I bet some of you have a few storys you could share.

I remember my first, because it wasn't that long ago. Had a muzzleloader cow tag. Opening morning I got between two small herds with bugling bulls. I couldn't see 'em but they were no more than 2-300 yards away in either direction, it was about as good as it gets as far as excitement. Right about the time I was deciding to move uphill toward the herd up there, I heard another bugle from a different spot. Or rather, a hunter on horseback who'd ridden in above them, blowing on a bugle and letting his scent carry down to them, there was a trail up there. Then it was like a stampede as the herd ran by on their way out of there. Bummer.

We re-grouped and my buddy and I decided to hunt another mountainside that afternoon. We came up with a plan that he'd go up high and I'd stay a few hundred yards lower and side-hill in the same direction, thinking maybe if we jumped any we'd run them by the other guy. As if that ever works.

I was working my way along slowly when I saw a decent mule deer buck up above me feeding, so I stopped to admire him. No deer tag, naturally. I must have stood there 5 or 10 minutes and as I was standing there, I heard that stampede sound again, coming from up above. Four cows ran by, the first two a little too far away but the second two at about 40 yards and in the clear, as far as the shot. I picked the biggest and swung with her, the shot felt right so I fired and they just kept running.

Right then my bud came down, hot on their trail. We found "my" cow about 75 yards from where I hit her, drilled through the heart. One of the best shots I ever made.

My first elk was on my 26th birthday. My mom helped with packing it out ... well, at least carried the extra meat sacks and tools while dad and I brought out the meat. Less than 3 years later mom was dead from cancer. So ... memorable, yes.

Tom

I'd just broken into my teens when I killed my first elk. It was dusk, I was alone and hiking in the deep show towards camp (I hoped).

I just entered this little prairie when a bull started running from right to left across it. He had all kinds of points, so I didn't have to check if he was legal. He was maybe 50 yards out.

Anyway, I centered the shoulder, trying to drop a bullet just behind his shoulder ... one shot, no effect ... shot number two, no effect ... shot number three, no effect, but he suddenly fell down a few yards later.

It was the first time I'd seen an elk on the ground and my first thoughts were, "Holy SH1T, what am I gonna do now?"

He was a 5X6, but not a wimpy raghorn, he was a darned fine bull, even by my standards today.

I tried to roll him over to gut him and simply could not do it. I pulled, pried, kicked and did all kinds of things and absolutely could not roll him. Then, I noticed that a jackpine was broken and laying on the ground and it occurred to me that maybe, just maybe, he'd run into the jackpine.

It turned out that he'd broken the jackpine about 18-inches above the ground and HE'D IMPALED HIMSELF ON THE BASE OF THE TREE.

Damndest thing I've seen before or since.

Once I figgered out what was happening, I slipped my limb saw under his belly and sawed off the two-inch base. Then, I rolled him over easily.

I'd only gutted about a half-dozen deer at that time, so gutting the elk was a new adventure.

It took me probably three hours to gut, skin, quarter and hang the bull. Not bad time ... considering.

I was wearing a pack frame, so I loaded one rear quarter and the head and walked out to camp, blazing trees all the way, so I could find the kill site the next day.

I remember walking into camp about 11 O'clock. I was so tired, just killer tired. I stumbled into the middle of camp, fell to my knees and cried.

Never been so tired. And happy.

The next day was a bluebird day in the eastern Oregon bush. I packed the rest of the bull out and had a really fun time doing it.

By the way, I was all alone in camp. I was hunting with friends and there were a couple of days when the others had work or other stuff to do, so I thought it would be a great adventure to do it all alone.

It was an adventure, all right.

Kinda cool, though.

My wishes for a Joyous Easter,

Steve

Cow at 30yds with an old Savage 110 30-06 and NP. Was pretty uneventful. Was about 100yds from the truck, as I was walking toward the meadow. The good eating was spectacular.

Story of my first elk...thats a story for the future. No luck yet. Lots of effort, plenty of fun, and some knee pain mixed in. But no luck yet.

I killed my first elk at age 14. I was hunting with my father on (of all places) Elk Mountain in Colorado's Unit 76. I was carrying my father's Rem 721 in .270 Win with a Weaver K4.

We walked into a small herd spread out over a hillside, and we put a parallel sneak on them. I waited for a bit, and finally decided to shoot a 4x4 bull. As soon as I fired, the hillside exploded.

My Dad was shooting at a bull running up the opposite hillside in the timber. My shot was broadside at 100 yds. and the bull died in a gully. My Dad hit his 4x4 bull in back of the neck at 150 yards through the trees. All with an old Mauser chambered to 8x57 and equipped with peep sights.

We dragged his bull down the hill and dressed them both within 25 feet of the other. Dad's bull had a double knee joint on a foreleg- odd. I still am amazed that he could hit that small target on the run with peep sights. Salud Dad!

Upon returning home, we learned that two bull elk had run through our front yard that morning. Proof that no elk comes easily to me!

Mine was at age 15 and I claim no skill whatever, just plain dumb luck. I'd met up with my dad and we were standing in a meadow next to a big bushy pine tree deciding what to do next. I looked over Dad's shoulder and there was a yearling running by at maybe 50 yds at high speed. He'd been spooked bad by something. I stepped sideways around Dad, whipped my Win 32 Spc off my shoulder and popped off a shot, almost from the hip. I hit it right behind the eye. I couldn't do that again in 5000 shots. Even at that, it ran over 100 yds before it went down. You could put your fist in the hole in its head so it was running purely on adrenaline.

Dumb luck here too. In the foothills of the Rubys, near Alder, MT. Myself with another 19 year old, neither of which had ever killed an elk, we found a herd moving off of private land right at daybreak, found a couple of bulls too. While we were side hilling the elk, we noticed the bulls were gone. Then all of a sudden, all three turn up in the draw below us at under 100 yards. My buddy fires first and misses, I shoot next, dropping a bull. Turns out my .280 round hit him in the spine just in front of the hips. It was a better than average 5 point.
Neither of us had a clue as to how to take care of the animal, but we managed. We even took the rib cage out by cutting slits in it, then waddling down the hill carrying it together. Had no game bags or even a pack frame, so we just threw the meat over our backs and held onto the leg bones. We were covered in blood by the time we were done, and feeling like real grown ups, we walked into this little bar to celebrate and ordered a couple of beers while we still had blood all over us. And no, they didn't check our ID.

