AZ Elk - Man I love this place

[Big Fin]

Now that I have returned and another season is in the can, I better complete the write up on this late season Arizona elk hunt. Might take a while, so better get started now.

I received a pass from Mrs. Fin to leave the Sunday before season started, allowing me to get there mid-day on Monday and start the scouting operation for the season opener that would be on Friday. Being allowed to miss Thanksgiving requires some serious maneuvering on my part. In this case, the allowance was granted due to the fact that my guest hunter on this trip would be my son, Matthew. When you have an only child, your wife will grant you most any accommodation if it is to the benefit of said child.

It is always a long trip to AZ and NM. I’m getting too old for these road trips. Someday, I need to find a driver to haul my gear down. The worst part is always passing through the 80 miles of chaos along the Wasatch Front of Utah, or as my one LDS friend calls it, “The Mormon 500.” If that doesn’t wear you out, hardly anything will.

I got to northern AZ a little after lunch on Monday and was out scouting that afternoon. Wasn’t really looking for much, rather just trying to learn the roads and the lay of the land. Maps were spread all across the seat of the truck, with potential spots marked.

Lucky for me, the snow had ended the day before. The higher elevations of the unit had 8” of fresh powder, heavily tracked up by the time I arrived. The lower elevations, down off the rims, had no snow.

The next three days were spent scouting. Not sure I have ever found so many nice bulls while scouting. Nothing huge, but nice bulls that would look really good on camera. And unusual for a late Arizona hunt, only a few of them were broken, with most of them intact.

By the time Matthew and Brad (camera guy) rolled in from Phoenix, I was bouncing around and chattering about the great luck we were going to have. I showed them pictures and video of bulls and marks on the maps where I had seen bulls every morning and evening. All was set, especially if we could find “Grande Jefe” (Uncle Larry’s term for any over-sized buck or bull we are chasing) come the next morning.

Lots of pics, but this bull was the one that had me most excited for opening day.



Not a broken tine anywhere, the exception for late hunts in AZ.

 

[Big Fin]

Day One

The temp read 28F when we rolled out of the parking lot and headed to the rim in complete darkness. The GPS showed me the path I had marked while scouting, so getting to the glassing areas was easy. Now, all we had to do was wait for the sun to come up and we would be guttin’ and gillin’ in short order.

As is so often the case, something unexpected will put a kink I the chain. In this case, it was fog. Fog like I have seldom seen before. Fog like you see in SE Alaska, not northern Arizona. Fog so thick you could not see 100 yards when you dropped down off the rim a short ways to the good glassing places that had provided sightings of so many bulls the last three days.

“You gotta be kidding me, right? I travel 1,300 miles, we burn an average of six points each for this tag, and now a once-in-a-generation for bank rolls in the night before opener.” You can’t make this stuff up. Fact is usually stranger than fiction, as it was in this case.

We glass all morning, see nothing but the dense air hanging over areas I am sure have a bull feeding unaware. By 10am, the only live animal I have seen have been a couple of fox-eared squirrels and one lone spike bull that almost ran me over.

Around noon, the fog lofts above us, giving some warming sun, but nothing is visible below us. I look at Brad and Matthew, only able to shake my head as to what could have been. Good thing we have blocked off six days for this hunt, as it looks like it will be a five day hunt before we can see anything.

The afternoon was more of the same, with the fog rolling back in thicker than it was earlier. By the 4pm prime time, I could not see the trees on the ledge 75 yards below me. We hiked back to the truck with me providing words of assurance that tomorrow would be a better day and the bulls would be making themselves TV stars. And, Uncle Larry was coming up from Scottsdale for a day to join us, always a sign of good luck.

The ride back to the motel took well over an hour in the fog. Driving 20mph still seemed to fast at times, but my patience was wearing thin. Given the fog on the rim that night, I concluded we would drive down off the rim to the low country for the next morning. No sense repeating another day of frustration.

I had seen bulls about 300 yards into that fog, just a couple days prior.


Fin is losing patience.

 

[mtmiller]

Popcorn out. Looking forward to the hunt.

 

[jryoung]

Someday, I need to find a driver to haul my gear down.

My fees are low but the expense of redbull and 5 hour energy might get a bit steep.

 

[Big Fin]

Day Two

Well, the “hunt lower” idea sounded good in theory. As we drove lower and lower, the fog did not diminish. It was with little confidence that I assured the crew it would be clear when we got all the way down to the area where I had bumped a bunch of elk, including four bulls in the thick stuff, and then glassed a really good bull just over the boundary line.

