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"My Hunt of a Lifetime"
Written by Kevin White

Kevin's Big Bull
Kevin's big bull.
Hunting has been a long time tradition in my family. I have always tagged along with my dad and grandpa as they pursued big bucks and bulls. I knew from day one that I would want to do the same as them. I have always enjoyed spending time in the outdoors, and always will.

My story begins as I waited in anticipation to see if my dad and I were fortunate enough to draw elk tags in my home state of Washington. There were only about 56 tags available for the area we applied for, so luck would really need to be on our side just to draw a tag.
I was amazed when the results were in and we had drawn. I immediately picked up the phone and called my dad to give him the good news. We were both thrilled, since I would be pursuing my first big bull and my dad would be returning to his quest to take trophy bull.

After setting up camp the day before the opening, dad and I headed out on our motorcycles to see what we could find that evening. We located a herd feeding on an open hillside and there was one very good bull in the group. We decided he was definitely a taker and that we would hunt for him on opening morning.

Dad's Big Bull
Dad's big bull.
We headed out before light on the motorcycles and arrived at the top of the ridge right at daylight. We hunted along an old skid road, glassing the hillside below as we went. My dad spotted 9 cows below us. We figured that the rest of the herd would be close by, so we decided to move just a little further around the hill and see what we could see.
As we rounded the hill we were startled when all heck broke loose. Elk were going everywhere, like a herd of wild horses. I caught a glimpse of a huge bull running down the hill, but couldn't get a shot off. I looked to my left and there was another bull. He wasn't as good as the bull that had already disappeared, but he was a taker. My dad said that if I didn't shoot, he would. So I steadied my .270 Winchester across my knee and squeezed the trigger. The bull instantly dropped.

We had a bull down, but I knew there was still another, larger, bull nearby. Both my dad and I ran up the hill, hoping to get a better view and maybe see that larger bull again. Then we spotted the herd walking up the hill towards another skid road. I pointed out the bull to my dad. He fired several shoots as the bull headed for the trees. We weren't sure, but thought that one of the bullets may have connected.

The Pack Out
After that bull went into the trees, we turned and looked back towards my downed bull. He wasn't down anymore! I fired three shots as my wounded bull went down the hill and out of sight. We quickly got on the blood trail and found him expired a short distance into the trees.

After taking care of my bull, we went in search of the bull my dad had shot at. We found a few specks along with a couple quarter-sized drops of blood, but that was it. We followed his tracks as far as we could, but eventually lost them. We split up and began searching for blood again. Then, dad called me over. There was his big bull, wedged between two trees. It was a great hunt!