“What’s wrong?” I asked my husband as he walked through the door. Brad wore a shocked look on his face that worried me when he replied, “You drew the elk tag.”
“What?” I replied with confusion. “You drew one of the most coveted elk tags in Arizona, Ashlie. And you have no points. That’s almost unheard of. That’s amazing!”
At the time, I did not realize just how wild it was that I had zero points and was drawn my very first year. Please don’t hate me. However, this is where the story begins, and this is when I committed to honor this amazing opportunity by going all in. I had never hunted before. Sure, I’ve sat in a blind with my husband, who is an avid hunter, but I had never shot a living thing in my life. I was born and raised in Southern California where surfing was my main hobby. Now, this was my chance to do something that my husband loves so passionately, and we could bond in this new way.
We decided that with the caliber of this hunt, it would be wise to hire a guide, and I’m so glad we did. After discussion with Matt White at Huntin’ Fool Adventures, we went with Jed Larson at A3. They’re the best in the business, if you ask me. I then began the training and prep from
ground zero. I started learning about gun safety, long-range shooting, and how to physically train for the terrain of my unit. Luckily, Brad knew all the things and we visited the unit to get accustomed to the landscape. What a beautiful part of the state! The terrain is very rugged, thorny, and densely wooded, which made for quite an interesting but adventurous hunt. We even brought our two daughters, Finlie and Sutton (9 and 5 years old), to look for sheds and scout. When it came time for the hunt, my parents were generous to stay at our house and watch our girls. Brad and I rented a cabin in my unit so that we’d be right in the action but still have a bed and warm shower to come back to after a long day. A girl’s gotta have her small luxuries, am I right?
The day we were leaving town, my close friend had been diagnosed with cancer while also pregnant with her fourth baby. She was having complications in the hospital, and I felt torn about embarking on the hunt given this life-threatening situation. We decided to continue but were ready to alter our plans. Fortunately, my friend’s husband communicated with us the next day that she had the baby prematurely, and they were both stable and healthy.
With all these variables at play and it being my first official hunt ever, I didn’t get much sleep at all that first or second night, maybe three hours. I was exhausted but also enthusiastic. The first and second days were extremely eventful with bugling bulls everywhere. We pursued several bulls on foot the second morning, hiking 13 miles before 11 a.m. I should note that it was unseasonably warm for this time of year, 92 degrees that day! Despite many close encounters the first two days, my number one priority was to get some sleep. Here’s where things took an unexpected turn.
At 3 a.m., I woke up feeling like something was very wrong. A wave of immense pain consumed my lower abdomen, and I knew instantly what it was – a ruptured ovarian cyst. Now, for those who don’t have ovaries or who haven’t experienced this physical event, it is quite excruciating. I’ve been in labor twice, and this was more painful. I’ve had ruptured cysts before, and they typically bring me to the hospital, but here I was in the middle of a hunt in the middle of nowhere. It felt like there was so much at stake with this being “the tag-of-a-lifetime” as everyone had told me. I didn’t want to disappoint anyone, most of all my husband, Brad. I lay there in bed too scared to move since that’s when the pain worsens as the blood and fluid start to fill the abdominal cavity.
I waited until I heard Brad wake up and then told him what was going on. Of course, when I stood up the pain worsened, but I didn’t want to admit it. We started pursuing the bugles as we had the previous two mornings. The pain intensified to such a degree that I was completely hunched over, largely unable to walk. Tears rolled down my face as we hiked, but I kept my head down so that Brad and Jed wouldn’t see them. I kept thinking about how badly I needed to stop, but I was too proud and too scared to disappoint them.
The guys noticed how much I was struggling, so they slowed down and we reevaluated. We pursued a great bull that came within 25 yards, so I set up, thinking this would be my chance at success, and let’s be honest, relief. The bull tucked his vitals directly behind a tree right when I was making my mark, and I didn’t feel confident with the shot. He spooked, and I felt utterly defeated.
We went back to the truck, and Jed reassured me that we’d still have plenty of opportunities. I didn’t think I could continue the hunt with the amount of pain I was experiencing. Once Brad and I returned to the cabin, I broke down, admitting I was in too much pain. The only remedy was to sit in one position and let the body reabsorb the fluid, which typically takes one to two weeks. I skipped the evening hunt to save energy for the morning. I had the same amount of pain but was determined to seal the deal. Jed accommodated the situation by taking us where we could do more glassing instead of hiking. I was not having the best outlook as we kept seeing young bulls across the ridge. I wanted to give up, but then we spotted a 7x7 bull. We started setting up for a long shot, but he slipped back into the woods. Again, I felt defeated and didn’t think I could keep up.
About 45 minutes later, the same bull emerged and started moving down the ridge where we were no longer in the right position. Jed asked if I could hike down the hillside so we could get a better shot. I knew this might be my last chance before my body gave out completely. We hiked along the rocky hillside and spotted him going to the bottom of the basin. He stopped in an open area only 260 yards away. I set up the rifle. “Shooter ready,” I stated. Shot fired. Straight to the vitals. He stumbled, and Jed prompted me to fire again. I loaded and fired again. Click. I freaked out for a second, and Brad came over and saw that the magazine wasn’t completely attached. I reloaded and fired once more. He was done.
I collapsed onto the hillside with tears streaming down my face in pure relief, pride, gratitude, and a tinge of sadness for the majestic animal that had just died at my hands. Brad cried with me because he knew I did this for him and I did this under circumstances that almost thwarted the whole hunt. I don’t think my husband has ever loved me more than he did in that moment. We sat there for a few minutes taking it all in and admiring the mammal that just gave its life. What an experience!
Then, the real work began of crossing the valley and stream to reach the bull and start the process of dressing and packing out. Our new friend, CJ, generously came out to help since I was in no shape to carry the meat. It completely astounded me that someone would take hours out of their day to hike into the woods to help pack out an elk for people he didn’t even know. What a testament of good humanity. It took several hours in the hot sun to pack out and then pack the animal up and out of that bottom. When I say these men are hard-working, it was a whole different echelon of hard work. Hundreds of pounds on their backs as they climbed this steep hillside. Truly in awe of them (Brad, Jed, and CJ) and the whole hunting process.
While it may be a while before I experience a hunt like this again, I have a whole new appreciation for this sport/activity/hobby/philosophy. While I’m bummed about my own injury, I’m incredibly proud of myself and grateful to the people who made this a successful hunt and overall experience. I realize I drew an incredible tag in my first year, which may seem almost unfair, but you can’t say that I didn’t give it my everything, just ask my ovaries!