Wyoming General Elk Hunt - Dream Bull

Wyoming General Season Elk Hunt - Dream Bull 

After spending a week deep in the backcountry of Wyoming chasing bulls with my bow, it was time to switch gears, change locations, and break out the ol' boomstick. This was the hunt I’d been looking forward to all year, and it turned out to be one of the most unforgettable experiences of my life. I harvested my biggest bull to date, but it came with the roughest packout I’ve ever faced.

Both my younger brother Matt and I had tags burning in our pockets, and we were headed back to a place with some serious history. Six years ago, in this very spot, Matt killed his first Wyoming buck. After that deer hunt, I swore I’d never set foot there again—the terrain nearly broke us.

Just two hours into our hike the night before opening day, those same thoughts and emotions crept back in. The only way into this country is by scaling straight up—a relentless 2,500-foot vertical climb. Multiple times, cooler-sized boulders broke loose and nearly took us out. In hindsight, we shouldn’t have even been in that situation, and we definitely should’ve considered how we’d get an elk out of such rugged terrain.

The hike into camp took far longer than expected. Luckily, we cleared most of the cliffs before nightfall. After 5 hours, 3 miles, and 2,500 feet of elevation gain, we finally reached the ridge. The scent of elk hung in the air, and tracks and scat were everywhere. We knew they were close. As we slowed down to find a relatively flat spot to pitch the MTNBONDED: Refuge Full-Nest, the starlit sky echoed with the bugles of screaming bulls.

We quickly set up the tent. It was September 15th, around 11:00 p.m., and unseasonably warm, with temperatures still in the high 40s. As we inflated our sleeping pads and unrolled our bags, the bulls’ surrounded us from every direction—they were close. Sleep was impossible. At one point, we had cows calling just 30 yards from our tent. I lay there, imagining the scene that would unfold with the first light of day.

I couldn’t wait any longer. I got up, laced my boots, and stepped outside. It was still too dark to see much, but we were surrounded by what seemed like six to ten different bulls. They were close, and it was about to go down. I wondered if we were the only hunters crazy enough to scale this country, and I worried it would become a war zone once shooting light hit.

Finally, it was light enough to see. From the tent, I spotted a massive herd of elk being pushed up and down the steep, sage-covered hillside just below us. The herd was only 450 yards away, with bulls fighting and cows scattering all over the slope. It was game on.

I grabbed the spotter, set up the Ollin, chambered a round in my Preece Precision 28 Nosler, and found a flat spot to get into a prone shooting position. I located the biggest bull in the herd and tried to get a shot. Though the bull was out in the wide open, he wouldn’t stop chasing other bulls and sniffing cows. I tracked him through my scope, re-ranged, and adjusted my turret, but he wouldn’t give me a clean shot. The herd was slowly moving farther and farther away, and I grew nervous they’d work their way up and over the ridge into the thick pines.

Just when I was losing hope, the bull turned and started chasing a cow back in our direction. I quickly ranged him—748 yards. I adjusted the turret and settled in behind the gun. He was broadside now, but as I prepared to fire, he took off again, hot on the cow’s trail. I kept watching through the scope, waiting for him to stop. When he finally halted, he bugled—and I squeezed the trigger.

The shot went just over his back. He returned to chasing his cow and disappeared up and over the ridge. The perfect opportunity was lost. But the hunt wasn’t over—I wasn’t going to let him slip away that easily.

Since none of the herd was spooked, we decided to give them some time and then go after them. We worked our way to the ridgeline, playing the wind. The bulls were still bugling, so we got into position and started calling. They responded immediately, and we had bulls coming our way. After about 10 minutes, a string of elk moved through the thick timber toward us—multiple cows, spikes, and raghorns walked right in front of us. But the bigger bulls stayed below us in the thick cover. We could hear them fighting, but we didn’t want to push them farther up the canyon, so we pulled out and headed back to the tent for the afternoon.

By the time we returned to camp, we realized we wouldn’t last the day without finding water. It had reached 75 degrees in the heat of the day, and we were out of water. We glassed as long as we could but eventually decided to head down to the nearest water source. As we stopped for a break in the shade, we noticed elk moving through the trees. We decided to post up for the evening, hoping to see what would feed out during prime time.

Again, we could hear bulls in the timber, but as the day faded into the evening, they weren't showing themselves. We decided to head for water and see if we could get close to where they were holding up. As we made our way down the canyon, we got cliffed out above a 150-foot drop. Just then, less than 100 yards away, our big bull piped off. It was go time.

We started calling back and forth, and he was getting closer. The light was fading fast, and we knew we needed to cut the distance and find a better shooting lane. We scaled the steep, rocky sidehill and quietly worked our way toward his bugling. We heard him coming—he was close—branches snapping underfoot. Just as we got into position, I saw something moving between us and the herd. To my surprise, a giant bear was walking down the trail, just 15 yards away.

The bear moved on, but the bulls didn’t stop sounding off. We snuck forward another 10 yards and caught a glimpse of a bull walking in the dark timber. The herd was right in front of us, less than 150 yards away. I cow-called, and a raghorn stepped out into a small opening, followed by a spike, with cows feeding in and out of the meadow. The big bull was off in the distance, hesitant to come out into the open.

I called a few more times, and finally, I saw his antlers glistening in the fading light. He wanted to play. I could see his fourth, fifth, and sixth points, but I didn’t have a clear shot. He took a couple more steps, and I had a tiny window to thread my 190-grain A-tip through his vitals. I took the shot and watched him soak it up. I fired another one right through the boiler room. He was still standing, but I knew he wouldn't last long. I let one more fly and watched, as if in slow motion, as his body rippled from the impact. He stood for a moment longer, then slowly walked out of sight.

Seconds later, I heard him tip over and crash into the deadfall. We did it. My biggest bull to date.

The next 12 hours could be a story in and of itself. The packout was the hardest both physically and mentally that I've ever experienced. Navigating thick timber, cliffs, and rivers left us backtracking for about two miles before we found a safe route off the mountain. Exhausted, dehydrated, and completely fatigued, I looked up at the moonlit sky and smiled. This is what I live for—doing something incredibly hard, with my little brother and good buddy Ty, on a hunt filled with highs and lows. I'll remember this trip for the rest of my life.

Will I go back? I can’t wait to do it all over again. This is what MTNBONDED is all about—creating moments and memories that will last a lifetime. Soon enough, there will come a day when these adventures may not be possible, but for now, we’re committed to filling our adventure book with unforgettable experiences. I’m incredibly grateful for the time spent with my little brother and for the chance to connect with such a magnificent animal. Here’s to the next adventure!

#MTNBONDED