It was early spring 2025 and as usual myself and my 22 old son were sitting in my office applying for the Colorado fall big game hunting season.

Over the past 20 plus years it had in my mind became almost automatic to be content with another preference point for deer, moose, antelope, bear and of course the Rocky Mountain Elk. 

I being 52 and having experienced some great Colorado and Wyoming hunts, have been spoiled over the years by those hunts and some epic international hunts.  So in my mind I wasn’t really much of an Elk hunter. Sheep and goats were going to be my Colorado focus.

My son Colton (Colt) was 22. He, along with his close friends, are all passionate hunters / outdoorsman. Rarely does a weekend pass that they aren’t outside either hunting for big game, varmints, birds or just the headgear that fall off the big guys in the spring.  They are in the know of the premier big game units and the preference pts required for a successful draw in those units.  

So I tried to draw the tag they recommended and did.

My son and his crew had a guy.  Actually it was a family that had  been located in the same area as us for generations.  We were very familiar with each others families and I can say after the hunt we will be friends for life.

The First scouting day was Black Friday November 28. 55 degrees. Nothing to be seen. Crap. Overall demeanor was that I might have picked the worst year in recent history to draw this license. 

It’s now two days before opening day. My son and his friends are possibly more excited about this hunt than I am. They live and breathe hunting. They have a plan.  

Season opens Saturday, Friday we will meet midday, buy groceries and beverages and head up to camp. 

A few small stops later we’re heading from the front range of the Rocky Mountains west to attempt to harvest a monster bull elk.

After arriving at camp we hastily get our overnight gear and groceries moved into our accommodations. We now move as a group of six out into the woods to do some glassing in hopes of finding the next days bull.  Once again the weather is a balmy 55 degrees. Eeh.  

“I think I’ve got a couple over here”  I say as peer through my 10x42 Swaros towards the northeast face that was slightly snow covered Colt comes over and confirms that they are indeed elk and we soon have 3 spotting scopes trained on a bachelor herd of around 8 bulls.  The mood changed instantly as we realized that the warm weather wasn’t going to completely ruin our chances of seeing elk.  “This one might be a shooter” one of Colt’s friends mumbles as he tries to get his spotting scope focused on the bulls lying in the shade.

We all listen as he gives directions to which set of horns he is locked in on.  “Dang, good bull”, someone says.  “Yeah, pretty good” another voice.  I put down the Swaros and peek through one of the spotters that is locked on what they agree is the biggest bull of the group.  At 1200 yds away and in the shade we could all still agree that this guy was worth getting a closer look at.  “He’s a 7 on his right.” One of the boys says. Pretty nice bull  I think to myself. Definitely not an “Oh shit bull” which is what I describe as the bull I would ideally like to find. As in it is so big that  those are the only words you can get out when you see it.

By now it’s getting later and winter sun is beginning to sink over the almost 10,000” mountain to our West.  “Let’s head back to camp. Hopefully they’ll be here in the morning.”

I feel like I’m on a fully guided international hunt.  I’ve got five other people glassing. Most of whom are very familiar with this area, having hunted it most of their lives.

We decide on a simple meal for dinner. It’s late by the time we get back to camp. We go with pre formed hamburgers and chips. 

After an average night of laying awake for the majority of the time I got geared up and we  hit the trail. On the way back to the previous days glassing point we were welcomed with a decent sized herd of around 50 cows with a couple of spikes crossing close in front of us. Heading from their overnight full moon grazing session in the meadow back to the safety and shade of a few acres of trees that weren’t burned. Within less than an hour we were back at the location from where we spotted the bachelor herd the previous day.  They were gone. Was it the full moon?  Had they moved through the night or were they just out of sight?

“Let’s split up. We’ll send 3 guys north.” Josh said. He was the oldest and one best familiar with the area.  "3 of us will hike this ridge to he west and you 3 go north and glass we’ll meet at lunch time.”

Myself, Colt and Josh decided to hike the ridge to west in hopes of getting a second look at the herd we had spotted the day before. 

Entering into the burn area and feeling that there was a good chance that the herd from the day before might be bedded down in this area we hiked very slow and stopped to glass often.  If not for it being a burn area seemed that this area would be near impossible to hunt glassing from afar.  Though there still remained a consistent stand of limbless posts one could spot animals laying down in most places on the hillsides with a good spotter and some patience. 

