Big Boy

After 20-plus years of enjoying many epic adventures while guiding international hunters and anglers, I am all too aware that the moment a trophy-of-a-lifetime leaves camp, it will not be seen or touched by me ever again. It will hang in some distant residence, camp, or villa to be appreciated by others. Although my relationships and memories remain solid and enjoyable, pictures of the hunt must suffice. Always, I was thinking, “Wow! Wouldn’t it be nice to have a mount like that on a wall at home?” If you are an outfitter or a guide, you probably relate.

Oh well, I got into this guiding gig because I wanted to justify my time on the rivers, in the fields, and on the mountain tops. And yet…you can’t take the hunter out of the guide. Would the opportunity to set the hook on a large sipping brown trout or drop the hammer on a wall-hanger bull ever come along for me?

Not a year passed without these thoughts and feelings. Could this be the year when the moon and stars would line up? I waited patiently, each hunting season, year after year. Although I had several occasions to pursue those lofty ambitions some years, on my own time either between or after hunts, it just hadn’t happened.

We’ve all heard stories of positive outcomes during the Covid period, turning lemons into lemonade. The border was closed, and I scrambled to connect with resident hunters to make ends meet. My efforts turned into a series of successes, landing a September elk and mountain goat combo hunt, and another Canadian resident mountain goat hunt in October. That peculiar alignment of events became my opportunity to dig deep into my hunting dreams.

Would the opportunity to set the hook on a large sipping brown trout, or drop the hammer on a wall-hanger bull ever come along for me?

My astute and enthusiastic companion for the October mountain goat hunt was Gary Brenner from Alberta. Over tentative hunt discussions, Gary was clearly aware that guide outfitters were struggling to fill their camps due to border restrictions and he wanted to negotiate the price for his goat hunt. Recognizing that his tactic might be a blessing, I reached an amicable arrangement with him. The goat hunt was scheduled during BC’s Region 4 elk hunt, albeit a bit later in the elk season with the rut waning. My proposal included an opportunity for me to pursue a specific bull elk if a near perfect sequence of events would occur during our goat hunt. Gary agreed! We set a price for the hunt and started planning our strategy and dates for a wilderness experience together. Gary arrived in Fernie, BC the week prior to the Thanksgiving weekend. We bought our licenses and headed for camp with manageable weather, but the forecast indicated that cool, wet weather was moving our way.

Our initial spotting sessions encouraged us to make a couple of ascents to get a closer look at several billies hanging out on rocky cliffs. One of these climbs led us up a narrow drainage, requiring a combination of bear-crawling up grassy scree and rock formations, plus a full day of working our way up to the razor ridge above. Reaching the ridgeline was rewarding, as usual. The resting spot offered us a top-of-the-world view into several basins. One alpine basin was one that I had hunted many times in the past but had always approached from another direction. In fact, earlier in the season I had guided another resident hunter who had killed a nice billy below where we now sat, and I remembered seeing a lot of elk sign while I’d been on the final stalk with him. Sure enough, sitting against a tree, elbows on knees and binos focused on the forest below, I spotted some cow elk. Within minutes, following along behind, there he was! I increased the magnification on my Vortex spotting scope to get a closer look. The herd bull had everything I wanted: maturity, great tine length, and mass that carried right out to 8 inches of raking sixth point. The herd fed around below us totally unaware of our presence. Gary moved alongside me to enjoy the view. The bull laid down, briefly resting his legs as he watched his herd. Several satellite bulls approached and soon the herd bull was up and back to work.

The bull ranged in and out around 450 yards from our steeply elevated position on the rocky cliff above. Gary, acknowledging our arrangement, offered me his rifle. I knew this basin well, and what it would take to get the horses in to complete the pack out. Probably two full days to do the job. Also, even if my shot was successful, we were unlikely to get down to the bull until the next day since it was already close to dark. Another variable I could not get by was using Gary’s rifle instead of my 7mm. It simply was not the perfect scenario I had waited this long for, and I chose to pass.

The long, knee-biting descent towards camp gave me time to analyze the situation to death and ponder what route this herd would follow as they proceeded to exit the high country. There was a glimmer of hope that we might intercept this herd again as their likely route connected with the main camp drainage.

The next day we rose at the usual time to continue looking for a mountain goat in a good and approachable location. Our legs were beat up from the previous day’s climb, making it a good day for glassing and a little recovery period before our next ascent. Gary spotted a goat and took some very detailed pictures with his phone through his spotting scope. This looked to be a decent billy, so we mapped an ascent for the next day that would get us into a position for a shot, should he remain nearby.

As fate would have it, the weather changed dramatically overnight, and the next day started with a low cloud ceiling, temperature dropping, and rain. We felt optimistic that conditions would improve down the valley, so we stuck with our planned strategy.

Upon arrival at our desired drop-off spot, conditions had still not improved. Visibility was poor, but our optimism was not to be dampened. We started our climb towards where the goat had been the day prior, hoping to intercept him and get a shot. The ascent was slow over slippery, rocky terrain and we tried to stick to adjacent grassier ground wherever possible. By the time we reached our planned perch in the rocks it was snowing, and we were up in the cloud layer. We’d invested so much effort to gain our elevation so we hunkered down and stuck it out as long as we could.

