Big Oregon Roosevelt Elk
It was 4:45 am on the Oregon coast this last November, and we are all getting ready to head out and position ourselves in spots that we think may put us in the best position to track down the herd of elk that came out of our fields the night before. We'd seen a group of about 30 head breaking into smaller groups and heading out of the fields and into the woods no less then 5 minutes before we were ready to leave. Talking strategy in the kitchen, my friends and I were a bit shocked to hear that our buddy Greg (owner of the house we were sleeping at) was going to chase a single bull that we'd seen the last 3 nights in the farmer's field next to us. We asked if he was sure that this was what he wanted to do, to which he whole heartedly answered, "Yes!"
This bull had taunted us the previous few nights before the opening of the season, by simply wandering out of the tree line, bedding down, and proceeding to gorge itself on the farmer's grass. The past few mornings, like he knew it wasn't quite hunting season, he would even stay out a little past daylight, as if to let us know that he wasn't dumb enough to get himself shot.
We could tell that he was a brute from the first night we saw him. Without binoculars, we could see his wide spread and could count a minimum of 5 - 6 points on either side. What we couldn't tell, was the massive size of his body. To be honest, I've ridden quite a few horses that would have stood shoulder to shoulder, if not been smaller than him.
Greg meandered out of his kitchen about a half hour after we left, and as day light broke, could see the bull still bedded down at the tree line. We walked the hundred yards or so, down the road toward the field and just as he had the previous few days, the bull didn't move an inch. Greg made his way up to the barbwire fence of the field and stood there for another 10 - 15 minutes, so that he could be sure that it was more than legal shooting light. As the sun broke into the farm valley, the bull stood up and stared in Greg's direction. Greg raised his .300 Weatherby Mag and fired! He knew that he hit it, because the bull stumbled a bit, but then just stood there. Greg fired again and put him down where he once stood.
Thing is a monster!