We parked in fog so thick as to make our headlamps of little value. We had an hour hike to get to a ridge above a canyon that I hoped would give us some viewing opportunity. We got there a few minutes before legal shooting light and stood in the fog, each of us muttering some sort of cursing at our bad weather fortunes. Gonna be hard for me to show these guys all these bulls if we can’t see.

We stood at our posts, glassing until about 10am, using slight breaks to increase our visibility to 200 yards at a maximum. Second day of season and we had only heard one shot so far. Could have been shooting at coyotes for all I know. If they were shooting at elk, it was going to be some close range stuff.

By the time we arrived back at the truck at 11am, the fog was still thick. Some of the ridge tops were visible, looking like islands rising above the ocean mist. I was stumped of what to do for the evening plan.

Eventually, I decided to go even lower. That would take us right to the unit boundary and if we saw elk, odds were that they would not be on turf we could hunt. Still very foggy down there and nightfall came without a few cows and calves being sighted in the adjacent unit. I apologized to Larry that the fog had wasted the one day he had to spend with us.

With a third of the hunt already lost to fog, I was still at a loss. That evening, I could see the fog was much thicker up on the rim, so it made no sense to go back there, until such time as we would know the fog was gone. So, I would go to another area in the low country, hoping beyond hope that a bull would make an appearance.

Brad travels nowhere without the ability to make fresh coffee. The crew was thankful on this cold, damp, foggy morning.


Whatcha seein' down there, Larry?

 

[Big Fin]

Day Three

Day Three greeted us the same as the first two days; almost no visibility in the dark. I thought my truck headlight bulbs were dead, but it was just how thick the fog was.

We bounced along the rock and dust, finally getting to the area we spent the previous evening, the area least fogged in, though still too foggy for good glassing. We walk to our rock knob in the dark, setting up with me glassing west and Matthew glassing south and east, all the while Brad walking back and forth capturing the frustrating conditions and my growing impatience with the process.

I strained into the spotter, hoping to see through the fog in places where it would thin. There were four or five good benches down below me, all of which looked to be possible elk ground, if I could ever get a good look at them.

The closest bench was the longest and looked more like deer and javelin ground than elk country. I thought I had seen an animal moving away from me, but as soon as I got the spotter dialed to where my binos had been, the fog covered up the area and I moved to the next slightly visible patch.

The wind opened a spot in the fog where I thought I had seen something about fifteen minutes earlier. I spun the spotter back the leaned over juniper and quickly identified an elk; an elk with antlers; an elk with what had been six tines on the near antler prior to his September mating fights; an elk with the other antler being a big broken off stub near where the fourth point would have been.

I left the spotter dialed on the location and trotted over to get Matthew. I told him what I found. With no hesitation, he grabbed his pack and rifle and hustled over to the spotter. When the fog parted again, he proclaimed a bull of that character would be a good one for his tag.

And we were off. The bull was about 1,000 yards out and slightly below. He was feeding away from us, but had no clue we were there, which given the lack of visibility, was hopefully to our advantage.

We covered the first 500 yards in short order. Even with hardly any cover to hide us, we got to the canyon finger adjacent to and paralleling the bench the bull was feeding on. We were now in some cover, which was good, but having dropped to his elevation, the bull was very hard to locate in these thick benches of Cliff Rose and Mahogany. The fog sure didn’t help, either.

Finally, I could make out his back and antlers. He was feeding to the south, with a small pinion next to him. I ranged the pinion – 445 yards. Nope, not in this fog and brush.

His current vector would take him into a small opening as the bench he was on rolled into the coulee that separated his bench from ours. I estimated that if we could get to the nest corner of our mesa, it would be about 250 yard shooting once he fed into the small opening ahead of him.

I pointed to two big pinions 100 yards ahead of us and told Matthew that when we got to that point we would set up the camera and prepare for the shot. We started moving, using the brush and fog to our advantage.

In short order, a flock of mule deer rose from their beds and stared us down. I circle to our right, hoping to push them to our left, and away from the bull. As is how it usually works, just the opposite happened. As the dozen does and lone 4-pointed stetted down off our bench and dropped the 50 of elevation that created this coulee, the bull pulled his head to what was the ruckus.

The deer stopped when they got half way up the other side. We stood as still and silent as possible. The bull had now turned and I could barely make him out as he faced directly towards us, sensing the deer had encountered something bad for their longevity, and probably equally dangerous for his.

