“Wait for the bull! Wait for the bull!” That was the excited, whispered scream of my friend Denny as he sat behind me in the scrub oak watching the two cows and a bull walking down the fence line toward us. I was now down on one knee, contorted into the smallest ball I could manage to make myself get into.

In less than thirty seconds the extremely peaceful day of sitting in the thicket of scrub oak in quiet anticipation burst into an adrenaline rush that had every once insignificant sound magnified and the slightest movement exaggerated. I glanced down at my Savage .30-06 and positioned my thumb over the safety switch and pushed it forward until the red warning circle was in full view.

I was locked, loaded and ready to go. Or was I? Did I have one in the chamber? I know that I checked for a round waiting for the firing pin to set off the charge at least a half a dozen times throughout the day, but should I check one more time? Every detail of this hunt for the great wapiti raced through my mind and it was going to climax in the next few seconds.

Every year's hunt starts in the same manner in the waning days before the deadline to get the applications for the draw in. After the applications are in, the anticipation of a successful draw is looked forward to.

The ride to Steamboat Springs was different from years past. Usually we caravan from Loveland early on the Friday before opening day. This year was a bit different as our individual busy schedules dictated that we would be making the journey solo. Denny had reserved a cabin at the Steamboat Springs campground for the entire hunting season as a base camp for his new guide service, DJ Pepper Outfitters. We all knew where we were going so the three-hour trip through the Poudre Canyon and over Cameron and Rabbit Ears passes could be made at our individual pace.

Friday night found us at the Steamboat Steak House enjoying the weekly fish fry special. Joining us for dinner was Mac Cook otherwise known as Mac Daddy. Mac is a big game guide with very few equals. He can call in elk using only his mouth with no calls. We enjoyed listening to his stories as a field pro for Gerber knives. We invited him along for tomorrow's hunt. He said he had work to do around the ranch, which included unloading his customized horse trailer.

Saturday morning found us awake at 5:00 am gulping down coffee and swallowing some breakfast before our 6:30 departure to the mountain. At 6:00 a knock was at the door of the cabin. It was Mac and he was fired up and ready to go. He made the comment that he could not bring Mohammad to the mountain so he brought the mountain to Mohammad. We would later find out what he meant by this.

Denny, Mac and I headed up the trail as legal light was already behind us. Don elected to stay and hunt the bottom area to give his foot a chance to rest some. Denny and Mac went ahead of me to get to the top quicker. I followed at a much slower pace as I must look down at the familiar but still unpredictable rugged path to the top making sure that the foot of my prosthetic leg is firmly planted with each step. I stopped at the fallen tree stand landmark and rested before crawling up the hill to the well traveled game trail that lead to the bottom of the aspen covered bowl where the stench of bull elk reeked enhancing a hunter's anticipation.

As I walked up the trail I had to grab onto trees or anything else that would help me maintain my balance. The next place I rested was where the aspen grove starts to make its presence felt. It was the place where last year I broke my prosthetic leg in half right at the knee. I paused and reflected about the trip down hill on my fanny on the wet, muddy trail with my rifle over my shoulder and half of my leg strapped to my fanny pack. I remembered feeling like prey to the local bears and mountain lions.

As I progressed through the quakies up hill and over the deadfall on the trail I felt some stomach cramps and began to feel weak. I kept telling myself that I would rest at the next fallen tree and then the next and next until I could not go on and had to rest. I rested until I could reassure myself that I could make it to the rim at the top of the bowl along the fence line. Once I reached the fence I would only have about 800 yards until I made it to my destination of Tom's fort where I planned on posting for the day. I also figured that if I did pass out I would be easier to find along the fence line, which was cleared for about ten yards on both sides of the barbed wire fence.

I finally made it to the fort and settled in to the make shift nest that I had constructed two years ago from the dead branches of scrub oak. It was a good spot to post and get a shot at anything that crossed the fence. It was a 250-yard shot to the top and 200 yards to the red gate that I passed on the way up.

