For an avid elk hunter like me, there are advantages and disadvantages to being born in early September. The disadvantage is I don't end up spending very many birthdays with my wife and kids. On the other hand, I do get to celebrate most of my birthdays with my dad and one of my best friends, and we spend it doing what we all love doing together most -- bowhunting elk.

This bull was the largest Andy Farris has ever taken. It grossed just over 350 inches; a dandy by anyone's standards, but particularly nice for Colorado public land in an over-the-counter unit.

When it comes to birthday presents, few could compare to arrowing a big bull elk. I've dreamed of killing a bull on my birthday for years, though I've never quite managed to make it happen. As a matter of fact, my birthday has never been a particularly lucky day for me. In both 2006 and 2007, for example, I spent my birthday soaked to the bone, huddled around campfires trying to dry out during daylong downpours. In 2008, however, my luck finally changed.

For several years now, Dad and I have been backpacking deep into a remote wilderness area in Central Colorado with our elk-hunting buddy, JD Gossage. The trip has become my most anticipated annual bowhunt, though I sometimes question why.

This is a physically demanding hunt if there ever was one! On a scale of 1-to-10, I'd call this hunt an 8. And if you manage to down a bull, it quickly becomes a 10. But I suppose that's all part of hunting the Rocky Mountain West. Out here, blue-collar bowhunters can still experience top-notch elk hunting -- if they are willing to put in the time and effort to outstudy, outscout and outwork other bowhunters. Dad, JD and I try to do just that by concentrating on drainages that are accessible only on foot.

The primary drainage we've hunted over the last few years is a prime example. From the point where we leave the established trail, we bushwhack 3,800 vertical feet with a week's worth of food and gear on our backs. We are typically rewarded for our effort with unpressured, public-land elk. There is a price to pay though, and it's paid in sweat. Dad is creeping up on his 60th birthday, and in 2008, he strongly contemplated bowhunting elsewhere. As bow season approached though, the promise of undisturbed elk proved too tempting and Dad joined JD and I once again.

Make Your Wish…
We packed in a day before my birthday and set up our spike camp atop a small knob at 11,000 feet. We didn't have much of a chance to hunt that evening, since the hike in typically consumes the entire first day. For the first time in two years, I woke to clear skies on the morning of my birthday, and I remember telling Dad and JD my luck must be changing. Before heading out, JD pulled a freeze-dried Mountain House ice cream bar from his pack, placed a matchstick in the middle of it and let me blow it out.

"Now, let's go get your present," Dad announced. And with that, we headed toward the timberline in the darkness.

The skies stayed clear as the sun rose to reveal an empty alpine meadow where we'd glassed elk from the valley floor the morning before. The temperature was climbing fast, and JD decided to head down to an isolated wallow we've hunted successfully in the past.

Dad and I kept climbing to a vantage point at over 12,000 feet.