I glassed the deer. All the does were watching us, with the buck oblivious to anything. I looked back to where the bull was standing. In the haze and fog, I could see nothing, other than the burned out juniper he was last using to break his outline. I looked back at the deer, only to keep my language “TV-friendly” as the does bounced out of the coulee, taking a path just north of where I had last seen the bull.

I was not sure what the bull had done. I told the guys we needed to hustle and head further south in the event he headed that way. If he had turned north, west, or northwest, same as the deer had went, he would be out of the unit before we could cut him off. We hustled to the opening I had previously picked out and waited, scouring the opposing hill for any glimpse of elk or antler. Nothing.

I told Matthew and Brad to circle back and hit the fence line that formed the boundary, then head straight west to find a spot where they might see the back side of the ridge the bull was on. I would cross this small arroyo and push the brush in hopes the bull was still there, and by some miracle, maybe force him into Matthew’s crosshairs.

Over the next 45 minutes, I crossed back and forth across the ridge, busting through every patch of brush that a bull could hide in. I did come across his tracks in the soft dirt; right near the dead juniper he was last spotted. The tracks told the story. His tracks had been drifting south, feeding as he went. Then, alarmed, he turned in a circle. Given the deep depression and long stride made in the sand, he did not leave slowly or with any hesitation. Rather, he made a line NW and was probably out of the unit long before Matthew and Brad could get set up.

First the fog, now the covey of mule deer. I dared not ask, “What next?” At least we had and encounter and three more days to hunt.

About 10am down in the low country. Still hard to see very far at high magnification. But, slightly better than the first two days.


The remainder of the morning showed that most every other tag holder probably had the same idea we had – hunt the lower country where the fog is less. We saw more and more hunters, causing me to change direction and head back to the rim for the evening hunt in hopes the fog might have receded.

That evening was more futility. The fog was less, but not less enough that it made much difference I visibility. But, it did tell me that I wasn’t coming back up here again in the morning, given the fog seemed worse in the mornings.



With no elk sighted, I told the guys we would be headed back to the low country for Day Four.

 

[poormanslam]

Fin, I live in Idaho Falls and travel through that portion of Utah about 6 times a year, it is a fiasco. What is amazing is that I never try to outguess the traffic anymore. We used to try to avoid rush hour but sometimes it is not bad other times mid morning or mid afternoon is a nightmare. Good luck on the hunt I am headed Strip the end of the month can't wait to get in that country again.

 

[Big Fin]

Day Four

My Day Four plan proved to be a very popular plan. We were on a ridge long before sun up, watching a string of headlights follow the path we had taken. By shooting light, every ridge had hunters and optics strategically located. The bull from the prior morning was smart enough to stay hidden. Only five cows were spotted, with two good bulls in the unit across the way, probably two miles off.

Good news is, the fog was gone. At least down here.



By this time I am worried. We had slotted to hunt six days of this seven day season and we had last the first half of it to fog. Now, the morning of Day Four was crossed off the calendar and we had only one encounter to show; an encounter that was mostly fog and brush.

It was decided we would go back to the rim country that evening and see if the fog had lifted. I was putting some serious and rough miles on the Titan driving up and down these rims every day. The hunt on TV will look like two different units, with the low country looking more like scrub grassland and the rim country being Ponderosa country with six inches of snow. Such is how it is in AZ when you can travel 30 miles, drop 2,000’ in elevation, and have a completely different habitat type.

The afternoon of Day Four had us walking out on to a canyon point and set up for glassing by 2pm. It was nice to see our mile-long hike rewarded with skies clear enough that we could actually see some of the ridges I had scouted before season.

Temps were dropping faster than the sun. In short order, a spike bull fed across from my glassing position, giving me some confidence that the elk would be up and moving early today. Just felt like one of those evenings.

I walked over to Brad and Matthew to see what they had found. They reported nothing. I told them of my plan to drop down the ridge a ways to a rock outcropping that would give me a different angle to the prime country to our north.

An hour of eyeballing produced nothing. Unbelievable. These ridges held a lot of elk just a few days earlier. I hiked back to the location I had left Brad and Matthew, glassing out every small opening I could peak my head through in this thick cover. About half way there I spotted a rump of an elk in the thick junipers directly across from me. I ranged it - 435 yards and feeding up hill (away from us).

Before I ran up the ridge to get the crew, I glassed long enough to notice tines moving amongst the limbs. Good enough for me. Finally, we might be catching a break.

The guys knew something was up as they saw me scrambling to their position. They were ready and loaded by the time I got there, following me back down to where I left my hat hanging in a tree to indicate that a large enough opening existed glass from that location.

