September Elk Dreams

In my work as a Financial Planner, I invest a lot of time figuring out what is important to my clients.  One way I do this is by asking, “What’s your rich?”  I have found that each person has a different idea of what it means to be fulfilled in life, and although money can help achieve that goal, people often identify their priorities as things like spending time with loved ones, traveling to a place on the bucket list, helping a child achieve their dream of attending college, etc.

Seeing how people live their lives and spend their money actually helps me to frame what’s important in my own life. This story is also about an experience that helped me to refine my rich.

I have been hunting elk seriously for about a decade, and it has been an incredible journey.  The pursuit of elk often takes me to places I would never otherwise set foot.  I consider elk to be among God’s most beautiful creations, and they tend to live in some of the most striking landscapes on Earth.

I typically apply for elk hunting permits in at least a handful of states across the West, hoping to get one elk tag each year.  This year, I was fortunate enough to draw a limited-entry Wyoming elk tag, a personal dream of mine. I was also very surprised to obtain a second archery tag for an area in Eastern Montana that I’d never seen but always wanted to explore.

In the offseason, I leaned hard into my fitness goals by mountain biking, running, swimming, and time in the weight room. My increased strength showed results in June, when I competed in the M22—a run-bike-kayak event in northern Michigan—and won. There were roughly 900 competitors in that race.

Over the next few months, I worked hard to maintain my endurance while spending more time shooting my bow and building strength in preparation for the challenges that hunting in the mountains inevitably brings. My family even planned a vacation close to my Wyoming unit so we could scout and share some hikes and adventures together.

After drawing a tag, the next few months always seem to move at a snail’s pace. But the last couple of weeks move at warp speed. Keep that in mind when prepping for your elk hunt. Time crawls until it doesn’t.

I spent the first couple of days of my Wyoming hunt surveying the lay of the land from multiple high points to assess elk habits and age class.  I saw elk, but not many mature bulls.

On day three, after hours of hiking in the early morning light, I heard some bugling. I made my way to a vantage point and eventually laid eyes on a giant herd of around 60 elk. It was the kind of dream scenario that I have only seen through the eyes of social media or YouTube.

Although there were a few bulls in the group, one stood out as the clear king of the mountain. Even from 800 yards away, I was immediately in awe of this beautiful bull. Although the first thing I noticed was his character and mass, it was the poise and attitude of this majestic creature that truly set him apart from the rest. I had never seen a bull manage such a large herd before, and he reigned with supreme authority. As quickly as I had spotted him, he disappeared into the rainy morning, slipping into the thick timber. Bulls were sounding off everywhere. This was a magical September dream come true.

I attempted to cover the distance and sneak in behind them, but the wind wasn’t right, and I could barely tell which bugle was his. Several mature-sounding bugles echoed in the valley, so I decided to back out, with a plan to make a play later in the day.

That evening, I got into position and located the bull again.  Immediately, I realized that the sheer number of eyes played to my disadvantage. I decided to challenge the bull with a bugle, but the herd seemed uncomfortable, and my intrusion sent them farther up the mountain. Undeterred, I crept carefully on the edge of the timber to the edge of the sagebrush but didn’t manage to get closer than 100 yards from the imperial bull before daylight slowly faded. Once more, I was forced to back out with the understanding that I might never lay eyes on the bull again.

The next morning, I was unable to locate the herd. I did find some new elk moving through and nearly had a chance at a smaller 6×6. At the last minute, the lead cow walked within 12 yards before sensing I was a danger and took the rest of the group with her.

I ran into some other hunters who had also laid eyes on the beautiful 7×7, so I decided to spend my morning hiking farther into the unit despite the rain. Many of the elk seemed to push over the next ridge into another drainage, so I circled around to a spot that I felt most hunters weren’t willing to go.

Tired from the accumulation of miles, I hunkered under a pine with the rain coming down harder as fog rolled in. I had a quick snack and scanned my onX map for likely elk habitat in the surrounding area. I noticed a couple of small meadows in the middle of the thick timber that looked extremely promising, so I marked a waypoint and proceeded forward as the rain started to subside.

After about 800 yards of bushwhacking, I heard a lazy bed bugle. I decided to greet the bull by bugling back. He responded with a very angry lip bawl. That’s when things changed, very quickly. All I could see were legs moving frantically through the timber. The bull seemed to be chasing his cows around and kept bugling fiercely, so I let him tell me where he was as I continued to close the distance.

