Scoring a Colorado Bull Elk
Story and photos by Kory Enck
For about 25 years, my good friend Mike and I have been chasing wapiti all over southern Colorado. Most times the elk win, but on occasion we have scored. Together we now have tagged six bulls and a cow.
It’s an over-the-counter archery tag good for a cow or bull during a “do-it-yourself” hunt. Actually, it’s a 10-day camping trip where if we get something, it’s a bonus. No guides, no fancy lodges, no pack horses … just pure, unadulterated sweat, blood and tears in some of the finest, remote elk country around.
It’s an over-the-counter archery tag good for a cow or bull during a “do-it-yourself” hunt. Actually, it’s a 10-day camping trip where if we get something, it’s a bonus. No guides, no fancy lodges, no pack horses … just pure, unadulterated sweat, blood and tears in some of the finest, remote elk country around.
To the Hunt
After two decades, we have most of this trip fine-tuned, right down to how many people can go and how many people per vehicle. With only two guys on board in 2017, we needed a third, so we took along another friend, Dave. He had done his own share of “do-it-yourself” elk hunts in the past, so he was a perfect addition to our crew.
All of our trips are a drive-straight-through type of trip, no flying. Everything goes with us in an overloaded truck and landscape trailer - all camping and hunting gear precariously perched between three quads, coolers and a ridiculous quantity of camo. If you need something out of the truck before we get there, it better be on top!
It’s a drive that takes about 31 hours. We sleep in three-hour shifts and time our bladders with our gas stops until we make it to the trailhead. Yes, we’re in a hurry to get there!
On a Thursday morning before the first day of elk season, we arrived at the trailhead with a typical glorious Rocky Mountain morning with crisp cool air, a light breeze and lots of blue sky. Our adrenaline was definitely flowing.
All of our trips are a drive-straight-through type of trip, no flying. Everything goes with us in an overloaded truck and landscape trailer - all camping and hunting gear precariously perched between three quads, coolers and a ridiculous quantity of camo. If you need something out of the truck before we get there, it better be on top!
It’s a drive that takes about 31 hours. We sleep in three-hour shifts and time our bladders with our gas stops until we make it to the trailhead. Yes, we’re in a hurry to get there!
On a Thursday morning before the first day of elk season, we arrived at the trailhead with a typical glorious Rocky Mountain morning with crisp cool air, a light breeze and lots of blue sky. Our adrenaline was definitely flowing.
Let’s Go Camping
Excited to be there, we unpacked truck and trailer, and then we transferred as much as we could onto our ATVs. We picked, annoyed and sarcastically insulted each other repeatedly. Good times!
You couldn’t find three happier hunters as we made our first trip up the mountain. This would be the first of two trips. That is as long as there were no wrecks or forgotten items. The trail includes rocks; really deep mud; downed trees; boulders; and, this year, a bear encounter. None of these are for the faint of heart. The slope is steep, and the curves are sharp with overhangs and ledges. If you break down here, your trip could be over!
Our camp is located on the downwind side of an aspen grove, perched overlooking about two-thirds of the mountain we hunt on. The upper third is northwest of us and is basically “straight up.” The lower side is a gentle slope down into a basin to the east and a series of small ridges. Below that it drops away to a huge cliff to our south and a steep ravine with a trout stream to the east.
On some evenings when a late western shower comes in, the double rainbows are at eye level. At elevations of 10,200 feet, everything seems magnified. The close encounters with the changing weather, combined with elk sightings and the view, are all magnificent.
Our final arrival to the campsite had us there 48 hours before the season started, plenty of time to set up camp, practice shooting, sip a few beers and spot for elk on the opposite mountain. Yes, it was both relaxing and exhilarating!
You couldn’t find three happier hunters as we made our first trip up the mountain. This would be the first of two trips. That is as long as there were no wrecks or forgotten items. The trail includes rocks; really deep mud; downed trees; boulders; and, this year, a bear encounter. None of these are for the faint of heart. The slope is steep, and the curves are sharp with overhangs and ledges. If you break down here, your trip could be over!
Our camp is located on the downwind side of an aspen grove, perched overlooking about two-thirds of the mountain we hunt on. The upper third is northwest of us and is basically “straight up.” The lower side is a gentle slope down into a basin to the east and a series of small ridges. Below that it drops away to a huge cliff to our south and a steep ravine with a trout stream to the east.
