The summer months leading up to my limited entry muzzleloader elk hunt in Utah were interesting. I had plans to spend time hiking and scouting the unit, driving some roads and identifying areas to further investigate. Needless to say, I didn't do any of it and I spent much of the summer dreading this hunt. I hadn't stepped foot in the unit since 2014 and right up until when I pulled out of my driveway, I still wasn’t super excited. I had spent several days preparing meals, getting my gear together, and I started packing the car to leave Friday afternoon (Sept. 18).
Late Thursday night (Sept 17) I received a call from my father letting me know that after a discussion with hospice that my grandfather was likely to pass away within the next day or so. He was 92 and for the last two years his health had dramatically declined and he had physically deteriorated rapidly over the last couple months. My dad told me to not worry about changing my plans. I talked to my friends (Cody and Doug) that would be helping me on this hunt and let them know I would likely delay leaving a day or two just in case, but by Friday afternoon it felt like I was just sitting around waiting helplessly for my phone to buzz. I decided to leave anyway rather than sit around waiting for the inevitable.
I owe a lot to Grandpa, he has been a strong example of love and service and has not just taught me what a good man is, but has shown me how to be a good man. He loves his family, he loves his Heavenly Father, and loves life. He was an educator and was the Principal of a handful of local elementary schools. He was very active and dedicated in his service within The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints and he loved his teaching callings, many family dinner discussions revolved around the lessons that were just given that Sunday or were to be given the next Sunday. He and Grandma served for a number of years in the Ogden, Utah Temple and loved that time.
He introduced me to fly fishing and believes that there is only one fly worth fishing... a #16 elk hair humpy! I spent many hours with him when I was a teenager fishing the Logan River. In his younger years he was an accomplished hunter and always enjoyed hearing our hunting stories at Sunday dinners. He was very supportive of me in all my athletic activities. I played soccer through high school and could always tell when Grandpa was at the game because you could identify his voice booming across the field to "Pursue the ball!"
I knew that it was likely that my grandpa would pass while I was away... so in his honor and memory to hearken back to days when we were both younger my goal will be to "Pursue the bull."
Friday afternoon I hit the road. I stopped at Grandpa’s house and had one last brief chat with him and told him to be good, to give Grandma a hug & kiss for me when he sees her, and that I’d see him again soon. Then I made the three plus hour drive to the spot that I had identified as my top location. I was alone, a condition that I do not like, so when I arrived just before dark I quickly made camp and settled in. That night was the longest week of my life… every little noise, every cattle moo, and the coyotes yipping not far from camp did a great job at preventing me from getting hardly any sleep. Saturday morning I went on a little walk-about and saw only cattle. I had not heard a single bugle the previous evening, all through the night, and all morning. Then on my way back to camp a storm blew in and wiped out camp. My canopy was upside down in the trees, everything was blown over and scattered across the campsite. I decided that it was a sign and within 30 minutes I had everything packed back up in the car and was headed off the mountain. Cody was set to arrive Saturday afternoon so I told him that I’d meet him in town and we would head over to the second spot that I had identified. When his Jeep pulled into the gas station parking lot where I was waiting I cannot express the sense of relief I had in not being alone anymore… I hate being alone.
We drove to the second spot, the same location where I hunted in 2014 when my other grandpa drew the early rifle tag, and set up our tents. We glassed the mountain and that whole evening we only heard a single bugle. We had a tough decision to make because we were not seeing or hearing the number of elk that we had thought we should be… so we decided to pack up camp again and drive in the dark to a location that Cody’s neighbor had marked for him.
On Sunday morning we walked the ridge that we were camped on and almost immediately our cow calls and bugles were met with response. The same scenario played out on the other side of the ridge. It was such a relief to finally be in an area where there were at least a couple of elk. Doug arrived that afternoon and we made a plan for opening morning to chase whichever bugle gave us the best opportunity based upon the wind.
On opening morning, we decided to make a play on the bull just south of camp. We worked down the ridge and the bull would readily respond to our calls. Once we got to the bottom of the canyon we thought that we were in a great position to have an opportunity so we set up for a calling sequence. Within minutes we could hear footsteps getting closer and nearby brush rustling. Adrenaline peaked and coming down the trail was a moo cow. That morning we ended up having a “close encounter” with three different moo cows, each of them seemingly coming in to our elk calls. It was frustrating and exhausting to get so amped up thinking an elk was coming in only to see a stupid black and white faced moo cow step out of the brush and stare back at me!
Monday afternoon we decided to try the next ridge to the south to see if we could figure out where that bull from the morning had gone. As we dropped down off the ridge on a nice trail we heard one bull bugle… then another… then another. Silently we made our way in the direction of the bugles. We got to a point where we felt the bulls would be pretty close and we let out a couple cow calls. A couple hundred yards off a two or three bulls responded, we stood making a plan on which one to pursue when a bugle erupted directly below us that made the whole woods vibrate. He bugled again even closer. I crept to the edge of the shelf that we were sitting on and the bull was 40 yards away and closing quickly on the same trail that I was now kneeling on. I didn’t even look to see how big the antlers were, I just shouldered my rifle, found the crease where tan and brown meet in the scope, and pulled the trigger. The bull stood there for a moment as I tried to reload and then ran downhill crashing through the brush.
