Guide Dennis Stienhower
Hunter Randy Homegrin

After three days of jumping bulls in the most unlikely of places without a good shot opportunity, my hunter Randy thought it best that we try posting up in a stand of spruce that juts out into a large meadow at the top of the second ridge.

Late that afternoon we dropped our horses in the timber at the edge of the meadow and started to skirt the clearing that leads to our post. I distinctly remember the steady breeze that brushed our faces as we crept into the lush stand of Engleman, the angle was perfect and our cover was dark, things began to feel promising.

In the time it took me to shed my pack, and Randy to uncover the lenses of his scope we were snapped to attention by the unmistakable clamor of antlers. Literally minutes into our hunt, not more than 150 yards away, shrouded by the pale evening light and the thick cover of timber two bulls were locked in battle for dominance.

Mixed with the sharp dry cracks of branches and dull stomping, the sparring was continuous and definitely moving our way. Deeper in the stand of spruce than Randy, I was able to get enough cover to lift my binoculars and peer cautiously into their arena of sparse timber and deadfall. Nothing but legs, lots of legs.

The clamor grew louder and our hearts raced as the first elk broke into the clearing, a cow trotting confidently, reassurance that our wind was good. As she dipped her head to graze, her slender neck snapped upright as two thick five points crashed into the clearing a mere 125 yards from the end of Randy's Barrel. Taking advantage of their preoccupation, Randy raised his rifle to his chest, grabbed some footing and began preparing for a shot. Wait! It seemed like I yelled as another bull entered the meadow reeling and eventually falling to his side before regaining his footing. Randy peered around the tree just in time to see the fourth and biggest bull emerge from the darkness. 

Snorting head down and intent, his hide was much lighter than the others, his neck swollen and powerful, by all definition a heard bull his thick rack begun with bases like tree trunks and maintained their heft to the very tips of their ivory tines. No time to count, if all goes well, we can do that later.

By now, we were pinned down by the careful eye of the cow that had grazed to within about 60 yards, but the bulls paid little attention. At 150 yards, I doubt if they heard Randy's safety click with precision, or saw him as he sidestepped the sapling that masked his presence but there is no doubt that the huge bull felt the shock of Randy's slug then heard the roar that shattered the evening.

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