot a cow or an immature bull though. Just won’t happen.” I replied.

AJ would soon grow tired of this diatribe, and eventually to accept it numbly.

As we crept along to get a look at all of the herd, there were many, many nice bulls in the 4 to 6-year range, hundreds of cows and immature animals. I thought maybe I had glimpsed a dinosaur at one point, but over the next couple of hours and poring over every animal multiple times, I determined that I must have seen just a really large, beat up cow. During this process we walked up on some hunters who had just killed a very nice bull, approximately 7 years old and clearly better than any of the bulls we had just looked at.

After shaking the hunter’s hand and leaving them to their work we headed back to the truck for the night. Things were looking quite good, and we had a plan for the morning.













Chapter 2
The Bad

First light the next morning found us returning to the same place as the night before, to look over the herd again. Per the state biologist the total population in the unit is roughly 400 bison, and these fields held 50% of those animals. Surely, if there was a dinosaur, or even just a truly mature bull, we’d find him here.

“Ok AJ, I’ll admit it, I would have had a tough time not shooting the bull that kid killed yesterday. But maybe not. He wasn’t a dinosaur.”

“Just shoot what makes you happy.”

“Thanks, that helps.”

As we reached the end of the road, bodies blocked our path. Large, brown, wooly bodies. As the truck parted the sea of bison in front of us, we had a heated seat view to assess the 30 or so animals from mere feet away, quickly concluding that I was not interested in any of them. AJ was crestfallen, but I really didn’t want to just pop something on a farm road amidst a field of broken-down tractors, cars and one methy-looking abandoned trailer home. Besides, there were no dinosaurs here. As we drove to the end of the fields from the night before, bordering another property we had permission to hunt, we began to creep forward. It quickly became clear that the herd of 200 or so from the night before had grown to approximately 300 or more.

Hopping out of the truck, we stalked to a point within 100 yards of the edge of the herd to start looking. A cursory glance confirmed that I didn’t see any dinosaurs.

It was Monday morning now, and AJ had to be back in Anchorage 7 hours away in time to catch his flight home at 5 a.m. Wednesday. We were looking at +75% of the total population, having already looked at another 10% and dismissed them from danger the other day +10 miles away. Odds were not looking good that there even was a dinosaur out there for me to chase, and if there wasn’t, why wouldn’t I shoot a truly mature bull that was at least 6 years old?

“AJ, there’s not a dinosaur in here. I dunno if there even are any dinosaurs in this unit. The average age of harvest is like 3-4 years old, with nearly 100 tag holders each year.”

“Yeah…and?”

“I think I’m going to take this bull up here. He’s nice, at least 6 and in his prime. It’s been fun, and then maybe we can go chase birds or something for the next day or so before heading back to town.”

“Just warn me before you shoot, so I can plug my ears.”

“Of course, I will warn you. I would never forgive myself for hurting your delicate ears, Princess.”

As the herd milled around in the brisk sunshine, I settled into the snow resting my gun into my trekking pole straps rigged up to be a bipod. AJ called the range at 260 yards. Easy. All I needed now was for the bull to step clear.

“Ok, I’m shooting.”

Bang!

“I thought I heard the bullet. Did you see it hit AJ?”

“No, I flinched. I wasn’t ready for you to shoot!”

“I told you I was shooting! I even waited a bit after telling you! You flinched?! Frickin’ amateur hour over here…”

“Whatever. They’re running towards the trees, and he’s not acting hurt.”

As we raced to the edge of the brush, vainly hoping he would give me another shot, it was clear that if I had hit him, it was not bothering him in the slightest. He never separated out from the herd before they all crashed into the spruce thicket. After mentally marking everywhere I had seen the bull go, we brought Ava over and began to look for blood. He had crossed nearly 500 yards of snow-covered open field and light brush before reaching the trees. I was still convinced I had hit him, and we began to crisscross the field searching for blood.

I was shooting my .300 Weatherby Mag with the 2-year old Vortex Diamondback scope 6-18x with a 50mm reticle mounted. You may recall this gun with a previous scope causing me to shoot at geese instead of the 380” 6x6 bull elk on my birthday in 2016 during my limited entry Panguitch bull elk hunt. The new scope has only had 15 rounds fired through the gun since I bought and mounted it: 5 to sight it in originally; 3 to check the zero in August 2017; 1 to kill my caribou September 2017; 1 to check the zero in September 2018; 1 to kill my moose in September 2018; 1 round to check the zero in August 2019; and 3 to check the zero with the 200-grain rounds that ADFG required me to use for this bison hunt on October 18, 2019.