Monday morning. 50 shades of gray. At the top of Elk ridge we’re met by a cow moose, and ½ mile visibility in the falling snow. We see another cow moose feeding on the ridge. The snow stops, but patches of fog drift up and down the valley. We spot elk, all way over on that same ridge as Saturday. Mostly bulls. Too far and too hard a ride in these conditions. There’s elk closer to us, if only we can find them.

We head north up the ridge. We spook another moose, just barely seen in the fog. Just as we’re about to drop off and circle around, Scott stops us. He says there’s no sense in continuing the circle since no elk have crossed the ridge. We backtrack down the ridge to the south.

As we get to the end of the ridge, Riley, Scotts son, looks back and whispers loudly “Larry quick, there’s elk!”. I dismount in a hurry and go behind Earl to grab my rifle from the scabbard. Just as I grab the rifle, Earl takes two steps forward, and I can’t grab my gun. I finally get the rifle and start moving up. Things get kind of confusing here. More impression than memory. I tried to get a range but there was just enough fog to make that impossible. I moved to the end of the ridge and the elk were there, down in the saddle. Steph came up beside me with Riley. Scott said to hold off we could get closer. We worked down the back side of the ridge. We set up again. Steph had trouble finding the elk in her scope. My chosen elk started to move so I fired. Steph fired, Riley fired. Riley fired again. Steph fired. My elk was hit hard and stumbling. The herd was moving.
When it all calmed down. We compared notes. Riley thought he’d missed everything, but was certain I’d hit. Steph wasn’t sure of anything. I finally got a clean range 301 yds. We rode down and spotted my elk laying just at the wood line. I dismounted and it got up and headed up the hill in the woods. I grabbed my rifle and went after it. It didn’t make it twenty yards and stopped. I put the finisher into it. Whew! Six years of hunting and FINALLY I get my first elk.

Scott and Steph went in search of the herd. Riley and I checked the area for other blood trails. Nothing. We gutted the elk and then skidded it back to the truck. Scott and Steph showed up about an hour later. They’d seen more elk and had shot but neither had hit. Scott’s horse had jerked the reigns just as he was pulling the trigger,(he was dismounted but holding the reigns.) and Steph wasn’t shooting her borrowed rifle very well.

And so on a snowy November morning, my elk curse was broken. I had filled my cow/calf tag with a nice young calf. I couldn’t be more happy. I’ve still got my general tag, and there is an area open till the end of the month. Scott said we go back out after Thanksgiving. I can’t wait!

My brother had just gotten back to Montana after his first assignment in Germany. My dad had always wanted to take a hunting trip for elk with just us boys.

We camped in a campground up Jack Creek, Montana. Opening day my brother and I took off on foot and started hiking into the woods, following a trail for several miles.

We saw hunters on foot and horseback all morning. Near sunrise, we had been off the trail for awhile when I heard crunching of ice on a frozen bog. Something I couldn't hear now if I was in the bog.

I looked down about 100 yards and saw the biggest elk I had ever seen. I pulled up my rifle and shot. The elk didn't move and then turned around and walked back into the open where I had a better shot on him. I had a Bushnell 4X scope that had a bullet drop compensation dial on it and it had been turned up way to far.

Turning it back down, I took another shot and couldn't see the elk. I started heading downhill to see if I had hit it and it had fallen out of sight, and sure enough it had...

Too sad a story to relate in detail.
Running Bull
Buck fever
worst shot ever
miles of tracking
First shot about 11:00 AM
Elk in camp just before midnight
Mistakes never to happen again

I went on my first elk hunt when I was in my 20's. Didn't kill an elk until I was in my 30's.

Every year the elk found a new way to elude me or I found a new way to mess up my opportunity.

One year I had gotten an antelope and a deer in early season ... good since it seemed I was destined to never get an elk. In the San Juan Mtns in some north facing black timber I found a natural blind inside a pile of standing spruce and deadfall. 40 yards below there was a creek about 8 inches wide. After about an hour two cows came to the water and then climbed the snowy slope beyond. My bullet broke the back of one and she slid on the snow all the way to the bottom. That small creek ran bright red.

The following year we had a storm come in during our annual hunt and all of the previous years of hard hunting seemed to balance out within that period of 2 seasons. That year I punched my cow tag, bull tag, and then a damage control tag on another hunt a few weeks later.

My first elk was a spike bull. Never even drew blood with the shot.... 4 of us were taking a snoozle in a saddle/crossing, with our horses tied down below in the trees while we slept. A few cows and the spiker came thru right between us. Somebody woke up and alerted the rest of us. I was the furthest uphill. The elk went over a slight rise, and noone else could see them. All I could see was the spikes head over the rise, so I popped him in the noggin. When we all went down to him, he struggled to his feet and started wobbling around. My outfitter buddy leaped on him and bulldogged the bastid, just like in the rodeo. Dennis cut his throat, while Tom held him down. My shot hit the knob of the horn base, and just knocked him out......

Had lived in Idaho for sometime but was all into hunting upland birds over a pointer and never was drawn to hunt elk - until my older brother wanted to come out and hunt them.

My other big pass time was riding dirt bikes in the mountains and I knew where there were lots of elk - LOTS of tracks that is and admit not seeing many elk.

Opening morning there were all sorts of elk hunters bugling down below us and we were pretty bummed, seemed none of those guys could call worth a hoot and we were about to move when we saw two bulls and then several more. Learned elk aren't nearly as good at calling as they show on the hunting programs.

It wasn't all that difficult to get a small 6 point on the ground, one broadside double lung and when he turned up climb up hill I spined him.

Once we reached him we were both amazed how big he actually was and the work really started. And then my 4 year older brother crapped out and I had to carry the entire elk, in quarters, up the mountain to the trail. I believe my brother was hit with altitude sickness. It took all he had to get himself up the hill.

Took my first elk with a bow back in 1998, he wasn't huge (5x5) but he was big enough for me. Called him in using a cow call in the middle of the day, 1 shot in the neck (cut his jugular) at 32 yards.

