From where we were, the shot would be almost but not quite straight into the wind, at about 320. I tried using the tree as a rest, but the wind was blowing both me and the tree around. The crosshairs were all over...there was no way I was taking that shot. We were otherwise on a steep side hill with tall grass and sage, so prone was out. We were out of cover, and with elk still bedded on the knob above their little cut, we would never make it. So we waited, and I watched the bull wander farther down the cut and out of sight. Sort of a sinking feeling.
After what seemed like hours, but really probably 10 minutes, the last two lookouts on the knob got up and headed down out of sight. We got up and hustled to the last hill left between us. 320 yds was too far for these conditions, but if this last one worked they were going to be in my face. We got to the hill, dumped our backpacks, and started crawling. I got to the top and could see elk through the grass at less than 100 yards. And yet again, were still more than we thought.We laid right on the crest of the hill in some sage, and watched for the bull to make an appearance. One finally came out, but seemed smaller than the one we were after. Another came out, and he looked like my boy. He was running around, harassing cows and thrashing bushes, but not presenting a clear shot. I was watching him, waiting for my chance when some movement off to the right caught my eye. I looked over just in time to see one very heavy antler disappear behind the sagebrush.
I was pretty sure I would recognize a “wow” bull if I saw it, and the top of that antler was “wow”, at least to me.
I whispered to Hunting Husband that there was another bull and I think he’s a good one. It felt like slow motion when he finally walked out, but he was the no doubt bull I was really hoping to find. I crawled forward to clear the vegetation, got on my elbow and got ready. As soon as he gave me a broadside chance, I took it.
It felt good, and by his reaction I knew he was hit hard. But several wise men have said “if he’s still standing, I’m still shooting”, and that seemed appropriate. He walked down around his cows, and when he turned up the hill I hit him again. He stopped there, and fell at the third. I felt numb, from wind and adrenaline. Couldn’t believe what just happened.
When this whole thing started, I just wanted a decent mature 6 point. I know nothing about scores. But I’ve always kind of dreamed of those old bulls with lots of mass, messed up noses and big pot bellies. I wasn’t sure how realistic that was going to be. This guy has everything I wanted. Gnarly, scarred up face, Roman nose, heavy antlers, hardly any teeth left. Perfect.
We packed one load out last night. That put us at about 15 miles on the boots Saturday. I was beat. Luckily we got a couple of friends to help finish the packing this afternoon. I’m sore, but the wine is helping
I just wanted to thank all the HTers who sent PMs to offer knowledge, tips and encouragement. This is a damn good crowd to be a part of.