After thoroughly covering the field without sign of blood we reached the trees and followed it for a while through the woods. Still, nothing and Ava didn’t connect on any blood either. I must have missed, maybe I flinched or perhaps jerked the trigger a bit?

As we returned to the field (and spooked up a flock of ptarmigan “Focus Jon!”), we saw another hunter approaching. After telling him what happened, and where to find another group of bison we went back to the truck. He promised to let me know if he saw a wounded bull and offered to put it down if he encountered it. I thanked him and told him to just hang out right there and he’d get a nice bull within a few hours (which he did) and we headed out to figure out access onto the properties where the herd disappeared to. I took this opportunity vent my frustration on a plump sharptail on a property we could hunt, which we welcomed into the bed of the truck. But I resisted grabbing Ava and pursuing the flock of willow ptarmigan that broke from the trees at my shot. AJ wouldn’t admit that he was proud of me, but I knew he was.

As we drove the edge of this tract, we caught sight of a large wolf on the gut pile from the bull killed the day before. Wolves are cool, and I just haven’t felt the drive to kill one since my dad got a nice wolf on our fly-out “caribou/bear” blueberry hunt in 2006.



We would end up seeing 4 more wolves that morning, which made my decision to keep Ava in the truck for the rest of the time.

As we headed back to the cabin for lunch, we spotted a new herd of 60 or so blocking one of the primary roads in the area. A quick look through the binos confirmed there were several large bulls in there. At least two appeared to be VERY large.

I did not have permission to hunt from the landowners located on each side of the road, but knowing that in many cases the public road easement allows for hunting within so many feet of the centerline of the road (provided that you are off the maintained surface and are not shooting from, to, on, or across the road). I tried to reach the local fish and game office to ask if this road had public hunting rights on the margins. No answer. Call the state trooper dispatch, only to learn the local trooper was on leave, but they’d connect me to another one (after taking down my name, phone number, date of birth, driver’s license number, vehicle description, and would have probably asked for a stool sample if they could have taken it over the phone…). While on hold waiting for the trooper to pull up various maps and easement documents, we eventually watched the herd saunter off to the right, heading towards a property that I did have access too. Ultimately, the trooper was unable to tell if that road had the right kind of easement (I had cell coverage, but not internet so I couldn’t pull up the information myself).

After a quick lunch of ptarmigan-langostino gumbo, we headed back out where we thought the herd might be headed. We had been given permission to use a neighboring landowner’s plowed drive to access a landlocked set of barley fields we had permission to hunt that were roughly 1 mile wide and 4 miles long. The neighbor only lets one hunter at a time and somebody else was still ahead of me on his list. We located the herd in the back of the barley fields, just in time to watch them cross into the property we could drive on, but not hunt.

Discouraged, and still not feeling settled about my miss earlier that morning, we headed back to the edge of the trees where the herd had entered that morning. We had to nudge about 30 bison off the road again. When we got to the edge of the trees, we started to follow the path the herd had bulldozed through the woods. We crossed multiple openings, wooded strips, and fields in pursuit of blood, but to no avail.

After we had trailed roughly a mile or more total in snow covered ground without a drop of blood, I had to concede I really had missed. AJ had found an old bison leg bone and shoulder blade at the edge of the woods, and as we were talking, I started kicking at what appeared to be a vertebra buried in the snow and deadfall. Much to my shock, what I thought was a vertebra, was actually the base of a skull. A cow bison skull to be precise. A HUGE cow bison to be frank. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought that this old gal had a long-horned steer for a granddaddy. Based on annuli she was well over 13 years old, and has incredibly long horns for any bison, let alone a female. Best part of it all, is that Alaska lets you keep deadheads.



We found a couple of other groups of bison in the back of these fields, and spent some time stalking within 50 yards at times and passing on roughly 60 animals, including several bulls in the 4-6 year range. Those two large bulls we had seen just off the road earlier, fueled by confirming that I had indeed missed that 6-year-old bull earlier that morning, my resolve re-solidified. I really just wanted a dinosaur.

Throughout the trip, my friend Rich was asking for updates so he could plan accordingly to know if I would need him to come back up with me on Wednesday. I mentioned the miss that morning, and he suggested that I check the scope, maybe the miss wasn’t me. At that point, I hadn’t really thought of that as a possibility to be honest. The scope was pretty much new, and a reliable scope to boot. But Rich had a good point, and the plan was to hunt the next morning, keeping the iron sight .45-70 on hand for a backup, until we had a break to double-check the zero on the .300 Weatherby.

