BARNES UNLEADED. UNFAILING. UNBEATABLE.

In my family, hunting season has always been a huge deal. My dad, Terry, had six daughters and we were all raised around hunting. I remember him coming to my room late at night to wake me up so I could sign the papers he needed to put me in for some hunt.

After 13 years, it finally paid off. I drew a big bull tag for the Pavhaunt late hunt. We joked around about the hunt for the next six months. I had several people tell me they would go along to help with the hunt. I joked that there would be enough guys hiking with me they could just carry me up the hill.

As the hunt got closer, I spent some time at my dad’s house tuning my shooting skills. Let’s just say there was a lot of input from my dad and my husband, Trenton, regarding my shooting skills. As the hunt got closer, I began to become nervous and excited.

My husband and my dad headed out early the night before the hunt to see if they could find a bull for me. I was the last to arrive in camp. In all, there were 13 of us in camp–myself, my husband, my dad, two uncles, my father-in-law, three brothers-in-law, and a cousin. We had a good night sitting around the fire with everyone talking.

The next morning, we were up at 5:00 to start the dreaded hike. We hiked for about twenty minutes, then stopped to glass and decide what to do. My dad decided that the “shooter” needed to head one way with him and two others, while some of the others headed in the other direction to push some elk toward us.

We hiked to the top of the mountain and my dad began tracking an elk. We kept hiking, but didn’t see much. My uncle radioed us to say they had just jumped some elk—and they were headed our way. We stayed put for awhile, and finally saw a spike. A few minutes later, my uncle said he could see a seven-point bull that was a “shooter.”
We headed back around the ridge, spotted the elk, and I began to get ready to shoot. Before I could aim and fire, the elk spooked and went over the ridge. We never saw him again. Talk about disappointment! We waited for the others to reach us, then headed to another canyon where my sisters, who were “road riding,” had spotted a few bulls.

When we reached the ridge the elk were on, and sneaked over the top. We were only 40 yards away. I was ready to shoot until my dad said they weren’t “shooters.” We hiked down to the truck and went road riding for the rest of the day. By the end of the day I was exhausted and frustrated. The next morning we woke up at 5:30 to go hiking yet again. I wasn’t feeling so great, and was happy to hear my dad say we would be road riding for awhile.

We finally spotted elk, but backed off because another hunter was watching them, too. After awhile I told my dad I thought we needed to get on the mountain. We started hiking again. If I’d thought the first day was bad, I was in for a surprise. We hiked up the mountain and spotted a 400 bull—but he was broken so we went on. When we saw a few spikes take off running, my dad headed to the other side to glass the canyon they had come from. Where there are spikes, there are usually big bulls.

Dad didn’t see anything, so we headed for the top of the mountain where we’d seen the seven-point bull the day before. Dad told me to have the gun ready. If we got within 1,000 yards, I was taking the shot! As we climbed, my brother-in-law Clint saw something out of the corner of his eye, so he stopped to glass. He whistled us back, and dad and my Uncle Drew took a look.

That was when all the excitement began. Dad and Trenton started piling up backpacks for me to rest the gun on. Everyone kept telling me to “shoot him through the bush.” I told them I couldn’t, because I was afraid I would hit the antlers. Dad immediately jumped into action and got down on all fours on top of the backpacks to become my shooting rest. That’s when I knew the animal had to be really big!

The elk was facing us, so I aimed just behind his front shoulder. I was shooting a 7 mm Remington Ultra Mag with a Barnes 150-grain Tipped Triple-Shock bullet. It was exciting when I heard the bullet “thump.” The bull turned and walked uphill about 15 feet before going back to where he had been standing. I shot three more times, just to be sure, but my hiking companions said they were pretty sure the first shot had killed him.

I was excited and so was everyone else. My uncle hiked to the elk while we gathered everything up. He kept saying, “It’s a dandy.” When we reached the elk, I was amazed at how big it was! It had looked a lot different from 380 yards away. It was huge, but both of the antler “thirds” were broken. Even with the broken antlers, we scored the elk at 365.

I told my dad I wasn’t sure a big bull hunt was the hunt to start with, but it was worth it. Then I told him my other secret—I was almost three months pregnant with my second child. It’s probably good he didn’t know this before the hunt, or we may not have hiked 18 miles in two days. It was a great hunt, which was made better by good company, a great rifle, and great ammunition.

—Rachelle Olsen

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