By Patrick Montgomery

For once in a very long while I was going to be able to bowhunt elk again with my good friend and hunting partner, Kevin Phillips. I introduced Kevin to bowhunting for elk, and he brought me to the Gila for the first time. I can remember vividly the first morning, of Kevin's first ever bow hunt for elk, in which he harvested a 306 P&Y bull all by himself. What a hunt, but that's another story. Due to scheduling, my job as a guide, his job as a husband, and just the luck of the draw, it had been a few years since we had been able to put things together in order to roam the woods together in September. We knew how special this opportunity was and that we needed to make it count.

We had both drawn tags separately for one of the 16 units of the Gila. We prefer to put in separate applications in the hopes that one of us at least will be successful in obtaining one of the highly coveted tags for that area of New Mexico. When possible, the other can still come along and experience the hunt. We don't care who the shooter is, as long as we are out there chasing those monster bulls of the Southwest. Kevin had been successful on a few occasions, his largest being a 347 P&Y 6x7. Always one to set goals, of course, the object became to harvest one larger than this on our hunt.

The summer came to an end before we knew it. We had been able to get in a few weekend scouting trips, confirming there were plenty of good bulls in the areas that we like to hunt. Since I had not drawn a tag for a couple years, I elected not to guide the bow hunts that year, taking the time to focus on a little hunting of my own. The weekend before the opener, Kevin and I made our camp, and made it comfortable. We were ready to be here for a while. Kevin had to return to work for a few days, while I was able to stay and scout. He would return the night before the hunt started.

Over the next few days, I was able to locate a lot of bulls, but nothing much bigger than 350 P&Y. They were there, guaranteed, it was just early in the rut and the big 'ole guys were still off to themselves. That would all start to change in a hurry.

I had been watching a real good 340-350 class bull in a chute close to camp, but also close to one of the main roads through the unit. It was decided upon Kevin's return to camp, that this would be the bull I would try to make a play on in the morning, hoping to get a chance before other pressure pushed him out of his little bowl. Kevin, having already taken a bull of this caliber, would go in search of something larger. Splitting up until one of us finds a true monster to key in on, allows us to cover twice the country, and look at twice the bulls.

I was up and on the boot leather express two hours before daylight, hoping to top out above the bull and catch him on his way to bed with the small herd of cows he had already acquired. Upon reaching the top, I was disappointed to hear him bugling over in the next drainage. Apparently the traffic of other hunters arriving the night before had sent him packing a little early. As daybreak came, I sat and glassed the bull until he went up and over the far ridge a couple of miles away. I felt I had a good idea of where he would decide to bed, and took off to cross the canyon to where I had last seen him. When I reached the spot an hour or so later, I decided to bed down and wait him out, let him make the mistake of letting me know where he was, first. Sure enough, about an hour later I heard him bugle down in the timber a couple hundred yards below. I figured I had him in a pretty tight spot at this point, as I knew the area well. There was no water below him, or feeding areas to speak of. That evening he would have to bring his herd back up out of the timber through the little saddle just below me, to head back towards food and water. All I had to do was adjust my position slightly for the wind, and then wait him out. It was at that moment that I realized my folly!

Having spent the past years guiding other hunters, I had become accustomed to traveling the woods without a weapon in hand. I did not have my bow with me now! As I frantically searched the area around me, it became apparent that I had left it on the ground at my last glassing location. Unfortunately, this was two miles away, back across the canyon I had just come through. What an idiot! Nothing to do but to go retrieve it and hopefully make it back in time for my ambush.

Back across the canyon I went, and sure enough, there lay my bow right where I had left it. Before heading back, I decided to take the time to glass another slope and rest a little bit. Lucky I did, as I was able to locate 5 real good muley bucks bedded in the shade, one being a typical buck that I figured to go around 200 inches. I just happened to have a deer tag in my pocket, and the season was open. What are the chances! Everything happens for a reason, and needless to say, elk hunting had to go on hold for a moment.

I was able to get within 75 yards of that buck before they got up to feed for the evening, eventually catching my scent and blowing out of there. What a buck! It was too late to return to my elk ambush, so I decided to sit and watch the saddle from afar. I sat and watched my bull feed up and cross back within 20 yards of my ambush location. That's life, but what a day, I was in bow hunting heaven!

The next couple of days were fairly uneventful for Kevin and I. Uneventful, in that things were starting to heat up, but we just couldn't locate one of the monsters that we knew called this area home. The third evening of the hunt, we decided to spend some time together and go check out a different area. Right away we got in the action! Kevin spotted a good buck off the road before getting to our area, so we got out and tried to relocate the buck for a stalk. We didn't find the deer, but could hear a couple bulls bugling pretty good further up the canyon. As we made our way up the ridge across from the bugling bulls, one of them stepped out into the open showing himself for the first time. There was definitely enough bone to get our attention! The bull had lots of mass, huge bottoms, and good main beams. All that was lacking was good fifths and a spread, as he was only 38 inches wide we figured. Good enough for me to make a go at him anyway.