After about 20 minutes of chaos, I spotted some cow elk uphill to my right and heard some younger calf calls downhill to my left. Meanwhile, I could tell the bull was close as he continued bugling just out of sight behind the cows. I patiently waited about 10 minutes to let everything calm down, and the cows eventually started moving down to the calves, just 30 yards in front of me. I had one small window of opportunity to shoot with it being so thick, so I carefully snuck to about 20 yards just as over a dozen cows and a couple of bulls were filtering through.

The herd bull continues to scream, and I was confident my opportunity was coming. I saw large antlers just before the opening, so I came to full draw and made a soft cow call as he entered the shooting lane. The bull stopped briefly, and before I could hardly think, my instincts kicked in, releasing the arrow. II instantly heard the distinct thump of a well-placed shot.

Once again, elk went running everywhere as my adrenaline redlined. I thought I heard a crash close by, but with so much activity, it was hard to be certain.

After a long 30 minutes and a short 70-yard track, I walked up on one of the most incredible bull elk I had ever seen in the wild.  As I got closer to my bull, the reality of my accomplishment began to set in. But it wasn’t until I counted points that I truly understood what I had done. I was stunned to see it was the 7×7 from the previous day.

Upon further inspection, I discovered that the palmation and antler mass extended to the ends of the main beams. The bull had missing incisor teeth, indicating that I had shot a very mature bull. I sent the incisors to the Wyoming Game & Fishfor scientific aging. I guessed the bull to be 9-10 years old. After some pictures to commemorate the moment, I spent the next few hours cutting every morsel of meat from the bone and loading it into game bags.

The pack out was brutal.  It was 3.5 miles through thick brush, over down trees, through creeks, and up very muddy trails. I had  100-plus pounds on my 160-pound-rated frame.  I was cramping and hurting in ways that made me question why I put myself through this time and time again.

There was some serious reflection and talking to God, as it took until 2 A.M. to get the first two loads to the truck.  At 3 A.M., I finally got the meat hung back at camp and decided to take a quick nap to regain some strength before going back for the last load. I was so tired I didn’t even try to cook dinner.  I just ate an energy bar and crawled into my sleeping bag, feeling spent but thankful for my accomplishment.

The next morning, although sleep-deprived, I smiled to myself as the sun and birds welcomed me with a good morning.  Every muscle in my body ached, but after some coffee and warm oatmeal, I found the strength to head back into the mountains for what I consider “the glory lap”.

Although I strategically make it the lightest load, the smallest bag of meat and antlers is still heavy and decidedly less stable, as the antlers tend to move a little, no matter how well they are secured to the pack.

A few exhausting hours later, I had all the meat back in the truck. For me, there is no better feeling than getting all of the meat safely back and ready for transport to a locker.

I had a warm meal for lunch and decided I had just enough time to drive down to the trout stream I had inspected a few days prior. Catching a wild trout after a successful elk hunt would be pretty much icing on the cake.  I only had about an hour before the sun set, but I was able to catch 15 beautiful cutthroat trout in a small pond that looked to be dammed up by beavers. The mountains in the background and the trout’s colors gave me goosebumps. What an incredible place.

As I got back to camp, full of gratitude and satisfaction, I made some dinner and ate over a bonfire. I was camped on a mountain just above the tree line, so the views were spectacular. A few days earlier, some local hunters informed me that the circle of stones just 50 yards from my camp was a remnant of a Native American campsite.

The sun went down, and as the stars began to show themselves, the sky erupted with the most outrageous display of aurora borealis I’ve ever seen. It was as though God’s hand came down and painted the sky.

There have been a few moments in my life that I distinctly had the feeling that I was just a step or two from heaven, and this was one of those. I wouldn’t have traded my experience for all the money in the world. I had found my rich in that moment, too spectacular for adequate words.

Although my journey continued for another week as I got the meat processed and shot another stunning bull in Montana, it will be very hard to define success any greater than those moments in Wyoming.

As I drove home through Chicago, I couldn’t help but relive the memories of my journey. It was finally hitting me, and I became overwhelmed with emotion.  My cup was overflowing. I felt blessed beyond measure.

At the top of the mountain, I had found my rich, and it certainly wasn’t at all about money.  My rich was about experiencing God’s creation in a way few people ever will. It was about the spiritual renewal that happens on a cold, wet evening at 8,000 feet of elevation, carrying 100 pounds on my back for hours in the dark. It was celebrating with the northern lights dancing in the sky and feeling like I could almost see Heaven.

I found my rich.  Have you found yours?