November 2025
British Columbia Elk | Feeling Alive
When was the last time you really felt alive? For myself, it was October in British Columbia. I get that feeling of being alive in environments that fill my senses with new and exciting sights and sounds. It's the feeling I have when I am keeping my eye on sheep perched on rocky outcrops in desert mountains as I am climbing into range with the cold, crisp air of fall filling my lungs. It is the sight of a river violently cutting deep through the mountains of the wilderness as I stand high above with a screaming bull elk making his way into my position. So many other sights and sounds of the woods, wilderness, and deserts fill my soul with that amazing feeling.
With that said, I can tell you this hunt will go down as one of the most fulfilling experiences of my life that all started because of a hunt application error.
My 2024 fall hunt plans were set, but my friend submitted his information incorrectly and we ended up with a rejected application. I immediately pivoted to my next year's hunt plans. A call to Huntin’ Fool got me a booking with Johnny Nikirk, owner of Nikirk Outfitting. The hunt checked all the boxes of what I was looking for, and my deposit was off in the mail, leaving only a few months to condition my 55-year-old body to try and modestly perform at 6,000 feet. Then I got Covid 10 days before my trip, which made this hunt all the more physically challenging.
On October 1st, I left Atlanta, Georgia and headed to British Columbia. Upon arrival, I was introduced to my guides Mark and Spencer, and later that night, I was in my tent getting rest before our first hunt. That next morning, I found myself on a mountain in the blowing snow. Later that morning, we were able to glass some bulls with cows and my guide had a plan. Four hours later, we found ourselves above the area where he thought the biggest bull was. When Mark hit his call, I knew he had us in the right place! With Spencer at my side, we hid behind a blowdown with Mark 50 yards behind us. Shortly after, I saw antlers coming up the mountain at around 150 yards. Could this actually be happening? Almost! That bull (a solid 6x6) got to about 75 yards but never presented a shot opportunity.
Day two found us covering many miles and gaining elevation to reach more remote areas to relocate our camp. We had two days of steady rain and had another close encounter. A bugle cut the silence one evening, and we were off in pursuit. With Spencer at my side again and Mark located behind us, the bull started coming, and he was close. My heart was racing so hard that I could feel it in my temples. I triple checked my safety, bracing footing, swing, and field of view. Then, with a slight swirl of a cold breeze on my neck, came silence. My heart sank. I was busted! This is hunting, no guarantees. Mother Nature is so unforgiving and in the same breath presents you amazing experiences that make you feel so alive. Darkness fell, and we made our way to camp.
Days three to five blended together, and as much as each day was the same, it was also different. Mark and Spencer were always calculating our next move as each day unfolded. There were so many variables to consider, and the rut was winding down. It made the miles of hiking feel longer and the landscape feel empty, but it’s in times like this that you learn what you and your team are made of, and by now, I felt like I was part of a team. Each of us had a part to play to make this hunt successful. I knew my part. Be safe, be ready, and don't miss.
I’ll never forget day six. A major pivot in strategy found us high on a mountain saddle enduring cold winds. After some nervous cows ran past our position without a bull following, we knew something was up. Bulls were fighting! As we stalked the sounds of the fight, it broke up and we ended up following a bugle for close to four to five miles. At times, there were long periods of silence, and just when we thought we had lost him, a lone bugle would give affirmation that we were on the right track.
Finally, fresh droppings, tracks, and bugles were so close they almost hit us in the face! I looked at Mark, and he was looking at the fork in that elk trail. I could tell he was contemplating a tough decision. Yep, he chose not to follow the bull. Just another 50 yards of stalk and I just knew I could get a shot, but this is why you hire a guide and choose an outfitter that knows their business. Walking up the trail away from the bull, I just knew we had made a mistake, but after five days of being with my new team, I trusted my guides.
Later, we were set up on a bend in the mountainside with no bull. It felt awful to be so close and then walk away. Just as those thoughts ran through my mind, a bugle cut the silence high above us. Then another from below. These bulls sounded younger, and they started working their way to each other and we were in the middle. We were back in the game! As the two bulls traded their challenges, a familiar bugle sounded. It was one we had been chasing all day. Mark had us in the right spot! We scanned and listened until my eyes caught a blond spot about 150 yards below me in the thick. Then I saw an antler move. It was so thick with vegetation that my guides and I struggled to verify what I thought I saw.
Mark said, “I see him. Get in position and shoot!”
I locked in, but I couldn't see the bull, only one antler now and then. I told Mark I had no shot and that I needed to get closer. I knew it was risky, but with no positive reference for a shot, I wasn't comfortable. I laid backwards and started a 30-yard descent. My heart raced with worry that I was about to blow six days of hunting, but my instincts told me I needed to be closer. Now in position, I looked for my bull. Totally disoriented, I frantically searched and then an antler moved. At only 120 yards away, I saw the body mass of the bull shrouded with heavy vegetation lying in his bed. I saw the light color of his body through the brush and the dark hair of his neck. It was exactly what I needed, and my crosshairs found their mark where those shades came together. My trigger finger went tight, and the rifle recoiled. Mark yelled, “He stood up!” Did I miss? Nope, I didn't miss. That bull took that bullet and stood up! I reloaded, the empty cartridge didn't eject, and I frantically cleared my bolt. Back in my scope, the rifle recoiled again and Mark yelled, “You dropped him!”
I had no idea what this bull looked like. I had only been able to briefly see one obscured antler. When I finally did see him, I was ecstatic! I had always dreamed of taking a large, dar- antlered British Columbia elk since I was a child, and he was there right in front of me.
We had a tough decision to make. There was no way we could pack this elk out tonight. We were exhausted, darkness was falling, and we were in grizzly territory. We could hole up, make shelter, and save hours of hard hiking to get off the mountain, or we could grind our way out of there, get back to camp, and recharge to make our retrieval the next day. The decision was made for the latter, and we left the field dressed elk on the mountain for the night.
The next day found us back on the mountain with my elk. A whole day of butchering and packing ensued, and I cannot thank my guides and outfitter enough for their extremely hard work of packing this elk out. No roads and no trails. Two trips in and eight packs later, a setting sun found my elk on the back of a UTV.
Standing on the side of the mountain holding the rack of my elk and watching the sun set brought back so many memories. The many trials and hardships of this hunt that led up to this success only made it all the more satisfying. At that moment as I breathed the cold, crisp air in and out, I gave thanks for my hardships, my guides, the mountain, and the bull. I felt alive, and it felt good.