We got there and realized there would be no way to film from here. Too thick. I told them to keep an eye on the elk and I would search below the rim to find an opening, even if it was a small one. I did find one, but it was not much, just some dead oaks killed by a fire that bounced over this north facing slope.

I waved the guys down. They told me they could now see two bulls. One really good one and one smaller six-point that was broken up. The range of the smaller bull was 430 yards. The bigger dude was up the slope and was closer to 500 yards.

We had a small spot cleared, trying our best to be quiet as we bent over dead limbs and scooped out a spot in this snow made so noisy by four days of thawing and four nights of freezing. The elk paid no mind to our noise and movement. I suspect it was too thick for them to see us and the slight wind of the evening was to our benefit.

I got the spotter positioned behind the camera. Matthew got down on the bipod and was dry firing when the bulls would provide a slight shot. The biggest bull was a good one, for sure. From the obscure glimpses I could get, he was really long on the main beam, average on the front two, and super long on 3, 4, ad 5. He was missing a second point on the passenger side, but that was hardly a worry when he had such good top ends.

It was 4pm. We had some decisions to make.

Do we stay here and hope the big bull feeds down lower towards the smaller bull? If they came to the opening down and across, the shooting would be about 350. If they stay at the rocks where the smaller bull is feeding, it is slightly over 400. Longer than I like, but Matthew has made many shots such as that in the past.

Do we drop down this canyon ridge, cross the bottom of the canyon and scale up the other side in hopes we can find a gap in the thick brush on the other side that could provide a shooting/filming lane? I look along the slope of ridge we are standing and it is impossible to see more than 60 yards. I suspect the same would be found if we crossed this canyon.

I ask Matthew what he wants to do. He suggests we stay put. I agree, given the noise we would make getting over there, the fact we would be out of sight of the bull for a long time, and that if we did get there in fast order, there would be very little shooting light left when we got there, and probably no filming light.

So we sit there and wait. I watch the bull in the spotter. Sometimes he is in my glass but even at 500 yards I cannot see him due to the thickness of the junipers across from us. Very frustrating. There are times I can see him without much obscurity and I try not to convey my excitement to Matthew. If a shot does finally get presented, he doesn’t need the added excitement of his old man ranting and jabbering about long tines.

Matthew has now dry fired every time the big bull has put his vitals in an opening. He asks for permission to shoot. Every time he asks, I range it. Never less than 470 yards. He tells me how comfortable the rest is, how confident he is in the shot, etc. I counter with how much can go wrong in that distance, the fact that the sun has melted the snow from that south facing slope, and how it would be long past sunset before we could get over there and check on the shot results.

He understands. He has hunted enough to know that excitement should not overtake common sense. We agree to stay until dark, then sneak out and dump “Grande Jefe” in the morning, having all day to provide him with the appropriate last rites a bull of his stature would deserve. By the time we can barely see, the bull is now 520 yards off.

We load our packs and climb out of the canyon. I feel good about our decision. We have seen no other hunters in these canyons and with any luck, the bull will be back there in the morning, giving us the entire day to formulate a plan.

Matthew asks me how big I think the bull was. I really don’t know and I tell him that. Probably will surpass the 330 mark without needing to stretch a tape. We are excited and feel vindicated for sticking to our plan. I don’t expect to find really nice bulls on late hunts in AZ, but if this one wants to be a TV star, who am I to deny him.

On our way back to the motel, Brad disrupts our adolescent level of jubilance by reading the weather forecast for the next day - winds of 25 to 35 mph with gusts to 45mph. I laugh, “Yeah, right?” Leave it to a camera guy to try dampen the fun.

We are now four days into this and things are starting to go as planned. We have two days left. With the wind forecast for tomorrow, I ask Brad if we can squeeze a morning hunt out of the last day, if need be. In his usual “whatever it takes” attitude, he nods assuredly. He and I agreed we would do all we can to get two episodes out of this hunt and if it meant squeaking under the wire with some flight reservations, that is what we would do.


The best screen capture I can get from 500 yards, in very thick cover, at low light.

 

[Big Fin]

Day Five

Morning of Day Five comes early and the only thing to rival our enthusiasm is the wind speed. Damn it. Who in the hell is in charge of weather around here this week, the anti-hunters? I assure the guys that the winds will keep the bulls from traveling much and they will stick close to where we left them the night before.

Earlier than need be, we are in our spots, glass employed, trying to catch movement across the canyon in the predawn darkness. Light slowly improves, but no bulls show themselves. I know he is around here somewhere. He has to be.

