Whenever I killed a bull in the Oregon Cascades it just reminded me how much luck was involved.
Zero ego, more like disbelief.
P
I will second that. I killed a busted up herd bull that had left the herd and was by himself. After jumping him in the morning he dove off into the timber headed down hill and I didn’t think he would cross the highway. That afternoon I climbed a mile or so steep uphill and a mile to the west of where I figured he might come out to circle around him and get the wind in my favor. After sitting above timberline for a hour and freezing my ass off I started my hunt which lasted about ten minutes before I killed him and as I stood there i was like WTF just happened. I still can’t believe that it worked out.
