Remembering another tidbit from Ken--suggesting drawing as soon as making contact--I come to anchor. The bull ambles at 50 yards. Brush and the shot angle make a shot impossible. He keeps coming. He's nearly broadside, following a ridge. At 40 yards and still coming, sunflowers grab at my broadhead. Still at full draw I keep my eye in my peep. Each time I feel it's time to release, he moves. Finally he stops almost broadside at 35 yards, my pin finds vitals.

I don't remember releasing. There's that old familiar watermelon thump. I know instantly it's a deadly hit. I can see something red orange imbedded low in his chest. The elk wheels, does a 180, running towards a ravine. It's then I notice the deep and familiar whale tales.

I'm pumped, to say the least. Now my attention focuses back towards Ken's bugling and it isn't long before the welcome faces of Ken and Ben appear.

"I smoked one!" I holler. I take them to the spot where my arrow has connected. There's immediate and copious blood, deep scars of scrambling hooves, but no arrow. We eat lunch to give the bull time.

After lunch we ease uphill to get a better look at the dry creek bed from above. Ken motions me to him and as I reach his side he points. I glass where he points and into the bottom, spotting the enormous headgear.

"He'll make Boone and Crockett!" Ken says as we examine the beast. "Maybe more!" We begin quartering and packing to load him on an ATV, the entire crew pitching in to get the job done. At the truck a small crowd of hunters gathers to admire my bull and get the story. One local hunter remarks, "That's a 400-incher if I ever saw one!"

That afternoon I sit on an evening water-hole with my camera, hoping to get a shot of a bull. I'm a very happy man, with a filled tag, having the time of my life. As sunset begins to turn to darkness, bulls bugling in several directions, I'm simply awed by the wild setting. The solitude is breathtaking and something that will be remembered forever. Ken soon arrives, pulling up and rolling down his window to hand me a cold beer. "You owe me big-time," he said. "Your bull scores 408 and change!"