The bull would bugle from time to time, but didn't really seem too fired up at this point. There were a couple cows and calves, but he didn't seem too interested in them as well. Seemed like he was kind of on a scouting trip of his own, just checking things out, warming up his vocal chords a bit, sort of a dress rehearsal for the weeks to come. The bull eventually moved off by himself, leaving us scratching our heads. At least we didn't spook him out of the area, he would be around.

The following afternoon, my father, Johnny, was able to join us in camp. I was really glad to have him around, as it had been a while since we had shared a hunt together as well. Plus, it was a bonus to have somebody else to help in the calling, take the elk's focus off me a bit.

For the fourth evening hunt, I decided to take dad back to where Kevin and I had been the evening before. The idea was to test the bull out again, see if he was ready yet to get with the program. We hiked up a center ridge that cut right up the middle into a big bowl that surrounds the top of the ridge and saddle that leads up top. We would sit in the saddle where we could glass and listen for elk in the surrounding timber. Occasionally, I would let out a few soft cow calls, bugle every half hour or so. Didn't want to over do it, as it was only Sept. 4, still early in the rut. After four hours of this and not so much as a peep, we decided to head back down the ridge to the truck. I wanted to check one more area before dark. We made it about 200 yards down the ridge before I realized I'd done it again. Yep, left my bow behind! Dad didn't find this as amusing as I did; he's not into retracing steps back uphill. I told him to just stay put and I would be right back.

Upon reaching my bow, I figured I might as well let one more loud bugle rip; just to be sure there weren't any elk nearby. Instantly, I had a response from up on the ridge above the saddle, about a half mile away. I could see my dad down the ridge, so I motioned to him to come back up the ridge to me. He didn't hear the bull's response, so upon reaching me he wanted to know what was up. I told him about the bugle, and he figured we should just come back in the morning as we only had about fifteen minutes left in the hunt that evening. I wasn't ready to call it quits yet, so I decided to hit the bull with a Hyper-Hot call and see what happened. The bull cut me off before I really even got going, I knew he was hot. I tossed dad the call and moved ahead in the saddle towards the bull about 50 yards. Set up standing in a small clump of head high pine trees, perfect shooting lanes to the left and right.

The next time dad hit the call, the bull roared back from not a hundred yards away, and still coming fast. Johnny was going to pull him right past me on my left. At about 50 yards, I got a look at his rack and huge fronts. It was definitely the bull from before! At twenty, he went behind a screen of trees and I came to full draw. When he stepped out broadside at eight yards, it was game over as my arrow smacked home right behind his shoulder.

I could still hear the bull crashing down the slope as I walked towards my dad, big grin stretching ear to ear. Because of the close proximity to the bull at the shot, dad didn't hear the bow or the hit. First words out of his mouth were,” What are you smiling about, you just spooked that bull?" "Nah, he's dead!" I replied. As we listened to him crashing down the hill. Johnny's only response was, "Doesn't sound very dead to me." It was about that time that we heard the bull give up one last cough. It was over.

Recovering that bull with my father by my side is one of the highlights of my career. Upon rounding a corner, flashlight beam falling on those massive antlers, I'd be lying if I said I didn't shed a tear. A lifetime of effort and dreaming had been fulfilled, and the one whom had started it all was by my side.

By the time pictures were taken, the bull skinned, quartered, and hung to cool, it was well after midnight. I had noticed vehicle lights cutting back and forth down in the valley below. I told dad that it was probably Kevin looking for us; he would know something was up. We decided to have a little fun with him, as I knew he would be waiting back at camp having not found us. I packed the head and cape off the mountain that night, stuffing it into the back of the Suburban for the trip to camp.

As we pulled into camp, our lights lit up Kevin sleeping on his cot outside, so he'd be sure to wake up we when arrived. Climbing out of the vehicle, my dad did his best to look tired, bummed out, pissed off. It was all I could do not to look Kevin in the eye. Of course the questions came. Dad went into this story of how we had hiked way the hell back in there, returning to the truck after dark, only to have to go back to search for my bow that I had left laying in the woods, not to be found. Kevin knowing that I would not be able to hunt in the morning if I didn't find my bow, started gathering up lanterns to go help me find it. That's what I call a partner! It wasn't until he opened the back door of the Suburban to put them inside, that he realized he was had. I think we woke up half the Gila with the whooping and hollering, and laughing that ensued.

The bull ended up scoring 353 P&Y, with week tops. Had he been proportionate to the bottoms, we figured he could've gone into the 370's. I don't really care, he was an awesome DIY bull done right, with my best hunting buddies there to share it with me.

Species: Elk Location of Hunt: New Mexico Outfitter: Self-Guided Weapon: PSE Nova Bow Equipment: 125 gr. Thunderhead Broadheads, Hyper Hot Cow Call