On some evenings when a late western shower comes in, the double rainbows are at eye level. At elevations of 10,200 feet, everything seems magnified. The close encounters with the changing weather, combined with elk sightings and the view, are all magnificent.
Our final arrival to the campsite had us there 48 hours before the season started, plenty of time to set up camp, practice shooting, sip a few beers and spot for elk on the opposite mountain. Yes, it was both relaxing and exhilarating!
Where the Elk Are
The area we hunted is below our camp. We have several “spots” picked out and named them from years before. They include Yellow Spot, Honey Hole and Bear Basin.
Preseason scouting is never an option for us as we don’t have the time or money to make the extra trip. So we based our hunt on past experiences and the skills we developed along the way.
The phrase “elk are somewhere all the time” is our motivation and mantra. This was a phrase we picked up in the late ’80s from an “expert” I had heard on whitetail hunting. At that time it was “deer are somewhere all the time.” Obviously, this had to become a joke along the way, as although it is true, it’s also nonsense, especially on the days when you hunt tirelessly and can’t find any elk or deer.
Actually, the national forest we hunt is well-populated with elk every year, so we have learned their routines and habits from before. Usually, our main concern is how many other hunters are there and if the pressure will be hard. If it is, being there the first week is the best opportunity because, once the pressure increases, most elk climb out of our drainage and seek sanctuary on the neighboring private land.
Preseason scouting is never an option for us as we don’t have the time or money to make the extra trip. So we based our hunt on past experiences and the skills we developed along the way.
The phrase “elk are somewhere all the time” is our motivation and mantra. This was a phrase we picked up in the late ’80s from an “expert” I had heard on whitetail hunting. At that time it was “deer are somewhere all the time.” Obviously, this had to become a joke along the way, as although it is true, it’s also nonsense, especially on the days when you hunt tirelessly and can’t find any elk or deer.
Actually, the national forest we hunt is well-populated with elk every year, so we have learned their routines and habits from before. Usually, our main concern is how many other hunters are there and if the pressure will be hard. If it is, being there the first week is the best opportunity because, once the pressure increases, most elk climb out of our drainage and seek sanctuary on the neighboring private land.
The Hunt
After relaxing for a day and enjoying the star-filled night sky, we tried to get some sleep. As the opening day awaited us, we were very anxious. It was bigger than Christmas for each of us.
Dave was new to the area, so I took him with me to drop him off at another favorite location called the Salt Lick. It’s a great spot and one we have killed elk on before. Then I was to go out on a ridge past and around Mike’s spot and hunt to the end of another of or hunting spots. This put us in an area resembling the back of your hand with a thumb and four fingers, each representing a ridge. Dave would be in the ravine between thumb and index finger, Mike on top between where the middle and ring fingers connect and me going out around to the end of a short pinky finger. All of the ridges feed down to a huge cliff connecting what would be the fingertips. The area we hunt is well-balanced with spruce, aspen and lush grass. It’s elk heaven!
Now if you have elk hunted before, you know they seem to have eyes in front and behind their heads. They can see in the dark and are keen to if you are sleeping, breaking for lunch, or in their “living room” at dawn. With that said, Dave and I were about 100 yards from where I was dropping him off when he whispered, “I hear elk calling.” I began to argue that it was birds, and we couldn’t agree, so we stood there listening. As I strained to hear anything, it was a bit maddening. In your mind you can see the elk, picture where they might be heading and become frustrated knowing that no matter what tactic you take from here, the elk will probably outmaneuver you. Eventually, we heard nothing, and Dave dropped down into the Salt Lick while I moved back up toward Mike’s location.
The first 300 yards would take me right past Mike but around to the northwest side. From there I would be beyond him and far out toward the last ridge (a.k.a., the pinky). By this time, I would have daylight and the wind from the uphill thermals in my face. I would hunt out the ridge to the end and then drop down with the cliff on my right and Dave across the ridges in front of me. Mike would be posted up watching down into the fingers and ravines between.
For safety reasons, we have a check-in time on our radios at 9 a.m. For the first two or three hours, our woods were silent except for Steller’s jays, ravens, squirrels and occasionally mosquitoes. Nobody heard another human and longed for that fond and familiar phrase, “Bull down!” over the radio.