I go down canyon to get some different angles, seeing some elk a ways north on other ridges. I can tell they are bulls, but none of them seem to rival the guy were are chasing, so I lose interest and climb back to Matthew and Brad.

When I arrive, Matthew steps away from the spotter with a smug look that needs to words. He points for me to look. I do and I see the big bull from the night before. He has fed to the thickly wooded saddle in that ridge and is now 600 yards away. He walks broadside and in a nice opening. Now I get the best view I have had since we first found him – shoot now, ask questions later.

What to do? We discuss a variety of options, trying to surmise what he might do in this heavy wind. As we are contemplating, he feeds out of sight, out of our drainage and down into the smaller drainage to our north. That makes our plan much easier. We will haul it down the toe of this ridge, cross the canyon and head north to the ridge the bull had disappeared from where a rock pile seems to provide a slight promontory. We will set up on the highest point of rocks, probably 150 yards east and slightly above his exit trail.

It takes an hour to get to where we want. We are as quiet as possible, but given this wind, not sure it is that important. Unfortunately, the drainage we are now glassing down into is even more problematic than the one the bull fed about earlier. It is only 250 yard shooting if the bull would emerge on the hillside across from us, but it is so thick that I am not sure how we would see him.

We sit there all day, taking turns glassing, then hiding from the wind. It is howling. It would rival many of the Wyoming winds I have battled. I don’t expect the elk to be doing much in these conditions. And, my expectations are met. Just before dark, we see the smaller bull feeding in the thick stuff not too far from where the big bull disappeared this morning.

Saved by the fact we know his big brother is nearby.


We see nothing of the big bull and decide that rather than spoil a potential chance at the big guy on our last day, we would pass on any stalk on the smaller bull. We hike out of the canyon watching as big clouds pile up to our west, creating one of the coolest sunsets I have seen.


The idea of two episodes is down the tubes at this point. Matthew resolves that if the smaller bull comes out tomorrow, he is going to shoot it. I tell him to hold his powder and we will do all we can to find the big guy and hopefully get him a shot better than the one he walked away from the night before.

Brad gives his nightly weather report. Two inches of snow overnight, with winds dropping to 15 to 20 mph in the morning. I can deal with that.

 

[Big Fin]

Day Six (Part I)

We rise for what is supposed to be our last day of hunting. A small skiff of snow is on the ground and more is coming down. I am feeling like crap. The many days of long hikes with heavy packs, little sleep, and eating marginal meals, is catching up with me. Given my appearance, Matthew and Brad suggest we maybe sleep in. Nope. We’re gonna kill a bull.

We park the truck and get to our perch at the perfect time. Or, at least the perfect time if you want to see a complete white-out blizzard. I had been talking to many other hunters over the week and many were waving the white flag and folding their tents. Now, to see this blizzard on the last morning, I had to wonder if I was the idiot and those who called it quits were having a good laugh at my expense.

The morning of squinting and scouring resulted in one spike bull. The snow was getting worse, but was supposed to stop in the early afternoon. I told Matthew we would hike some ridges in hopes of finding some fresh tracks to follow. If we found tracks in this squall, they would surely lead us to their maker and hopefully provide a shot. Nope, just some damage to the camera and audio equipment.

Lucky for us, the snow stopped around 1:30. The sun came out and the temps started to drop. The wind was much better than yesterday, but still enough to give you the shivers. It seemed like one of those perfect afternoons to shoot an elk.

Around 3pm, we saw the smaller bull and his broken antlers sneaking through the junipers. He was visible, then gone, then slightly visible, then gone. By 3:30, the pressure was on to make a decision. It was our last scheduled evening and Matthew had stated if this bull showed up, he would shoot it. If he wasn’t going to shoot it, I was.

Time had come to give up our hopes of shooting Grande Jefe. We had spotted him two days in a row, but like many big bulls, he had now vanished. Now what I wanted, but what TV demands required.

A plan was hatched, devised by me and Matthew and protested by Brad. We would split up. Brad and Matthew would go west and higher, getting out to a rock outcrop that might give them a shot down into the junipers. I would take a small camera on a small tripod and if I got a shot at the bull, I would film myself. Brad made me speak into the camera that this was my idea and if something went snare wire with the footage, it was on my shoulders, not his.

The production guys are given explicit instructions that they do nothing that might compromise footage, no matter what. Well, since I’m the guy in charge, sometimes I tell his bosses to take a hike and we do a few things against their rules. Seeing my resolve, Brad gives me the last instructions of how to frame the shot, how to focus through brush, settings they want it shot at, 1080i at 30p, and a bunch of other details I am thankful are not my responsibility.