I remember it like it was yesterday.

Colorado 2001 - first rifle. ( remington sendero in 300 win mag ).

3 of us hiked up a snow blocked road towards a communication tower above tree line. A ridge ran off the top and half mooned for 2 miles to create a huge bowl.

A bunch of dudes were on 4 wheelers on the road 1000 yards below us. Suddenly we heard a bugle. Elk herd at 500 yards. My brother lays down and fires on a nice bigger 5x5 and drops him at 475 yards. The locals were on line pushing the herd right through the bowl perpendicular to us. I'm sure they were pissed beyond belief. Anyway the herd bolts and then angles diagonally straight up 500 yards of slope to go over the saddle below the commo tower. I take off running diagonally down slope to clear a hump. It was over the calf deep snow and I was cranking hard to get through it, but was in great shape b/c I played at the judo nationals the year before and had good lungs. Copped an Indian squat in the snow and worked to find a legal bull as they stormed straight uphill at 125 yards towards the saddle. Talking to myself the whole time, I was scanning the herd with my 4.5x14 scope until I found a rag 4x5, put the reticle on his nose and fired, then 3 feet in front, then held center chest. I was purposely bracketing the target like when we called artillery. First shot had hit dead center lungs, second missed and the third clipped his backbone 4 inches in front of his tail and dropped him. I fired the whole sequence faster than Lee Harvey Oswald.

Next morning we came back. We sat right where I dropped mine from. We heard bugles on the ridge 275 yards above. Uncle shot a 325 inch bull and us three were done on our first elk rifle hunt.

We were high fiving and pretty damn happy.

Game warden came by and kept pestering us about what time we shot the big bull. We honestly had no idea and told him so. Never occurred to us to even look at our clocks b/c we always figure in Oklahoma that if you could ID a buck and shoot it then it pretty much was legal light. Never considered that in a snow bowl with a big moon that it was illuminated pretty much all night. Anyway, he finally went away as we failed to give him any incriminating testimony.

We were so green we hauled that fat bastard out whole with a rope till we could get to the ATV instead of quartering him out. We were gassed. Now I laugh and think how stupid was that.

Someday I will have a first elk story to tell. And I guarantee it will go like this:

"So I start my hike toward a camp site I have picked out 4 miles from the truck. Its a beautiful camping spot that will put me in prime elk country and prime sunset viewing. Can't wait for a week in the back country. As I stop only 100 yards down the trail to readjust my pack, an elk steps out of some brush below me. I shoot, he falls, hunt over. 100 yards from the truck."

First was a calf when I was probably 16 or so. Maybe 20 yards in the timber. Facing me. Shot her under the chin with an old school Ruger M77 30/06. Was back in camp before noon.

WTF makes it 100 yards from the truck, before stopping to re-adjust?

in yer dreams.....grin

Won't happen on the way in because you should be hiking in the day before season opens. It might on the way out but then you will pissed b/c you have a 14 hour drive to be at work in 30 hours and now you have a hunk of dead meat to get out first, and that pizza in that first town will just have to wait. :-)

I've killed more than a few elk and I never killed one that I could get out whole. The buggers always had to be quartered.

But, of course, almost all of my elk work was on horseback.

Once, in my early years, I was driving up a forest road and the truck about 100 yards in front of me suddenly hit the brakes ... You got it, the driver killed a 6X6, just a dandy bull, right in the middle of the road.

I helped him move the bull off to the side of the road and headed for the road's end. And I killed a raghorn about a mile off the end ... and grunted the SOB back to my truck one quarter at a time.

Sh1t, why couldn't I have had just ONE easy elk???? It ain't fair

Blessings,

Steve

PS. By the way, I always considered ANY elk to be one heck of a trophy; bull, cow or calf. They all come hard and we should be danged proud of each and every one of them.

I had a POS bear target bow. I could not get it to group past 30 yards. One night my saddle mule run off with it. The mule come into camp at about mid nite with the bow under its belly. That dang bow shot to over 50 yards! That afternoon I packed in and spike camped on top of a seep. While setting up my tee pee and tying off the mules I got my only boots soaked. I headed up the mountain and at the summit I could smell elk. It was cold and frigid that night and the next morning heading up the next morning with ice blocks for boots all I wanted to do was get to the top and start a fire. Instead I ran into a bachelor pod of bulls and harvested a five point! At 50 yards! Thanks Kirby! That be my mule that tuned the bow!

I was 33 hunting az unit 8. Had done a bit of scouting with a friend and had seen a number of bulls.

I hunted with my brother and dad who didn't have tags for 4 days and had only seen a spike and a ton of cows. Next day same friend who had scouted with me came up and we went to an area we hadn't scouted.

Looking over a canyon about 1200 yards are two bulls, we can tell ones a spike and the other one is a good bull. We had to go back to the jeep and drive around to get to them. We stalked down as close as we could get. 400+ yards and one hell of a side wind.

I sat down and set up the shooting sticks. Ranged at 407 yards. We talked about point of aim and then BOOM! I let it fly. We watched a puff of dust behind the good bull and thought damn. I racked another round and the guys are yelling " he's down you got him". I couldn't see him anymore but they saw him drop.

We hiked over he was a nice 6x6 with two little spikes on top that you can have a ring on. We quarter him up and hiked up to the jeep. My buddy carried up a quarter and when he got to the jeep there were two guys glassing over the same canyon. My friend dropped the quarter on a rock and hit the ground only to look at those guys who looked back at him and gave him the thumbs up!

My wife said there's no way I'm putting a dead head in her house so my friend has him on the wall. Now she kinda likes the deer in my avatar that I intensional had mounted so it looks at her chair in the living room.

Killed my first Elk on my second trip to Colorado in 2003. Muzzleloader .54 Knight. Me and two other guys were working our way thru some low brush and thought we heard a bugle up ahead. We cow called a few times and heard a cow answer us to our left. I had the only cow tag so I eased that away and slowly worked my way into the timber. My buddies continued cow calling occasionally and the cow would answer. I finally found an Elk in the timber and in my haste to shoot something did not look any farther. I shot it right behind the ear as its head and neck was all I could see. Turned out to be a calf, The cow and about 10 other Elk took off tearing through the tree's. If i had waited I probably would of got a shot at a bigger Elk but I was happy.

