Sunday morning we heard some song dogs howling close by so I got the can out again and called in a nice 'yote, which dropped within about 10 yards of where I shot the cat the day before. I think Nissa was frustrated with me for doing all the shooting that weekend when we were 'trying to deer hunt'.

"Ok Erik, I'm taking the shot." I warned over the radio. Slowly I exhaled 1/2 a breath as my crosshairs settled behind the shoulder about 3/4 of the way up on the bedded elk. Slowly I squeezed the trigger as I lay prone with my rifle over my pack in the sage and dust of the Colockum hillside. But maybe I should start at the beginning...

Opening day of elk season found our clan in the same location we've been starting our elk season for the last 30 years. One of my Brother-in-laws heads up "Nasty Canyon", aptly named for it's steepness and the lack of volunteers that willingly ascend it's rocky slopes. Another splits off to hike "Long Canyon" where, nearly every year he shoots his elk. My wife and I head up to my sitting rock to wait for the din of approaching gunfire that signals the beginning of the running of the elk.

Soon after first light I spot the heard, some 200 strong cresting over the ridge headed toward Nasty canyon. "Here they come Erik, and there's at least a few legal spikes." I state, trying to be subtle about the 12+ spikes I see mixed in with the herd. Soon thereafter we hear him shoot and then on the radio that he has one down. Excitement wells inside me as I think about the pack job that is waiting for us all before the end of the day. Reports from our "eye in the sky" tell us the elk are headed over to the Long canyon where Mark is waiting.

"Nissa, there's plenty of legal bulls in the herd, you should bust your hump and get up Long canyon with Mark, I'm sure he won't mind." I tell her. After a second prompting she starts her trek to intercept them alongside her oldest brother. Arriving just in time, both her and Mark are soon firing and announce they both have shot a bull. "Ok," I think to myself "we have 3 down now and there are still others in our party that might get a shot". Soon after we hear Shane has taken a shot at a spike too. Wow, that means we might have 4 bulls to pack out today and it's only 9 am. My back and knees suddenly start to ache as images of dragging and packing elk fill my mind.

Hoping, waiting to see how the dust settles, I sit transfixed as to what has transpired. I don't remember our group ever getting that many spikes on opening day and the logistics of how this will play out race through my head. Also, I’m almost ashamed to say, but I'm hoping the animals will come my way so we can add one more to the list of pack jobs.

Time passes and the elk have left, heading up toward the reserve with a few less bulls with them. Then the bad news comes over the air, Nissa's elk has been lost, running away before she could finish it off and another hunter has shot it and claimed it. My heart drops at the thought of her losing her first ever bull. Next, Shane relates a similar story, the one he shot has also been finished off and claimed by another. Well, at least that means we can take care of the two animals that are down and still have enough stamina left to continue the hunt the rest of the week.

Now Erik is on the radio, telling us there is another bull near him that is wounded but still alive. Someone should come finish him off before he's found by a hunter not of our clan. Knowing there is nothing I can do for my spouse, and with the opportunity to put meat in our very empty freezer, I race to the bottom of my draw and up the grassy hill. It's warm for elk season and soon I'm stopped, striping off layers as I wipe the sweat from my brow. 15 minutes later I manage to crest the ridge and see the elk lying near where Erik is with his bull. The elk is hurt, shot through the right front shoulder bone but still with his head up. Since the first read from my rangefinder said I was 525 yards away I start working my way up the ridge line opposite the bull and out of sight until I finally get across the canyon from him and set up for the shot. It's times like this the practice of shooting my 7mm Rem Mag pays off. As I range the bull, my rangefinder flashes BATT, and refuses to read. Talk about bad timing. Thankfully the bull is lying there unaware so there is no hurry. I dig around in my pack for my spare battery and finally get a reading on him, 322 yards.

Close enough. Figuring drop to be around 8 inches I line up the shot, after warning Erik I was about to commence firing. "Boom!".."Whop!", hit. The bull is looking around now and he felt that one, but he still has his head up. Squeezing the trigger slowly and carefully, I send another round, "Boom!"..."Whop!" hit again, and that's the one through the heart as he rears up and starts rolling down the hill.

A feeling of extreme satisfaction seeps through me knowing my family will have plenty of meat this year, and elk meat, the best meat on Earth at that. As I watch to make sure the bull isn't moving, I come back down from my hunter's high and realize there are other hunters around that would love to tag my bull so I quickly make my way down to the bottom then back up the rocky hillside to where my bull lies dead. While tagging my bull, Erik comes over for handshakes and to admire the elk, then we work our way back across the knoll to admire his elk.

Sorry for the loss of my wife's bull but grateful for the chance to harvest this bull that was left by a lazy hunter, my season came to a close. Now, where's that Ibuprofen, my knees are starting to ache again...