I picked my way slowly, checking all the familiar elk haunts as I went out the ridgeline. A cow and a calf held my attention for about 10 minutes as they grazed from one side of my ridge crossing over to the other. They were alone. By 8:45 a.m., I had reached the spot where I would drop down off the ledge and sit to wait until something happened.
I ate a quick breakfast snack while I waited. Then the radio buzzed, and everyone checked in. Dave had been right, as he walked right into a small herd and they scattered down below him and Mike in the dark. Mike saw nothing. I mentioned the cow and calf. We agreed to talk again at 10 a.m.
Packing up my stuff, I decided to go lower on the steep mountainside. I moved with slow, tiny footsteps, surveying the ground below and trying to find the right vantage point to watch from for the day. After about 30 steps, I was down on a fringe between aspen stand and spruce timber. I was getting close to where I wanted to be. Hopefully the wind would continue to blow uphill toward me.
Suddenly, I could see elk heads below and ahead of me. One was a bull, but I couldn’t distinguish how many points because of the glare. Rays of sunlight streaked down through the dead spruce branches on my right, creating an odd pattern with no depth or definition - just a bright, multicolor glare in the woods. Behind the brightness were their heads. A view of about eight of them was almost floating in the distance. The bright sunlight made it very difficult to see anything below their heads. Their brown necks and tan legs were lost in the multicolor glare of the sun.
The scene made me squint, trying to discern exactly how many, where they were heading and what the bull looked like.
A crash to my left and uphill revealed a lead cow that saw me. She continued up over the hill to my left in the same direction the herd was traveling.
Looking back, I could see that some of them were wary, but none were committed to running off.
I had the bull in front of me at 40 yards and still moving toward my left. Using a dead spruce for cover, I dropped further down the hill undetected for about 10 paces, the soft grass quieting my steps.
Then another cow spotted me, spooked and turned around, taking another cow with her as they ran below and behind the bull, back in the direction they came from.
All others were on alert, yet unaware of where I was. The dead spruce tree stood between the bull and me. It was a “no shot” scenario!
Nobody moved for a few seconds, and then together the herd began to turn. I knew I had to get around that spruce if I had any chance of a shot. I went for it. The bull was still traveling ahead as the rest of the herd was turning back. He had to decide if he should move around on my side of this dead spruce or exit to the downhill side. He chose wrong! As I moved forward, he suddenly spotted me, but like a pick in a basketball game, that dead spruce was now in his way, thus forcing him to turn around on my side of the tree, bringing him closer for a shot. The distance was now about 25 yards.
I took one more step as I drew back my bow, focused on the bull and released the arrow as he broke into a run. My arrow found its mark and passed through both lungs, leaving a paintbrush splatter of blood on the far side.
I waited in place, as elk were running everywhere. I concentrated on the noise that I thought was my bull and finally heard what I thought was him going down.
Dave was new to the area, so I took him with me to drop him off at another favorite location called the Salt Lick. It’s a great spot and one we have killed elk on before. Then I was to go out on a ridge past and around Mike’s spot and hunt to the end of another of or hunting spots. This put us in an area resembling the back of your hand with a thumb and four fingers, each representing a ridge. Dave would be in the ravine between thumb and index finger, Mike on top between where the middle and ring fingers connect and me going out around to the end of a short pinky finger. All of the ridges feed down to a huge cliff connecting what would be the fingertips. The area we hunt is well-balanced with spruce, aspen and lush grass. It’s elk heaven!
Now if you have elk hunted before, you know they seem to have eyes in front and behind their heads. They can see in the dark and are keen to if you are sleeping, breaking for lunch, or in their “living room” at dawn. With that said, Dave and I were about 100 yards from where I was dropping him off when he whispered, “I hear elk calling.” I began to argue that it was birds, and we couldn’t agree, so we stood there listening. As I strained to hear anything, it was a bit maddening. In your mind you can see the elk, picture where they might be heading and become frustrated knowing that no matter what tactic you take from here, the elk will probably outmaneuver you. Eventually, we heard nothing, and Dave dropped down into the Salt Lick while I moved back up toward Mike’s location.
The first 300 yards would take me right past Mike but around to the northwest side. From there I would be beyond him and far out toward the last ridge (a.k.a., the pinky). By this time, I would have daylight and the wind from the uphill thermals in my face. I would hunt out the ridge to the end and then drop down with the cliff on my right and Dave across the ridges in front of me. Mike would be posted up watching down into the fingers and ravines between.