The clouds and blowing precipitation significantly reduced our visibility and so finally, blue-lipped and with bodies shivering from the cold, we carefully descended. Despite our caution, we slipped and bum-slid much of the way down.

Returning to camp in the dark, the first order of business was to get the stove cranked and our gear laid out to dry. Then supper, and into bed for much-needed rest.

The rain and light snow continued overnight. In the morning much of our gear was still wet and we were in no rush to get moving. While the coffee pot brewed, I walked out onto the porch to assess the conditions. The clouds hung low, and the peaks were snow capped. It was around the freezing mark, with not much wind. Why not try a call? The sound of my elk bugle carried and echoed back from a long distance. And I instantly got a reply! I hollered to let Gary know that I was heading out to play with this scene. I grabbed my pack and rifle and headed out to a nearby meadow where I had an unobstructed view of the adjacent slope, near where the bugle had come from. I sensed that this was likely the herd of elk we had watched two days earlier on the backside of the mountain, and I wanted to see that bull again, on my terms.

He and I swapped bugles and elk talk for about an hour before his responses got further apart and farther away. Dang! Back to the goat hunt, I thought. Following coffee, a little breakfast, and flipping over soggy socks, I thought I would try another bugle from the porch. I got a quick response, sounding like it came from just a few hundred yards away. Again, with Gary’s blessing, I grabbed my pack and rifle and positioned myself for success. The responses were few and, like before, getting farther away. The clouds were lifting slightly, and I could see higher up into the alpine with my binos.

There he stood! Did I mention he had everything I wanted? His cows were grazing slowly from right to left. There was an avalanche path about four hundred yards in the direction they were moving through the sparse trees. I ran back inside to inform Gary that I was going to make a run up the mountain to intercept them.

It was steep and slippery. I was so focused on navigating my ascent that I didn’t know how much time was passing or how hard my heart was beating. About halfway up to the elevation that the elk were contouring, I saw a cow cross. I had to get set up quickly for a potential shot. I chose a place where I could get my pack down and into a prone position for a steep uphill shot. I began ranging different features where the cow had crossed, 375 to380 yards. Confident at this range with my handloads, I zeroed at 300. A little wind from the left. He would come from the right, I thought. I had time to reset, breathe, and practice my hold on several cows that were now bedding in a small clearing just above the snow level. Suddenly, there he was! He came in from the left. I don’t know how I’d missed his move across the skinny drainage above me. He seemed nervous and was getting the cows up and moving again. This would be my moment of a lifetime. As soon as a cow cleared, I steadied the crosshairs just behind the bull’s shoulder. My trigger squeeze was perfect! The bull spun and followed his cows out of my sight.

I waited briefly to see what might happen next before packing up and climbing up to where the bull had been. I began to make a semi-circle to pick up their trail in the snow, and as I worked my way upwards, I could hear Gary yelling a thousand yards away on the camp porch. I could not make out what he was saying.

I crossed elk tracks in the snow but continued back-tracking towards where the elk had been when my shot had cracked the crisp mountain air. Along the way, I came to a spot where I could smell elk and there was a big track through the snow which left the others. Fresh dirt kicked up in the snow and drag marks leading downwards. When I finally arrived at the place he’s stood when I’d taken my shot, I continued to examine for clues of a hit or otherwise. I found nothing but prints where the bull had pushed off against the ground and followed his herd.

I returned to the drag marks and started down after his trail. Gary was still howling something indiscernible from below. I dropped elevation and found a substantial blood trail in the snow. There he was! The bull had been hit hard and had not gone far before losing out to gravity. I was filled with emotion and gratitude. The perfect execution on a mountain monarch. And my bull this time!!!

Later I learned that Gary had witnessed the entire stalk and kill through his spotting scope. The picture he took of the bull with cows was within a fraction of a second of the single kill shot. He’d then seen, in dramatic fashion, the bull cartwheeling down the mountain. Gary was good enough to crawl up to the site, take pictures, help quarter, and assist the start of the pack out.

With the quarters stashed for a return with horses, the two of us brought the straps, loins, head, and rack down the mountain. In camp we were greeted by the sheep hunters who we shared base camp with. They had returned from an unpleasant night spike-camped on a mountaintop in very tough, wet conditions. Aware that Gary was after a goat, the described a goat they had seen on their trek back to camp. I recognized the description of the location as the mountain face that Gary and I had ascended days earlier. Although feeling the effects of our just-completed descent, we decided to give it a try with the light of day we had remaining.

We bolted up the trail for about an hour. Above us in the rocks on a low ledge 250 yards away was a goat. Again, for the second time today, pack down! This time it was Gary in prone position and behind the scope. On impact, the billy wheeled and dropped off the mountain coming to rest on an inclined ledge, just wide enough to hold him from falling farther. By the time we scrambled up to the goat it was getting dark. With head lamps on we proceeded to remove the hide for a full body mount. This indeed was a day for the camp record books.

I am grateful to Gary for the chemistry and teamwork that led to our success! Our two hunts are now memories and trophy mounts that rise to the top of my 20-year guiding experience. The bull elk’s antlers adorn my wall, and his meat feeds my family. Not a day goes by that I don’t enjoy the presence of the trophy. I am grateful