As I head out, I see worry on Brad’s face. I assure him that since I am taking the same path we took yesterday, the odds of me seeing the bull are not very good. Most likely, he and Matthew will have the shooting, if any shots are provided.

With that, I put it in swift and fast. I head down the toe of this ridge, cross the canyon bottom, and scramble up the other side. With forty-five minutes of shooting life remaining, I am set up on the rocks and looking down into the junipers where the broken bull was last spotted.

I glass the entire drainage from this angle and see no elk. I climb a bit higher and out onto some other rocks. That angle provides nothing. I am not sure how this bull can disappear from us. We have a hunter above him at two different locations. Surely he will move to where one of us can see him.

Seems the viewing was better in my first location, so I turn to sneak back to that original location. As I turn, I notice some small openings further north; opposing the drainage with Grande Jefe disappeared yesterday. Since these openings are close by, seems worth my time to put some glass on the small spots I can see. I move about ten yards and when I step through some thick pinions, I can see a swath about 50 yards wide on the ridge north of me. I don’t even need my binos to distinguish the rump of an elk in the lower right of the opening about 400 yards across and slightly lower in elevation.

 

[Big Fin]

Day Six (Part II)

When I put my binos up, I see a very good bull nibbling on a juniper tree. I range it at 420 yards. No openings to provide anything but an offhand shot and in this wind, I need to get closer and where a gap would offer a filming option. The bull looks to have good tines, but I don’t have time to really look.

I sneak down the ridge as quiet as I can. Fresh in my mind is Brad’s final comment, “If you shoot, you better get it on camera.”

It takes me about five minutes to cover a hundred yards. Still too thick for filming or shooting. I squat to look through some limbs and the bull is still there. I see another bull lower on the ridge than the first bull.

There seems to be a small opening as the ridge slopes down this north face. I get there and find to it be a mess of dead oaks and a lot of crunchy snow. Try as I may, it is impossible to remain completely quiet. Between the snow, getting the tripod and camera set up, and moving around to find any lanes, the bulls is no longer broadside, rather quartering slightly away. His buddy down below has walked into some thicker cover and seems to have tired of my fumblings.

I now have the tripod extended, all three feet of it. The camera is attached, but I cannot find a lane wide enough to film. The focal point is always on the brush ahead, blurring the elk across the way. Finally, I get on full zoom and with manual focus, can force the camera to dial in on the bull. I frame the bull to be in the lower left corner of the frame, with him pointed and walking into the frame.

I grab my rifle and extend the bipod. I try to find a shooting lane next to the camera. None to be had. Nothing but dead oaks. I move right a few yards. Still nothing. The bull is moving his head back and forth, looking at me, looking at his buddy lower on the ridge, back to me, back to his buddy.

When I finally get my rifle weaseled between some scraggly little oaks, I am now four or five yards right of the camera. The bull is getting antsy and has moved further away. Damn it, now I have to go adjust the camera frame.

It takes a minute, but I get the bull re-framed in the camera. I hit the record button and crawl over to where my rifle is set and ready. Rangefinder tells me the tree just in front of him is 280. I screw the CDS dials to 300 yards.

The bull turns back and forth, tossing his attention from me to his pal. The shot lines up with him quartering very hard away, with his rump to my left, head forward and on the right. In all quartering shots, I aim for the exit, not the entrance. I hold for an exit just fore of the off shoulder.

There is a small limb crossing the front of his close shoulder, but the bullet should stay left of there. I settle in, reminding myself to try watch the bullet hit through my view from the scope. The trigger breaks and dust flies on the hill behind him. If not for his lack of reaction, I would have bet I drilled him; the shot felt that good. Obviously, he is not hit, rather looking at the hillside where some distraction has occurred.

I feed a second round, seeing I have another shot. I hold and the shot again feels perfect when the scope recoils. I hear a crack and the bull takes off like he was electrocuted. I stand and glass the hill side. All I can see is his buddy busting down through some thick stuff. No sign of the other bull. After a minute of looking, I head to the camera and review the footage.

First shot shows elevation to be perfect, just slightly right of his chest, hitting the dirt behind him. Second shot is also perfect elevation and if my small little viewfinder is correct, a small piece of the pinion was clipped off. Not what I wanted to see.

I load my junk and head down the canyon, cross it, and scramble up the other side. It looks so different from over here; I have to replay the footage to find a dead tree landmark. I find his tracks and see where the action happened. Two inches of fresh snow help tell the story. Deep gouges show where he erupted and headed downhill. Nothing but a couple long dark hairs lying on the snow. Looks like long dark hair from the mane on his chest.

