November 2025
New Mexico Elk | The Challenge and The Adventure
The day had finally come. Feelings of excitement and anticipation consumed my brother Andy, my two friends Eric and Ben, and me as we headed west toward New Mexico. For the previous two years, our group had bow hunted elk in Colorado. We had yet to fill an elk tag and were planning to return for another try in 2024. During application season, I decided to swing for the fences in some hard to draw states and applied for New Mexico. On the day I got the email with a “Congratulations” in the opening line, I about fell over in disbelief.
Even though the rest of the guys didn’t have tags, they were gracious enough to accompany me and assist with the hunt. I prepared all year, training harder than I ever had in the past. The summer seemed to crawl by, but as per usual, season was upon us before we knew it.
Driving all through the night, we arrived in New Mexico the day before season and made it up to our first spot in the late afternoon. We used that night to familiarize ourselves with the unit and make a game plan for opening day. In the morning, we rose early and hunted hard all day but ran into only old sign. We ended up moving camp, and the days that followed proved to be some of the most exhilarating ones of our elk hunting journey up to that point. We were into elk every day and had a few thrilling encounters with a giant herd bull that would always manage to position a tree in between myself and his vitals.
On day nine, we attempted to pursue the big herd bull once more. This proved to be the most challenging day of hunting yet as all we ran into were other hunters and cattle. We decided to make a last-ditch effort that evening in some aspens near our camp. After a fruitless hike, we started our walk back to the truck. It was then that we heard a bugle near the road. Looking at each other, we sprang into action and quickly cut the distance.
Eric stayed back in some thicker cover so as to remain hidden from the bull’s line of sight if he came in while I snuck up to the base of a small hill just below the aspen bench we believed him to be on. As quietly as I could, I slipped my pack off of my shoulders and nocked an arrow. When Eric began to bugle and rake a tree, I heard branches popping up above me just over the hill and to my left.
A large part of the reason I hunt is for the feeling I get when an opportunity is about to present itself. I can only describe it as a dreamlike state where time slows down and nothing else exists in the world but you and the animal you are pursuing. It’s a place I have visited many times, but each time I step in the woods, I yearn to be there once more.
As I entered this trance of sorts, my brain seemed to evaluate the entire situation at lightning speed. The cool evening wind kissed the left side of my neck as the thermals sucked it down the draw I was positioned in. I knew I would have to make a move soon to keep the wind in my favor. Just then, the bull unleashed a chuckle that seemed to shake the earth. He was close, and I rushed to get into position directly underneath where I assumed him to be.
Antler tips crested the hilltop, followed just seconds later by the brown face and tan body of a bull elk. This was a sight I had dreamed of for years, and it was truly breathtaking. The bull’s shoulder muscle rippled under his skin as he came to a halt facing downhill, seemingly staring into my soul as his eyes searched for the intruder that dared to enter his domain. After what seemed like an hour, the bull didn’t see another elk and slowly turned to his left to leave. As his head swiveled, I came to full draw. He caught my movement and stopped broadside. I squeezed the trigger, the shot broke, and the bull immediately whirled.
I hung my head as I thought I’d missed him completely when he jumped at my shot. I looked back at Eric who was holding a thumbs up as he came running over to me. He was sure he heard the arrow connect, and a glimmer of hope shined in my head.
After searching the shot site for blood and not knowing for sure how good the hit was, we decided to slowly advance over the hill in case I needed to put a follow-up shot on the bull. Eric slipped off to my right, and I snuck up to where I thought I had heard the bull crashing through the brush on his departure.
As I scanned the forest floor through the broken timber, something tan caught my eye. I raised my binoculars, and sure enough, there was my elk piled up about 60 yards away! I waved Eric over, putting a finger to my lips, signaling to remain silent. I had always heard that an elk’s will to live is like nothing else in the world, and I got to see it for myself that night on the mountain. The bull was taking his final breaths, and I put a final arrow in him just to be sure. Knowing the end was drawing near, we slowly backed out so as to let him pass on in peace.
I was on cloud nine as we made a toast with a shooter of Fireball. We relived the final moments of the hunt over and over excitedly, both to each other and to our friends and family back home.
When we returned to the bull in the dark and found him expired, it was just like seeing him for the first time all over again. Every hunter knows the feelings that wash over you when you walk up on a big game animal, and with this being my first ever elk, these feelings were multiplied ten-fold. The elation, the relief, and the feeling of remorse for taking the life of something so majestic all mixed together and caused a turbulent sea of emotion in my mind. There were so many things that I wanted to say in that moment, but I found myself nearly speechless. The best I could manage was to lay my hand on the bull’s head and whisper a shaky “thank you” to both the bull and to God for such a surreal experience.
After snapping some photos, we put our knives to work and broke down the bull. We soon had the meat in game bags and the head ready for transport. Baffled at how big an elk actually is, we decided to make three trips and started the pack out.
When we returned to the kill site for the last load, we leaned back against our packs, cracked a cold beer, and gazed upward. The Land of Enchantment’s sky didn’t disappoint with stars beaming brightly throughout its vast expanse. After sitting in silence for some time taking in the mountain night, we loaded the last of the meat into Eric’s pack and I shouldered the bull’s head and cape. Our headlamps finally met the taillights of my pickup, and we dropped our heavy loads onto the tailgate. I don’t think anything could have wiped the smiles off our faces at that moment.
The next day, we were busy breaking camp, taking meat to the locker, and caping out the bull’s head. That night, we found a hotel and booked a room. After pizza and a hot shower, we made a fire in the fireplace. The pizza hit the spot, and the beer tasted way too good to have just one. As I stared into the fire, its flames dancing and casting shadows around the room, I reflected on the wild journey we’d had. The highs, the lows, and everything in between flowed through my mind and everything seemed right with the world in that moment.
People back home always ask me why I love elk hunting so much. The truth is, it’s hard to put it all into words. I think it’s the challenge and the adventure that keep me coming back. There is something deep inside that pulls me high into the mountains and down into the darkest canyons, praying that I might hear just one more bugle on a magical September evening. Even if I can’t ever put the answer to that question into words, each year, my truck will be pointed west toward another great adventure and amazing experience that only chasing the mighty wapiti can provide in the hopes that one day I’ll figure it out.