For safety reasons, we have a check-in time on our radios at 9 a.m. For the first two or three hours, our woods were silent except for Steller’s jays, ravens, squirrels and occasionally mosquitoes. Nobody heard another human and longed for that fond and familiar phrase, “Bull down!” over the radio.
I picked my way slowly, checking all the familiar elk haunts as I went out the ridgeline. A cow and a calf held my attention for about 10 minutes as they grazed from one side of my ridge crossing over to the other. They were alone. By 8:45 a.m., I had reached the spot where I would drop down off the ledge and sit to wait until something happened.
I ate a quick breakfast snack while I waited. Then the radio buzzed, and everyone checked in. Dave had been right, as he walked right into a small herd and they scattered down below him and Mike in the dark. Mike saw nothing. I mentioned the cow and calf. We agreed to talk again at 10 a.m.
Packing up my stuff, I decided to go lower on the steep mountainside. I moved with slow, tiny footsteps, surveying the ground below and trying to find the right vantage point to watch from for the day. After about 30 steps, I was down on a fringe between aspen stand and spruce timber. I was getting close to where I wanted to be. Hopefully the wind would continue to blow uphill toward me.
Suddenly, I could see elk heads below and ahead of me. One was a bull, but I couldn’t distinguish how many points because of the glare. Rays of sunlight streaked down through the dead spruce branches on my right, creating an odd pattern with no depth or definition - just a bright, multicolor glare in the woods. Behind the brightness were their heads. A view of about eight of them was almost floating in the distance. The bright sunlight made it very difficult to see anything below their heads. Their brown necks and tan legs were lost in the multicolor glare of the sun.
The scene made me squint, trying to discern exactly how many, where they were heading and what the bull looked like.
A crash to my left and uphill revealed a lead cow that saw me. She continued up over the hill to my left in the same direction the herd was traveling.
Looking back, I could see that some of them were wary, but none were committed to running off.
I had the bull in front of me at 40 yards and still moving toward my left. Using a dead spruce for cover, I dropped further down the hill undetected for about 10 paces, the soft grass quieting my steps.
Then another cow spotted me, spooked and turned around, taking another cow with her as they ran below and behind the bull, back in the direction they came from.
All others were on alert, yet unaware of where I was. The dead spruce tree stood between the bull and me. It was a “no shot” scenario!
Nobody moved for a few seconds, and then together the herd began to turn. I knew I had to get around that spruce if I had any chance of a shot. I went for it. The bull was still traveling ahead as the rest of the herd was turning back. He had to decide if he should move around on my side of this dead spruce or exit to the downhill side. He chose wrong! As I moved forward, he suddenly spotted me, but like a pick in a basketball game, that dead spruce was now in his way, thus forcing him to turn around on my side of the tree, bringing him closer for a shot. The distance was now about 25 yards.
I took one more step as I drew back my bow, focused on the bull and released the arrow as he broke into a run. My arrow found its mark and passed through both lungs, leaving a paintbrush splatter of blood on the far side.
I waited in place, as elk were running everywhere. I concentrated on the noise that I thought was my bull and finally heard what I thought was him going down.
Got Elk?
Adrenaline pumping, I reached for my radio and shouted, “Bull down, bull down!” as I looked wildly around the area where the bull was standing. I could see skid marks and hoof prints in the direction he went. A spot of blood here and another spot on a stick there, then farther behind, a small spray pattern of blood across a log.
The boys replied back over the airwaves with both congratulations and questions. “Is he big?” “Where are you?” “Which way did he go?” I responded that he ran out of sight and he headed toward the cliff away from us. I was sure I hit him well, but he ran out of sight. I would have to wait a while to be sure he was down.
The next hour spent in place was a bit disturbing. I was feeling less confident since I couldn’t see him down. Moving on him too soon could make for a really long day if he wasn’t quite dead. That hour was exhilarating and excruciating.
The boys replied back over the airwaves with both congratulations and questions. “Is he big?” “Where are you?” “Which way did he go?” I responded that he ran out of sight and he headed toward the cliff away from us. I was sure I hit him well, but he ran out of sight. I would have to wait a while to be sure he was down.