Tracks are easy to follow. No blood near the shot and none in the first hundred yards. He was going downhill, so maybe some blood will appear when he gets down into those thick flats. Nope. I’m now 400 yards from the shot and not a speck of blood.

I crawl back up to shot location and again replay the footage. Holy crap that is a big bull. In fact, in this little view finder, he looks like Grande Jefe. I was so focused on getting footage, I hadn’t realized what bull it was or how big he was, just knowing he was a good one.

Replay shows both shots are perfect in elevation but just slight right, missing the bull by maybe three or four inches. Since I was right of the camera, it is hard to tell exactly, but things were very close.

I am sweating profusely and this wind is cooling me off really fast when it occurs to me what happened. No excuse. Not equipment failure. Operator error.

When I was up top and spotted the bull, the wind was blowing down these canyons at 15 to 20 mph. When I dropped down and took the shot, it was pretty much calm. I failed to realize that when the bullet traveled across the canyon, it was going to be subject to a direct cross wind. I failed to hold for it. I had held for a dead on exit with no compensation for wind.

The biggest bull I have ever shot at is now telling his buddies about a noisy hair cut he got. It then sinks in and I am beyond disgusted with myself. You give me that shot 20 times, even with the wind, and I will make it 19 times. I have no excuses. I want to find some, but there are none to be had.

When I first got the camera recording. He is looking to see why his buddy is nervous.


Screen capture just prior to my first shot.


The wind drift chart for this load from the Federal Premium website. If my estimate of a 15-20mph wind was correct, at 300 yards, the bullet hit exactly where this chart said it would if you don't hold for the wind.


I walked the two miles out of the canyon and back to the truck. Brad and Matthew see me coming and Brad asks if I heard the shots way far away. Said he heard two of them. “Yeah, I heard them. I made them.”

All I could do was hand them the camera and let them look at the footage. Brad had two quick comments, “Holy $#*t that’s a big bull. Damn, that is some excellent footage.” At this point, he thinks the outcome will be different.

He sees the first shot, “Oh man that was close.” The second shot whizzes across the small view finder, “Great shot, you drilled him.”

I can only wish. I tell him and Matthew the story as it unfolded. I apologize to Matthew that he did not get the shot. Had he and Brad stumbled upon the bull and he been provided a 300 yard shot, I would bet big money that Matthew’s tag would have adorned the bull.

The drive to the motel was long. I think the crew was trying to figure out how to remove any sharp objects from my possession. I was not much more depressed than if it had been an average sized bull. We had worked so hard for six days. We had overcome such serious obstacles of weather and conditions. The season would have been so great if we had been able to shoot a bull, any bull, on this last hunt of the year.

Being the great guy he is, Brad hatched a plan. We would film one more morning. We would load our junk in the rental vehicle, check out early, drive up to the canyons and hunt the morning. He and Matthew would then load up and road trip it to Phoenix later that day to make the red-eye flights that required them to be at the Phoenix airport at 4am. That is why I admire him and his work ethic so much.

Matthew was on board with that plan. It was settled; we would press the schedule and give it one last try to put a tag on a bull before leaving Arizona. I told them I had my chance. In no way was I shooting again the next day. It was all Matthew’s shot. That made the pain a little less, but I still was feeling great guilt of having let the guys down when they had put so much into the episode.

 

[Big Fin]

Day Seven (a bonus morning)

When we woke this final morning, the temp was 2F.


Yeah, hunting in Arizona and single digits. The winds are about 15mph, which I am sure is a below zero wind chill. It was crystal clear as the sun came up.

I told the guys I was going to glass to our south and they should use the spotter on the north ridges, as that is where the bull headed when I left his tracks. I was on my way back to their position when I ran into Brad who was panting, “Grande Jefe. Grande Jefe.”

In reality, I thought he was joking me, until I got to the spotter and Matthew stood aside to show me the bull feeding one ridge north of where I had shot at him yesterday. Dang, I would have never thought that. There was the same bull, feeding in this small opening on a hillside that seemed to have 200 yard shooting from the next ridge south.

We had a mile and a half to cover, two canyons to descend/ascend, and had to do it before they got bedded in the thick cover. Not sure it is good for one’s health to scramble among the frozen snow-covered Arizona canyons at the speed we were moving, but it is amazing what a guy will do when he knows a shot at a bull hangs in the balance.

