November 2025
Story By: Towson Jenkins
Wyoming Elk | The Wild Wilderness
Between being in the Military, work, shooting competitively, and a love of the outdoors, I have been fortunate to have visited 42 different states and multiple different countries. I’ve been across the country and across the world, for that matter. All the places hold their own type of beauty and adventure, breathtaking scenery can be found all around us, but nothing in this world quite compares to the pure and raw adventure of the Wyoming wilderness.
Many people shy away from the thought of venturing into the wilderness due to grizzlies and wolves or the grueling distances needed to hike or the horse rides that will test even some of the most seasoned riders. The fear and pain of it all is quickly erased once you step foot into those mountains. There truly is nothing like it. It’s steep and nasty with huge, beautiful plateaus that sit 11,000 feet and more in elevation. The rivers are crystal clear, and the land, besides the occasional horse trail, is as wild as anywhere in this world. The elk that roam these mountain ranges are giant. Many states and places have the Yellowstone elk gene to thank for their big bulls and great genetics. I’ve seen 400” elk that have been harvested or found in the wilderness areas, so while in there, you never quite know what you’re going to turn up.
Part of the requirement for these trips is having a good cowboy at the head of your pack string. I’ve been fortunate enough to have been introduced to Dan Holman. Uncle Dan is salt of the earth, an incredible human being, and when you think of a Wyoming cowboy, he is the very definition. This was our second trip in with Dan. We were heading to a new spot that he had been to in order to help a friend fill his bighorn sheep tag. We rode in 20 miles the first day and set up camp. We had passed some sheep hunters on the way in who encouraged us saying the elk were screaming, and the anticipation grew as we continued up the trail towards our destination. The first night, we set up camp and explored the area. We turned up nothing but bighorn sheep and fresh grizz sign.
The next morning, we woke up and went a different direction in our basin, still not turning up any fresh elk sign, and we started to get a little discouraged. That night sitting down, Dan told us of another basin that he had hunted sheep in another 10 miles in, so the next morning, we hiked up to the top. We got there and sat down midday, waiting to glass for the evening. About an hour before we figured the elk would start moving, smoke from a wildfire blew in and filled the basin. We decided the next morning we would pack up camp and drop into the basin and commit to the change.
Much of the next day was spent traveling up and over the mountain pass to our final destination of our hunt, climbing some steep and very nasty terrain to drop down into one of the most beautiful places I have ever witnessed. My best friend and I climbed to the top of a plateau that night to try and glass for elk, and not 20 minutes into glassing, we found our first bull, then our second and third. They just started flowing out of the timberline. There was a huge wallow system below us, and we watched for about an hour and then glassed up two mature bulls. We watched them wallow and rut for a while and then headed back down to camp to get water and make a game plan for the morning.
We had just about made it to the creek below camp when I looked up and saw a bull on the edge of the timber. I quickly grabbed my best friend, Spencer, and we scooted to the tree line to set up a calling sequence. I cow called a few times, and the bull seemed uninterested in us. I did a loud cow estrus call and heard another bugle about 500 yards across the meadow. We saw a great bull appear from the timber. I told Spencer there was no way I was going to bring him all the way across an open meadow to us. No sooner had I said that than he came running! I had never seen a mature bull cover that much open space reacting to a call, but the rut was full swing and so was he. I set Spencer up, scooted back, and continued to call as the bull came screaming and running across the meadow, throwing grass and mud and willows all along the way. He stopped at 45 yards facing me and put on one of the most epic displays as he stood in the creek throwing water and mud 15+ feet into the air, screaming at us the whole time. I turned my head and closed my mouth to make him think the cow was further away. He took the bait, giving Spencer his first opportunity he had ever had at a bull elk with his bow. Unfortunately, the shot was low, hitting the brisket bone, and the arrow bounced off the elk. He trotted back across the meadow, screaming all the way.
The next morning was spent looking for his bull, doing our due diligence to ensure the shot was not fatal. After searching all morning and not finding blood or any sign, we knew the bull would be fine. After lunch, I ventured up onto the very top of the plateau to search for elk and explore the area. It was there that I first laid eyes on a herd clear above timberline, hanging out in the cliffs above a band of bighorn sheep. To keep out of sight of the herd, I had to climb to 11,600 feet and circle a couple of miles around them to come in behind. I dropped my pack off at the top of the plateau and began what I thought would be a quick descent down to the elk. As I got closer, I realized that more elk had joined the herd and they had moved up the cliffs a little, so I had to scale a cliff and then low crawl on my belly to the only little brush on the mountain. I made it to the brush, took off my boots and my pants, and got into my underwear as I do for stalks on mule deer because I knew this was going to be a close encounter.
I stepped around the bush, and all the elk fed out into the cliffs to drink the water from the glacier. I was out of defilade and pinned in that spot until the elk moved. I sat in 65 degrees, watching Tombstone and Jeremiah Johnson on my phone. It then turned from 65 to raining and then snow. I told myself that if the elk didn’t move by 5:30 I was going to cow call. Doing this, I knew the bull would do one of two things – either come close enough to maybe give me a shot, or he would turn and gather his cows and run. I figured it would be the latter of the two, so I waited, shaking uncontrollably.
At 5:05, the elk stood up and fed below defilade. As soon as they did, I got up and ran across the remaining open space. I made it to the last bit of cover I had, nocked an arrow, and watched all the cows feeding up and to my right. I knew it was only a matter of time before the wind swirled or a cow saw me, so I stayed ready, waiting for the bull to give me an opportunity. He fed up into my line of sight, and I was still shaking profusely. However, as I stood and drew, the adrenaline took over and my body’s muscle memory from thousands of reps took over. I executed a perfect shot and watched as the bull ran downhill 50 yards and tipped over.
I walked up on my bull and took a moment to soak it all in. Sitting behind a big, mature bull elk in one of the most incredible places in the world, I will never forget that sight. It is what will keep me coming back for as long as I can, hopefully for many years to come.