My first was very close after stalking to around 30 yards in thick timber. The 6 megapixels captured about 4 bulls in 1 shot.

Remind beginners that us experienced guys like to shoot more. A 1 shot kill is just 1 shot and the fun is over. If you get to shoot 4 times, that's 4 times as much fun. We all know that, don't we?

And if you don't get a blood moon over your eye, you were not properly amped up. :-)

I was 14. I remember my mom having to drive me and my friend down to camp, as we had a football game the day before the opener.Our fathers were already in camp in the High Uinta mountains, general season any bull.

Spent 3 days wondering around aimlessly through the woods..Me and my friend were tired of hunting with our dads by that point, so they sent us off solo to a little lake off the beaten path..Elk were the last things on our mind, having pretty much given up by that point. instead we were performing penetration tests on tree's, to see of grand slams were better than power points..

On the hike out we were stopped in our tracks by the pungent odor of elk, i got on my knees to try and see through the thick pines, and seen the legs of some elk out in front of us.

My friend tried to get in front of them, I went on their trail. About 20-30 seconds later I was just standing on the elk trail, wondering what to do when i heard a shot..I just stood there for awhile, and to my surprise i seen a lone bull coming back down the trail they had just made.

I shot him at around 50 feet, it was a small 6x6.

My friend missed a different bull out of the same group(supposedly MUCH bigger than the one I had just killed, of course!) ..After putting together where he had shot, and where I ended up shooting mine we learned a very valuable lesson, the "fish hook maneuver". Ive killed a handful of bulls doing it since then.

My first being a 6x6 was great and I was hooked, had more focus on the hunt from that year on and didnt get bummed out so easily. after that year i went on a run of spikes for the next 3 years.

No pic of the bull,not even sure where the rack went.

I elk hunted in WA with a guy who took me to a place where he had only seen one elk. It ran by when he was taking a dump.

Then I worked with a young man from WY who told the story of hunting with his father. His dad was taking a dump, and the boy took a hail Mary shot at a bull he saw running away. The father, who did not see the elk, cussed out the son for making noise and scaring game... then they found the dead bull with a hole in the back of the head.

I am not going to tell MY elk story.. it is too personal.

Thats a great story Clark..always a pleasure.

Great stories here.

My first elk died when I was 14. I was with my dad, which was the norm for most of my first hunting years. We always hunted the same general area. It was some family owned timber land a couple miles behind my grandparents house. It was so thick back then, we would mostly walk the old logging roads and skid trails in the mornings and evenings.
On this particular hunt we were working our way back to the pickup. There was a saddle we passed and Dad saw his cousins pickup parked there, this just irritated the heck out of Dad cuz Norman had his own ground to hunt. Dad decided we would circle the back of the knob and come in behind Norman, see what he was up too.
I was in the habit of not seeing elk anyways, and this little plan of dad's put another mile or two onto an already long walk. As we were coming around the back of the knob headed headed towards the saddle, I was trudging along behind dad. Just hoping the end was near. He stopped and threw his rifle to his shoulder, I almost walked into the back of him. About 100 or so yards farther up the old grown up skid road we were on, stood 2 fine rag horn bulls. Dad fired first and missed. I stepped up next too him, and started shooting. I was shooting a rem 700 30-06, it was full, 5 shots. Dad had his Mauser 7x57, VZ24 my great grandpa on the other side of the family built for him, he only had 4 in his.
Anyways, we both opened fire. 8 clean misses between us, then my last bullet went right behind the shoulder of the bigger raghorn. He hit the dirt right there. The smaller one took one leap and was gone. Up the hill in the brush about 10 cows and the big bull took off over the mountain. It was the only time I had ever seen my Dad miss with his rifle.
We gutted the 4x5 bull, and walked out in the dark. We went and got the neighbor and went back with 4 of us and a chainsaw, Stihl of course. We loaded the bull whole and took it to my granparents house and hung it in the garage.
That was number 1, I have about 20 under my belt now. About a third of em came off of that mountain.

Unfortunately, a lot of the older family died off and others moved to bigger towns. Not by my choice obviously, but the family timber land got mostly all sold off to corporate timber companies. That mountain is now full of roads and clearcut for miles.
That first elk was a great memory, but it makes me sad to think of how it used to be.

Did you run out of paper?

My first elk is a memory that many would rather forget.

I was young, full of know-it-all teenage bravado. My cousin and I were driving logging roads. I was tired of "road hunting" so I told him I was going to put on a little hike and made arrangements for a meetup later in the afternoon.

I started hiking and continued to hit road after road as I ascended the mountain. During one bend in the road I bumped a dozen elk. Very thick cover and they disappeared before I had a shot.

I decided to walk a little further and the road ended in a turn around. More out of curiosity than purpose I started cow calling. Thinking to myself, "How cool would it be to see those elk again?" I also didn't think that cow calling in November would have much effect on the elk.

I finished my granola bar and started walking the same little logging road out. As I turned the corner there are the elk, all milling about near the road and the bull is standing smack dab in the middle of the road.

One shot, to the head at about 40 yards, with an open sighted remington 700 in .270 and the bull drops. Shooting core lokt bullets.

My excitement goes through the roof. Only problem is that he is much bigger than I can handle and move. I kept problem solving trying to figure out how I was going to position him so I could clean him out. After a while I managed to awkwardly turn him on his side and cleaned him out. There was 4 inches of snow on the ground and I wasn't too worried about the meat cooling out.

Meanwhile the sun is going down quickly and I am late for the meetup spot. I rush to the spot, sometimes jogging, sometimes sliding through the snow going down the mountain.

When I see my cousin I tell him the good news. We both leave our rifles in the truck, grab rope, knives and our packboards.

We work our way up to bull and about 150 yards from where he was laying... all we see is taillights storming away.

Sure enough we get to where my elk was and all that's left is the gut pile and all the coagulated blood that I couldn't pour out because the bull was too heavy for me to maneuver. More or less a crime scene in the snow filled with fresh tire tracks, and 3 pairs of boot prints.

