Tying off the horses, we hiked to higher ground where we started glassing. After four hours of intense searching and not seeing a single elk, the skies cleared. By early afternoon the snow was gone and temperatures began to rise.

I held a prized commissioner’s elk tag, and teamed up with noted guide Justin Jarrett, of Wapiti Ridge Outfitters. Justin had guided several commissioner’s and governor’s elk tag holders in recent years. We both were confident we’d have a crack at a big bull.

We chose to hunt Unit 58 southwest of Cody, Wyo. A few years prior, a buddy drew a coveted tag for this unit. I went along on that hunt, and every day we saw bulls in the 375-inch class. We also saw a few in the upper 390s. We saw more than 20 big bulls each day, and that’s what I hoped for on my hunt.

Hunting off horseback, we figured we’d be able to get the job done on a 390-class bull in two to three days. After day five, we grew nervous.

Days Passed

As darkness began to consume the valleys we glassed on day one of the hunt, we finally caught a glimpse of elk. A few small bulls were feeding out from the timber, but nothing over 320 inches.

Day two found us on the south side of the unit, and though we saw more than 20 bulls, none was big enough to get excited about. On the third day, we caught a herd just as it fed into the timber. We decided to wait for those elk to move out of the trees, because we couldn’t get a good look at all the animals.

Temperatures climbed higher each day, well into the upper 60s by day three. It was unseasonably warm, and the elk were only staying in the open during the first and last few minutes of daylight. During the day, no animals moved, period.

By noon, nothing had budged, and we knew we were in for a long day. Then, sustained winds in excess of 40 mph kicked up and lasted until dark. The elk never left the timber.

We were filming the hunt for television and needed to adjust our approach accordingly. This meant still-hunting our way through thick timber wasn’t an option, due to harsh lighting changes. We had to catch a calm, big bull in the open.

On the fourth day of the hunt, Justin decided to concentrate on the northern fringes of the unit. We covered lots of ground, but saw nothing.

Thus far, the eastern side of the unit is where we’d seen the most bulls, and that’s where we decided to spend day five. By this time, the local hunters who held bull and cow tags had reached the same conclusion we did as to where the elk were, and we saw more than a dozen hunters out and about.

Last Chance

Day six, the final day of the hunt, started with us in the saddle at 4 a.m. As the sun rose, we glassed from atop a high ridge. Within seconds Justin spotted the biggest bull of the hunt. Just as we made it to the 360-inch bull, his backside vanished into the timber. No shot was fired.

We rode up to the next ridge and glassed another timberline. A 350-inch bull glowed as the sun topped the mountain and illuminated his yellow coat. Then a bigger bull stepped out. “He’s a solid 7x7 that will easily go 375,” Justin excitedly whispered as he peered through the spotting scope. During a typical year, we should have been passing up bulls like this all day long.

As happened the previous days, temperatures quickly warmed, and the bulls wasted no time feeding into the heavily shaded timber. Though the big bull was well over a mile away, we decided to ride the horses to that point and wait him out until evening.

By noon, three other hunters rode through the very timber where the bull sought seclusion. By 2 p.m., two more hunters would ride through the same timber patch.

No elk moved the entire day, but with an hour of light remaining, we were settled in, optimistically glassing from the highest point. Then Justin caught glimpse of a herd as they moved into the bottom of a valley.

The herd was low in elevation, and we could see a couple respectable bulls, but it was too brushy to tell exactly how big they were. “These elk are about as close as we’re going to get ’em,” Justin said, “and we still have to cover over a half-mile to reach them.” Given the location of the herd, we decided to make a move, hoping there was a big bull among them.

We trotted the horses down the back side of the hill, then through a brushy creek bottom toward where the elk were heading. Our intent was to cut them off in the last patch of mixed spruce and aspen trees.

When we broke into the first meadow, we figured we had an additional 400 yards to go. Then we spotted a lone cow. She saw us, too. In the fading light, however, she couldn’t tell what we were. Slowly, we slithered off the horses, left them standing in the middle of the meadow and used their bodies as cover to sneak back into the brush we’d just ridden through. It worked, and soon we were quietly jogging up a wooded draw, trying to close the distance before dark.

Three hundred yards from the herd, Justin spotted two bulls. One was OK, the other a bit bigger, pushing 340 inches.

“What do you want to do?” Justin asked. Looking at the bull through the binoculars, his impressive high, long-tined rack looked good to me. “Shoot him,” I replied.

We had five minutes of filming light left.

Quickly, we continued moving up the creek bottom. As we set up the shooting sticks, elk started shuffling by, single file, 150 yards from us. Two minutes later, the bull appeared. He had no idea we were there.

Placing the glowing apex of the Trijicon scope behind the bull’s shoulder, it was easy finding the mark. Pulling the trigger, the .300 Winchester Magnum punched a hole through both lungs of the bull.

As we walked toward the fallen bull, Justin looked back in the meadow where we’d left the horses. They were gone. We had no time and no place to tie them off, and the shot spooked them. The question was, how far did they run?

While Justin ran to find the horses, Travis Ralls, my cameraman, and I took care of the bull. Like Travis, I left my pack on the horse. It had all my gear in it, from knives to flashlights to warm clothes, food and matches. What worried us was spending the night out there, because we had no survival gear among the three of us. Though the daytime temperatures were near 70 degrees, the nighttime temperatures would drop into the teens.

Fortunately, Travis had a headlamp in his pocket. Justin had no light. I did have a 2-inch pocket knife, and that’s what I field-dressed the bull with. Not ideal, but it worked.

As we finished field-dressing the bull, we heard the distant whinny of a horse. Miraculously, Justin had found all three horses, together, nearly a mile from where we’d left them.

Riding the horses out in the pitch dark through bogs, across creeks, over blown-down trees and through thick timber was not what I’d call fun, but knowing we’d worked so hard and come away with a good bull, it was gratifying. Shortly after 10 p.m., we made it back to the rig and unsaddled the horses.

Was the bull all we’d hoped for? Obviously not. Not when the hunt began. But several variables changed, and all were against us. That’s hunting, and if I had to do it all over again, I wouldn’t change a thing.

Excessively warm weather and intense hunting pressure forced the bulls to alter their seasonal routine. The fact we were trying to capture the hunt for TV didn’t help matters.

Over a six-day period, we spent 93 hours in the field, much of it on horseback in the dark covering ground. Given the hard work and the team effort that went into this bull, he was one of my most memorable elk ever. Often that’s what the hunt is all about – the efforts and memories surrounding it, not the size of headgear the animal carries. Sometimes, we just need to be reminded of that.

Note: Justin Jarrett can be reached at (800) 843-7885 or www.wapitiridgeoutfitters.com.

Scott Haugen is a full-time writer and host of “Trijicon’s Game Chasers,” on Outdoor Channel. To order signed copies of his latest book, “Life In The Scope: The West” visit www.scotthaugen.com.