Fifty yards up the fence line is a scrub oak covered knoll that suddenly came alive. There was a sudden thrashing in the oak brush and branches were being broken on the other side of the hill. Then came the sound of a bugling elk followed by several cow calls and more sporadic bugling. Three different bulls were answering these calls from across the bowl in the dark timber. I was on full alert for nearly an hour when an extended period of silence was broken by the unmistakable sound of a human cough. I was to find out that Mac was doing the great elk calling keeping the bedded bulls interested. The cough was Denny's. At that moment, 10:16 in the morning I knew what Denny was getting for Christmas. Santa was going to bring him a 'Cough Silencer'.

As I lay back in the nest to take the obligatory mid day nap I was startled by the sound of a big animal approaching my position. I lay on my back, trying to force myself deeper into the ground wishing that the sides of the nest were two feet higher. I strained to look through the branches to see if I could see my visitor. As I rolled my eyes upward I caught the sight of a right antler coming over the top of my hiding place. In a second I recognized that it was the horns of a four point muley. He continued to peek his head around the pile of branches until we were staring at each other eyeball-to-eyeball three feet away. We looked at each other for about five whole seconds until he decided to meander up the fence line. Once again, like last year when a cow elk and I met eye-to-eye at the fort I wished my camera would have been at the ready.

I watched him as he limped away with a bum right rear leg. He went up the fence about 25 yards and managed to hop over it and make his way up to the top and through the opening that lead to dark timber. I found out later that Mac and Denny had seen him as he left our area.

I went back to my nap, dozing off with one ear open to the sounds of the top of the mountain. I heard every rustling in the dry oak brush leaves of ground squirrels and the chirping of stellar and grays jays and the screeching of hawks overhead. I was comforted that the elk were still in the area by the occasional cow calling and bugling from the other side of the steep valley. Suddenly, without warning the disguisable sound of the report of a 30-06 rang out from the dark timber across the bowl where the three bulls were bedded down. My first thought was that someone had trespassed onto the property.

I checked for a round in the chamber and got to my feet and went to the fence waiting for any fleeing animals that might came my way. Then I heard Denny's voice on the other side in the dark timber. He had shot a bull in his bed. The cow calling turned out to be Mac as he kept the bull's attention while Denny snuck up and got off a 35-yard shot. I waited for a few minutes and headed down the steep hillside into the impressive stand of aspens.

Denny called over and asked if I had my camera with me and I was happy to say that I had it and everything but the kitchen sink in my back pack. As a side note, Denny has often wondered why I carry such a load in my pack. I only plan on climbing up and down the mountain once a day and he plans on making the trip twice, traveling much lighter.

As I made the trek down the hillside I found that my artificial knee was breaking lose quicker than usual which resulted in a few more tumbles than usual. The only thing I could attribute it to was my Herman Survivor boots. My leg was set up for my everyday hiking boots that had no heel and the hunting boots had a half-inch heal.

I got down to the bottom and crossed over to the other side and stared up at the dark timber trying to locate Denny and Mac. I hollered up the hill to find out where I should begin my ascent and was immediately answered by the sound of a bull elk compliments of Mac followed by an “Up here”, from Denny. It was a steep climb up through the dark timber to find an already field dressed 4X5 bull and a tired and bloody Denny and Mac.

After taking a few photos I began the descent down to the road. I traveled diagonally down the hill towards the mouth of the bowl where the aspen grove begins. It was a laborious trek down the hill. The weather was definitely too warm for elk hunting and my stump began to sweat from the additional energy it took to walk. This resulted not only in my knee breaking loose too soon, but my leg was actually beginning to slip off my stump. By the time I reached the fallen tree stand I had to rest and actually take my leg off and dry the inside of my socket.

On the way down I was passed by Mac carrying a hindquarter and then some over his shoulder. A few minutes later Denny came by with the head and cape on his shoulders. When we all got down to the road Denny and Mac went to get Mac's ATV and some game bags.

Inside Mac's horse trailer was his Polaris Ranger 4X4 utility vehicle. It definitely showed signs of extreme use and was even set up with nitrous oxide for those sudden bursts of speed that one might need. We were told tales of how that Ranger could get just about anywhere and load a whole elk in the tilt bed.