I'll admit I felt nauseous and was very close to tears, somehow I held it together. My cousin and I walked down the mountain in silence. I was still processing the day's events. Also wondering how my Dad was going to react. Somehow I had it in my mind that with my elk - I was going to come into camp and be recognized as a "real" hunter by the men. Without my elk I was still just one of the "kids" in camp.

The rest of the season was uneventful, and I didn't have much desire to even get out of camp. Upon leaving I told my cousin that I'd never hunt there again. And true to my word I've never been back. My Dad was more than understanding and tried to cheer me up. He told me that sometimes in our loss, we actually come out ahead.

I didn't understand it until 2 years later when I shot a monster 6x6 herd bull. One of the coolest things I've ever seen. A herd of 100+ elk covering the hillside like ants. I was alone and was stressed out trying to find the big bull. Of course he was at the back pushing his cows. One shot dropped him, this time using my "new to me" used 30-06 with a leupold scope.

I'll never forget the smile on my Dad's face when he crested the hill and saw my bull laying in the snow. It was a combination of happiness and joy...all made better because of it being my first bull.

---------------------------------

Thankfully persistence and time have reversed my elk fortune. Through the years I've taken many elk. My first bull is one I don't have a picture of, nor the rack...just a sad twinge every time I think about the type of person who would steal another man's elk.

I'll never forget my first elk, and surely will never forget my first "recovered" bull. Everytime I look at him on the wall I remember the ups and downs of elk hunting in the woods...as well as that smile that covered my dads face as he walked up to my first trophy bull. In that moment I had arrived as a real elk hunter, and the kid became a man.

It was 1986,my first hunting season in Wyoming.Having gotten "skunked" on elk during the regular season,I had an opportunity to make a late season cow elk hunt near Jackson Hole with two friends from work.
We took an older small camper to a location near Turpin Meadows.It was late November,and is typical in the Wyoming high country,it was cold with almost a foot of snow on the ground. After setting up camp,we had a few hours of light left for an evening hunt. With a "High Boy" F-250 chained on all four,we started driving a few two-tracks. With darkness closing,we had just cleared some heavy timber and were entering an old "clear-cut" with the new conifer growth approaching ten feet in height.
As most of you know,when "two tracking" the preferred seating is in the middle.You don't have to get out to open the gates. But,when elk hunting that is not a good place to find yourself!
Just as we were entering the "clear-cut",someone yelled elk,the truck slid to a stop.We started jumping out of the truck,and as you have probably already summarized,I was getting off to a late start!
I only caught a glimpse of the elk about 200 yards away, leaving the "clear-cut" entering the timber,crossing to our right. My two friends headed into the timber at a run,trying to close the distance,hoping for a shot in the timber. Knowing I was way behind,I "broke" hard to the right,hoping to get ahead of the elk. After a short Sprint,I came into a long,narrow opening in the timber. As I stopped to analyze the situation,the shots started to my left. Cursing at my poor luck and choice of direction,I suddenly heard footfall's in the snow and breaking limbs,elk were headed my way. Suddenly an elk burst into the narrow opening about 50 to 70 yards away,crossing at a 90 degree angle.I quickly determined that the leading elk had no "headgear". My Model 70 Winchester,375H&H snapped into my shoulder, the rifle firing almost of it's own will! The elk collapsing as the 300 grain GameKing connected,and skidding about 10 or 15 feet to a stop!
As my elk was slidding to a stop, the rest of the small group of elk came "pouring" through the alley in the timber. It was then that I realized that I had killed a "baby"!My first elk,and he still had "momma's" milk on his face!
All three of us got our elk that evening,though it took until after midnight to find one of them.
After the long tracking job and the field dressing we headed back to camp for some rest,we would make the recoveries in the morning.
But,the days events weren't' over.As the trucks headlight swept across our "humble abode",it was clear that we'd had a visitor while we were gone.From the tracks left at the scene of the attack,it was apparent that a small Black Bear had come by for a midnight snack!Our cooler,which had been left outside,was opened with the small remainder of it's contents scattered about.
The morning's breakfast might be a little sparse,but we had three elk on the ground. I got my first elk,good memories,and friendships that have lasted for years! memtb

My first elk (and elk hunt) was probably my most memorable hunt of my life. I was I believe 12 or 13 (that part I dont remember). My dad, late grandfather and I drew late season unit 1 Arizona bull tags. Long story short, we glassed up elk up on top of a hill that has great significance to our family (I got engaged on top of said hill, and my grandfathers ashes will soon be spread on top of said hill.... Just fairly important to us.)

Anyways, my dad and I made a stalk, identified a bull and made sure there were no cows behind him. This was before range finders existed. I leveled my scope and fired, missing. The elk began to run, my dad fired and missed. I leveled the rifle again, took aim at the slowly trotting spike and fired. When I shot an elk dropped. Now, I was certain I was on a bull, but when I shot my dad said there was still a spike visible and I instantly began to worry that I killed a cow! Once we got closer, we confirmed that I had indeed shot the bull I targeted and I was relieved and excited! To top it off, my grandfather killed a bull (which ended up being his last bull) the next day, and my dad killed his first elk on the final day of the hunt.

My 4th year hunting in Co sitting on a small piece of BLM when what sounded like a herd of horses on shale turned into a herd of about 20 elk cows and young bulls looked like they were going to trample me and was thinking my anti-hunting friends & family would laugh their heads off.

They passed about 60 yards in front of me - I couldn't decide which to shoot when a cow finally spotted me and stopped. I held on the chest of the bull behind her the I realized there was another bull directly in line with the chest and I was shooting a 7mm RM 150 grain Accubond that would probably penetrate and wound the other animal. I adjusted quickly to shoot the nice 4 point in the neck and the sound he made when he hit the ground was wonderful. Even better when I got my hunting group together to help we hiked back up the hill and spooked out a nice 3 point buck I shot him through the heart and he took off running for about 70 yards where he dropped within 90 yards from the dead bull.

They asked if I minded not killing everything on the hill next time and we got both animals to the processor a little after dark. I filled my cow tag 2 days later - haven't had that kind of luck since.