We reached a rock outcrop familiar to Josh that elevated us above the remaining standing burnt trees. We glassed……

   
“Ok, see the three rock outcrops on the skyline at about 11 o’clock” Josh says.  Then he continued to walk myself and Colt in with our spotters until we saw 6 bulls bedded down on the slightly north facing shade in part of the burn area.  “Man, if it wasn’t for light cover of snow they would be really hard to find” I said back.  They were more than a mile away and at least 2000’ higher than where we were.  “There’s a good looking bull 2 down from the top right bull.” Josh says.. “Not a super big frame but looks heavy horned”  Colt.  It’s about noon by now and I’m wating for Josh to layout a plan for us to close some ground on this guy to get a better look at him.  I come a from the hunting school of “There’s a good one lets go try and get him”.  But the veteran Josh is he decides to wait and see what else we might see. Part of me was thinking…”C’mon let’s go get that guy”.  Patience isn’t one of my strong points and it’s past noon on opening day. We’re running out time!  “Let’s go meet with the other crew and see what they say” Josh says.

 “Anything?” Josh says as we encounter our group of spotters and get within range of loud whispers.  “Yeah we saw one, big frame” Says Josh’s son.  “I got some video of him through the spotter”.  We all gather around to analyze some grainy colorless footage of what looked to be a respectable bull elk that wasn’t a mile away.  “Yeah he looks good” I say. But then I thought to myself, he’s not an Oh Shit Bull!  But worth getting a better look at. Fast forward. He was an Oh Shit Bull we just didn’t know what we were looking at through the thick deadfall.

I’ve made enough 400+ yd shots in the past that I have confidence shooting animals at that range. Part of that confidence comes from shooting a gun that you’ve had success with making those shots.  That gun currently is not even my own gun.  My son Colt purchased, after doing his homework, a Fierce Firearms 7mm PRC.  He equipped with a Nightforce NX-8 and dialed it in to shoot 180 grain Hornady Match ammunition. This is now my favorite gun.

“Do you want to go get a better look at him?”  Josh looks at me.

“Yeah let’s” I say

All six of hash out a plan on what we feel would be a good vantage point to get the bull back in the scope but not spook him.  We make our way up the hill in the near 50 degree weather with no wind and blue skies.

After a moderate hike to the determined location, around 40 minutes and a few hundred feet of elevation gain, Brady informed us that we were at a good place to try lay eyes on the bull.  After sheltering behind a rock outcrop Brady pulled up his binos and said “Over there” and he pointed to another north facing hillside in the burn area that was much closer and only slightly higher in elevation than where we were staged at.  “He’s quartered away laying down behind some trees. I can only see a bit of his antlers. I can’t really tell how good he is but he’s the same one I saw earlier for sure.” He says.  We all set up our spotting scopes and lock on. 

He wasn’t sleeping and would occasionally move his head slightly and show parts and pieces of his headgear,  though never full disclosure.   You could however, from the way he was laying, get a perfect view of his brow tines.  What stood out was their mass and the way they curled up 90 degrees.  I said a quiet “oh shit” to myself. This could be a really good bull!  We all watched him through various optics we had locked on him.  I wasn’t picking up on either “That’s a shooter bull” or “Let’s see what else we can see” vibes coming from the fellas.  My son asked what I thought.  Something in my gut felt right about him.  I made a decision.  “I like him” I told the guys.  “I’m going to try and close the gap” for two reasons. To get a a better view and to shorten up the shot distance.  From where we were my shot would’ve been 620 with a very tight window.  I laid lout a plan with my son to work towards our right and slightly downhill.  Though the cover we’d be working through was somewhat sparse I felt there was sufficient to stay reasonably concealed from the small group’s view.  They hadn’t shown the slightest sign of knowledge of us.  “If we blow him there are plenty of other good bulls around and it’s only the first day” I thought to myself.  Looking back I definitely would’ve have closed the distance with more caution knowing his size.  

 It took about 30 minutes to close the distance to 450 yds. Not only had I made a couple successful shots from this distance with this gun I also now had a better sight window.  We are now across a drainage from where the bull lay. I found a fallen log laying about 2’ above the ground next to 4’ high boulder.  As good of a rest as I could hope for. 

There was no wind. My son was 12’ away with his spotter locked on the bull.  “There’s a 1 inch branch running horizontally right where you need to aim” he says. I saw it. Before I could process a solution he says “Aim for the branch, there’s no way you’ll hit”.  True I thought. I’ll either hit above it or below it.  “Right” I say.

After a backing the zoom out slightly I got the feeling of a more stable hold along with a more clear image of the bull. And the branch. I’m siting on my right hip with all my upper body leaning on the boulder on my right side.  I shoot left handed.  I pull down on the barrel slightly with my right hand to anchor the gun to the log.

“Shooting” I tell my son in a loud whisper. I slowly squeezed the trigger.

“You hit the branch” Colt says 

I chamber another immediately and find the bull in my scope again. He’s getting up slowly along with the other 3 bulls. None seem spooked. I think I hit him but no obvious signs of a hit through the scope. “Shoot him again”. Colt says.  After making his way slowly to his feet he begins to walk slowly to my right. The trees though burnt and with very few limbs on them are still preventing a follow up shot.  I find about a 2’ window between a couple trees in front of him.  I get a rock solid hold and wait for him to pass by,  As I see his front shoulder enter the gap in the trees I squeeze off another round.  I drilled him.  