They picked up Don and the three of them came up to the turn off. Denny and Mac went up to get the rest of the bull while Don and I bagged up the quarters.

We put the meat in Denny's enclosed trailer stacking it around his ATV and headed back to the cabin.

On Sunday we left the cabin fifteen minutes later than we did on Saturday, which would enable us to get to the property at first light. Many times the elk are in the bottom at daybreak and we would have a better chance of seeing them if we waited a bit longer.

We made our way to the top of the East side of the mountain to see if we could rustle up some elk over there. The day was peaceful, but uneventful.

We decided that we would have to go to where the elk were. This meant getting to the rim of the bowl on top of the mountain. We thought it best to get moving up the trail before legal light. The trek up to the top was laborious as usual, but we got there probably a bit late. We did manage to hear one bull thrashing its way to the top of the rim through the oak brush. We managed to spot him at the top, but a shot was not possible.

We spent the entire day at the top of the rim. After a while Denny said that he had to ask for guidance as to whether he should stay put or move around and try to push something our way. This was his way of saying he was going to take a nap. It was pretty warm out for October; into the seventies. We napped in the shade of the oak brush and it was almost too cool there to sleep comfortably. Denny wandered around for a while debating whether to go down to the bottom and back up later in the afternoon. Finally Don mentioned that maybe he should check to see if the meat was still cool. Off he went.

While Denny was gone nothing had happened on the mountain. He returned about 5:00 pm and I was having second thoughts about traveling down the mountain after dark, especially with no moon to provide even the slightest light. I had put fresh batteries in my headlamp so I was not too worried about the dark, but still the prospect did not comfort me.

The minute hand was getting near 6:00 pm, which meant an hour until it would be dark. As any hunter knows the closer to last light the more the anticipation builds and your patience is put to the test. It is the time of the day that puts every hunter on full alert. All of your senses are brimming with excitement. I was by now constantly looking at the break at the top of the hill for some sign of life, a twitching ear or the glint of an antler, but nothing yet had appeared. Denny was positioned behind me in the 10-foot tall oak brush. The leaves were dry and crunchy.

Here They Come
He said that he would give the all clear to the elk and let out a medium sounding bugle; nothing fancy. Before the sound of the bugle faded I spotted the head of a cow elk as she came over the ridge in our direction. I alerted Denny to the cow as I saw a second one following behind her. At this point I crouched down on one knee and began peering through the grass. Denny's whisper raised an octave with excitement as he announced that there was a bull in the mix also.

The trio of elk moseyed around the top at about 150 yards, a doable shot indeed, but they still had to get on this side of the fence. The bull circled the lead cow trying to get in the last of the rut. “Come on! Jump the fence!” my thoughts were getting louder, at least about whisper level. Denny thought hat he would get their attention with a quick cow call. Get their attention indeed. The bull responded with a bugle and that big cow came trotting toward our hideaway still on the other side of the fence. As she got closer she began to disappear behind the small grass covered hill to my right. I strained to see through the grass, careful not to expose myself the bull and the other cow still near the top. I could just barely see the top of her head when she stopped about 30 yards in front of us. You could feel the tension mounting in our little thicket as we strained to maintain our silence.

The smaller cow and the big bull started down the fence line after momma cow and they too went out of my sight. About this time I took a long, deep breath, probably my last for a few minutes as they romped around just on the wrong side of the fence. We were positioned at the entrance of the elk's major trail from the dark timber on the other side of the hill to the aspen at the bottom of the bowl. The wait was on. The shadows grew longer with each passing minute. Soon the sun went behind the top stand of oak brush standing between us and the very top of the rim.

I clearly had an advantage and a disadvantage. The advantage was that the elk were really close and the disadvantage was that the elk were really close. I slowly cranked my head and looked back at Denny and he appeared to be embedded into the trunk of an oak brush tree relaying the actions of the three elk to me trying to whisper like a ventriloquist.

I had two choices for a shot after the bull jumped the fence. One was to get up where I could see the whole animal and the other to stay close to the ground and take a shot through a two-foot opening in the grass in front of me. I did not know how much of the animal I would be able to see through the opening.