“Ok AJ, worst case scenario, I shoot a bull at last light tomorrow, we gut him, race you back to town, and then Rich and I will come back up and finish processing him Wednesday.”

“Yeah, that could work if it has to.”

“You know AJ, once I get a dinosaur bull, what I really want to shoot is a young bison calf. Like, you know how when they are first born, they are still reddish looking for a couple months? Like that. Have a nice lap blanket made from the hide; super tender eating. Mmm. That would be hard to pass on tomorrow even if we see a red calf.”

“You are seriously not right. That is just messed up. You’re joking, right?”

“Yeah. Probably. Maybe. Not really. That would be a tough decision actually.” And seriously, it would be. Those little red calves are pretty cool.

Shortly before turning in for the night, the landowner that was letting us use his drive to access a different property called. We could hunt his place until Thursday when he had some other hunters coming to start their hunt.

We went to meet him in person first thing, and to learn about his property. Randy is truly a wonderful individual with an incredible farm. There was ample bison sign, and while driving around we ran into a herd of 11 cows and calves at one point. After a couple hours, we could tell that there weren’t any real numbers hanging around on his place at that time.

Mid-morning found us once again pushing bison off the road as we approached the fields we had spent so much time in over the past couple days. I don’t know if AJ ever would get over me passing yet again on about 200 bison after creeping within 100-200 yards to just sit in the snow for an hour or so and just watch them before backing out and walking to the truck. By now, we no longer worried much about sneaking in on the animals, they were pretty complacent to let us get within range.

As we were heading back to the cabin, ¼ mile down the road and around the corner from the herd we ran into a new hunter. They had been looking for bison for a couple days now and not seen any yet. They asked if we’d seen anything and we hemmed and hawed and gave them a non answer really but they didn’t notice. I asked what he was looking for, and as soon as he said the first mature animal, cow or bull, he had in range where he could shoot one, he was dropping it, I smiled.

“Get in touch with Bob, then go down this road and take a left. There’s about 200 hanging out in the middle of his field right now. There are tons of animals in there that sound like they’d fit your bill. I’m looking for a nasty, beat up, old dinosaur bull—the kind the processor is going to have to grind four times and replace blades in between.”

“You sly dog! Hiding that info on 200 animals until after you knew I didn’t want what you were looking for. Ha! Respect.” Grinned the other hunter before they headed to take a look and get in touch with the landowner. He ended up taking a nice 4-year-old bull a couple hours later.

Not even 400 yards down the road after leaving those hunters, AJ called for me to stop, “Buffalo!”

There, 60 yards off the road and hiding in the trees behind a field were at least 30-40 bison, with several large bulls for sure. Only problem was, we didn’t have permission for that property nor were we sure who owned it.

As we rolled on down the road, a simple plan formed: stop at every house and ask until we found the owner and tried to get permission. Our first try found us entering long farm drive way with several buildings and houses that appeared to be together. Swing sets, kid’s toys, and a trampoline were scattered among tractors, trailers, and trucks. One house stood out and so we parked in the drive. AJ was tired so I walked up to the porch and knocked on the door, hearing a television on inside.

The door swung open almost immediately. As I cast my eyes downwards, my panic began to rise. An adorable 2 year old little girl was standing there holding her stuffy as a Yorkie and a Pomeranian circled in the background.

“uhh…Hi! Is your mommy home?” I asked intrepidly.

“No. Look! There’s fishies on!” she whispered pointin to the tv.

“That’s ok, I think I’ll just stay out here” I reassured her loudly. “Is your daddy home?”

“No. He’s working.” Was the reply.

“Is there any adult here?” I asked vainly, but she was sucked back into the fishies on the s

As I tried to keep the clearly outside dog outside, and wrangle the nicely brushed and pampered inside dogs back into the house while closing the door without coming inside, I finally heard a adult.

Thankfully, Dave and Carol are incredibly sweet great-grandparents and quickly saw that I was trying my best to keep things safe for their little angel. They invited me in and graciously offered to let me hunt their property. Dave mentioned if I wanted to give them a small chunk of meat, he wouldn’t say no, to which Carol sweetly informed him that she didn’t really care for bison. I asked if they liked halibut, to which Carol emphatically said yes. I let them know I had to head back to Anchorage tonight, but had a nice fillet at the cabin I would bring Carol if I killed my bison today, and would bring them back more from my house if I had to come back up.

