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Elk .... Let's see them!!!

My second bull. I decided when I was in high school I wasn’t shooting a bull unless it was the right bull. That decision resulted in about 10 years of frustration and tag soup on my Montana General tags.
Towards the end of the season in 2015 I was hunting a friends ranch with my best friend who had shot a small bull that opening day. Right after daylight the first morning of our weekend trip we found two cows that were lazily feeding lazily in one of our favorite spots. We both had cow tags, but my buddy said if I wanted to wait and see if there was bull around he would be fine with that.
We had been sitting for about an hour, and had seen several more cows come out but no bulls. We finally decided to shoot the cows and crouched behind a rock to get everything in order. Once we were mostly set, my buddy peaked back over the rock to get a solid range on the two we wanted. As soon as he peaked over he crouched down again.
“There’s a nice bull in there” he said. “I’m going to range him, make sure youre ready!”
I grabbed my rifle with my heart pounding. If my buddy said it was a good bull I knew it was a shooter.
“He’s at 150 feeding” he told me.
I then popped up and centered my rifle on the bull. Just as I heard my buddy say “take your...” I let the shot fly.
“You smoked him” my friend said. Then, “holy s*#t, look at the one that just came out.”
A giant 7 point that was easily the widest bull I have ever seen was standing on the skyline having been spooked by the shot. He turned and ran and we stood there in awe.
After we gathered our stuff we walked over to see find my bull. He had gone 20 yards before he tipped over.
My friend was the first to speak. “Ten years you bastard, you waited ten f@&$ing years. At least you got a good one.”
 

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This one was shot just outside the Bob Marshall Wilderness October 1971 the second weekend of regular season. I nearly died from hypothermia on the same mountain the night of the opener. He scored just four points shy of B&C.
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And this one was taken just outside the other end of the Bob in November 1980. I dragged it out whole by myself, about a mile. Had to tie him up to field dress. Very steep country. The object was to pull him down to where the horses could be loaded. Kept him moving and rubbery long enough to get to the bottom of the mountain. With only a couple hundred yards on the flat to an old logging skid road, I inched him along the rest of the way shoving his nose in the ground and using his rack as a lever. Biggest animal I've yet shot (cape buffalo excluded).
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