We found a couple spots of blood but the trail was difficult to follow. We searched for hours but were unable to turn up the bull. As we sat and took a break there were several more bulls continuing to bugle and carry on across the canyon. We continued to search for the bull that I had shot for the rest of the evening. We crisscrossed the mountain… up, down, north, south, east, west… and for the rest of the afternoon and evening we found nothing. We worked hard trying to find any additional sign of that bull. By late evening I could feel my body starting to rebel against me and I knew that I had pushed my body hard that day. We called it a night and headed back to camp & I could tell that I was not well. It would be a long night for me, I was in rough shape and was suffering from exhaustion and dehydration.
Tuesday morning I felt quite a bit better and we headed back to where the bull was shot the day before to continue searching for any clues. While searching, the bulls on the other side of the canyon were still going crazy. We were able to spot some of the elk on that hillside and watched a spike, a small 5x5, and several cows work across the hillside. A herd bull with the group finally stepped out into the open and it was the bull that I had shot the day before. He was pushing his cows, intimidating smaller bulls, and just being overall cantankerous… he appeared just fine. With that we didn’t feel any hesitation in continuing and pursuing other bulls. Cody and Doug tried to convince me to hike across the canyon and chase him down. I still wasn’t feeling particularly great physically and didn’t think that I had it in me, I did not want to end up sick in my tent again like the previous night.
We made our way back to the top and decided to go check out one more spot that I had scouted in Google Earth. It was a totally different geography with open parks and aspens rather than steep pine covered slopes. We were not expecting a harem of seven cows to be down in the bottom out in one of these open parks and I was careless so they busted us and headed quickly over the ridge. We later ran into a sheep herder and asked if he had seen any elk in the area. He mentioned that there was one small bull in the area and a big one way over on another ridge, but because he was keeping his sheep in the nearby canyons there weren’t any nearby.
We headed back to camp and I received a text that my grandpa had passed about 6pm that night. Since we got service in camp, I spent the rest of the night sharing memories via text with my family and it was really hard for me to not be there with my family and mourn with them.
Wednesday morning we waited for the thermals to shift before dropping down the canyon. The bulls were going crazy, five different bulls were bugling and raking and pushing different groups of cows around the mountain. We went in without a sound and didn’t make a peep until we got “into the Octagon” with them. I snuck ahead of Cody and Doug, and after a couple minutes I heard one of the bulls bust out of the canyon with his group of cows. I knew it was now or never and broke my silence with a couple of the most sultry cow calls that I could muster. Immediately I heard footsteps coming my direction from below. The problem was, the deal that I had made with Doug and Cody was that if they heard me cow call then they would cow call as well. I heard Cody hit the Hoochie Mama call and the footsteps stopped. I panicked and cow called a couple more times and the footsteps resumed in my direction only to have Cody hit the Hoochie Mama and the footsteps stopped. I was in a cow call battle with my own hunting partner to try and get the footsteps to continue in my direction! A couple more cow calls from me and I could tell that whatever was coming towards me was very close. I heard a cow call from nearby and I saw the brush below at the edge of the shelf I was overlooking begin to move. I saw legs first and I was fully expecting to see a cow step out of the brush. But through the scope I saw antlers. Again, once I saw antlers I didn’t need to see any more and I again found the tan body in my scope and shifted my body to get the best shooting lane. I pulled the trigger and after the smoke cleared I could see the bull had turned and but was standing in the same spot. Cody and Doug were cow calling like crazy to get him to stay there. I reloaded, found the bull in my scope again and fired again. Seconds, later the bull toppled over and I shouted that the bull was down. They ran over, past me, and down to the bull. As Doug neared the bull he shouted… he’s a 5… no, he’s a 5x6… whoa, he’s a 6x7! I thought he was screwing with me… or he couldn’t count… I couldn’t tell which. But sure enough, when I finally made my way down to my friends and the bull, there he was and beautiful 6x7 with some amazing character.
I had an emotional moment standing there looking at that bull on the ground. I felt that my grandpa was there supporting me at that moment, that he had inspired the decision making that morning. I was briefly overwhelmed with the fact that there was a bull on the ground, that we had worked really hard to get to this point, that we had a ton of work yet to do, all converging with the emotions of one of my outdoor mentors, friends, and a man that meant so much to me and I looked up to in so many ways had passed away the night before. We quartered the bull and packed him back up the mountain. Once at the top with the first load I again had another emotional moment. It was a rollercoaster physically and emotionally, and I was so worn down that my emotions were very raw. I removed my pack and wept like a child for a few minutes. I regained composure and hustled back down the hill with energy that was not mine to help Cody and Doug with their heavy loads. We had the entire bull back to the Jeep by 1pm.
We broke camp and headed for home. Somewhere in southern Davis County the song “Memories” by Maroon 5 came on the radio… I like that song so I turned it up and began to sing along. I didn’t make it through much of the song before stopping and just listening to the lyrics and briefly getting emotional again…
Everybody hurts sometimes
Everybody hurts someday,
But everything gon' be alright
Go and raise a glass and say,
Here's to the ones that we got
Cheers to the wish you were here, but you're not
'Cause the drinks bring back all the memories
Of everything we've been through
Toast to the ones here today
Toast to the ones that we lost on the way
'Cause the drinks bring back all the memories
And the memories bring back, memories bring back you
So, toast to my friends Cody and Doug for their positive energy and encouragement, I would not have been able to pull this off without them. They are amazing friends and we look forward to many more hunts together.
And I raise a glass to my grandfather, I look at the antlers from this elk and I think of him… he was unassuming yet remarkable, modest yet full of character, and beautiful. Thank you Grandpa for being there with me on that last, most difficult yet successful day and carrying me through. Rest easy Grandpa, I love you!