And so back we went to get a closer look at that herd. I now had a nearly uninterrupted swath of 20 square miles of private farmland that I was able to hunt, most of it being open only to me. As we approached the area, it was clear that the herd was still there. We managed to get within 10 yards of the herd, but due to the brush we simply couldn’t see well enough to judge any of the bulls. Eventually, the herd spooked and started heading towards the fields we had been hunting, so we raced back to the truck to cut them off at the meth trailer. Sure enough, within seconds of arriving, the herd began to thunder out of the brush and into the field. There were certainly more than 60 animals; more like 150 or more.

“Him! I’ll shoot him! He’s pretty, but he’s enormous! Look at that mass! Look at his body! See how he tips in like that?! That’s a +9 year old bull right there!”

“Well, stop talking and let’s go!”

“Not yet, there are still more coming out of the trees” I said as bison continued to stream around the truck mere feet from the glass.

“Ok, that seems like it. Here’s the plan. We’ll go half-way down, get on that other road, cut over a few tree rows and find him out in the big field.” I chattered as I turned on the truck and started backing out.

I slammed on the brakes as a group of 10 bulls froze just to my left in front of the trailer. They were all clearly safe and too young for my tastes.

As we raced a mile down the field and started to cut over, we could see more animals streaming down the field.

“There he is, that’s the tall pretty one!”

“I see him…but what are you doing still just sitting here?! It’s 2 o’clock already! GO!”

“WAIT! THERE! SEE THAT ONE?!!! HE’S A DINOSAUR! LOOK AT HIS RIGHT SIDE! It’s all worn down and busted! And look at how much bigger his body is! He might be bigger bodied than that pretty boy!”

As the herd continued angling down the field, I changed the plan yet again. We backed up ½ mile and drove to the end of the field to get ahead of the herd. As we started moving towards where I thought the herd would be, we kept running into more and more bison. We couldn’t move without finding more of the wooly beasts in our way.

Finally, we hopped out of the truck and started on foot to sneak around these groups of 10-80 animals. I had both guns on my shoulder and was ready to play serious. If I could get within 100 yards, I’d use the .45-70, otherwise I’d give the .300 another go. Every now and then I would get a glimpse of Pretty Boy and the dinosaur still angling towards us and down the field. After a half mile, I had finally gotten in front of the herd and I set up in almost the same spot I had shot from and missed the bull the day before when a cow broke out of the last line of trees.

“209 yards” called out AJ.

I sat down, set up my sticks, and began to take calming breaths. I set the .45-70 at my side and picked up the .300, adjusting the sight picture in the scope until I could count the pieces of straw stuck in that cow’s dense mop of fur at the top of her head.

The animals began to trickle into the field and I had a perfect rest and view of each one as it stepped out of the trees, stopped to look at me, and then continue nonchalantly into the open to lay down. Pretty Boy was in the first ten animals that came out. He truly was magnificent, watching him curl his upper lip sniffing the cows, only to whirl around and ram any younger bulls that dared get to close. Had I not just clearly seen a beautiful, ugly old dinosaur, I would have happily killed Pretty Boy right then. But no. I just knew that the dinosaur was back there in the trees still waiting to come out.

After more than an hundred animals had passed through my crosshairs unscathed, finally I saw him. His right horn was only 2/3rds there, chipped, worn, rounded and THICK. I could see his other horn was not equally broomed, but still carried mass in a way not even Pretty Boy could match. I gathered my thoughts, stilled my hands, and told AJ I was about to shoot. All this while the dinosaur just stood there, breath steaming and curling around his scarred face.

BANG!

I watched in horrified disbelief as my bullet struck the snow 30 yards short of my dream bull and he lumbered out into the field and casually lay down behind some 30-40 cows and calves. Flashbacks to that 2016 elk hunt flooded my mind. Either the gun or the scope was off, big time. I quickly shook off the building despair, set the .300 aside and picked up the .45-70.

“I hit the snow. I missed.”

“I know. Now what?”

“Well, they are still just hanging there but I’m going to need to get closer to use the .45-70.”

“How about this, I’ll go on the other side of the trees and get on the far side of the herd before coming back over. Then maybe I can push them your way. Just don’t shoot me.”

“I won’t. Probably. No promises.”

And off AJ went. It was now nearly 5 p.m., light was fading fast and time was short to be able to get AJ to the airport in time. After 10 minutes, AJ poked back through the woods, causing the herd to saunter towards me.

