Epic Hunting Adventure

SureShot

SureShot

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It all started when I was just a young lad. Both of my parents died before I was born, so I've been an orphan all my life. I understand what it's like to be alone in this world and not have the support system of a loving family. Luckily for me, I did have a younger brother that was a great mentor to me. He took me under his wing at an early age and taught me how to hunt and fish and start a fire with just a bucket of ice and the sun. Without him, I don't know where I would be today...probably living in a van down by the river.

Anyway, I grew up spending most of my life in the outdoors, developing skills and talents that most hunters only dream of. I hate to be humble and don't want to come across as a bragger, but I know how to hunt deer in three different languages and have killed trophy animals in all types of weather and at different times of the day. In fact, I have so many memories of hunting giant deer and elk that I can't even remember them all. So, when I finally married the girl of my dreams and we started having our own children, I wanted to instill in them the same passion for the outdoors that has sustained me throughout my life.
 
I am just a poor man of the cloth with a large flock to care for, so I don't have a lot of disposable income to spend on expensive out-of-state hunts. However, I also understand that without dreams, life isn't worth living and with two teenage sons in my house, I feel like I need to do everything I can to spend quality time with them. As we all know, the children are our future.

And so, exercising much sacrifice and self-control, I didn't buy any alcohol or tobacco products this year and used the money I would have spent instead to apply for several quality out-of-state hunts for me and my sons. As much time as I spend in these different states hunting, scouting and working, I wasn't sure whether to put in as a resident or non-resident. In the end, I decided to put in as a non-resident and I'm glad I did. Terrible things can happen to you if you make a mistake in that regard.
 
I was fortunate enough to draw an elk tag in one of the most sought after units in Wyoming and my two boys drew deer tags in one of the most sought after units in Colorado. I also drew a Henry's deer tag in my home state of Utah at the hunting expo, but after discovering how corrupt SFW and the wildlife board are, I resigned as a board member and decided to boycott that hunt.
 
The first rule to being a successful trophy hunter is to be good at it. And a big part of being good at it is preparation. As soon as I found out where we would be hunting, I immediately began scouting. Both of my boys are already Eagle scouts, so they didn't have to do as much scouting for their hunt. But, I spent every spare minute getting advice from other hunters on the Internet, downloading maps, and watching YouTube videos of successful hunters to prepare myself for my hunt.

Here are some pictures I took while scouting.













You can see any of these monster bucks and bulls would make even a hunter like me drool. If you can't see the pictures, don't worry. They're hosted on another part of the Internet that is down right now. Just check back later and they should be here.
 
The final element of my preparation was the physical training and exercise program. I knew I had to get in 'elk shape' and it wouldn't be easy. I always train all year long so I am in great shape when hunting season comes around. But since this was the year for an epic hunting adventure, I designed a really crazy diet and exercise schedule. Throughout the whole summer (or at least part of it), I ran five miles per week and walked another three while loaded down with a heavy pack. I also limited myself to no more than two chocolate-covered, raspberry-filled donuts per day. It was a real challenge, but I was able to chisel off seven pounds by the time hunting season rolled around and I was in as good of condition as I ever had been since my college football days.
 
My Wyoming elk tag was for the rifle hunt, which started on October 1, but I decided to make a scouting trip to the unit with my smoking hot wife during the middle of the rut in September to see what the unit had to offer. I knew Wyoming has grizzly bears and the unit I would be hunting would be crawling with them! So, I bought several canisters of bear spray, holstered my trusty Colt .44 magnum, loaded up my trusty steeds and off we went.

After a 10 hour drive, we finally made it to the end of the road and the beginning of the wilderness where we would be hunting. Then we drove past the end of the established road and down an overgrown logging road for a few more miles until we stumbled across an old, abandoned cabin. It looked to be in pretty good shape and there was no lock on it, so we decided to make ourselves at home. Let me tell you, that ended up being one of the best finds of the whole trip. Inside the cabin was a nice wood stove, bunk beds, a wash basin, table and chairs, and it even had a Coleman stove and some propane lanterns. This was almost as nice as the Hilton and it was right in the middle of several herds of bugling elk. My wife was particularly excited about the accommodations and that ended up paying dividends all the way around.

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We quickly unpacked our gear and went for a ride. It wasn't long until we had spotted four giant bulls over 400 inches along with dozens of other smaller bulls and literally hundreds of cows and calves. We were in the Mecca of elk and it was awesome!

