A First Bull Revives Childhood Elk Hunting Memories

The sharp aroma from the walk-in cooler flooded my nose, instantly bringing back childhood memories of elk hunting. Standing in an old potato cellar, I could smell the aging meat of a bull elk my dad had killed almost 30 years ago. The familiar scent had me reminiscing about the times I spent hunting with my dad when I was a youngster in southern Colorado.

Despite our lack of success during those early bowhunting days on public land, they were filled with important lessons. I still smile when I remember being scolded for making noise while walking down a trail with my dad.

After moving to Alaska at age 16, I had forgotten about elk hunting. But when I was invited to hunt elk in northern New Mexico, close to where I grew up, I couldn’t resist. Hunting on private land at the Quinlan Ranch, I was excited to experience new country and hopefully find success.

The Quinlan Ranch, with its high meadows, timber, and oak-brush-covered hills, provided the perfect setting for our hunt.

Elevation

When the pillow of dust settled around the quarter in the two-track we stood on, I knew I would have the first shot opportunity. Partnered with Brady Miller from GoHunt and our guide “Moggs,” I eagerly entered the woods with the same anticipation I had as a kid.

Walking quietly through the timber, we hoped to intercept bulls on their way back to their bedding areas. The thin air at 9,500 feet left me breathless, but I was determined to make a quick and accurate shot if the opportunity presented itself.

Soon, we spotted two bulls about 75 yards away. Before we could react, they vanished into the timber. Hearing their antlers clacking in the distance, we remained hopeful as we continued our hike uphill.

No Rags Allowed

Our daily routine in camp involved early morning walks, followed by breakfast, a nap, and sitting in blinds overlooking meadows in the evenings. Our guide, Moggs, made it clear that we were only interested in mature bulls, not smaller ones. We shared a similar sense of humor, and Moggs’ easy-going attitude put us at ease.

The days passed quickly as we joked and spun yarns. But as the sun began to set, the atmosphere grew serious. We listened intently as the clatter of hooves on rocks filled the air. Elk poured into the meadow we were watching, and at the rear, a light-colored bull followed.

Quickly determining that the bull was too small, Moggs announced it, ending our hopes for a bigger trophy that evening.

No Snow

Hunting in an area known for fantastic elk hunting, we were situated on a migration corridor. However, the lack of snow made it more challenging to locate the elk. Undeterred, we continued our hunts, exploring broken timber and oak-brush hills.

Even though we didn’t have any luck, we were content with the opportunity to hunt and enjoy the experience. The guides’ optimism seemed to wane, but I remained confident that I would still have a chance at a nice bull.

In an Instant

As the number of hunters with unfilled tags diminished, the camp grew quieter. Brady and I split up again, hunting in different areas. Walking a two-track atop a ridgeline, our goal was to intercept bulls before they crossed onto public land.

We made our way through the timber, observing the meadows on our left and the property boundary on our right. Spotting a bull about a hundred yards away, we watched as he crossed the fence line and disappeared into the timber. A younger bull also appeared nearby, but we only had eyes for the largest bull.

After a tense moment, the bull turned his head, revealing his impressive antlers. Without hesitation, I took the shot, hitting him in the lungs. He fell to the ground not far from where the property boundary was. It was my first bull elk, and the experience brought back a flood of memories from my childhood.

I reflected on the hunt, realizing that it had not only created new memories but also unlocked many old ones. As I left Colorado to catch an early flight, I couldn’t help but drive by the old cellar where my dad used to hang his elk, grateful for the timeless connection between hunting and cherished memories.