Good hunting partners are challenging to find. When you find one, it’s like hitting the lottery. I had some fantastic elk-hunting partners, but sadly, they didn’t. A long walk out of the wilderness forever changed my hunting heart, though, and I hope this story pulls on a few heartstrings.
by Jace Bauserman
Over the years, I’ve penned numerous articles in which I have thrown myself under the bus. This is one of those.
Why?
I’ve always felt genuinely called to help others. If other hunters can learn from my shortcomings, I’m happy to write about my screwups. Some are easier to pen than others. I don’t mind writing about times I’ve rushed moment-of-truth shots, ruined a perfect stalk because I got impatient, etc. Those are easy. This one hurts.
There was a time when I wasn’t a good hunting partner. Some of you may read that and ignore it or disregard it. You may click on another article or head to another site altogether. Don’t do that. There is nothing more important than being a good hunting partner, and good hunting partners are difficult to find.
Finding a good hunting partner is more complicated than finding a spouse. No, I’m not kidding. There are many fish in the sea, but only some of those fish hunt. Even fewer will hunt the way you do. See what I mean?
I remember exactly where I was, what I was doing, and who I was with when I realized how bad I sucked as a hunting partner. I walked behind a good buddy down a no-name single-track trail back to my truck. On his back was the rack of beautiful public land 6-point bull. His pack, like mine and our other companion who was tailing behind me, was laden with elk meat. It should have been a joyous occasion for me. It wasn’t!
I was pouting. I wanted to be the bowhunter with the rack on my back. I wanted that to be my bull. Gross! Not to mention that I’d been disengaged. Let me explain. My elk amigos and I operate on a day-to-day system. For example, I would get to hunt a whole day when it was my turn. Then my buddy Roy would get to hunt the next, my pal J.C. the following, and I’d be up again.
I’d had my day. The weather was brutal, and bull encounters were few and far between. On this day, it was Roy’s turn. I knew I was two full days away from hunting again, and so I spent more time on my phone and digging through my backpack looking for snacks than I did glassing, checking the wind, and calling for Roy.
Two miles into the pack out, I realized the error of my ways. I stopped, took a breath, looked at where I was and who I was with. Then, I shed a few tears. I’ve never told anyone that before.
The Next Year
I went into the next season with a new outlook. I was going to do everything in my power to help those I hunted with succeed.
So, what happened? I guided my buddy and Oklahoma native, Scott Sanderford, to his first bull elk. I found pure joy in watching him experience Centennial State elk success. I even showed Scott and his buddy Josh how to quarter a western critter, and I packed over half that elk off the mountain. I loved every moment, and my hunting mind often calls that day’s memories.
Weeks later, I spotted and called in a Shiras moose for my father-in-law. He had been applying for 20-plus years, and it was thrilling to see him make a great shot on a descent bull. No, it wasn’t the biggest bull in the unit, and I do believe that if we’d hunted longer, we would have killed a monster, but it was good enough for him, which meant it was good enough for me.
When we reached the bull, my father-in-law’s back went out, and my wife, who’d been dealing with altitude sickness, got worse. I quartered and packed all but the horns, cape, backstraps, and tenderloin off that mountain. It took me eight trips. It about broke me, but the joy shooting through my veins, knowing I was doing everything in my power to make this hunt for my father-in-law ultra memorable, kept me putting one foot in front of the other.
What About Me?
This was the first hunting year in my life when I never thought about myself. I busted my butt for others and did everything in my power to help them win, and win they did.
Then, it was my turn.
Oddly enough, I watched my buddy Roy arrow a beautiful public land 5-point bull. The man is an elk-killing machine. This time, though, was different. I relished the moment. In fact, I was filming the hunt. By the time we returned to camp with the final load of elk meat, it was 1 a.m.
The following day, Roy and J.C. were bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. We were all operating off three hours of sleep, but Roy and J.C. are selfless people—the finest of hunting partners—and I’m honored to call them my friends.
Two hours after first light, J.C. got a bull to bugle. Thirty minutes after the public land 6-point bull broke the morning silence, he was dead. My arrow was accurate. Less than 26 hours later, after bombing across the border to Wyoming, my buddy J.C. killed his bull. It was an epic feat: three public land bulls in 72 hours. I recommend checking out the film on YouTube.
Later that year, I killed a 160-plus-inch whitetail buck in Nebraska, a 155-inch whitetail buck in Illinois, and a 132-inch whitetail buck in Colorado.
Funny what can happen when you STOP worrying about YOU!
What About Now?
Today, I only hunt with a small circle of people.
Why?
As I penned at the beginning of this article, finding good hunting partners is hard. Plus, being I make my living in the outdoor industry, I not only vet my hunting partners hard for ethics, but I’ve also learned that just because someone shares the same ethics as you and may be a blast to sit down and have a beer with, they don’t hunt the way you do. I have loads of amazing friends who hunt, and we don’t hunt together. It’s not sad, and it’s not wrong. They know, deep down, that disappearing into the mountains for 10 days on a public land elk hunt isn’t for them. I know that taking a trip to hunt whitetails and spending most of the time in camp telling stories and cooking isn’t for me.
I’ve learned who I hunt well with and who I don’t. I know who I can depend on and who I can’t. I know who I can trust with my life and who I can’t.
This year, in early August, I got to bowhunt for the first time with a good buddy. We’d never hunted together before, but we’d spent a lot of time on the phone together, and I felt in my bones that our hunting styles would match and we’d have a fantastic time.
We’d both drawn early-season archery Nevada mule deer tags, and luckily for me, Zach had hunted the area before. On the first morning of the hunt, I made a great stalk. In fact, I could have dropped the string on a 135-inch velvet antler buck at seven yards. I didn’t. Not only was this not the buck I’d waited nine years for, but I knew that bedded within 30 yards of the smaller buck was a pair of 160-plus-inch shooters. I never got a shot at those bucks.
When I got back to the top of the canyon, Zach was pumped that I’d gotten so close on day one. And, for the record, Zach could have gone on that stalk. I told him he was up first that morning. Still, he insisted I take the first stalk.
Not only did he give me the first stalk, but he gave me the second stalk as well. This stalk was on another solid buck, but when I stepped up on a boulder 18 yards above the bedded buck, I decided, once again, to pass.
That afternoon, Zach and I split up for a moment. He hadn’t been gone for more than 10 minutes when I glassed up a monster buck with a wide frame and a hook cheater. I immediately text Zach. No reply. I called him twice. No reply. Finally, I got in touch with him, and he made his way to my glassing point.
Before Zach left on his stalk, he looked back at me and said, “Are you sure you don’t want to go, man?” “You found this buck.“
Five years ago, he wouldn’t have had to ask that question. I would never have called him. I would have stalked and killed that buck. Now, I watched an amazing father, husband, and friend, harvest the buck of a lifetime, and my heart was full!
I’m forever grateful for that walk out of elk country, watching the rack of a 6-point bull sway left and right on my pal’s backpack. It changed my life, not just my hunting life, for the better!
Best of luck in the woods this season, friends! I’m truly rooting for each of you from the bottom of my heart!