We spent the next five days exploring the area, and, every time we went out, we saw hundreds of elk and 20-30 shooter bulls. At least a half-dozen times, I had giant herd bulls within 30 yards of me. Too bad Wyoming doesn't let you hunt with archery equipment during the month of September when you have a rifle tag for that unit. That would have been a slam dunk.
 
At any rate, I returned home with high hopes for the upcoming hunt. Just a week later, I turned around and drove back to Wyoming, expecting to pick up right where we left off. But, as so often happens, that's exactly what didn't happen. We arrived the night before the season opened, passing dozens of large camps on our way in, and found the same old, abandoned cabin. But, this time it was surrounded with trucks, campers and horse trailers. Bummer. I guess it wasn't abandoned after all.

Fortunately, we had brought our wall tent, so we set it up right next to the cabin and settled in for the night. It felt nice to be camping next to somebody else; I figured that might deter some of the grizzlies in the area from messing with us and the people in the cabin probably enjoyed our company as well. They never really did speak to us, but I assumed that's just because they were shy or intimidated by being in my presence. It actually happens all the time to me.

With all of this extra competition, I knew I was going to have to change my game plan. So, I decided to get up extra early and hike to an area I'd never been before. I should mention that this trip, I had my younger brother/mentor there with me as an extra protection against grizzlies (I have always been able to outrun him) as well as to help with the hard work of hauling out the giant bull I knew I was going to get.
 
Early the next morning, we started hiking up the meanest, nastiest ridge we could find. After a couple of hours of hiking in the dark, we made it to right where we were when it started to get light. Unsurprisingly, we were surrounded by elk and there were multiple bulls bugling all around us. But, one of them sounded like it belonged to a particularly regal old bull and that's the one I decided to focus on.
 
The sunset that morning was amazing! I could hardly contain my excitement as I drank in the beauty of these rugged mountains and listened to Mother Nature as she slowly awoke from her slumber for another day. But this wasn't just any other day. It was Opening Day! Opening day is better than Christmas for me and it happens much more often with all of the hunts I go on.

As it got light enough to see, I spotted the big bull with his harem of cows right on top of the mountain about 600 yards away. There were several smaller satellite bulls that would probably score in the 350-360 range that were hanging around the main herd, but the big bull was busy running back and forth, keeping them at bay. I quickly field-judged him and thought he was probably just a little under 400 inches, but considering everything else that had already happened and what may or may not happen the rest of the hunt, I decided he was good enough for me.

This was the opportunity I had been waiting for and I decided to make my move. Even though the bull was already well within range considering my custom-built, long-range gun and shooting skills, I didn't want to dilute the experience by making an easy shot from there. To me, hunting is all about matching my skills with that of my quarry and if there's no challenge in it, then it's not nearly as rewarding. There was a big patch of dark timber between me and the bull and I knew that if I could get through that patch and on the other side, I would be directly below the herd and I could make a clean, ethical shot. I slipped into the timber and quickly, but quietly, started to close the distance.
 
About halfway through the patch of timber, the hair on the back of my neck suddenly stood on end and a flash of adrenaline shot through my body. The instinctive sixth sense that all predators and prey possess kicked in and I wheeled to my right just in time to see a huge grizzly bear leaping from his bed a mere twenty yards away and lunging right at me as he let out the most ferocious roar you could ever imagine! His bloodshot eyes were filled with rage and I instantly knew this was not going to be a bluff charge...
 
I've had dozens of grizzly bear encounters during my life, but this was the first time I had actually seen one in person. My mind began to race as it quickly processed my options. Trying to outrun the bear would be futile. Trying to outrun my brother was a possibility, but I still needed him to help me pack out my elk, so that option was off the table as well. I had my bear spray on one hip, my Colt .44 on the other hip and my rifle slung across my shoulder.

I knew any one of these options could potentially save my life, but I didn't want to scare away the elk with any loud noises and I didn't know if I would have enough time to deploy the bear spray, so I reached deep down into the recesses of my mind and recalled an old magazine article I had read years ago about a hunter who had been attacked by a grizzly and saved himself by shoving his fist down the bear's throat, causing its gag reflex to kick in.
 