 “I hit him good” I tell Colt.  I watch the bull through the small gaps in the dead standing trees take about 4 more steps then seize up and fall over dead.  He rolled down the hill with legs straight up and came to a rest..  “Nice shot” he says. “Thanks”. “Let’s go see him”.  After watching the shot and seeing the bull go down the other part of the team made their way quickly to us and we headed over the where the bull was.

Another short 30 minute hike we make our way to the bull.

“Holy shit” the first guy to reach him states.  “No ground shrinkage with this guy” another responds.  I get to the bull and can’t believe how big he is.  Oh Shit.  This is an Oh Shit bull! 

After a photo shoot  cape him to the base of his skull, break him down and load him up.  I was really glad to have the team I had especially at that point.

We were able to pack him out in one trip thanks to everyone having what they needed and wearing frame packs.  

I spent a lot of time with my son and his friends in the field when they were younger. They fell in love with hunting and the outdoors.  They all have surpassed me in passion and skillsets for all things hunting. It was and still is very valuable time to get to spend together.  I can only hope that they get to experience it with their children.

It was the first cold days of early November and had a little dusting of snow. We started out our day with not seeing much, but we were looking for a specific buck that we are trying to protect for genetics. Mid morning passed hadn't seen him. Then up the creek I catch movement, its the muley buck we been watching, with a few does. Made our morning! A little bit up the creek I catch movement over a mile in front of us. I grab the binos and take a look....that is a @#$% big muley. We hide the vehicle in the creek and take off on the sneak. As we get closer there are bucks and does ruttin everywhere in the drainage. We get into shooting distance, settle in, made this shot many times before, missed. Now it is cold out, high humidity and the big muley didn't help matters. He follows his doe into the bottom of the creek, we get on their trail. We get another opportunity as they get roadside beneath the ridge. I get set up again, range...500 yds, dial in, thwack! Sounded good, but he heads towards his doe about 30 yards to my right. Look over my shoulder to my wife, for sure I hit him, as soon as I got done asking her, she yells "he's down!" There was high fives and celebrating. It was a great day and great hunt! 195 1/2 gross and 186 net

My hunt for Himalayan Ibex started 18 months ago, when I completed a trek to K2 Basecamp. Our group was guided by Gul Muhammad, a wonderful man I came to admire and eventually call a friend.

Partway through that trip, I asked Gul what he did after the trekking season ended. He told me he guided hunters. That single conversation planted the seed in my head—an excuse to return to the Himalayan range and spend more time with Gul, a man who pushed me outside my comfort zone almost daily in the mountains.

On this hunt, I was joined by my hunting buddy Al. He was all in on chasing Ibex the moment I asked him.

After a weather-delayed start due to snow, we finally arrived in Islamabad to meet Gul. More bad travel news followed—the short 50-minute flight to Gilgit was canceled due to weather, so we had to drive instead.

Gul told us to prepare for a 12-hour drive. Fourteen hours later, we spent four hours in a small, unheated motel room, then got up and finished the remaining three-hour drive into Gilgit.

All the travel woes were forgotten when we arrived. Gilgit is a town ringed with mountains, and every view was beautiful. We had a great breakfast and then continued driving another five hours to the guest house where we would be staying—mostly under 15 mph due to road conditions.

We later learned this route was called the Silk Highway, once the main trade route from India to China. I would call it anything but silk.

We settled into the guest house, had dinner, and quickly went to sleep until morning.

The next day, Gul explained how Al and I should dress for the hunt. He told us he would be taking Al to a different area, while I would be guided by Wazire, a close friend of Gul’s. We would be hunting right outside the village where we were staying.

The day was sunny, 15 degrees, and calm. Two inches of fresh snow had fallen overnight, creating a blank mountain canvas. It’s hard to describe the beauty of the Himalayan mountains—it’s something you truly have to experience. One surprise to me was how many people from the local village helped us glass and spot Ibex.

Wazire found three different groups of Ibex and decided which one to pursue. We began our climb at 9:30 a.m. Our group included Wazire, myself, a government official (their version of DNR), two local men from the village, and a local shepherd to lead us up the mountain.

Wazire reminded me of what Gul had said that morning: don’t sweat, go slow. We did—until around 10:30, when the Ibex we were watching came down, then turned and moved away from us. We started back up the mountain, eventually traversing diagonally across the face for about a quarter mile to cut them off.

At that point, the “no sweating” rule was officially over. The snow grew deeper, the grade steepened, and the climb became relentless. At 2:30, Wazire told me if I could climb 20 more meters, we could set up for a shot. I said yes—but that didn’t quite work out.

