The 2016 season was one for the books. My son and I spent all summer preparing our bows, shooting every day in the yard and once a week at 3D archery leagues. As they tend to do, the summer flew by and opening day was upon us. I was able to take a couple of friends out and help them get their first archery harvests with a pair of nice muley does on opening day.

With my son back in school and my friends tagged out, on the second weekend, I was headed out deep into the Colorado wilderness on my own. I dropped into my favorite basin and set up camp just below the ridgeline. With little elk sightings and a couple of other hunters packed several miles back into my apparently not-so-secret spot, I was considering relocating.

That night brought lots of rain and sent the other hunters packing, but I seem to always have the best luck in the rain. Being early September, I typically keep the calls at home, preferring to spot and stalk right around timberline where I can use the small clumps of trees as well as the steady alpine wind to my advantage. I crept out to my glassing spot before dawn. As I was setting up the tripod, I heard what sounded like a giant tree being hit by a bus and falling over. I tried to squint through the early light to figure out what was going on. After 30 seconds of silence, I resumed setting up the tripod, when again a loud crack...

The little light bulb exploded above my head and I actually said out loud to myself, “That’s bulls fighting!” I dropped everything and tore off at a run straight down the steep slope as the sun just started to give me enough light to guide my path. The bulls continued to battle as I got closer and got the wind and cover right. I broke through the edge of the timber and the bulls were going at it; it seemed to be a little more intense than your typical early season sparring session. I slowly edged through the treeline and got my range. As I drew back, my elbow rubbed the tree behind me right as the bulls broke apart. Busted! Both bulls pegged me and all I could do was freeze. The action camera footage later told me that I was at full draw for 1 minute and 49 seconds (which I could have sworn was an hour) before they both put their heads down and started to feed.

That look you give when packing out tons of elk meat.

A 1,200’ vertical climb back out of the basin then a 2,500’ descent back to the trailhead over about four miles, but I got all of the meat up to the top of the basin that day and got a load out to the truck before dark.

Early the next morning I brought the family along to help haul the rest of it.

The next weekend, my son and I went out looking for turkeys. I have kept a bear tag in my pocket for as many seasons as I can remember without ever having actually spent time hunting them.

We were able to fill the freezer for the year, but, more importantly, I was able to develop a deeper relationship with my son. I am able to pass on my love of outdoors and my passion for public land with the next generation as my father did with me.