In that split second, I made up my mind and as the beast leapt into the air with his mouth still open in a horrible roar and his paws outstretched to swat me to the ground, I countered with a quick step towards him and a lightning fast, powerful jab that ended with my fist firmly lodged halfway down his throat.

The momentum of his charge caused both of us to tumble to the ground in a flurry of teeth, fur, camouflage, and hunter orange. After a brief struggle, I could feel the life slowly ebb out of his body as my fist blocked off all oxygen from reaching his lungs. When I was certain he no longer posed a threat, I unclenched my fist and pulled my hand out of his mouth. I slowly stood up and let the full effect of what had just happened wash over me.
 
I was snapped back to reality when the bull of my dreams let out another piercing bugle on the hill above me. At about the same time, my brother said, "I see some other hunters coming up the ridge behind us. If we're going to do something, we better do it now." There was no time to take pictures or reflect on what had just happened. I needed to get to that bull right away.

So, I quickly checked my gear to make sure everything was in good shape and then we continued through the patch of dark timber towards the light above us. Just as we reached the edge of the timber and could see the herd of elk with my monster bull parading back and forth between his cows and some satellite bulls like an angry general before a mighty battle, the wind changed direction and the elk instantly turned tail and headed for the other side of the mountain.
 
Another rule to being a successful trophy hunter is making the right decision. In situations like this, you don't have a lot of time to over-analyze things. You have to rely on the hours and hours of practice and preparation and just let your natural instincts take over. So, in one fluid motion, I swung the rifle to my shoulder and found the massive herd bull in my crosshairs. Without any hesitation, I smoothly squeezed the trigger just as the bull turned to follow his harem over the peak.
 
I heard the unmistakable thud of my 150 grain Remington Core Lokt bullet hitting its mark and saw the majestic bull flinch as he disappeared over the rise. Some people criticize the effectiveness of Core Lokts, but in the hands of a competent shooter, they are money. I calmly raised my fist above my head and punched the air in a victory salute. I had no doubt what I would find as I crested the ridge. Sure enough, in what has to be one of the coolest 'as they lay' pictures ever taken, this is what I found as I walked up to my fallen trophy.

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This old boy was definitely the king of the mountain, but he would soon be moving his throne to above my mantle place back home and leaving the rest of the bulls to fight it out amongst themselves to see who would take over his place with the ladies.

2015-10-012007.48.20_zpse8dkmeov.jpg
 
With my bull of a lifetime all taken care of, it was time to turn my attention to my two teenage sons and their dream hunt in Colorado. I had occasion to visit the unit several times during the summer and knew what kind of potential it held. My sons, being teenagers and not having been bitten by the trophy hunting bug quite as severely as me yet, had finally settled on their standards for the hunt. They both decided that they would hold out for a 200"+ buck for the first 30 minutes on opening morning and then anything bigger than a two point was in trouble after that.

Even though this unit has a fantastic buck-to-doe ratio and is managed for trophy quality, we would be hunting it during the second rifle season. As everybody knows, that is the toughest hunt by far out of any other season. With no significant snowfall to help us out, we were stuck with hunting the scattered deer in the thick, nasty cover only found in the transition zone between their open high-country summer range and their low, sagebrush-covered winter range.
 
Even though my boys haven't caught up to me in height, intelligence, experience, earning power or sense of humor, they have already surpassed me in terms of appetite and persistence. What they lacked in experience, they more than made up for in youthful energy and eternal optimism. We hunted hard from before dawn until after dusk every day, driving back and forth on every road in the unit with our ATVs over and over and over again. Occasionally, when the extreme temperatures, howling winds, and driving sleet got the best of us, we would take cover in our 4WD Honda Pilot with a nice CD player and warm heater and continue exploring every nook and cranny we could find.

We saw hundreds of deer every day and dozens of shooter bucks, but they always seemed to be on the wrong side of the fence and we couldn't find anything we could pursue until the final morning of our weeklong hunt.
 
Now, what I'm about to tell you might be difficult to believe for some of you. But, trust me, I would never exaggerate the truth. It's always darkest before the dawn and this morning was no different.

Except it was.

We woke up extra early that morning and decided to go all out on our last day. We splurged and each had three chocolate-covered, raspberry-filled donuts for breakfast and then a VERY sincere prayer was offered, petitioning the almighty Lord to intervene on our behalf and help us not go home empty-handed.