I went on my first Elk hunt at age 61 and a friend of mine had to talk me into going. Being the lucky SOB that I am I shot my first Elk and he scored SCI 498 5/8. Now I have to admit that it was an Estate kill but my point is I can't believe that I waited my entire life to go on my first Elk Hunt. So now I have been on two Elk hunts and have two bulls mounted. Now I've been hunting Deer all my life and I have paid my dues but sometime it's better to be lucky than good.

I was kinda disgruntled at having to hunt a bull at camp the year I was 19. It was my second year of college and I wasn't sure if I'd be able to go to CO for camp for 10 days so I hadn't applied for a buck tag. I was able to get free and go kindof last minute but had to buy a OTC bull tag if I wanted to hunt. I was super excited to be back at camp having missed the year before due to school but was still reeling from the $575 I'd plunked down for the tag.

I'd gotten a little discouraged with elk hunting early on for a couple reasons. Lack of sightings being a big one, with a deer tag at least there are usually a few does that hang down around the meadow that camp sits in that I can see every day to assure me that they do exist. Second was antler restrictions, my first year I had to pass the only bull I saw since he didn't have enough bone growing out of his head. Third was the fact that I'd been a part of breaking down and packing out quite a few that Dad and my uncles and Grandad had scored on, and it's a lot of work. Guess I was the typical teenager who wanted instant gratification with no work involved. But anyway.

Dad took me aside the night before the opener and told me that if I wanted to punch my tag I'd better ask my uncle Kent, the Elkslayer of the family, if I could hunt with him, to listen to everything he said and "get in his back pocket and stay there". I did all of these things and it payed off the next morning.

Sunrise on the opener found me and Kent at the top of a ridge with me panting for breath like a guy who'd smoked 3 packs of Camels a day his whole life. Lesson number one, be in shape to elk hunt. While I was chasing girls and doing 12oz curls at Jr college Kent was doing farm work and being in shape in his late 40's.
As it got light we eased down a game trail on the peak of the ridge. I was mesmerized by a small flock of Merriams turkey that were strolling down the trail in front of us, not alarmed but not letting us get any closer. Lesson number two, as I was gawking at turkeys Kent was looking for elk. As I watched the birds he tapped me on the shoulder and whispered for me to look across the canyon.

Sure as the world standing under a piñon pine across the canyon was a big yellow critter that I would have passed right by with my head up my butt. As we sat to glass for a better look Kent told me he was almost certain it was a big bull due to it's being alone and it's pale color. Right again on his part, when it raised it's head above the lower limbs of the piñon I about crapped my pants. Not because it was huge but because I had identified the telltale 5" browtine making it a legal bull.
Without my even asking Kent kindly asked me if I'd like to shoot this one. I almost shouted as I tried to whisper the word yes I was so excited. He asked me if I thought I could make the shot and offered me his shooting sticks. Which I graciously accepted since I'd left mine on the camp table while packing my lunch that morning.

I set up the sticks and planted my old sporterized 1903 Springfield in the vee and quickly found the bull. I knew it was a long shot and thought to ask Kent to range it since he was the first person I knew to own an LRF. Turned out his LRF was right next to my shooting sticks in the tent. I guessed it at 400 and he thought that looked about right. So I held up about 2 feet over where I wanted the bullet to land, I was shooting about 200-400 rounds a week at that time so knew my rifle pretty well, and applied pressure to the trigger. I lost the bull in the fixed 4x Leupold under recoil but remember the sweet sound that bullet made when it landed like it was yesterday, sounded like someone hit a plastic trashcan with a baseball bat as it echoed across the canyon. I found the bull in the scope soon enough to see him come down out of the HiHo Silver pose and take a step behind the piñon he was standing under, effectively stopping me from taking afollowup shot.
Lesson three was to be patient, this one would be reinforced with a sledgehammer blow shortly. I was ready to start lobbing more rounds into the tree trying to get another one in the wounded bull but Kent assured me he was hit hard and that we should just wait a minute. After what seemed an eternity I heard the rolling of gravel and knew something was happening, as I readied myself to shoot again I saw an upside down elk sliding down the steep slope, dead as a wedge!

But here's where that third lesson gets reinforced. As I started working my way around the rim of the canyon to try to find my bull I heard a terrific crashing of brush and the distinctive sound of antlers on oakbrush. I was horrified thinking my bull was making his escape. I radioed Kent and asked if he could see him and why he wasn't shooting. He replied that the noise was coming from behind him and getting closer, "I'm going to turn around and have a look" was the last thing I heard before two quick shots rang out behind me followed by a loud crash and all went silent.
As Kent had stood watch to direct me in to where my bull was a monster 6x6 had run over the ridge and catching my scent, stopped and sniffed my butt prints in the dirt where I'd shot from a half hour earlier. That was his last mistake, as Kent was leaning against a jack pine ten yards away and promptly fed him a double dose of 150 partitions in the wheelhouse. He lurched forward one bound and piled up in a thicket 10 feet off the trail.

I eventually worked my way to my bull and found he was an ancient old 5x7 nontypical. He was also wrapped around a small pine, upside down and backwards on a 45 degree slope. I ended up using my pack saw to cut the tree down so he'd skid down onto a flat place about the size of a pickup bed where I could skin and quarter him. The rest of the gang showed up about the time I got the 3rd quarter off and hung in a little tree. I was gassed, out of water, food, and rope but I had a grin a mile wide on my mug that no amount of exhaustion could wipe it off.

We all took a piece that afternoon and Kent and I went back the next morning and finished the pack job. One of my favorite hunts and one of my favorite pictures is the one my Dad took of Kent and me standing looking over the ridge back toward camp with those two big racks on our pack boards.

Ps Dad brought the LRF the next day and hit the spot where my bull was standing from where I shot. The readout read 402yds.

