The 12-Year Wait

There I was, lying prone on a snow-covered knob in Northern Nevada, 563 yards away from something I had been waiting for over 12 years to accomplish. The only things working against me were time and a tremendous amount of emotion boiling just under the surface.

This is the moment all hunters dream about. Lying there with the rifle steady and the frigid air fighting its way through all my layers, it felt almost surreal. The kind of moment that slows down time while also making your heart pound through your chest.

I started traveling out of state for hunts in 2012, with a Mule Deer tag in the Ruby Mountains of Nevada. I had hunted my whole life on the coast of California for any and all available game species, but the experience and adventure of hunting out of state were exhilarating. From packing and making sure I have everything I need to figuring out how to bring the meat home, every part of the hunt added to the fun.

I have been building points in numerous different states across the West since then, and have always focused on drawing achievable deer units. Well… in the background of that, I had been stockpiling points for elk the entire time. After 12 years, I finally drew my first bull tag. This hunt would be in a unit I had hunted deer in a few years prior in northern Nevada. I immediately called up my good friend and GM of Alterra Arms, Todd Harney, who was on that hunt 12 years ago and has been a consistent hunting partner ever since. We made a plan, got our friend Austin Rankin, who’d hunted elk in that unit the year prior, on board, and started working out logistics while we waited for the season to arrive.

Finally, after months of impatiently waiting, the time had finally come. Todd was going to tow his new camp trailer down from Idaho with his dirt bike. Austin, on his quad, left a day early to scout his way in, and after an eight-hour drive on my end, we all met where we were going to set up camp. After we'd done that, we reminisced about staying in the exact same spot the last time we hunted this area. With gear ready and some light left, we headed out for a quick evening glassing session.

That first night at camp felt like a reunion. We cooked a big dinner, passed around a few drinks, and laughed about old hunts and close calls. There’s something grounding about those evenings; no cell service, no distractions, just friends, gear, and the kind of anticipation you can feel in your chest.

The next morning, after some nearly hunt-ending vehicle issues, we headed up high to find a good vantage point to glass from. But once we got there, we found ourselves socked in with rain and zero visibility. After waiting too long to see if it would clear, we decided to head back down to camp and wait out the storm. To kill time productively, I took a few practice shots with the Alterra 300 PRC Todd had brought down from their shop for me to use.

With lunch in our bellies and a few chunks shot out of some nearby rocks, we loaded up and headed out to see what the afternoon had in store for us. Again, we had zero visibility up high, and not an elk to be seen down low. Day one was over, and we had only briefly seen the tail-end of what we thought was a distant bull. But with it only being day one, there was plenty of time left to find them.

We headed back to camp for the evening to enjoy good food, good laughs, and some less-than-decent sleep. The plan was to wake up super early, load up the motorcycle and ATV, and head over to where Austin had shot his bull the year before.

The next morning, after a little drive, we were heading up an old dirt road before sunrise. This put us at a good glassing point right at daylight. It only took us 10 minutes to find four elk feeding about a mile away, and it only took five minutes for the cloud cover to block our view once again. But what we had seen of the two bulls in the group was enough for us to make the decision to close the distance and get a better look.

After a quick check of OnX and a health check after Todd crashed his motorcycle, we had closed about half the distance with just enough time to catch the elk feeding into a quakie patch, not to be seen again. From the layout of the terrain, we had a strong assumption that they bedded and the best thing we could do was to get within range and wait them out.

Todd and I dropped down into the canyon, leaving Austin up high to keep an eye on the whole area in case they snuck out where we couldn't see. When we got to the bottom, we found a little knob that put us into the perfect spot to have a shot if they came out where they went in. The wait was on.

We got set up on the rifle, gathered all pertinent ranges, and set up the binoculars to pick apart the quakies to see if we could spot any movement. The snow was still falling lightly, muffling every sound except the occasional gust of wind. It didn't take much time for us to spot them moving back out the way they came in, exactly as we were hoping. The first bull to come out into the opening was a beautiful, fully intact six-point, one I would have been happy to shoot, but we knew the other guy in there was a caliber above.

For about 30 minutes, we watched the target bull’s antlers moving around, slowly making their way to an opening. The entire time we waited, holding back a tremendous amount of emotion while everything was lining up, I calmed my nerves by practicing my hold and shot execution on the smaller of the two bulls. I whispered to myself and slowed my breathing, focusing on each inhale like it was a drill. Finally, the larger bull took a step out into a big enough opening for a shot at 563 yards.

With three well-placed shots in the kill zone, the bull disappeared into the brush. It was finally time to let the excitement and happiness out. I was shaking from top to bottom. After 12 years of waiting, I had finally gotten my first bull elk.

We hiked over to where we last saw him and quickly found him upside-down in a tangle of branches. The sheer size of his body was massive; so big that we couldn't get him out of the mess he was in and had to quarter him up where he lay.

It took us well into the evening to get him all cleaned up, secured in game bags, and moved down into the bottom of the canyon to hang in a tree overnight. We planned to take a small load out that night, go back to camp to eat and get some rest, and return the following morning to retrieve the rest. We didn't get back to camp till well past midnight, and a quick celebratory whiskey made sleep come easy.

The next morning, after slowly crawling out of bed and making a nice hearty breakfast and strong coffee, we loaded up again to head in to retrieve the rest of the bull. I don't know if there is a better feeling on a hunt than when the pressure has all subsided and only the fun work is ahead, when you get to really slow down and milk the moment for all its worth.

The packout was a mix of sweat, laughter, and plenty of pauses to soak it all in. Before reaching the top, I stopped one last time, quietly staring across the canyon, content. I was on cloud nine, surrounded by beauty, riding the high of success, and fully immersed in the camaraderie that made this hunt so memorable.

I have a special place picked out for my bull on the wall, where I can constantly return to relive and enjoy those feelings again. With a freezer full of meat and a new year ahead, I hope to continue to match, if not surpass, the enjoyment of this hunt.

If you liked the story, you can watch the film of this hunt here.