I live in western Wyoming surrounded by some of the most beautiful mountains around. I have the luxury of hunting millions of acres of National Forest ground literally right outside my front door. This has always been my dream and I have enjoyed DIY hunts on public land covering much of the West for the past several years. This year was kind of an up and down year for me. In addition to turning 40 this year, I have started to come to grips with the fact that this dream I've been living hasn't necessarily been shared by my wife and children. I live in a very small town that has limited opportunities for shopping, culture, entertainment, education, etc. I have seen this start to take a toll on my family. My job here is fine, but it certainly hasn't been the most rewarding. I have put up with it because I am living my dream outside of work. Given all of this and a unique career opportunity that came up, I made the decision to relocate my family back to Texas (Austin area) at the end of this year. It's been a very bitter sweet situation, but I'm a man and I have to look after my family's best interests. I'm still going to make every effort to make a trip out West every year to hunt, but I know how life gets and realize that the hunting will never be the same for me. All that being said, I really wanted to have a great hunting season and go out on a high note this year.



As always, I hunted my guts out during archery season. I covered countless miles hunting all my usual spots and some new country as well. I saw some beautiful country and had some close calls. One morning I snuck up on a bull that was bugling his face off in deep timber. I got so close my hair would stand up on end every time he bugled. I could smell him. I could hear him making that "glugging" sound that rutting bulls make in between bugles, but I couldn't see him. The wind was good so he didn't smell me but he must have sensed me and ghosted off. All I ever saw were his legs moving off into the trees. I couldn't have been more than 25 yards from him it was just too thick. Multiple trips and many close calls but I couldn't close the deal during archery season.





I had several buddies that came hunting with me this year. When I hunt with people I always feel obligated to make sure they have a good time and hopefully get a chance on an animal. If there was a guide a buddy/pack a buddy's kill award, I would nominate myself for it this year!!






We had some great adventures and made some great memories, but after helping three friends fill tags, I still hadn't punched mine.

I missed most of October working out of town as a hired gun (or knife in my case), and by the time I got back there was only a week left for the general rifle elk season. I still had to work, but I hunted every daylight hour I possibly could. I found an awesome ridge on the Forest ground up behind my house that had views all around into several different draws. The area had great views but was treacherously steep. I had found that out the hard way when I slid partway down the hill while chasing elk during the archery season. I tore some ligaments between some bones in my hand on the way down (that was on my 40th birthdayI turned 40 and immediately started falling down). Anyways, I knew there were elk around there and I just had a good feeling about it. I hunted it for all or part of the day for an entire week.



I even got my youngest boy to go up there with me one morning.



One evening I watched 30 elk feed over the ridge right at me. I kept waiting for the big bull to come over, but the biggest one was a young, immature 5 point so I decided to pass and snuck out after dark to keep from spooking them.



Friday, October 28th was the last day I would be able to hunt. I had to work in the morning, but I laced up my boots about mid-day to give it one more shot.



I hiked the ridge and glassed up my usual spots, but I didn't see anything. I could see a storm coming from the South and was a little worried about that but hoped it might get the elk moving. After about an hour it started raining pretty hard and the wind was blowing pretty steady. I came off the ridge and hunkered down under some pines hoping it would blow through. Well it didn't blow through and it actually got worse. I hadn't anticipated the rain and wasn't dressed as warm as I should have been. With about an hour of shooting light remaining I got up with the intention of calling it a season. When I got back up on the ridge, despite the fact that I was already shivering, I decided to take one last look. About 500 yards down the steepest part of the ridge I spotted the top of an elk's back. I got my binos up and could see the backs of his antlers sticking up over the crest of the hill, barely visible. From his backs and his spread I could see he was a mature bull. I made up my mind I was going to shoot if I had the chance. I scrambled to get everything ready and find a good shooting position. I ended up prone on a flat rock right on the edge of the cliff. The bull seemed wary even though I was so far away. He wouldn't expose much of his body and was moving in and out of the rocks and trees, then he disappeared into a patch of trees. I laid there on the exposed rock, shivering and getting pounded by wind and rain for a half hour praying he would show himself again. I was having a heck of a time keeping my optics clear because of all the rain. Finally, with about 20 minutes of shooting light remaining, two cows poked out of a patch of trees one after the other. I ranged them at 360 yards and adjusted my elevation accordingly. Another cow came out and I could see antlers on the fourth elk out. I guessed about 3 feet of windage, stilled myself, let out a big breath and took the shot as soon as he cleared the trees. He seemed hurt but he whirled around to face the trees. I let loose with round two right before he got back to cover. The 200 grain ELD-X from my .300 win mag hit home again and the second shot knocked him over and he rolled a couple of times before he stopped motionless. The shakes came back with a vengeance as I watched him for about 10 minutes to make sure he was down for good.