The next hour spent in place was a bit disturbing. I was feeling less confident since I couldn’t see him down. Moving on him too soon could make for a really long day if he wasn’t quite dead. That hour was exhilarating and excruciating.
Our Plan
With each elk hunt, our plan is that if anyone gets one, the rest drop what they’re doing and help out the lucky guy. It’s a celebration, but it’s also a huge sacrifice for those who are hunting but now are being pulled away to pack meat. The work involved for one guy is tremendous, and although it could be done, you are facing weather problems, getting the meat cooled down quickly and sheer exhaustion - a lot for one person to go through. The work involved in field dressing and butchering it into manageable parts on-site, retrieving the packs from camp and hiking the meat out would take most of the day. Three guys working at it made it much more reasonable, and the reality is that it may be the only elk we get all week since the odds are so low. So this elk became “our” elk.
True Teamwork
I’m very thankful that Dave and Mike were more than willing to jump in and help. Dave headed straight back to camp to pick up the three frame packs waiting with supplies. Mike made his way halfway to camp to meet Dave and then brought the frame packs to me. In the meantime, I followed the blood trail slowly, trying to be sure I did not jump the bull if he was still alive.
I found my bull on the side of the hill no more than 75 yards from where I shot. A beautiful 5x5 awaited me in the ferns, grass and shade underneath a cluster of aspen trees.
I laid my pack down next to him and began to look at him. He was not one for the record books, but as a bull elk taken with a bow and arrow, with an over-the-counter license and while on public land, he was magnificent!
Mike showed up with the frame packs in about an hour, calling on his radio and blowing his bugle as I guided him to me on the mountain. Now the major work would begin. I had begun butchering and was hurrying through it, knowing it would be a long day and at any time the sun could move to where the bull would be exposed to the extra heat, which could be a factor in spoilage if there was any. And with him weighing in at about 850 pounds, we were not moving him anywhere until he was mostly butchered.
I had a hind quarter cut off by the time Mike had reached me. He helped me roll the bull elk partway, lifting a leg or turning a head. At one point the dead bull slid downhill, so we had tied him off onto a tree. Working while kneeling, I cut as fast as I could, knees screaming in pain and hands cramping up as I went. When we finally had a good amount of meat in the frame pack, Mike took off with this first load, straight up over the mountain and down the other side to an ATV trail. If it worked out, Dave would be waiting there with an ATV and would return with Mike for the next two loads.
I continued butchering until my hands were about numb and I could feel my back starting to ache. I leaned into the side of that hill cutting, grunting, sweating and smiling for five hours.
I found my bull on the side of the hill no more than 75 yards from where I shot. A beautiful 5x5 awaited me in the ferns, grass and shade underneath a cluster of aspen trees.
I laid my pack down next to him and began to look at him. He was not one for the record books, but as a bull elk taken with a bow and arrow, with an over-the-counter license and while on public land, he was magnificent!
Mike showed up with the frame packs in about an hour, calling on his radio and blowing his bugle as I guided him to me on the mountain. Now the major work would begin. I had begun butchering and was hurrying through it, knowing it would be a long day and at any time the sun could move to where the bull would be exposed to the extra heat, which could be a factor in spoilage if there was any. And with him weighing in at about 850 pounds, we were not moving him anywhere until he was mostly butchered.
I had a hind quarter cut off by the time Mike had reached me. He helped me roll the bull elk partway, lifting a leg or turning a head. At one point the dead bull slid downhill, so we had tied him off onto a tree. Working while kneeling, I cut as fast as I could, knees screaming in pain and hands cramping up as I went. When we finally had a good amount of meat in the frame pack, Mike took off with this first load, straight up over the mountain and down the other side to an ATV trail. If it worked out, Dave would be waiting there with an ATV and would return with Mike for the next two loads.
I continued butchering until my hands were about numb and I could feel my back starting to ache. I leaned into the side of that hill cutting, grunting, sweating and smiling for five hours.
Let’s Celebrate!
Eventually the boys returned together, laughing and carrying on. Mike again shook my hand as hard as he could. It was a giant forceful handshake that just about pulled me over. Dave had a glint in his eye and sat down next to the bull’s head admiring the antlers - five points on each antlered branch. One of them said, “This is what it’s all about!” What he meant was the camaraderie. Not the kill so much, but the teamwork, the laughter and the continued ribbing.