Pretty boy caroused not even 60 yards from me for what seemed like an eternity. Rising up on his hind legs, and causing the ground to shake when he lands, at one point lifting a 4-year-old bull clean off the ground with what seemed like a casual flick of his head. In the golden evening light, I was sorely tempted to shoot this majestic bull with a classic buffalo gun and using iron sights. But try as I might, I could not will my finger to pull the trigger, not while the dinosaur hid 20 yards to Pretty Boy’s right amidst the cows and calves.

Eventually, the herd had enough of us and started to thunder away. I could only glimpse the dinosaur’s rounded off horn as he bobbed up and down at the back of the sea of two-toned brown fur, nearly a foot taller than every other animal around him. The wily monster never gave me a second chance as he crashed into the willow thicket to my right.

We simply would not be going home with a bison that night. I had the perfect bull in my sights, and I failed. Truthfully, I was crushed.

We headed back to the cabin so AJ could get ready to head home. I called Rich to tell him what was going on, and off we headed 350 miles back to Anchorage.






Glamping hunting at it's finest

Chapter 3
The Ugly

Wednesday October 23, 2019

We lucked into great road conditions and got back to Anchorage just after midnight. After a few hours of sleep, I dropped AJ at the airport and crawled back in bed to snuggle my family. Between the wolves and the icy conditions, I opted to leave Ava home this time. I hate doing that almost as much as she does.

“Ok Rich, I just have a few groceries to pick up and then I’ll be headed your way to pick you up. Weather report is pretty windy and rough up there today, so it’s not the worst day to skip hunting.”

I picked up Rich in Chugiak, grateful for his help and willingness to lend me his Kimber .300 WSM.

“Rich, I’m telling you, that rounded off bull…he’s just perfect. I think we can find him again tonight in that same field. Heavy, beat up, and nasty.”

“Ugh. He sounds ugly.”

“Right?! That’s what makes him beautiful.”

“Yeah, I don’t think so. He just sounds ugly. Why would you want to shoot him and not Pretty Boy?” Rich seemed genuinely bewildered at my fixation.

Some people just don’t get it.

We arrived back in the area with nearly two hours of light left in the day. The strong winds that were forecasted had arrived in full force. It was cold, windy, and nasty. As we lumbered off towards the fields, my anticipation built higher and higher with each passing yard.

“Ok, it is 4:21 p.m. I wager that we’ll be in bison about 20 minutes.”

“Uh huh. Could be.”

“I just want to check this one field that is on the way down to where I suspect the big herd is.”

“Sounds good.”

A few minutes later we turned up Randy’s driveway and peaked over into the neighboring barley fields. Sure enough, a small group of cows and calves was feeding in the open.

“Sorry, I mislead you. It only took us 7 minutes to find bison. I know you are so disappointed.”

“Well you got that right. Let’s take a closer look at them just so I can learn a little.”

“Sure thing.”

After a few minutes glassing the herd, we headed back to where I had missed the dinosaur.

“There. Right where I left them.”

I could tell that Rich was in slight disbelief, as there were now 200 bison milling about 500 yards away from the truck. Try as we might, we just could not distinguish whether the rounded off bull was in them before the herd filed off into the trees and the light faded away.

On the way back to the cabin we stopped by Dave and Carol’s to drop off their halibut, but we got distracted by the +100 bison feeding in their front yard. It was too dark to see any sort of detail, but it gave us hope.

Over tri-tip and peach cobbler with French vanilla ice cream, I again tried, but failed, to educate Rich on the noblesse and beauty of a dinosaur bull. I guess there’s just no accounting for some people’s tastes—or lack thereof.

“Naw. He just sounds UGLY.” Drawled Rich.

The next morning came and thankfully, Rich didn’t need as much time as Princess AJ to get up and go. We ate our pastries, gathered our things for the day and headed back to the same field. Once again, we pushed those cows and young bulls off the road with the truck and rounded the corner by the meth trailer. Once again, we glassed and found some bison out there in the field, but only about 40 this time including the cows by the road. It was clear that none of them were my bull, and we headed back to more fully explore Randy’s property and his neighbor’s.

As we lumbered down Randy’s drive, I spotted bison on the neighboring barley field. We drove out into the middle of the field to get a better look.

While we watched the initial group of 10-15 animals, more and more bison began pouring out of the woods from Randy’s place on the one side, and a mile away in the opposite direction another group started coming in. Pretty quickly we were surrounded by bison between 100 and 600 yards away.

