25 Years. That's a long time in relation to a human lifespan. That is how long my dad has applied for a Monroe Mountain rifle elk tag in Utah. He could have drawn others bull tags with less years applying, but in classic Burrell-stubborness, we didn't budge from our first-choice. When we first had this dream of securing a bull tag, 25 years ago, this was before I had children, or even before I had met Emily. I just graduated high school. In fact, my dad was my current age. The future was the big unknown, but I always envisioned this hunt would have big wall tents, golden aspens, lots of little children running around camp, and dropping into deep, dark, elk-infested canyons with my dad chasing 360" giants.
Well, since 25 years ago, a lot has happened, like life...which has never slowed down. In fact, I'm convinced that seconds and minutes have somehow shortened in the past decade and time really is moving faster than ever. I don't know how else to explain that the last quarter century has past so suddenly and the fact that my truck clock always seems to be running slow.
25 years have passed, and there aren't lots of little children running around anymore-in fact, two of our children are now adults. And as far as dropping into deep canyons with my dad, He's 68 years old and isn't in mountain shape to drop into any canyon. So, the 25 year wait had taken a bit of a toll, or a lot, on the physical ability as well as the mental enthusiasm. My dad seemed to lose his desire to hunt years ago. He hasn't hunted for years, so he'd have to pick-up where he left off long ago.
For years, I'd go up to Monroe with a camera and elk calls and spend time playing with the elk just wishing my father could draw his tag. "Successful" were the words we'd hoped for on the draw results for many years, but this year it finally happened. But instead of jumping up and down with excitement, there was more of a "finally" attitude between my dad and I.
Throughout the summer, dad ran into local folks that spent time on the mountain and they would share information. My dad would call me with a canyon where someone had seen a dandy bull. His enthusiasm for the hunt was increasing which made me happy, but he was pretty busy chasing some of his passions in life, like treasure-hunting and writing his personal memoirs.
I came down in June and we were able to make a loop up in some old haunts on Monroe looking mostly for the best camp spots in the places we wanted to hunt. We found a couple good velveted bulls as well. The reality hit me during the summer trip that this hunt was going to be tailored towards a good time spent with my dad and mom, and friends and not focused on big, giant bulls. My children were too busy (school and work) to come and be a part of the hunt, Emily had to work that week, so it would be a small camp with no children. I'll admit, it was a bit of a sad reality for me.
I made my way down from Cody, pulling my side by side. Dad had already pulled his pick-up up on the mountain to save us a camp spot. We got a great spot to call home real close to the "T" between Langdon Mtn and Box Creek. I pulled in around midnight and yanked the bedroll from my pick-up. I laid under the full-moon and listened for bugles. I heard some distant bugles before I faded to sleep.
Friday morning light came quickly and I hopped into the pick-up as it was fairly frigid and a utv ride didn't sound real pleasing. I drove the truck down towards the Dry Creek Guard Station. I stopped when I saw a bull 400 yards from the road staring at me. The sounds of echoing bugles through my open window directed my attention to the south. I pulled out the spotting scope and from my angle could only see 4 of the 6-7 bulls screaming in the rolling aspen/fir/grassland hills. I videoed one bull in particular who sported 340" of heavy beams chasing a small harem of cows. It was an epic morning and it lit my fire to hear all the bugling. The sun lit the landscape and along with the frigid temps. the bugles and rut activity dissipated into the warming air.
Saturday was opening day. My mom and dad, my brother-in-law Brandon, and my friends Tyler and Chris would be in camp Friday afternoon. I put up the 20' wall tent and waited for company under the shade of the aspens. My mom and dad showed up shortly after and I helped mom set-up her kitchen. She was excited and had planned meals and snacks for every breakfast, lunch, and dinner. She certainly makes sure nobody will go hungry.
That evening, we branched out and did our own scouting in different locations. My dad decided the first day he'd go for a 350" or bigger. At first light on opening morning, Brandon jumped in with us in my dad's vehicle while Tyler and Chris went off to find other bulls. We raced down to the area I had a rut frenzy the morning before just in time to watch a 340 class bull peak on the skyline brandishing his long, points. Monroe has lots of roads and I knew of one that we could most likely get around intercept the bull on. We did, and got within 100 yards of the bull. My dad elected to pass that bull. Brandon was going nuts in the back seat, "Shoot!"
