Truth be told, my cumulative knowledge of how to hunt elk amounts to nothing. The last time I drew an elk tag was over 20 years ago. The early rifle bull elk tag in Arizona is absolutely a premier tag, and to me, it was worth the 23-year wait. My good friend, George Alcorta, was planning scouting trips in the same game management unit for a pending antelope hunt, so we combined resources and made several scouting trips together. Georges’ reputation as a hunter is without peer in our neck of the woods, and he has on more than one occasion been referred to as “The guy who can find a 100-inch Coues deer in a Walmart parking lot.”
After several scouting trips, we located many elk, but nothing we considered a “shooter” bull. In the interim, my buddy was successful on his antelope hunt with his wife, Carol, harvesting a beautiful 80" buck. Since his hunt finished on a positive note early, George was able to dedicate more time to my elk hunt.
The plan was for me and my compadre, Vic, to be in the unit a week prior to opening day to set up camp and attempt to locate a good bull. The weather was pleasant during the day, but it rained at night. I was concerned about the deteriorating road conditions, but the damp nights did not adversely affect our ability to scout the areas I was tasked with looking into.
While we did find elk, including a couple of nice bulls, I was told they were not “shooters.” To be clear, I’ve hunted since I was old enough to drive into the hills. In all that time, it has never been necessary for me to kill the biggest of anything. I simply want to have fun and not embarrass myself or let down those helping by missing a shot or opportunity. Even at that, George suggested he hold the ammunition.
Early in the hunt, the temperature was moderate. However, the first morning, the temperature dropped under 40 degrees and the bulls were screaming. Every bull we saw looked to me like we should shoot him. George, however, followed every sighting with, “We can do better.” We saw one bull in a stalkable position three different days. He was in a clearing with a cow elk and never ventured far. George gave him a hard pass with, “We can do better.”
The third morning of the hunt, we were once again in the middle of screaming bulls. On this day, my son, Adrian, joined us. We hiked a couple of miles in, and after a long morning, we opted to wait for the evening hunt in order to not give up the position we were in. As the evening approached, the bulls cranked up and it was time to follow bugles. Soon, we were in the middle of the action. The first bull that came into Georges’ cow calling was a young bull that refused to believe we were not cow elk, followed by George saying, “We can do better.”
A few moments later, a second raspy, deep-sounding bull was getting closer with every call. George said he sounded really good and that I should be ready. I was carrying a bat action single shot 28 Nosler. We had tested the rifle to 800 yards, and I was ready to do my part. The bugling elk was so close that we could hear it walking. Just as it cleared the last cedar, George whispered, “Wait, don’t shoot!” I almost shot that bull, and it was the first time George said something other than, “We can do better.” As I looked closer, I could see the bull had only one antler. George said, “If he had the other one, we would have taken him”.
My son whispered and pointed, “There are some cow elk about 100 yards down.” As soon as he said it, we located the couple of cows and saw they were being followed by a very nice bull. George cow called as he looked through his binoculars and whispered, “Gabe, shoot.” I was aiming small on the bull’s shoulder and never even saw the antlers. I have hunted enough with George to just shoot when he says shoot. The custom rifle was fitted with a very nice suppressor, and as I fired, I heard the distinctive “Whop!” and saw the bull drop. As we got closer, George said, “Don’t trust him. Load another round and shoot again.” I did. My son soon after commented, “I can’t believe you guys got that close to that huge of an animal without firing another shot!”
This bull elk was, as most mature bulls are, really big! It was almost 6 p.m., and the sun was on the horizon. After all the hugging and thanking, we needed a plan. The truck was almost two and a half miles away. George volunteered to hike back to the truck, go back to camp, hook up the Polaris side-by-side, and find a way back in. As he started off, he said, “I should be back about midnight.” My son and I had a lot of work ahead of us, so we were not overly concerned. The last thing George said was, “It’s going to get cold if you need to start a fire.”
We rested briefly, laughed a little, and got to work. As long as we stayed busy, the dropping temperature went mostly unnoticed. As midnight approached and most of the bull was hung up, the temperature really dropped. As my son finished removing meat on the bull’s neck, I did laps in an attempt to stay warm.
In our haste, we left our fire-making supplies in the truck. The next couple of hours were miserably cold. George was able to get a call through at about 1:30 a.m. He said he was unable to safely navigate to our location, even in the side-by-side, and we would have to walk out. The walk out was a mixed blessing. It did not feel so cold, and despite being really tired, we were making progress. Between onX, Google Earth, and our flashlights, we finally made it to the Polaris General.
We made it back to camp at 4 a.m. We needed to be back out at least by 7 a.m. After a very short night, the recovery was quick and anti-climatic. The side-by-sides and being able to see far enough to navigate made all the difference. Back in camp, George said, “Don’t worry, it won’t be long before you forget how miserable last night was, how sore you are, and all you will have left is a good story.” As we toasted the hunt, the elk, and the camaraderie, I was starting to feel a little more relaxed. I took a walk down the road through the pines near camp. This was one of my very best hunting trips. I thought about how much I owed George who has always been so generous, my son for being such a large part of a really good memory, and, my buddies, Vic and Robert, for taking the time to help me.