“That is a nice bull. A REALLY nice bull.”

“That is what I was thinking too,” replied Rich.

“I don’t think he’s Pretty Boy though, he’s not tall enough or heavy enough. Plus, he only just barely starts to tip in. He’s nice though. Probably 7-years old. Really nice. That is probably the third best bull I’ve seen.”

But he was not a dinosaur.

“Huh, look at that! That calf is still red!” I said in disbelief.

“There’s a couple of them,” Rich replied.

“Hand me the gun, I’m gonna shoot one.”

“errrr, what?!”

“Ok, fine, not really. Probably. Maybe.”

So we left and headed back towards where we had spent the morning to see if any other bison had appeared. So far for the day, we were only sitting at maybe 100-150 bison. Things were downright slow!

On the road we encountered another hunter who I had not yet met. As we chatted it was clear that they were just looking for a good bull to put in the freezer. I told them who to talk to for free access and that there was a nice herd hanging out at the end of the road with several good bulls in it. As we made it to the fields that had been my mainstay of action for the past 4 days, I was shocked to see them completely empty.

As we headed back towards Randy’s place for our evening hunt, I spotted a red truck at Dave and Carol’s that looked familiar. We pulled up, and sure enough, there were Chris and Mike from last Sunday. I asked how things were going, and was surprised to hear that other than the 25 we had both seen that Saturday, plus the dozen cows and calves on Dave and Carol’s today, Chris and Mike hadn’t seen any bison.

“Follow me, I’ve got an idea.”

I took them to Randy, and explained my thoughts. Normally, Randy doesn’t let more than 1 hunter on his property at a time, but since I was being quite particular, I figured Randy would be fine if we all hunted together. Since I was not likely to find a bull I wanted, if Chris saw a bull he wanted I asked Randy if he’d be ok with Chris shooting it. Randy thanked us for asking him first, and graciously allowed us to hunt together. Randy also informed me that I would be able to hunt his place Friday as well, since the other hunters tags didn’t start until Saturday.

We didn’t make it 300 yards before I slammed on the brakes and got out of the truck.

“Well, I’ve now tripled the number of bison you’ve seen!” I quipped with a grin. Rich, Chris and Mike were all busy getting out the spotting scopes and looking over the group of 60 bison 600 yards down the field.

Chris and I were standing next to each other glassing through the herd when suddenly a bull showed himself from the crowd.

Chris’s eyes got enormous as he said, “I want him!!!”

“Good, ‘cause I don’t! Let’s go get you your bull!”

As we stalked in on the herd, Chris and I noticed two hunters on the far side of the herd. Knowing that I was the only one authorized to hunt the property, they were clearly trespassing. Brushing it off, we focused on the bull at hand. Chris got under 300 yards, and fired a shot wounding the bull. We quickly pursued the herd and Chris put two more rounds into him after Chris managed to separate the bull from the group.

Rich and Mike made their way down to talk to the trespassers, discovering that they had actually shot a bull a few hours before. We figured them having to pack it out by themselves two miles to their truck out on the road was a fitting punishment. When we later told Randy, he agreed that they paid their price in flesh. All that really mattered to me was that they hadn’t shot the old ugly bull that was now haunting my every waking and dreaming moment.

We split up and chased Chris’s bull on foot and with vehicles more than a mile to the south, then back again nearly to where he first shot him. We glimpsed him a couple times, but not enough to get another shot in him. An hour after dark Chris made the call to back out and let him die overnight, and try to find him again in the morning.

As I cooked dinner, I called to let Randy know what was going on. All said and done we had only managed to find about 200 animals that day. And neither Ole Ugly nor Pretty Boy were anywhere to see.

Friday morning, Rich and I again started on Randy’s place to look at the neighboring barley fields, and saw the same group of cows with the little red calves. We raced over to the fields at the end of the road, stopping at Dave and Carol’s to bump the herd out of the trees so we could see them as they got out into the open fields. Before we got to the fields, we ran into the other hunter from the day before. He’d spoken to the landowner and was just getting set up to look at the fields.

“Ok, you wait here and watch the opening between that meth trailer and those broken-down tractors. We just bumped the herd that is hanging out on the other property I can hunt. They’ll come out right there and you should be able to make your move on a bull.”

A few seconds later the first animal cleared the trees. A few animals later and there he was.

“That’s your bull bud. He’s nice. Solid 6-year-old bull, go get him!” I said with a grin.