We got to within rifle range of multiple good bulls on the o first day. We had a great time driving around and I was amazed how many bulls we were finding along the roadside. We had passed multiple 330-340" class bulls but nothing that would hit the 350" mark. Mom had friends over back at camp and had cooked dutch-oven ribs and potatoes for all of us. We left the bull below at last light on opening day to go and eat a record-book meal. What an evening around the fire with good friends and family.
My dad was a bit worn down from a lack of sleep, and bouncing around from the last two days. The second day of his hunt I could tell he was not living by the 350" rule anymore. Which I was fine with. Brandon had to leave that morning so it was just me and my dad. We were headed out to some of the same areas where we knew there were some cows milling around. The bugling was all far enough off the road, they were beyond our reach. I told dad let's go try south of camp as we hadn't seen too many hunters that direction.
The sun had already warmed the morning air and most elk had timbered up for the day. We drove from ridge to ridge locating bulls with bugles. On our third or fourth attempt, a bull bugled back from a large aspen grove. 200-300 yards from within the same grove, another bull croaked with a deep gurgle. My dad grabbed the rifle and tripod and we walked down the road from the vehicle a few hundred yards. "Just one pick-up driving through the canyon will screw up this stand, but what do we have to lose?" I told dad.
When my dad was ready on the tripod, I would bugle and then cut their responding bugles off with a challenge. I then started cow calling aggressively. The younger of the two bulls couldn't help himself and was getting frustrated with all the elk sounds. He left the cover of the aspens and came in on a string. Before we knew it, we was within 30 yards of us, "Don't shoot", I reminded dad. He was a 280-290" bull. The bull circled us, nose-flared and eyes bulging from it's skull, before leaving out the back door. The croaker bull's bugles echoed through the aspen grove but he sounded like he had cut the distance a little.
I hoped the bull would step out before a vehicle would drive by. Finally, a blonde spot appeared at the edge of the aspen grove.His body stature was much larger than the last bulls. I quickly looked him over with my binos. The bulls looked old, with shorter main beams but beautiful points. His front points hooked sharply, his thirds were not short, and his back-end looked perfectly uniform. I guessed him to be around 330 to 340.
My dad acted like it was a bull he wanted to kill the way he was shuffling the tripod and his feet, and his breathing changed. I told him to kill him if he'd like. The bull moseyed in taking his time...although it was truthfully only 1 or 2 minutes. I had ranged the bull at 211 when he stopped and gave dad a frontal shot. I asked dad if he was steady on the rifle, and he responded "yes". He pressed the trigger on the 6.5 PRC. The 140 ELD-M hit it's mark and the bull crumbled and fell, never even kicking it's legs out from underneath him.
It was a surreal moment. 25 years of wait. Over. Just like that. In a selfish way, I appreciated being alone with my dad right then. My dad isn't an emotional person and I'm not sure I even know if that moment ranked high on his list of best moments with his son. It was a moment I had been waiting for over half my life and because of that, it is one of my most cherished with my dad. There below us laid the one and only elk my dad will most likely kill in his lifetime.
This hunt had been talked about for so many years, the wait and the thought about the elk hunt may have truthfully been more exciting than the moment of anticlimax I was feeling standing on the mountain road with my dad. The feeling of ending a hunt too short. The feeling of what other bulls could we have found if we hadn't killed. The feeling of not having an excuse to spend more time bouncing around the southern Utah mtns with my dad, which has always been one of my favorite past times. I had mixed emotions but overwhelmed with happiness.The time felt right.
My dad drove the vehicle closer to the elk as I walked my way down off the road to the bull. We called mom, Brandon, Tyler, and Chris and they all headed over. It was another great moment to have everyone there and be a part of my dad's elk hunt. The bull is beautiful and my dad will European mount the skull in their home. We were able to load the entire bull into the back of a pick-up. Thanks Dad for the 25 year long ride and thanks mom for all your work in making this hunt a success! Also Thanks Brandon, Tyler and Chris for coming down and sharing in the experience.
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