Mine was a DIY hunt in Colorado with two friends. I had the tag, they came along to help. We hiked to a bit above timberline, about 12,700', in the dark to a rock pile that would allow glassing. As the sun rose we spotted a herd of at least 75 elk (we stopped trying to count) moving right along timber line like a row of ants. They were thousands of yards out. We dropped down to just at timberline and I proceeded to head towards them just below timberline working whilst ensuring that I could see my partners. As I made my moves I would glass back and they would provide pre-agreed hand signals. After some time they signaled for me to move up, enough such that I would be able to see the elk as they crossed in front of me. I found a small clump of trees and crawled into it kneeling while I watched and listened. After a bit of time some cows appeared moseying on past, about 75 yards out. Soon after I started hearing a lone bull bugling. I kneeled waiting. Soon a few bulls, a 4x4, spike and a decent 5x5 pass by. The bull continued to bugle. I waited. More cows and bulls (including a few more decent 5x5's) crossed, at least 20 as I waited. Finally a 6x6 showed up and that was going to be the one. He crossed in front of me ~75 yards out, stopped to munch a bite of grass and the 210 gr Partition from my 338-06 was launched. The bull spun, leaped and fell over dead. I waited a bit and saw he was finished. I headed up towards him and heard a grunt. I looked up and above me less than 50 yards away were at least another 30 elk all standing there looking at me and their fallen friend. Just then I heard the bugling elk circling in the timber below me, smart old bastid he was. I looked back at the elk above and one of the 5x5's heads out and the rest follow. It was near ethereal. The elk I shot was in a separate group, the group above were out of my sight due to the land contour. After a fair bit of time my partners arrived stunned to see me with the elk. From where they were they could only see the higher group and having seen nothing drop or run at the shot assumed a clean miss. Still the greatest hunt I have had.

It never happens the way you plan.

It did happen.

As was yours, R.

17, dayom sad to hear that first part. Unreal. I have felt about the same after hitting a losing a couple of hound chased big bucks with a shotgun as a kid and later a couple good bucks i hit with an arrow.

Still hurts some.

1992 and I had permission to hunt a small horse ranch near Glenwood Springs, CO. The owner told us to shoot all the mule deer we could because she was tired of them eating her hay. We ask about elk and she said they are in the valley but always go out the other side. My dad and I both had elk and deer tags. We walk in to a brushy hillside in the dark to set up to watch her hayfield and after we get settled we hear elk bugles way off out in the valley below the ranch. As daylight starts to break I can make out a herd of about 50 elk feeding far out across a wide valley and working their way toward a far ridge. Just at shooting light as the elk are almost all the way across the valley a truck comes tearing up a dirt road on the far side of the valley and turns into the pasture. 3 guys jump out of the truck and open up on the elk. They kill 3 bulls and turn the elk toward us. They elk scatter with most heading toward neighboring small ranches farther down the valley, but about 8 of them with a 5 x 6 bull bringing up the rear are running across a 3/4 mile wide valley and headed toward the small hillside ranch we are on. They end up crossing an oak brush hillside about 50 yards inside the property line and when the bull gets about even with us on the hillside I opened up on him with a 270. I put 5 shots into the bull's shoulder and ribs in a group I could cover with my hand. The elk shows no reaction to the shots and now my gun is empty. The bull turned toward where my dad and I are sitting and my dad takes a shot with his Remington 742 carbine in 30.06 and hits the bull straight on in the neck which drops the bull instantly in a small deep gully. Gutting the bull in that gully was a job, but recovery wasn't too difficult as we were able to use a county road about 50 yards above the bull and winched him up to the truck. As we got the bull to the truck a truck load of big, young guys came by and helped us load the bull whole into the back of the truck. I just didn't know at the time that elk don't react like the whitetails I had killed to that point and that my first shot had killed the bull but he didn't know it, so I continued to shot as long as he was standing. The next year I purchased a 338 and it has had greater effect on the 7 other elk I have killed.

Perry

My first elk was in 2000, archery. It was my second elk tag ever and the first was a learning lesson for sureI I had drawn a cow, rifle tag and being a eastern deer hunting let's just say I learned a lot and said if I draw again I would get it done, found a dumb one at 15-yards.

I think I was 30 when I got my 1st elk. It was my 3rd year that I got back into hunting since I was a teen. It was in the same unit I hunted a year before where I blew my shot at a spike because I rushed the shot. Anyways, I was fortunate that couple guys had points to spare and I had any bull tag. It was opening morning in Eastern Oregon. I sat at spot I found previous year from sunrise to about 10am where I couldn't take the cold and boredom. I made it about 50 yards and came onto an old skid road and started following that to another spot I wanted to scope out. About 70-80 yards in front. a cow and spike came out of some thick shrubs and went into some reprod. Tried to find them with my scope with no luck. Soon as I went to move, the cow came out walking straight towards me on the same skid road. Luckily I still had my gun up and just watched her close in and the spike followed soon after. I'm still standing in the road with no cover and getting shaky with excitement. Cow makes to about 30-40 yards and stops trying to figure me out. the spike is not far behind to her right. We were in a standoff which seemed to last forever I slowly put the cross hair on the spikes lower neck and squeezed. They took off back to where they came from and I lost visual in the christmas trees but heard some serious brakage. Then just silence. Walked over to where I shot the spike was and it looked like someone spilled a big gulp of blood. I knew it was good hit. He made it maybe 40 or 50 yards, just on the other side of the christmas trees. Then the fun began.

Finally figured out how to post a picture.
SCI TOP 20 498 5/8 Estate Rifle method.
Nontypical 11x11

Those g 4's are amazing! Nice bull.