Snow was up to our knees. Wazire cut switchbacks for us to follow, and for the last two hours I was holding onto the guide’s hand in front of me. Finally, at 4:40, we reached a spot where a shot was possible.

Wazire set me up with my .30-378 rifle, resting on my jacket over a rock. At 320 yards, I made the shot—and the celebration on the mountain began.

Wazire descended the mountain by sliding five yards with each step. As we started down, a full moon rose over the peaks, casting a glow that lit our entire descent. Eight kids and a few adults from the village came up to celebrate and help bring the Ibex down.

The kids were some of the old shepherd’s grandkids. I asked Wazire how old the shepherd was. He replied, “80.” I couldn’t believe it. Pays to keep moving.

In the end, we climbed 2,500 feet that day—and came down with an Ibex.

Every seasoned mule deer hunter knows that on a general-season tag, a mature buck isn’t given, he’s earned. They don’t just live on the mountain, they own it. And finding one that is next level in heavily hunted country takes more than luck, it takes months of grinding, glassing, and coming back when most guys hang it up.

This story started back in June. My buddy and I hit the high country early, climbing into that rugged Utah terrain. The kind of country that makes you earn every inch, loose shale, steep basins, and endless vertical climbs that feel like they’re trying to shake you off the mountain.

We set cameras, hiked ridges, and burned through long glassing sessions. But as the summer rolled on, our optimism started to fade. The big bucks just weren’t showing themselves, not to mention the year before we had a little PTSD from killing a buck we thought was big. Although still a great buck, he had serious ground shrinkage. That experience stuck with us, and we weren’t about to overhype another one.

Then one morning, I glassed up a buck that changed everything. He was running with a handful of others, but there was no question who the boss was. Good frame, deep forks, extras, the kind of deer that makes your heart rate jump just watching him feed. We recognized him immediately, the same buck we had seen the year before. Back then, he was a promising up-and-comer, and we knew if he survived another season, he could turn into something special. Now, standing in the glass, he had done just that.

We hunted that buck for over 14 days in total. During archery season, we watched him repeatedly, but that canyon he called home was brutal. It was steep, nasty, and full of swirling wind, the kind of place that eats stalks alive. I’d drop 1,500 feet, climb another 1,500, only to have him bed where I couldn’t get closer than a few hundred yards. Time after time, he slipped away like a ghost. And then, just like that, he vanished.

For nearly two weeks, he was gone. We checked every ridge and basin, running ourselves into the ground trying to turn him up again. Nothing. But we kept going, because quitting isn’t how you kill bucks like this on a general unit.

When muzzleloader season opened, we were back at it. I camped solo for the first few days, while my buddy planned to meet up later. Every day, I saw the bucks that had run with him all summer, every one of them except him.

Then came Tuesday morning. The air had that sharp, crisp edge that only comes in late September. I was glassing across the canyon when movement caught my eye. There he was, standing broadside on a bench halfway up the opposite slope. It was him.

I dropped my pack, took a deep breath, and started my move. To get into position, I had to sidehill around the canyon nearly half a mile. The slope was steep enough that every step wanted to send me sliding 30 feet downhill, and every bush I grabbed felt like it might come out of the ground. I finally got settled on a flat rock ledge about 200 yards out. I dialed my CVA Paramount, steadied my breathing, and squeezed the trigger.

The smoke cleared, and he was down. Just like that, one perfect shot, and weeks of effort had come together in a single moment.

Walking up on him, I couldn’t believe it. He was heavier than I thought, tall, deep forks, extras everywhere. My buddy and I just stood there smiling like kids. After last year’s disappointment, this one felt different. There was no shrinkage, no second-guessing, just a true high-country stud that lived up to the work it took to find him.

But the mountain wasn’t done with us yet. As we quartered him up, clouds rolled in fast. By the time we loaded our packs, rain turned to sleet, then to snow. We still had to climb out of the canyon and scale a ridge before we could start the nine-mile ride back to the trucks. Five hours later, we stumbled out, soaked to the bone, shivering, and grinning from ear to ear. It was the kind of pack-out you don’t forget.

That buck taped out at 191 3/8 inches, an incredible deer, but what made him special wasn’t just the score. It was the grind it took to get him.

Anyone who hunts general-season mule deer in Utah knows how rare it is to find a buck like that, and even rarer to kill him. These deer don’t come easy. They’re known, hunted, and educated long before the season ever opens. The guys who consistently tag mature bucks on general units aren’t the lucky ones, they’re the ones who put in the time, keep showing up, and never let the mountain break them.

For me, that’s what this hunt was about. Persistence. Commitment. And the reminder that in the high country, success doesn’t belong to the hunter who wants it the most, it belongs to the one who refuses to quit.