Colorado Hunting

This hunting thing may be hard for some of you readers to understand - particularly those who only know me from Japan. But it's something I've been accompanying my dad on since I was four years old, and I've only missed two hunting seasons since. This year I came back for three weeks to go along with my dad and his three brothers on a trip to the San Juan Mountains of SW Colorado.

I spent the first three days camping out in a remote section of wilderness that I thought might hold big bulls due to its inaccessibility. I was a little wrong, though, as people from the neighboring private property were hunting there.

I hiked back on the third afternoon and at about 4pm - still 3 miles from camp - I heard a bull bugling below the trail. I left him be and the next morning my dad and I went back in for him. He bugled just after dawn, above the trail. We circled in above him, staying downwind, then spread out 200 yards and entered the timber. My dad was in the right position and fell right into the small harem of cows and the bull. He missed his first shot, but hit the bull in the back of the neck on the second - a perfect, instant-death shot.


That day we cleaned out the bull, went back for pack frames, returned to the bull, and packed out his two rear quarters. The next day (Wednesday) I left early and went hunting a mile past my dad's bull while he and his brothers finished the packout job (and a bear had visited the remaining meat during the night). I climbed a huge ridge up to treeline at 11,200 feet amidst falling snow and a falling temperature. I didn't see a track or hear anything. At the top I had to decide whether to hunt to the right or left, so I wandered right to survey the neighboring drainage. Immediately I looked across some 600-700 yards and spotted a cow elk standing in the snow. I glassed around and found two more cows above her and a 5x5 bull in the woods behind her. After hemhawing for about 1.5 hours, I decided to see if I could get closer without them seeing me. I had to keep circling back and down to avoid the cliffs below me. Eventually I ended up on a good rock outcropping and tried my best to estimate the yardage. The bull stood up from his bed and I decided to make my move. I guessed between 400-500 yards, which is my longest shot ever (at an animal) by 300-400 yards. I aimed about 4 feet above him and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. I tried again. This time the bull ran into the woods. Then I remembered the slight up-canyon breeze. I aimed 4 feet high and guessed 4 feet back. I pulled the trigger and he sprinted out from the trees, then angled left (downhill) and stumbled off a cliff. He was dead 4-5 seconds after I shot.

[The bull was on that other hillside]

It took me 25 minutes to get to him as I had to descend the hill I was on, cross an icy creek, then go up the creek bottom he'd fallen into. I cleaned him, removed the head, kicked him off another cliff (to make packing easier later), then quartered him out and removed the prime steaks from inside and outside the ribcage along the spine. This all took three hours and I was physically dead, but I still had 5-6 miles of hiking to get back - and a head to carry along.

[The bull ran off those cliffs above me, breaking off two of his antler points in the process]

I spent the next day packing meat from the carcass down to the trail, via the creek bottom. The next day I went all the way in for the last rear quarter while my dad and brothers came in for the front quarters that I'd left on the trail. A bear had visited that night but did minimal damage.

Then today we left. So I never really got a day off. Nor did I get a shower for eight days. But I did have a heck of an adventure at 10,000+ feet. Oh.. by the way, I used a range finder Thursday day and found out my shot was 432 yards - and I hit him right threw the front shoulder which was a great (lucky) shot. The bull was at 10, 950 feet when I killed him.

[My dad and me with our bulls, plus another 6x5 skull I found in the woods]