It is a cold mid-November morning. The sun had just peaked its bright rays over the crest of the mountain, sending its rays over a 200 yard wide, 300 yard long field high up in the gorgeous Bitterroot mountain range. There is a light fog that is starting to slowly fade away. I am sitting in the tree line with my father; it is my first Elk hunting trip. I have been anticipating this day since I accomplished graduating hunters' safety two months before. I make sure I have my Elk tag, am wearing my orange vest; have my knife, my ammo, and most importantly my Browning 300 Winchester Magnum hunting rifle with a Nikon Buckmaster 6 - 18 x 40 scope. I have saved up for this rifle since I was 12, I am extremely proud of it, even sighted the rifle in myself to be dead- on at 200 yards, with a little help from my father of course. My father and I woke up at 3 in the morning from our campsite down the hill about four miles away to hopefully find the massive 6x6 Bull Elk that we had spotted in the clearing the day before. This trophy, first time hunting, Elk was with a herd of 100 head, there were two other shooter bulls in the heard that were 4x5 and 4x4. We had treked up this enormous mountain for two and a half hours to reach a good spot about thirty minutes before daybreak. We reach the spot where we want to be, which is a few trees back from the edge of the tree line and in a vantage point where I can see the whole clearing without any obstructions.
Sehulster 2 I am perched up with my body leaning against a rock and my rifle resting in front of me on a stump. I am glassing the area looking through my scope going from side to side, not missing even a squirrel. My father is next to me glassing the area with his binoculars. We do this for another hour with no luck. Another thirty minutes goes by and we hear a loud gunshot not too far away, but we guessed it was from another clearing a few miles away from us to the East. My heart drops; I immediately believe that they have shot my trophy Bull Elk that I was supposed to get on my first ever Elk hunting trip. My father tells me that there are always other Elk and that the wind is blowing in our favor from that gunshot, so the Elk may run this direction. Sure, there were other bulls in that heard of Elk but I wanted that trophy. I am deadset on getting that trophy. We wait another half an hour, still no luck with Elk crossing this clearing. I start to realize that I should be thrilled to shoot anything on my first time out hunting; even a Cow Elk is an accomplishment. Another thirty minutes roll by as my Father and I glass the area and wait. It is nearing nine o'clock in the morning. I am about to ask my Father if we should move somewhere else, when suddenly he motions to me to not speak and look through the binoculars at the tree line. He whispers to me to look about ten feet into the tree line next to a rock outcropping on the opposite side of the clearing.
Sure enough I see movement; I focus the binoculars and can see the outline of an elk moving through the tree, then another and another, more pop out as they slowly meander into the clearing. I get on my gun now and start scoping them out looking for the bulls. Then I see my trophy, he is massive, his extremely wide antlers scrape the