I prayed, thanking the Creator for showing me the animal I might take and praying even harder for a swift and merciful kill. My prayer was interrupted by Denny telling me that the first cow had jumped the fence. Shortly after, the second cow was on our side of the fence. I raised my rifle and pointed the business end in the shooting lane between the tall grass. This is when Denny told me in a panicky whisper to wait for the bull. I was intensely looking through my scope as the two cows went side by side as their heads and the top of their backs passed through my optics. I took another deep breath as they passed and flipped off the safety. Again Denny's whisper informed me that the bull was on the right side of the fence now. This time his whisper was a little more excited. The bull would have to go about twelve yards until his head filled my scope. The anticipation was nearly unbearable. I exhaled as he slowly entered my view in front of my cross hairs. I could not see all of his antlers. As his neck filled my view I gently touched off a shot.

The 180 grain Winchester Super-X Power-Point left my rifle at 2700 feet per second and delivered a blow of 2650 foot pounds of energy. His neck snapped to his right and his knees buckled and he fell like a piano. He did not take another step. He was down!

I stood up and chambered another round just in case, but there was no need. The bull that was in Denny's full view was now out of his site, lying below the small mound that once blocked my view. I heard him shout out “Where's the bull!” to which I replied, “The bull is down!”

The cows took off for the cover of the aspens in the bowl.

I paced out the shot and it was an impressive 31 yards. The day, the hunt, the long two mile treks up the mountain, the year long anticipation vanished instantly as I stood over the prey that I worked so hard to get. He was a 5x6, not really big antlered, but impressive enough for me.

Don came out of the place where he was posted and did not get a shot at the two cows. By the time we caped the trophy and headed down the hill darkness had fallen. We would have to come back in the morning to bag him and pack him out.

I strapped on my headlamp and slowly descended down the mountain, reminiscing and savoring and the day spent on top of the mountain. The walk down was not as treacherous as I had imagined as I am always looking where my next step is going to be placed anyway. The only difference was that it was now lighted.

The end of a good walking stick
The next morning we got the ATV out of the enclosed trailer and the three of us climbed on board for the first mile before we had to leave the logging road. When we were just past the beaver pond the sound of my walking stick snapping in half shot through the air. It got caught between the foot peg and the fender and that is all she wrote. It was a good walking stick. It had gotten me through four years of hunting antelope, deer and elk.

When we got to the turn off I began looking for another stick. A fresh aspen would do. Don found one and we cut it off to the right length and off we went. Denny went on ahead to begin quartering the bull, hoping that the bears and coyotes had not visited over night.

Don and I split up as we hit the aspen grove. He went up to the South to continue to try and fill his tag and I to the North to help Denny. When I got to the bull Denny had the beast skinned and we spent a good deal of time quartering and bagging it up.

We only had four game bags, enough for the four quarters. On the tarp was another 70 pounds of back straps, tender loins and rib and neck meat. Since it was going to turn out to be another unusually warm day and the temperature was going to rise well above the 30 degrees we started out with I figured I would no longer require my long john shirt, so off it came. I tied a knot at the end of each sleeve and stuffed a four foot long back strap into each one. The rest of the meat followed and I tied off the waist into another knot.

We packed Denny with his first trip of the day down the mountain. He had a huge hindquarter in his frame pack as he set off down the fence line. He would be gone for about an hour with that load. I thought I would try to pack a load down the hill myself so I slipped the bag o meat into the other frame pack and slowly, ever so slowly began the trek down the fence line. I did not get but 50 yards and the load threw me off balance and I wound up on my back. It was a struggle to get right side up and back onto my feet. I now know what an upside down turtle must feel like.

I managed to get myself to the north side of the mound of oak brush. It was beginning to get warm and I thought it best to get the meat out of the sun and into the shade. I managed to get the three remaining quarters into the shade with the rest of the meat. As I got the last quarter there Denny appeared along the fence line. He rested for a bit and took off with another load and I managed to get the rest of the meat another 50 yards down the fence line.