Ranch Reviews!

High-Country Bulls!

HUNTING, April 2000, by Joe Graham

    Utah's Ogden Valley is an hour or so drive north of Salt Lake City. It's a pristine farming/ranching basin that is just beginning to feel the impact of development as its small towns are "discovered." At the northern end of the valley is massive Broadmouth Canyon-walled with ruggedly beautiful, towering mountains. Tumbling down through the heart of the canyon is Broadmouth Creek, a clear, cold stream rushing headlong out onto the valley floor. It is here where Rulon Jones, All Pro defensive end with the Denver Broncos' vaunted defense for 10 years, founded the 12,000-acre Broadmouth Canyon Ranch 12 years ago.
    Surrounded by a high fence along its perimeter, Rulon manages Broadmouth Canyon Ranch for big mule deer, Wyoming moose and American elk. Always an avid hunter-even while active in the NFL-he pursued his dream of building the perfect hunting enterprise. Upon retirement from professional football, he and his family put plenty of sweat, tears, and dollars into the development of the ranch. It is the kind of reservation only love and character can produce.
    When I arrived at the ranch to hunt elk, it was a glorious fall afternoon, and golden leaves were drifting softly to the ground from the towering cottonwoods that surround the lodge. The lodge itself is big, rustic and comfortable, and was largely built by Rulon and his father, noted wildlife cinematographer Larry Jones. I immediately felt comfortable as I stowed my gear and met the other hunters and guides, who were talking animatedly of elk hunts past, present, and future.
    Soon Rulon and his chief guide returned from scouting, and the excitement level rose a notch or two. Rulon is a big man, and looks as if he could still destroy offensive linemen if he wanted to, but his personality is that of a calm and perfect host.
    Over a fabulous dinner of roast turkey and dressing, we discussed plans for the next morning, and hunters were assigned to guides. After dinner, a bonfire was built in the courtyard behind the lodge, and amid lies and good-natured jesting the sound of bugling elk drifted down the canyon, making sure sleep would be fitful that night.
    I had arrived with a broken bone in my foot and hobbled around with some difficulty. I had my boots laced up especially tight and used a hiking stick to help me over the rough spots. I think Rulon was shocked when he found out about my misfortune, but he mentioned he had hunted with folks with all sorts of physical difficulties and said we'd have little problem finding a good bull to shoot. Broadmouth Canyon Ranch offers the options of hunting on foot, horseback, or ATV, and can accommodate nearly every mobility level.
    We arose in the dark and hit the mountains after breakfast. It was cold, about 22 degrees, and my down coat felt good. Rulon and I took a jeep up a rough trail into the tall mountains behind the lodge, until we reached our jump-off spot. As we climbed up the mountain, Rulon glassed the surrounding countryside, and I clumsily made my way along behind him with the walking stick.
    Across a canyon on a mountainside, Rulon spotted movement in the chaparral. A huge moose broke through the brush and fed along a heavy thicket before disappearing again. I realized I was holding my breath during this bonus sighting. Rulon grinned at me as I let it out with a sigh. "Come on back during moose season," he said with a laugh.
    The vegetation was extremely thick as we worked our way around the mountain. We couldhear movement down below, but it was impossible to see anything until we made our way into a big open canyon-side. There were deer everywhere. We counted 19 head with about four bucks among them, but no elk.
    We continued to glass, and Rulon would bugle occasionally as the sun broke over the far peaks, casting a rosy glow over the country. After sunrise, the late September weather began to heat up, and coats and jackets went into backpacks until the afternoon chill set in.
    We found several elk, but nothing I wanted to take, and the fine day ended uneventfully.
    The following morning was a different story. We found a good six-point bull right after daylight. Rulon had located him across a big canyon opposite our position, and a bugle and series of grunts started him down toward us. He came quickly to the bottom of the canyon, and Rulon and I swiftly moved to get into position to take advantage of the slight breeze. But when the bull reached the bottom, he hung up and refused to come any farther.
    We were several hundred yards away and could see him moving in the brush. As I watched him through my binoculars, I grew more excited. His rack was heavy and high, and his coat was incredibly white-tan in contrast to his almost black neck. His breath billowed from his nostrils in the cold morning air as he punished a small tree that had the audacity to get into his path.
    I sat down and wrapped the rifle sling around my arm as I got into position for a shot. I was using a Remington 700 chambered for the new .300 Ultra Mag, and I had great confidence in the accuracy and power of the cartridge. A Leica 3-10x Ultravid riflescope topped my rig, and I could see the big elk plainly as he continued tearing up the tree. He was still a good ways off, perhaps 350 yards, and I just didn't want to chance the shot. I wanted to be absolutely certain of a clean kill.
    As I took the rifle from my shoulder, the elk turned and started up the canyon toward the top of the mountain. He went out of sight almost immediately, and I turned to Rulon with a questioning expression.
    "We have to try to get ahead of him," Rulon said, and we hastily started up our side of the canyon.
    The rocky terrain was difficult, and I was blowing like a steam engine as we moved up the hillside behind a ridge of low brush. Rulon sneaked up to look over the rim and motioned for me to join him. The big bull had joined with another bull that was coming down the canyon, and they had stopped to jostle each other around.
    "Which one is our bull?" I asked, wheezing.
    Rulon glassed them carefully and directed me to take the bull on the right. I settled down and placed the scope's crosshair right behind the bull's shoulder. I waited a couple of seconds for my heartbeat to steady, and I could feel Rulon willing me to shoot.
    The Remington 700 recoiled, and the intervening 200 yards reverberated with the smack of the hit. The bull sat back on his haunches at the impact of the 180-grain Nosler Partition. Then he struggled to his feet but immediately fell over again and was down for good. I exhaled with a whoosh as Rulon pounded me on the back.
    "I thought you were never going to shoot," he said. "Congratulations."
    Later, at the lodge, as I watched the bull being caped in the shady glen next to Broadmouth Creek, I thought about the morning's excitement and what a great hunting business Rulon and his family have created here in the heart of this magnificent elk country. The region has beauty beyond compare, the people are warm and friendly, and there are game and hunting options for everyone. I decided right there that I would be coming back to Broadmouth Canyon Ranch.

Hunt with former Denver Broncos All-Pro RULON JONES
Request a free DVD: Send your name and mailing address to: rulon@utahelkhunt.com