Hunting the Big Elk | Teen Ink

Hunting the Big Elk MAG

September 19, 2017
By JefferyRobertson BRONZE, Pasco, Washington
JefferyRobertson BRONZE, Pasco, Washington
1 article 0 photos 0 comments

Hunting, to me, is its own religion. I heard this saying the other day: “I’d rather be out hunting and thinking about God than be in church thinking about hunting.”

In late May of last year, I discovered that I had drawn a Washington State quality elk tag. I was surprised, because I only had three points toward the drawing, and the average number of points that people had been drawn with was 14. I was incredibly lucky – the area I had a tag for was known for really big bull elk.

The opportunity that I had been offered didn’t exactly hit me until two weeks before the season started. My dad and I decided to go on a scouting trip. I kid you not – we found elk in the first spot we checked out. We pulled up and saw three big bulls and a couple cows grazing in a clearing. My dad was as amazed as I was. It was our first time seeing big bulls in the wild. While I was sitting there shocked at how big-bodied these things were, my dad started counting the points on the biggest bull’s rack. All I heard was, “Five, six, seven …” It was absolutely spectacular.

Two days before opening day, my dad and I loaded gear into the camper and my jeep and took off to meet some of our old family friends at “Wolf Camp.” This elk camp has been around for almost 20 years; it’s a place with good stories, great food, and amazing people. One of the old guys at camp cooks a 12-bean stew with ham hocks in a Dutch oven over the fire. It stays there all week for everyone to eat. Two of the guys in camp had the tag that I drew a couple years ago. One filled his tag with a mature 5x5 satellite bull, and the other didn’t get a chance to hunt. Wolf Camp is such an amazing place that I can’t wait to return every year.

The next day passed really slowly. We went scouting early that morning and saw a couple cows and one calf, but no bulls. We spent most of the day hanging out at camp eating and telling the same stories over and over. As I lay in bed that night, I couldn’t close my eyes; I knew that tomorrow was the day I could line up and pull the trigger if the opportunity came my way.

“Jeffery, wake up! We’ve got stuff to kill,” Johnny yelled. Before he could finish, I had opened the door (already dressed) and had my gun and caps ready. As we were about to leave, my dad asked if I had my tag. I felt around in my pocket and realized I had forgotten it in all the excitement. After I grabbed my tag, we loaded up in the truck and drove about five minutes from camp. We got out and approached a river we needed to cross. The river was moving at a swift pace and was bone-chilling. I tiptoed gingerly over a fallen log, trying to maintain my balance with my heavy hunting bag on my back. Luckily, I made it over without getting wet.

We started up a nasty blow-down flat, noticing elk tracks and scat everywhere. After being around elk enough, you’ll start to recognize their smell. It’s a strong, musky odor from the big bulls marking their territory. As we walked on, the smell got stronger and stronger. All of a sudden, two cows and a calf startled up and out of their beds. Nobody could get a good shot, so we decided to back out and head to a new spot.

Driving up to the new place, we stumbled upon a forest grouse. Johnny jumped out of the truck with the .410 shotgun and blasted it. It quickly became a running joke that he got a trophy grouse and it was going to be cooler than whatever I shot.

As the morning turned to afternoon, we had only seen the three elk from earlier, but our hopes were still high. We decided to drive by some of our deer spots when we noticed some waller holes. These happen when an elk scrapes the ground with his antlers and urinates, then rolls in it. After noticing the wallers, Johnny immitated an elk call; four bulls answered at the bottom of the gully. We headed into the valley to chase them down. The next thing we knew, we were in a calling match with all the bulls. They were sitting in the timber out of sight, but only about twenty yards away. One of the bulls actually cut Johnny off and bugled ten times louder – it gave me the chills. The bulls went on for about 45 minutes, and then it all just stopped. We decided to back out and come back later. Johnny predicted that we would kill this bull at four o’clock. It was about 11:30 a.m. at the time.

The day went on with a couple chases but no elk. At about 2 p.m., Johnny decided he was going to take a nap. As soon as he did, a bull bugled loudly. “I can’t even catch a break!” Johnny said. We spent about an hour chasing that bull but sadly, never got a chance to see him.

At about 3:45 we decided to return to the spot where we had heard all the bulls calling. As soon as we got there and turned off the truck, we heard a bull tearing up the timber and bugling. We hustled down to the same spot as earlier, inching to the edge of the timber. The bull returned the call; he was ticked off. He came crashing through the timber and next thing I knew, I saw a massive rack and a giant tan body less that fifty yards away. BOOM! I pulled the trigger and the bull took off running. I looked at my dad and Johnny and said, “I smoked him and he’s huge!” Johnny looked at the time. It was 3:59 p.m. He really had predicted the time correctly. It was incredible. We waited about 15 minutes before walking to where I shot the bull. We only found a few drops of blood, so we were all nervous that I didn’t get a clean shot on him.

As we walked through the woods we startled a cow and calf, but there was still no sign of my bull. Suddenly, Johnny yelled, “Get over here and hurry!” I took off running toward his voice. When I got to him, I saw a giant rack moving. It turns out that I had put a perfect shot on the bull and took out both his lungs, but the bull was still alive and trying to get up. I shot him in the neck to finish him off.

Only then did the enormity of the event dawn on me; I had just achieved what many hunters may never do in their lifetimes. I had successfully hunted a 6x6 bull that scored 334 – a trophy bull.

While we celebrated, I asked, “How the hell do we get this thing out of here?”

“Simple – we have you,” Johnny replied. He and my dad laughed, before motioning me over to start skinning and deboning the elk. Dad had taken the first quarter off – the front quarter, which was supposed to be one of the lighter parts – or so I thought. I picked it up and staggered as I headed up the hill. I had to stop three times to catch my breath. When I finally made it to the truck, I was relieved until I remembered I had three more parts of the enormous elk to carry!

I continued hauling the elk, taking three breaks on the way up, and then heading back down for the next piece. It was time for the hind quarter, and let me tell you – if you’ve never put a mature bull’s hind quarter on your back, you’re in for a treat. It’s massive. I started up the hill and made it to my first resting spot with little trouble. I made it to the second spot and put my arm on a log to rest. I quickly realized it was a mistake as my hand went straight through the rotten log. Getting up from that was hard since the load on my back weighed more than I did.

Eventually, I made it to the truck. Exhausted, I returned to the kill site and saw that Johnny had loaded up the last hind quarter and all I had to do was grab the head: the best part. Or so I thought. To this day, I am still confused as to how bulls can walk through thick timber with ease. As I carried the elk’s head, the antlers got hung up on everything. Finally, we were out with all the meat and a trophy elk.

As we pulled into camp, it was now almost 8 p.m. The guys at camp were surprised that we were so late. We decided to play a prank and tell them that we didn’t kill anything, but my excitement was still so high, all I could do was smile. The guys went to the bed of the truck and were amazed. It was the biggest bull that most of them had ever seen. And these were guys who had been hunting for 20 years.

I was truly blessed with the opportunity given to me, and I’m so glad I could help in the conservation of Washington State wildlife. I’m thankful for all the people who helped me on that hunt and hope they enjoyed it as much as I did. 


The author's comments:

this is the story of my trophy bull elk


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