As a kid growing up in Wisconsin, I distinctly remember watching my Dad and his buddies packing up the motorhome to head west and hunt elk in the mountains. Seeing them take off year after year made me dream of taking that same trip at some point in my life. Over 20 years would pass before I got my first chance to head into the mountains and chase my own elk.
I grew up learning to bow hunt in Wisconsin over small plowed fields and in the timber waiting for whitetails to make their way past my tree stand. With this style of hunting, success is a result of the hard work put into the off-season, managing the land, scouting in the summer and your ability to slip into the woods for the silent ambush. It takes a lot of effort to set yourself up for success, and today this is much more difficult since moving away from Wisconsin, thousands of miles from any fertile whitetail grounds.
Living on the left coast in California makes it hard to participate in the ritual of bowhunting whitetails. When Fall rolls around my thoughts are consumed by how the season is playing out across the Midwest. It’s a tough time of year to be away from all the action in the woods, but I put myself there by living vicariously through text messages with my buddies back home and stories posted across social media.
All of this changed for me after three years of living in CA when I got my first chance to elk hunt. My Dad and I had been tossing around the idea for a few years of putting together this type of hunt, and finally the cards fell into place to make it happen. For this first trip we planned a hunt just outside of Meeker, CO with a family friend during the fourth rifle season. At the time, I had little understanding of how much the experience would impact me as a hunter.