Thanksgiving was amazing but bittersweet day. Up at 445 and hiking at 530. After almost two weeks my spirits were in the gutter. Lack of weather, elk movement, right place wrong time and most of all an equipment failure made this the hardest elk season ever. I had come to terms with giving up on locating “Ghost” A massive pale antlered bull I missed after my scope failed to hold zero, and was pretty sure “Moby” a tall G4’d bull with long whale tails had chosen to slip up an was harvested by another hunter. @620 AM I started filtering through the trees up the hill to this meadow that I had seen brief glimpses of bulls in the morning throughout my 2 week outing. In the dim light I spotted three bulls feeding across the draw. As I slunk into a better position, this bull came out of the draw. He pegged me out in the open on my way to a tree. I looked at my phone 635 AM. For the next 22 MINUTES I FROZE in place shivering and locked eyes with this old guy. He knew that something seemed weird with that tree. The minutes felt like hours as I constantly assessed the bull in my scope. At 6:55 he trotted into some trees. I lunged for the tree off to my left but didn’t make it. He caught me again as he reappeared in a small clearing. I froze beneath his intense gaze. At 6:59 he decided enough was enough and trotted over a small rise. I sprinted to the to the top. The other bulls had disappeared. My heart sunk I realized that it was still one minute before shooting light and the elk had gone to bed. Then a small movement. This bull was back. He was convinced that tree he saw earlier was fishy an had come back. He froze as suddenly he realized the tree was now in a different place. A quick flash of resentment went through my mind. I know there had been one bigger bull in there. An this pesky guy cost me it. I looked at him one more time. It had been a rough season. I was spent I could only do this one or two more days at best, my body hurt. As we locked eyes one last time I felt something was different about this bull. It just suddenly seemed right. I squared up into my offhand position from years of shooting in 4H, swung the rifle up, let out a breath, and as the scope settled squeezed the trigger. BOOOM! Slowly the bull stumbled away over a rise. I dropped my pack. 7:02 AM. A few minutes later as we walked up to him. I was in awe of how big his body was. No bull I’ve killed could compare. Upon looking at his teeth we figured he was 9-10 years old. A broken 3rd and chipped tips and a roman nose scared face gave him so much character and the respect I had for him now was overwhelming. It now all made sense. I think something connected at a deeper level, it’s like he knew I was tired and had busted my ass and he knew he wouldn’t make it another year. He may not be the biggest bull on the mountain or that I’ve harvested, but it was such an honor to take such a “Mountain Warrior.” Huge shout out to my girlfriend for putting with my elk obsession and helping with the first load out. 2nd load was a solo trip with front and a head while she packed up camp. In the end though I couldn’t of asked for a better time. It’s been 8 years since I shot my last bull and 12 since I’ve gotten to spend more than a week afield. Can’t replace time spent in God’s country!