I apologize for bringing religion into this, but God is real and He did intervene that morning. I felt a distinct impression to go lower that morning than we had been hunting all week long. Perhaps now that the second season was about to end, some of the deer would be leaving the transition zone and moving to their winter grounds.
 
Just as the first rays of light began to penetrate the darkness and the birds began to welcome the new day with their cheerful melodies, we parked our ATVs at our first glassing spot and I immediately spotted a single, small buck in the sagebrush a couple of hundred yards below us and off to our side.

"There's a little buck right down?," I began to say.

"I'll take him!" my oldest son cut me off.

"Are you sure? He's only a small forkhorn."

"Where is he? I'll take him." He was already off his bike and trying to unlatch the scabbard so he could get his gun out.
 
Now, as a father, this is where it really started to get fun for me. As I mentioned, my boys are still young and rather inexperienced when it comes to trophy hunting. Both boys were scrambling to get their guns out, their gloves off, bullets in the gun, etc. It was almost like watching the Keystone Cops in an old Charlie Chaplin movie.

Meanwhile, I kept glassing and soon found not one, but two nice mature bucks feeding side by side along with a half-dozen does and fawns in a small flat about 300 yards directly below us. One was a really big three-point and the other was a perfectly symmetrical four-point. Both were solid 160-class bucks?excellent trophies for these young nimrods. Tell me that wasn't a divine miracle!
 
With these new bucks in play, the small two-point was quickly forgotten and all of my efforts went towards trying to help these two buck-fever-stricken boys find the bucks in their rifle scopes. After what seemed like an eternity (and no-doubtedly with the help of an unseen hand from a higher being), we had both guns trained on the two bucks below us, both of whom continued to graze unaware of our presence.

A quick game of rock-paper-scissors had determined who would be shooting which buck and each boy confirmed that his designated buck was in the crosshairs. Both guns were sighted in to hit dead on at 300 yards and that's exactly how far away the two bucks were, so all they had to do was hold right behind the shoulder and squeeze the trigger. To optimize our chances of killing both bucks without one spooking at the first shot, I told them I would count down from three and they should both shoot at the same time when I got to one.

"Are you ready?"

"Yep. Yup."

With one eye looking through my spotting scope at the two bucks, I waited until they were both facing broadside just a few steps from each other...

"OK. Three..."

"Two..."

"One!"

Nothing.

Silence.

Chirp.

Finally, a loud BOOM! immediately followed by another loud BOOM! echoed across the hillside. Both bucks jumped at the shots. I could tell one of the bucks was hit, but I was pretty sure the other was a miss.

"Keep shooting until they're on the ground!" I anxiously whispered.
 
What followed is hard to properly describe, but it consisted of several frantic moments with multiple shots being fired from both guns, adjustments being called out from the man behind the glass, guns being reloaded and one of the boys exclaiming, "Let me use your gun! This one's not even working!" It ended with two nice bucks laying dead in the sagebrush about 50 yards apart, huge grins on everybody's faces and hugs and high-fives all the way around.

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Not bad for a couple of last day bucks. As for me, I just have three words to say:

"Itdon'tget...nobetter...thanthis!"
 
Epic is right! Most people don't get that much adventure in a lifetime. The kids are the future.

Great 400 bull, btw!
 
Epic, awesome, phenomenal...all accolades you're used to I'm sure! Thank goodness you survived the bear attack, good thinking!
Congrats!
 
Sureshots anual hunt adventure is one of my my favorite parts of this site. When I grow up I hope I can learn to be as good of a hunter, and bear mma fighter as he is!


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I love tradition! Thanks for keeping it up SureShot!

My favorite part was hunting in 3 different languages. :)
 
This blows Zekes bighorn tale clean outta the water...

"Courage is being scared to death but
saddling up anyway."
 
Very informative post, I learned a lot. Before reading this I didn't know how to stop a charging grizzly without scaring the elk.

Thanks for sharing.
 
LAST EDITED ON Jan-12-16 AT 01:08PM (MST)[p]100 years from now the movie "Revenant II" will be made about SureShot's hunting expeditions and adventures.
 
It's too bad we have to wait 100 years. I'm planning on winning the lottery tomorrow. But, if that doesn't work out for some reason, I'd love to enjoy the royalties from the movie while I'm still alive.
 
I like the part about both your parents dying before you were born. That is indeed a very rare occurrence.
 

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