It all started about 25 years ago. My buddy Steve & I always had to hear about our other buddy Leroy’s big mule deer bucks. Every year after opening weekend of the deer season, Steve & I got to hear about another 4-point Leroy had killed. Leroy, his Grandpa Bob, and Uncle Kenny were the masters of killing monster bucks off what I call “No See ‘em Ridge”. For at least 15 years, Steve & I always asked Leroy if we could go hunting with him and Leroy always said that he wished he could bring us, but his elders would not allow it. Grandpa Bob and Uncle Kenny started hunting this area back in the early 60’s and introduced Leroy to hunting at the early age of about 10 in the early 80’s. Their success is amazing, the three of them have harvested over a hundred quality bucks. Most of them are 4 point bucks that you dream about getting someday (some 5 points, some 6 points, some wide, some tall, and some of all). Grandpa Bob and Uncle Kenny were not getting any younger and had to retire from hiking to their favorite area which is no easy task – especially when you’re in your mid 70’s.

Safari club International had always been portrayed to me as a group of elite rich guys getting together and going on safaris. I found this to be far from the truth. Several years back a friend of mine invited my wife and I to an annual Christmas party that was taking place at one of our local SCI chapter members homes. That’s where I got my first eye opening education on what SCI really stood for and the great people from all walks of life that unite and organize to run a very solid hunting and conservation group. That night I became a member of SCI and to this day it has became one of the most positive things I have done in the hunting community.

On occasion something happens in one’s life that is not only unbelievable but undreamt of. And when that something actually happens to you, you know it will become a lifelong cherished memory. This story is one of such event that is so amazing; it must be retold over and over again. My husband and I happened to find babysitters for our five children and set off across the country for the adventure of a lifetime. We loaded up the truck and traveled for days to reach our destination of Barrhead, Alberta, where our outfitter Bryan Radke, Moose Creek Outfitters, greeted us excitedly as the first moose hunt of the season kicked off. The weather was a little warm for this time of the year but we are still optimistic that we would have a successful hunt.

The 2011 Roosevelt elk bow hunt was short but sweet for my little brother and I. We have been hunting partners for life and we have experienced the highs and lows side by side for the last 12 years calling bulls into archery range. We live and die by our pre season scouting every year and this year was no different. It started with the night before opening day when we split up to cover as much ground as possible and by dark we had some great options for the party of 5 of us. The three young guys and the two old dogs were going to part ways at daylight and listen to the coastal range light up with that sound that only true outdoorsman get infatuated with, bugling bulls!

As I knelt down and respectfully placed my hands on the ram’s battle-scared horns, my whole soul was flooded with the personal significance of this single moment. The thoughts of all the years applying for a sheep tag unsuccessfully, the countless hours in the gym preparing my body, the months of research, the planning, the sleepless nights dreaming of this moment, the physical and mental toll this rugged backcountry has already ravaged upon me; it all flowed through my mind in a tsunami of emotion. And now here I was, holding in my hands my lifetime dream … a bighorn sheep!

The two long weeks of Hunter’s Ed were finally over. I was legal to go out and hunt. In Montana you had to turn 12 by a certain date, or already be 12 to hunt. And, of course, you had to pass Hunter’s Ed. Even though I was 11, I would turn 12 before the deadline, so I was ready to go. The night before the hunt, I could hardly sleep, I was so excited. Usually, I complained about getting up at 5:30 am, but that day, I couldn’t care less. By six, my mom Amy, my dad Steve, my little brother Garrett, and I were all piled in Dad’s truck. All I could talk about was ‘my big buck’. Mom and Dad warned me that I might end up shooting a doe, or (even worse) nothing at all because this was our last week in Montana before we moved to Washington. Boy, did I think they were wrong! I told them okay, that’d be fine, but in my head, I was thinking about the monster I was about to kill

The opening day of western Washington's rifle deer season began the same as the previous year. My 17 yr old son, Chris, and I were elk hunting! Chris had beat the odds (and me) and drawn a black powder Mt. Whittier any bull tag. This special permit allows only one hunter to harvest a bull. Unbelievably, Chris had drawn a cow tag for the same unit in 2010. A three square-mile unit located entirely within the Mt. St. Helens Monument, Mt. Whittier is mostly comprised of small alders, willows and noble firs, along with the occasional salmon berry. There is very little cover, except in the creek bottoms and on the steep slopes of Mt. Whittier, Mt. Margaret, and Coldwater Peak. This small canyon bore a large brunt of the eruption in May 1980. Thousands of decaying fir and cedar lay just as they did on May 19th. As this unit is within the Monument boundaries, there are very strict rules regarding its use. There are no horses or bicycles allowed, no fires can be built, camping is allowed only in designated spots, and the hunter can have only three support buddies.

I have been dreaming of that one special mule deer buck for as long as I can remember. So I convinced my dad, Lloyd and hunting partners Jason Cameron and Chris Jensen that we needed to go to Colorado where there are more giant bucks taken every year than anywhere else. So we researched and were able to get four landowner vouchers for the 3rd season in a unit that held a lot of public ground and hopefully a giant mule deer or two. After what seemed like forever the time finally came to hit the road. We left our homes in Washington for the day and a half drive. Once we got to Colorado we stopped at the local Cabela's to buy a few last minute supplies, our deer tags, and we might as well get over the counter elk tags. After all we are in Colorado, the state with more elk than several other western states combined.

My Dad, Lloyd and I decided that 2011 would be the year that we would use our preference points for Wyoming Antelope. We picked a quality unit and paid the extra money for Wyoming special antelope license and sent our applications off like we do to so many other western states.

After 15 continuous years of applying for the coveted Wenaha archery tag in Oregon, my number finally came up, one of only 20 lucky guys. This is a hunt I had been dreaming of ever since I first stepped…