Team Effort: A mission to bag a big bull in Colorado

By Ty Shaw

Growing up in the great state of Colorado in a very devout hunting family, I have always had a passion for hunting and shooting. It was always the Western-style hunts in my home state that got me the most excited. In 2007, my father spent a handful of points to go on a backcountry rifle elk hunt on which he was successful in taking a “giant” Colorado bull elk. 2013 came around and my father had once again drawn a tag for the same great unit, this time with a muzzleloader tag. Once again, he found success.

I knew that one day I wanted to experience a backcountry hunt like that for myself. It wasn’t just the great bulls that made those hunts special, it was the experience as a whole. Hunting a premium unit would just have to mean a plethora of monster bulls... right? I decided to save my points to hunt the same unit where my father had been so successful in the past.

In 2015, after graduating high school, I got a job building custom rifles for Weaver Rifles, learning everything I could about long-range shooting, reloading, and ballistics. For the next five years, I knew I was ready to dump my points and go headfirst into a big elk hunt. The great unit that I had spent so much time dreaming about hunting just didn’t seem to be producing the bulls that we had once known to roam in the high country.

Frugal with Points

I began to research, looking for the perfect place to spend my 11 points. After talking to a lot of great elk hunters, I decided to dive in on a first rifle unit 61 bull tag. Having never even set foot in the unit, we planned some scouting trips. We soon realized that 61 was not a place that played into our strengths. Glassing big basins hadn’t turned up many six-point bulls, so we decided it was best to turn the tag back in and re-evaluate what other units might be worth my points. Luckily enough, I ended up snagging a second season tag for a local zero-point unit that year and was fortunate enough to harvest a great bull on the last day.

I was frustrated. Going from a 10+ point unit and hardly seeing anything to a zero point unit and taking a 330”-class bull, I quickly learned that points don’t get you everything. It was still going to be a hunt no matter where we went.

A Kind Offer

A friend of a friend named Cameron offered to take me into his home unit and his horses and knowledge of the area to hunt the high country. I had heard great things and seen great bulls come from this area, so I decided to take him up on the offer. We planned our first scouting trip into the area in July to get our bearings and a feel for the country. After spending three days glassing elk in every bowl and basin, I knew this was going to be special.

That summer, I spent countless hours behind my 300 Norma Improved, working on hand loads, gathering velocities, and testing ballistic data to 1,500 yards. I was confident that if we could get in the same basin as a bull, it would be the end of the story.

The plan was to pack into the backcountry two days before the season to give us some time to sort out the elk and hopefully be sitting on a shooter come opening morning. Mother Nature threw us a curveball in the form of 12” deep snow four days before opening day. Access to the high country was limited, so we were forced to load up the Montana canvas tent and hunt the low country closer to the roads.

Changing It Up

Cameron, my father, and I all loaded up the truck and trailer with plans of Branson meeting us in the area with the horses in case we needed to go deep into one of the spots we knew held lots of elk. We got camp set up in time to go look at a big, burnt canyon covered in snow and ice. We saw elk everywhere we looked but nothing I wanted to hang my tag on. After a lot of glassing, we finally turned up a bull about two miles away that we considered a shooter.

On Friday night, Branson rolled into camp and said that he had seen a herd of elk on his way in that we should probably go back and take a look at. That night, Branson and I went to find the shooter bull we had seen the day before. While finding elk was not a problem, they did seem to become a little harder to spot as the snow started to melt.

After not seeing the shooter we were after or any other bigger bulls that night, we headed back to camp. When we got back to camp, Cameron pulled out his phone and pulled up a video of a bull he had found that evening. As he handed me the phone he said, “That’s a 350 bull.” But he wasn’t the only person to locate this bull. Cameron had seen four other guys looking at the same bull that night.

So what should we do? Back off and pursue the other bull to avoid a crowd? We debated what the best move was. We pulled out the maps to see what spot would put me in the best position. I decided, “You know what? Let’s give it a shot and, if anything, we only lost the morning hunt. That bull is going to die in the morning, and if we don’t shoot him, that’s fine; we will just go find the other bull!” We made the plan for Branson to go back looking for the bull we had seen Thursday and Cameron and Dad to drop me off at the base of the hill where Cameron had found the 350 bull.

Game Time

This was it; opening morning with one of the biggest bull elk I had ever seen. All we had to do was execute our plan before other hunters executed theirs. After they dropped me off, I had about a mile straight up to get in position before I would be able to see the bull. Freezing cold and with very little time to spare before legal shooting light, I ran up that hill with my rifle and gear. I made it to where I had planned to be just as it was getting light enough to see.

Instantly, I could hear elk bugling and cow calls coming from the exact spot we hoped the bull would still be. I immediately set my tripod up with my binoculars, trying to locate the bull. Analyzed every cow, making sure they didn’t have antlers. I saw several cows bedded next to what looked like a dead tree. Then, suddenly, the tree turned 90 degrees and my jaw dropped! That’s him! This is the bull I have waited 12 years to have the opportunity to hunt.

As soon as I found the bull, my first instinct was to get a range and ballistics all figured out so I could take a shot as soon as he stood up. The final number was 640 yards with an 8.75 MOA elevation adjustment. I pulled out my kestrel to make sure I had a good wind call. I looked at my watch; the time was 6:53 AM, just five minutes after legal shooting light. I was ready to go, I just needed him to stand up.

I stayed on him with my binoculars and ranged him a couple more times to be absolutely sure of the yardage. After a few moments, the last cow started to stand up. I jumped back on the rifle, knowing the bull would soon get up as well.

Okay, here we go! This is it! One good trigger press and it’s over!

The bull got up, facing straight away. Finally, he took one step towards his cow, giving me a perfect angle on the shoulder. I took one deep breath. This is a shot I have made 1000 times at the range, and all that practice was for this moment. BOOM! WHAPP!

Elk started running everywhere. I quickly grabbed my binos and all I could see were antlers sticking up out of the grass right where he was when I shot. Immediately called my Dad and Cameron. “We got him! We got him, guys. Dropped him right in his tracks.” The cab of that truck erupted with excitement. After hanging up the phone I had a moment up on the mountain by myself to take in the experience and reflect on what a blessing it is that we get to do this in God’s country with the best people I know.

Every hunt teaches us something, and there is always something bigger at play than us. I have made lifelong friends with Cameron and Branson. The absolute selflessness they expressed and the effort they went through to help me with my hunt are things I will never forget. Once we got back to their house, we decided to tape the bull out. We had all put our guesses in, then added up the numbers to 350-7/8 inches. Just because I was the one behind the rifle doesn’t mean I’m solely responsible. In my book, I couldn’t have done it without their help, and they were as much, if not more, responsible for the outcome as I am.

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