It’s an experience that until you have it, you just don’t realize the accomplishment. As in Colorado, one in five successful elk hunters takes one with a bow. That’s any elk, either a bull or cow. This was an accomplishment for each of us. Hopefully after they sweated the work all day, they would still feel this good. I would owe them regardless.
Over the next few hours, we all worked like crazy. It rained a bit, which was fine, as it actually kept the bees and flies at bay. All told, Mike made two trips on foot with meat up and down over to the trail. Dave shuttled several times to and from camp and made one hike out. I made the trip with hide and antlers to the top of the ridge, then left that pack under a tree until I could retrieve it later. Finally, I made my way to meet both of them down on the trail with a second ATV. From there, we moved the meat down to the truck, which was 7 miles from camp; it had been eight very long hours from when I shot the bull.
It’s an experience that until you have it, you just don’t realize the accomplishment. As in Colorado, one in five successful elk hunters takes one with a bow. That’s any elk, either a bull or cow. This was an accomplishment for each of us. Hopefully after they sweated the work all day, they would still feel this good. I would owe them regardless.
Over the next few hours, we all worked like crazy. It rained a bit, which was fine, as it actually kept the bees and flies at bay. All told, Mike made two trips on foot with meat up and down over to the trail. Dave shuttled several times to and from camp and made one hike out. I made the trip with hide and antlers to the top of the ridge, then left that pack under a tree until I could retrieve it later. Finally, I made my way to meet both of them down on the trail with a second ATV. From there, we moved the meat down to the truck, which was 7 miles from camp; it had been eight very long hours from when I shot the bull.
A Special Time
This hunt, like so many others I have been on with friends, was special. It was bonding. It was later sharing a particular joke that came from the day whatever that might be. It hurt! It was fun! It was delicious, too! There is no better meal than elk tenderloin fresh off the carcass accompanied by a can of cold brew chilled in a mountain spring at the end of a hunt with my friends. The rest of the week could have ended right there. We were that happy!
The Hunt Continues
Work is never done. The second day there was still plenty of work to do while Dave and Mike hunted. The first thing in the morning, I retrieved my pack with the elk hide and antlers. I’m pretty sure I was still walking three feet off the ground after my success.
My next trip was down the ATV trail to take the truck into town, drop off the meat and try to find a taxidermist. Although it was a nice bull, I was not getting a full head and shoulder mount, only a European-style skull mount. With Pennsylvania chronic wasting disease regulations, it was now required that no elk may be returned from Colorado without cleaning it free of brain and spinal fluids. It took most of the afternoon to find one who could prepare the skull by the time we’d be leaving on Saturday.
We enjoyed the rest of the week’s perfect weather. Dave and Mike continued to see elk and hunt with several close calls. At one point, Mike had two bulls nearly run over him. They sprinted off the top of a low hill, came down over right into Mike’s lap, stopped long enough behind some spruce trees (another “no shot” scenario) for Mike’s knees to nervously shake and sprinted away, leaving us all short of breath.
I worked on fleshing the elk hide stretched across several clumped aspens, cleaned up my gear, sharpened knives, spotted for elk on the hillsides and explored the countryside, scouting for more elk sign.
My next trip was down the ATV trail to take the truck into town, drop off the meat and try to find a taxidermist. Although it was a nice bull, I was not getting a full head and shoulder mount, only a European-style skull mount. With Pennsylvania chronic wasting disease regulations, it was now required that no elk may be returned from Colorado without cleaning it free of brain and spinal fluids. It took most of the afternoon to find one who could prepare the skull by the time we’d be leaving on Saturday.
We enjoyed the rest of the week’s perfect weather. Dave and Mike continued to see elk and hunt with several close calls. At one point, Mike had two bulls nearly run over him. They sprinted off the top of a low hill, came down over right into Mike’s lap, stopped long enough behind some spruce trees (another “no shot” scenario) for Mike’s knees to nervously shake and sprinted away, leaving us all short of breath.
I worked on fleshing the elk hide stretched across several clumped aspens, cleaned up my gear, sharpened knives, spotted for elk on the hillsides and explored the countryside, scouting for more elk sign.
Reflection
You couldn’t have asked for a better elk hunt. When it comes right down to it - good friends, nice weather, great country and a special bonding of friends and hunting partners! Although I had made the shot, all of us could claim “our bull” that day.