In the failing light I hiked back up the ridge and made some phone calls. I had 3 guys in mind that owed me some help with a pack out. I hiked back out to the trail head and met my buddies. It was pitch black and raining hard by the time we got down to my bull. He won't score the best but he is a mature bull which is all I was hoping for.



He was a fighter too. Most of his tips were broken off and he had an antler tip stuck just below his left eye, I assume broken off during a fight with another bull.



This is already long so I'll spare the details of the 6 hour pack out. In short, we quartered him up, took his backstraps and loins. Two guys took hind quarters, one took a front and I took a front and the head. It was a brutal, steep hike out in the cold and rain. It involved cramping up, throwing up, hypothermia, getting home at 1 AM, shivering in bed for several hours and my wife being mad at me for a couple of days after!





I'm still recovering, but I wouldn't trade the experience.

Don't move to Austin, TX... You'll regret it the rest of your life, and you know it. Just don't.

Alright, here we go. Let me set the scene real quick. This was three years in the making. Three cousins originally out of Texas, now scattered from Texas to California to Pennsylvania. Me: 40, wildlife biologist, worked my a-- off on cardio the last year, known cheap a--, and very cold tolerant for a Texan (not a brag, just always have been for the most part), experienced with wilderness and not a picky eater. California--37, former Marine now special ed teacher, not a picky eater. Pennsylvania--34, does very well for himself in heavy equipment/water pumps, former college athlete.

Me and Penn cruise into Trapper Lake Lodge in the Honda Ridgeline (did great everywhere we went) Thursday afternoon. Meet AgLa06 and his buddy. Find out that we are group #3 headed out Friday "morning", and the outfitter is scrambling to figure out the horse situation since at group out of Atlanta showed up with a LOT of crap....long story short, this group created lots of logistical issues.

Cabin for first night----none of that crap laying around is ours
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Cali cousin drives straight from LA area and shows up in time to get loaded. The pile on the ground is our stuff, the suitcase and lawn chairs are getting loaded to haul to the Atlanta group.


Nut check


If you look at that snowline roughly in the center, you can just make out the trail.


Headed up


There were several areas with 200-500 foot dropoffs


Home sweet home


Collecting drinking water.....and the last time he chose to where the handgun


Did lots of this


Big Marvine and Jurassic Park
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Trapper Peak---Our camp is almost dead center, our camp was at 11,200 feet
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During a break in the snow on Tuesday, Trapper Peak behind the tent basically disappeared a good chunk of the day. We hung around the camp basin most of the day, but decided to head out to "hunt" about 4 PM.


Well we found something. Shot this guy (only legal bull we actually saw) at 319 yards with a .270 WSM. And began a general comedy of close calls.


I was the only one that consistently always carried my day pack. Somehow with ended up with knives out the yingyang, but one flashlight. And we dropped into the single digets while we quartered and deboned. I had the easy job, the head and the backstraps stuffed in my daypack. They had a debonded hindquarter each, in gamebags not packs. Mind you we are only 1 miles from camp, but this is at 11,400 and there is a weird little, steep a-- ridge to cross, in a now HEAVY snowstorm. I was baking (wearing what you see there) and both cousins were about frozen wondering how I wasn't.....in the end we ALL agreed it was the most physically demanding thing any of us had done.


About 10:30 the next morning, we headed back to get the front quarters......yeah, he didn't take any shorts and it was now hot as hell (in the sun)


Hell yeah


Some fun engineering.


Starting Wednesday, we knew there were a pretty decent sized storm coming and they were encouraging us to come down on Friday rather than Sunday. We were already having the conversation about not being real keen on getting on a horse the first 400 yards dropping off the mesa. Wrangler shows up LATE Friday afternoon, "Just want to let yall know that he trail is really sh---- and we're going to walk the horses (9 horses) the first half mile". Sweet. Long story short, it was the longest a-- pucker of my life. I damn near went over a cliff, horses damn near went over twice.


Great trip with my cousins, and we are now looking at pronghorn in 2020.

Yep, photobucket and don't care.
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Not the biggest, but legal, and considering weather conditions are currently and will continue to be crap through Monday (season runs through Wednesday). It rained heavily overnight, and was intermittently misting, sprinkling, and all out raining as I was taking him apart, and it is forecast to get worse. I shot him at first light a mile from my truck. He was with a group of 7-8 does, and I could tell he wasn't a forkhorn, so I decided to not look a gift horse in the mouth. They were in the valley just across the ridge from where I shot the one last year.

Almost didn't make it the ~8 miles back to the asphalt; dirt roads were horribly slick, and I slid 90 degrees to the road twice. If I'd have stayed in any longer, I'd probably be stuck until later in the week when things dry out.

Really wanted to explore that BLM unit more, since it is about 3 miles wide and 6 miles deep with lots of terrain for the big boys to make their home in, but at least I got one of them last year and I'm not eating tag soup.