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Weapon: Browning A-Bolt 30_06 After four years of unsuccessfully chasing the elusive Rocky Mountain Elk with my bow through the mountain timber of New Mexico's Santa Fe National forest. I had an invitation to rifle hunt a ranch that bordered the Carson National Forest. I figured maybe with a rifle I might be able to harvest North Americas most majestic game animal. Little Bobcat Ranch is located just outside Red River, New Mexico. The Ranch sits at about 10,000 feet, the large meadows and available water makes the ranch a prime destination for the elk herds of the Cimarron Range of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. Not only did our Cabin offer tremendous views of Wheeler Mountain, New Mexico's highest peak, but we could walk right out of the backdoor into our hunting area. It was opening day and my expectations were high; especially after a herd of elk had been spotted the night before crossing the back of the ranch. That morning we were out early and it did not take long to spot our first elk. It was just light enough to glimpse a herd moving toward the dark timber, but not light enough to shoot. My guide, Brandon, and I decided we would try to circle around and get in front of them. Ten minutes into the hunt and I was already running up and down the mountain hills. I am not sure if was the thrill of the hunt or that I was not yet used to the higher elevations, but I was having a hard time catching my breath. As the sun peaked over the mountains it illuminated an old homestead from the early 1800’s, a cluster of log cabins in surprisingly good shape. I wondered if the homesteaders had much luck chasing elk in their back yard. The resonating sound of bugling elk ahead of us in the timber was exhilarating but, also indicated that we were unable to get in front of them. After attempting to entice them with a few calls, it was determined that the clever elk were not coming back down that morning. We decided that we should return that afternoon and set up on the edge of this meadow in hopes that the herd would make its way down the mountain by means of the same trail. On the trek back to the cabin I was full of enthusiasm from an encounter that only a hunter understands. We headed out about 1:00pm that afternoon to get settled into an excellent spot that over looked two fingers that fed into the large grassy meadow below, with the wind in our face. I was confident in our location. It wasn’t long before Brandon spotted a couple of cows on the field edge in front of us at about 300 yards, shortly they disappeared into the timber. What a sight to behold, such a magnificent animal in such a picturesque environment. It was then that I figured the herd was not bedded far away. As the evening wore on and that magical hour approached just before dark, a bull sounded off with a bugle that echoed across the meadow. Suddenly a cow appeared on the edge of the timber. First one, then two, three, four, they slowly kept appearing one after another, entering the field from the same opening. Then bunches abruptly started coming out in several places along the field edge. I am not sure how many cows, at least 20. I was confident with that many cows a bull would be near. We sat and watched the cows feed into the meadow and the calves seemed to run and play. The herd moved closer and closer to our set up. With no bulls in sight, I was starting to get concerned that the cows would get too close and pick us off, or that the bulls would not come out until after dark. I kept glassing the field edge, looking for a legal bull, which I sensed was near. Brandon excitedly whispered -There's a bull, there's a bull! Out of nowhere there was a bull that appeared in the meadow below us pushing one of the cows, he must have circled around from a spot where we could not see him. Suddenly he stopped right in front of us, his magnificent rack was impressive, more than I could have hoped for, wide, tall, and it was an opposing sight. As he fed on the prairie grass, I had the gun ready and put the regal bull in my sights. Facing straight toward us, the heavy horned bull was not offering a high percentage shot. It seemed as if he was looking right at us. I had ranged that field several times that afternoon, but, with my adrenalin shooting through my veins and my heart pounding, I wanted to be certain, I asked Brandon to range the splendid bull. Trying to remain motionless and out of sight Brandon finally ranged him at 259 yards. I was ready. The bull kept feeding and would not turn broadside, I was getting impatient. Five minutes had passed and I kept arguing with myself not to shoot, don't rush the shot, you don't want to wound this stately animal. As he finally turned offering a shot, I took careful aim and squeezed off a round. It was a solid hit, the mighty bull crunched up with the impact of my bullet. As the herd dispersed, the bull attempted to follow them when Brandon said “hit him again, hit him again” I stood up and jacked another shell in the chamber, and missed attempting a running shot. The bull slowed down and stopped after running about 100 yards. He stood there for a moment, knowing my first shot was true, I wondered out loud, should I shoot him again, when Brandon replied "he is still standing..." With all rush and excitement, I pulled the trigger again, but came nowhere close. Good thing my first shot had found its mark, because the trophy bull stumbled and fell over. I had finally done it. Brandon congratulated me and stated that it was a nice 6x6, “Is it?” I responded "All I know is he was big". I would have been happy with any legal bull but his was more than I could have dreamed. What a great hunt, I tagged out on the first day at 6:30pm in the shadows of Wheeler Mountain of Little Bobcat Ranch in an area of New Mexico called the Enchanted Circle. I stood next to my trophy looked around as the sun was setting over the continental divide, I was surrounded by the golden aspens of fall which seemed to glow amongst the deep green pines, what a sight. I cannot wait to go back.
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