As I walked back into camp, George asked, “Are you still sore?”
I paused, smiled, and asked, “From what?”
After several scouting trips, we located many elk, but nothing we considered a “shooter” bull. In the interim, my buddy was successful on his antelope hunt with his wife, Carol, harvesting a beautiful 80" buck. Since his hunt finished on a positive note early, George was able to dedicate more time to my elk hunt.
The plan was for me and my compadre, Vic, to be in the unit a week prior to opening day to set up camp and attempt to locate a good bull. The weather was pleasant during the day, but it rained at night. I was concerned about the deteriorating road conditions, but the damp nights did not adversely affect our ability to scout the areas I was tasked with looking into.
While we did find elk, including a couple of nice bulls, I was told they were not “shooters.” To be clear, I’ve hunted since I was old enough to drive into the hills. In all that time, it has never been necessary for me to kill the biggest of anything. I simply want to have fun and not embarrass myself or let down those helping by missing a shot or opportunity. Even at that, George suggested he hold the ammunition.
Early in the hunt, the temperature was moderate. However, the first morning, the temperature dropped under 40 degrees and the bulls were screaming. Every bull we saw looked to me like we should shoot him. George, however, followed every sighting with, “We can do better.” We saw one bull in a stalkable position three different days. He was in a clearing with a cow elk and never ventured far. George gave him a hard pass with, “We can do better.”
The third morning of the hunt, we were once again in the middle of screaming bulls. On this day, my son, Adrian, joined us. We hiked a couple of miles in, and after a long morning, we opted to wait for the evening hunt in order to not give up the position we were in. As the evening approached, the bulls cranked up and it was time to follow bugles. Soon, we were in the middle of the action. The first bull that came into Georges’ cow calling was a young bull that refused to believe we were not cow elk, followed by George saying, “We can do better.”
A few moments later, a second raspy, deep-sounding bull was getting closer with every call. George said he sounded really good and that I should be ready. I was carrying a bat action single shot 28 Nosler. We had tested the rifle to 800 yards, and I was ready to do my part. The bugling elk was so close that we could hear it walking. Just as it cleared the last cedar, George whispered, “Wait, don’t shoot!” I almost shot that bull, and it was the first time George said something other than, “We can do better.” As I looked closer, I could see the bull had only one antler. George said, “If he had the other one, we would have taken him”.
My son whispered and pointed, “There are some cow elk about 100 yards down.” As soon as he said it, we located the couple of cows and saw they were being followed by a very nice bull. George cow called as he looked through his binoculars and whispered, “Gabe, shoot.” I was aiming small on the bull’s shoulder and never even saw the antlers. I have hunted enough with George to just shoot when he says shoot. The custom rifle was fitted with a very nice suppressor, and as I fired, I heard the distinctive “Whop!” and saw the bull drop. As we got closer, George said, “Don’t trust him. Load another round and shoot again.” I did. My son soon after commented, “I can’t believe you guys got that close to that huge of an animal without firing another shot!”
This bull elk was, as most mature bulls are, really big! It was almost 6 p.m., and the sun was on the horizon. After all the hugging and thanking, we needed a plan. The truck was almost two and a half miles away. George volunteered to hike back to the truck, go back to camp, hook up the Polaris side-by-side, and find a way back in. As he started off, he said, “I should be back about midnight.” My son and I had a lot of work ahead of us, so we were not overly concerned. The last thing George said was, “It’s going to get cold if you need to start a fire.”
We rested briefly, laughed a little, and got to work. As long as we stayed busy, the dropping temperature went mostly unnoticed. As midnight approached and most of the bull was hung up, the temperature really dropped. As my son finished removing meat on the bull’s neck, I did laps in an attempt to stay warm.
In our haste, we left our fire-making supplies in the truck. The next couple of hours were miserably cold. George was able to get a call through at about 1:30 a.m. He said he was unable to safely navigate to our location, even in the side-by-side, and we would have to walk out. The walk out was a mixed blessing. It did not feel so cold, and despite being really tired, we were making progress. Between onX, Google Earth, and our flashlights, we finally made it to the Polaris General.
We made it back to camp at 4 a.m. We needed to be back out at least by 7 a.m. After a very short night, the recovery was quick and anti-climatic. The side-by-sides and being able to see far enough to navigate made all the difference. Back in camp, George said, “Don’t worry, it won’t be long before you forget how miserable last night was, how sore you are, and all you will have left is a good story.” As we toasted the hunt, the elk, and the camaraderie, I was starting to feel a little more relaxed. I took a walk down the road through the pines near camp. This was one of my very best hunting trips. I thought about how much I owed George who has always been so generous, my son for being such a large part of a really good memory, and, my buddies, Vic and Robert, for taking the time to help me.
As I walked back into camp, George asked, “Are you still sore?”
I paused, smiled, and asked, “From what?”