“Oh, by the way. I think I saw that old bull you are looking for last night right on the road back a few miles. Huge body, busted up right horn?”

“Really?! Awesome! Thanks for the tip!”

We left him to stalk in while we raced back to Randy’s to where we thought Ole Ugly might have chosen to hide, and to check in with Chris and Mike to see if they’d found his bull. Thankfully, the bull had in fact died out in the field we left him in the night before. And he was a dandy!

After helping Chris and Mike manipulate the massive beast for some great pictures, we headed out.

“That wasn’t Number 3. Better bull than I thought he was last night though,” I remarked to Rich as we drove over to the barley fields next door.

“That’s what I was thinking too.”

The rest of the day was filled with racing from one end of the private lands to another trying to find more animals. We got to see the other hunter’s bull too, and that bull also ended up being a bit better than I had originally thought—but still not as nice as Number 3 or Chris’s bull. But try as we might, but the time the sun set we had maybe seen only 100 animals. No sign of Ole Ugly or Pretty Boy either.

Saturday morning dawned with despair. I began to set my mind towards thoughts of when I would next be able to break away from work to come back during my season dates. Don had set up to meet us mid-morning so I could show him some of the properties I had obtained access too in the hopes that the information would be useful for Don’s upcoming hunt.

At first light we entered the barley field next to Randy’s place, just to see 2 bison slip into the trees and onto Randy’s. A short while later we found the same 11 cows and young bulls with the 2 red calves. We raced to the end of the road fields, and found nothing but ravens. Heading back to the barley fields we ended up meeting with Don.

“Well, so this is where you get onto that property. See anything this morning?” Don asked

“There’s about a dozen out there right now, but nothing special. I’m at a loss though. We now have +200 missing bison we haven’t seen since Thursday. I can’t find them anywhere. I haven’t been over to the public stuff yet, and even though the biologist flew it the other day and says there was nothing over there, I think I want to check it out.”

“Yeah, I noticed some tracks heading out that way the other day, follow me I’ll take you there.” Don said.

As we left the familiar comfort of the farmlands and wound our way through the spruce thickets my doubts began to rise. This was just a waste of time. We reached the public fields and there was nothing. Not even a track. I led the way down as I had more clearance and Don didn’t want to risk spooking anything should there be something in the fields.

After a couple of miles with literally zero sign of bison I was nearly ready to turn around. We were just wasting our time, and we had precious little of that remaining. I finally decided to at least see the end of the first field before giving up.

“Hey, that looks like bison have been rooting around over there” noted Rich.

“Yeah, maybe. I think you’re right.”

A few hundred yards later, I slammed on the breaks and jumped out of the cab. At the end of the field, +1500 yards away were 4 bison. It was obvious that they were bulls. BIG bulls.

As Rich set up his spotting scope and tripod, I climbed up on the roof of the cab to have a better view of the bulls.

“I think that’s Pretty Boy on the right! No, wait, that’s Pretty boy on the left, on the right is Number 3. Holy crap! That’s Ole Ugly!”

I scrambled off the top of the truck and started to get ready to chase the bulls on foot. They were feeding away from us nonchalantly.

“I can’t believe it! It is him! I want him SO BAD!”

“Calm down, you’ll get him. Wind’s wrong. But there’s an old jeep trail through the trees there that you could run down and try to get ahead of them” Don informed me. It was now shortly after 11:15, and the chase was on.

I had the presence of mind to hand Rich my truck keys before I tore off through the woods. I found the jeep trail and began to run. After approximately 500 yards, I decided to cut back over to the field to see if the bulls were still there.

They had vanished.

I looked back to where the trucks were and saw Rich and Don loading up.

“They headed off that way a little bit ago.” Rich told me as he pulled up and I got in.

“Let’s get around the corner and see if we can cut them off.”

As we tried to get around in front of them I realized there were a couple brushy filled clearings that I couldn’t quite see. Rich set up the spotting scope on the first major opening and I walked over to Don’s truck.

“Hey Don, mind if I hop up on top of the rack so you can drive me over to those clearings to get a better look?”

“No problem.”

As I surfed the top of Don’s truck, I could see a whole lot of nothing just a little bit better than before. Suddenly looking straight a head of us, I saw the 4 bulls quickly cross the trail more than a 1000 yards ahead of us.

I scrambled into the passenger seat of my truck and Rich took off towards where the bulls had disappeared.

Suddenly, the bulls were just off to our right, not 300 yards away.

I bailed from the truck as Rich called out the range. I set the scope accordingly and walked up to try and get a clear shot.