Good things we had shed a bunch of layers before we took off. By the time we were trekking up the last face of the second canyon, I was drenched. I sucked on my water bladder hose and heard that discouraging sound of a bladder that is about empty. I had forgotten to fill my bladder last night and was now on fumes. Matthew had some spare water that he would later loan to me out of fear I was getting dehydrated.

We reached the best rock point on the ridge in about 75 minutes. We started glassing immediately. I was disappointed to see how thick it was below us. There was no way we were going to be able to glass up a bull bedded in that stuff. Yet, for almost two hours we tried.

I knew we were running on borrowed time. I suggested one last hair-brained scheme. Matthew and Brad would set up on this exposed rock, as cold as their sweat-drenched bodies would get, and I would drop down to cut the tracks of this bull and bird dog him until he moved into an opening. We had nothing to lose, so they agreed.

It was easy to locate the tracks on the hillside. What got hard was when he moved down into the thick stuff and there was another bull with him. They weaved and coursed all over down in this mess. Now they were headed down canyon into a big flat. Then, up another small canyon and across a thick canyon face. Finally, circling back down below where I had shot at him the night before.

By the time I returned to Brad and Matthew, the cold temps and wind had taken a toll. I was out of water, out of gas, and completely disgusted with myself for letting these guys down. I had so hoped that I could trail the bull into a shooting lane to make amend for my miscue the night prior. None of that happened.

I had thought about hunting that last afternoon by myself, but being dehydrated and tired, I decided I would rather enjoy a final dinner with my son before he headed back east to his work and home.

My chance had been presented and I had blown it. The bull had spent the last 7-9 years living in these canyons like some ghost of hunters’ dreams and he deserved to make it another year.

Reality is, after 100 days of being on the road, sleeping in tents, hiking my butt off, and then having blown the chance of the season, killing another bull for the sake of having a kill episode was not that important to me. Another dinner with my son and a great friend were.

So, another season ends. It is one of our finest seasons ever. I can say we have never worked as hard as we have this year. I turn 50 next year and I am in the best shape of my life, thanks to the dreams of elk being just over the next ridge.

Yet, in spite of the great end product, there are times, such as when you feel you have let down those who you work with topped off with a two-day drive through blizzards that the TV business takes its toll and you wonder why you do this; why you work this hard for six years without a single paycheck; why you put up with some of the craziness that is part of outdoor TV; why you spend four months away from your wife; why you have invested so much of your own money to build a brand around the self-guided hunter; why you let some great hunting opportunities be compromised by cameras and footage requirements………..

But before anyone feels sorry for me, understand that in about a week, when I forget the cold nights in tents, the weeks of Mountainhouse meals, the heavy loads hauled out by headlamp, the ……. I will remember why I do it and I will get a big smile on my face.

I do it because I am a hunter. I do it because I love it. I do it because I have a passion for this uniquely American opportunity to be a public hunter. I do it because I have too many friends and family whose hunting days are behind them due to health or early death; people who would give all they own to have the health that would allow them to walk the hills one more time.

I am the luckiest man whoever walked the planet. Being out doing what I love and promoting a message I am passionate about is the greatest gift a man could ask for. I hope I never fail to see that for the blessing it is or lose sight of how many would love to have a daily job that is their passion.

Thanks to Brad and Matthew for one of the grandest weeks of my hunting life. Thanks Stan for his input and daily encouragement. Thanks to all of you who helped us this season, and in seasons past. This show would never have a chance without so many great people helping us along the way.

Time for some of Mrs. Fin’s pumpkin pie, clear my desk of CPA type tasks, and then get on with applications in AK, WY, and AZ. Anyone got any points they want to share?

The best hunting partner anyone could ever have. I hope you all have a hunting partner who adds as much joy and fun to your trips as Matthew adds to mine.

 

[A-con]

Great stuff Randy, lucky for me I can live it through all the great hunts on "Huntalk" this year.
By the way, I love that place too. Hope to be back next year.

 

[Sytes]

Wow! Looks good!

 

[NCArchery]

Awesome story, that's what it's all about!

 

[spook12]

Sounds like a Damn fine way to spend Thanksgiving to me. Congrats on a great hunt with your son.

 

[thecrittergitter]

Cool story Fin!

I'm thinking Alaska apps at the moment as well.......

 

[BuzzH]

Great write up for sure. Thats the reason why we hunt.

 

[Gerald Martin]

Great story Randy! Some hunts remind us of where our priorities should lie. Looks like yours are in the right place.

 

[rmyoung1]

Thanks for the story, Randy. I really enjoyed how you ended your write-up. Good stuff.