My 1st elk came in 1983. I was 23 years old. We were hunting the Olympic Peninsula up in NW Washington State. It was a damage control hunt in the Elwha River valley. This hunt started in early Dec. and went all the way until the end of Feb. and it was either sex. Muzzleloader only. It was a small area, with very few hunters. You could move thru the area and within about 1/2 hour find out if any elk had come out of the national park. If not go home and come back another day. The season had been slow, not much snow to push them out and before we knew it it was late Feb. and we had yet to see any animals out of the park. Well this particular morning we finally cut some fresh sign. A fairly large herd had come out that night and had fed over along the edge of a clearcut that was just above the river. There was an old service road between the clearcut and the river. It was raining and things were getting wet fast. I got down on that service road ahead of the elk and my partner came in on them in the unit. Next thing I knew they were single filing it over the edge heading right at me. I hadn't heard my partner shoot so I was wondering what was up. Anyway they got to about 25 yards from me and started walking, they hadn't seen me yet. I glanced thru the herd and couldn't see any bulls so I pulled down on the lead cow and pulled the trigger. Wouldn't you know it, the cap went but the gun didn't fire. Elk started running everywhere. I was in a panic. Pulled my nipple and put a few grains of powder under, screwed it back down. Elk were still coming by. I pulled down on a another cow, this time putting my sights on her head. I was anticipating a possible hang fire and that is exactly what happened. The gun fired about 2 seconds after the cap went off. A clean miss. Well I reloaded, the elk are all gone and I was just working my way up that old road when all of a sudden I heard some crashing above me. Three nice cows had run to the edge of the hill and were looking down at me from about 25 yards. Put the sights on the middle ones head, pulled the trigger and she dropped like a sack of cement. Just as I shot she had looked back behind her and my maxi bullet caught her in the neck and exited just above her eye. Found out my partners gun had gotten wet and he never got a shot off. My partner went up to get the truck and the packboards and while on the way ran into one of the locals who lived up there and he went and got his tractor, pulled her out whole and put her in the back of my truck.

[img:center]
My 1st elk by Brant Lindquist, on Flickr[/img]

TheKid, great story about your uncle Kent. I had an uncle just like him, got me hooked on deer hunting and the fever has never died!

Thanks. He truly is one of my favorite people on this earth, I've never heard anyone speak an ill word of him ever. He's a heck of an elk hunter too.

Pretty amazing - I was back home from overseas, left the Marines and started a new career in law enforcement.

A fellow I barely knew, wanted to do something good for a veteran, and invited me to apply for a Wyoming elk tag. Much to my surprise I drew the tag, and in September found myself hunting with this very experienced elk hunter. It was the real deal. Horseback ride nine miles into the mountains, cutting firewood, setting up canvas tents. Hiking to scout the elk. Did a little fishing.

Opening day he bugled up a dandy of a 6x6 and a single Nosler from my rifle did the job of putting it down. It was quite the hunt. I think we were up in the hills about a week, rode, hiked, hunted, fished... Am thankful to this day.



Guy

Some great stories on here. Keep em coming.

I agree with bigswede, great stories and we enjoy reading these. Thanks everyone for sharing! I would post one but I don't have any to share yet.

My first elk was a cow. I drew a late season tag for a unit that butts up against a suburban area of the southern Salt Lake Valley. I had a poster from here, Flinch, helping me. We hunted a couple of weekends together only seeing bulls, 13 of them. A couple were real bruisers.

The third weekend I headed down to give it a try on my own. The road to the top had been closed to passenger vehicles and I didn't have an ATV or snowmobile, so I headed up from the bottom. I parked at a dead end street of some very big and very expensive homes.

About 2 hours later I saw a heard (13 cows) on the ridge above me feeding. I got around the corner and then beat feet up the hill trying to come in on them from above. I was huffing and puffing for all I was worth. About 3/4 of the way up the hill I looked up and the herd had crossed over the ridge and was already across the canyon and above me. I hit them with the range finder at 309yds, right at my max shooting distance. I tried to get steady with the bipod, which was working out too well. So I took a knee and steadied on the last cow in line and fired. She humped up a bit and crow hopped 5 yards down hill. I lined up #2 and shot. At this she tumbled down the hill, but shortly righted herself and was bedded. Her head was up and was the only thing I could see above the brush. So I got as steady as I could and fired. I saw her head flinch and look around, but it was an obvious miss. My gun was empty so I fat fingered through my pockets for more rounds. By the time I got the magazine full and back on target she was done.

As I was making the hike up to where she laid I cut some deer tracks. Figuring they would show me the best route through the brush I started following them. About 40yds later I noticed lion tracks on top of the deer tracks. Then both got very far apart... I kept following them for another 50 or so yards when I found the partially eaten and cached carcass of a 3pt mule deer. A short hike up the hill and I laid hands on my first elk.

While sitting there I gave my wife a call to tell her the news and to ask if she'd drive the hour south to help be take care of this thing. She'd just gotten off of night shift as a RN and let me know in no uncertain terms that I was on my own until that afternoon! Prior to this I had never shot/processed anything other than whitetails. I made a pretty good mess of both the elk and myself with the gutting job. I was soaked in blood up to my armpits and learned that an elks stomach was under pressure and puncturing said stomach could lead to bits and pieces of stomach contents traveling in all directions at a high rate of speed! Once gutted, I needed to figure out how to get this thing home.

Going back to my whitetail roots, I took turns shuttling my gun/gear downhill and then dragging the cow. Some spots with deep enough snow weren't too bad, but the brushy areas made for a horrible time. I'd made it about a 1/4 of a mile doing this and realized that this wasn't going to work as I still had another 1.25 miles back to the truck. So I grabbed my rifle and gear and headed downhill. Once at the truck I tried to contact Flinch, but could do nothing but leave a message asking for help and letting him know where I was. I grabbed my packframe, another knife, and headed back to the elk. I had read about boning a critter in the field, but had never done it. It took way longer than it does now, but I got it done. I was loaded up and headed to the truck when I heard the whine of an ATV. A short while later I see Flinch headed down the trail on his 4 wheeler. What a relief! He toted me and my pack up the hill while we drug the other half of the cow with the ATV.

That was my first and it was over a decade before I added any more to the tally, but it wasn't for the lack of trying.

Classic!

That whole story is great! Thanks Pointer!

I shot my first bull in 1996 at age 38, a semi-guided hunt in Unit 13 in Colorado. Saw 51 mulies, all does and at 10:30 AM a 5x5 bull came running towards me. When I flopped to the ground he stopped at 175 yards and one shot from a Browning A-Bolt in 7mm RM and a 160 grain Nosler Partition behind the shoulder did him in. He ran 50 yards with blood all over. The outfitter drove the truck up to him and winched him into the truck. That was opening day of first combined season. The celebration lasted 5 full days. My father tagged out on a 5x5 on the last day!

Sumpin like dis?

http://vid301.photobucket.com/albums/nn62/scttyg/dont_cut_the_sack_zpslpc36doy.mp4

That video is awesome!