As soon as I found Ole Ugly in the cross hairs, he was clear of the other bulls.

Bang!

I hit him, but he just stood there, shaking his head.

Bang!

He whirled to the right and stumbled to his knees. Shocked, I watched him get right back up and start lumbering away. As soon as he was clear I sent another round into him now 400 yards away.

500 yards. Bang! The bulls all continued to walk steadily farther and farther away.

“You hit him every time, come on let’s get closer so you could finish him.”

We closed the gap to 200 yards. “Which one is he? I can’t see his right side…wait, there he is with the bloody tongue hanging out.”

Bang.

I hit him again. 100 yards, Bang. This time he hit the ground and couldn’t stand back up but was still upright. Number 3 took off running, but Pretty Boy and the 4th bull wouldn’t leave. As Rich and I closed in to 20 yards, we began to yell and scream before Pretty Boy and the other bull left Ole Ugly’s side.

“Give him another one, he’s still trying to get his feet.”

Bang.

Finally, the old warrior lay down for the last time.

We had done it. I had killed Ole Ugly. I had my dinosaur bull. And I had done it on public land.

It was nearly 1:30 now, and the temps were in the mid 30’s. Hard to ask for better conditions really. After pictures we began the task of breaking down the beast. Thankfully, Rich and Don are experienced big game hunters and between the three of us we had him broken down and loaded up before 4:30 p.m.

We had a celebratory dinner a few hours later back at the cabin. As other hunters came by to congratulate us it still hadn’t set in yet that it was real. The next morning, I brought the bull over to Randy to show him before we headed back to Anchorage.

Don put a rough tape to him and relayed about 16” for the bases and about 16” long for the good horn. I would later confirm with a ¼” flexible steel measuring tape that he had 16.5” bases on both sides with 16.75” and 14.5” lengths. For comparison, the world record bison has 16” and 15.5” bases (but way better length than my bull).

I still can’t believe how it all played out, and that we were able to find him again. This bull is everything I had dreamed about and more. I can’t wait for his euro mount to be done so I can put him up next to my cow, and I look forward to laying out my full cow’s hide next to Ole “Cody” Ugly just to see how much bigger he is. I gave away one shoulder before taking him to the processor, and I also kept the backstraps, tenders, and a bone in neck section to dry age and process myself. I still ended up delivering 683 lbs to the processor, with them weighing my bag that I kept at 87.5lbs. The other shoulder would have added at least 110 lbs to that total. The head and the hide weighed over 200 lbs. He was truly a monster.

His green gross B&C score was high enough that I had to recheck it several times. Each time it confirmed what I had found the first time. Even after deductions and taking drying into account, if I get him officially measured this bull would likely be the new #3 bull for Alaska ever taken. If he’d been evenly broomed off he’d probably be the #2 bull, trading that little bit of length for 2 better mass measurements.

It is immensely satisfying to chase one particular animal, and finally catch up to him. I cannot wait to see what my next adventure will bring.

Chris's bull


The other guy's bull



And Ole Cody Ugly

That's quite a story, thanks for posting it.

Much better chasing wild buffalo than paying to shoot some domesticated ranch bison.

Very Awesome!! What an adventure!!

I'm sitting in the deer blind waiting for shooting light and your story makes me wish I was chasing bison

Great story - thanks for taking the time too write it up and post it!

Was there any final conclusion on the 300 Weatherby Mag/Vortex scope setup? I take it you shot the bison with the Kimber 300 WSM that Rich lent you.

Great write up. Never thought I would get excited about chasing bison but your story did it.
Congratulations!

quote:

Originally posted by Hannay:
Great story - thanks for taking the time too write it up and post it!

Was there any final conclusion on the 300 Weatherby Mag/Vortex scope setup? I take it you shot the bison with the Kimber 300 WSM that Rich lent you.

Yes, I used Rich's Kimber to take Ole Ugly. So far I haven't had the time to diagnose my .300 Weatherby and Vortex. My suspicions are that the scope is the issue, but we'll see.

Wonderful tale! Thanks for writing it up!

Cool write up! Congrats
I did a Delta bull hunt in 2010. Mine was fun except on Sunday when no one wanted to come hunting with me and wouldn't you know that's when I killed my bull. I was all by myself to skin, butcher and load the bull. Thankfully I was able to get my truck close to the kill site.
I was told by a local that I'm the only one they ever heard of, stupid enough to hunt bison alone, and I certainly know why now.