Ranch Reviews!

The Bulls of Broadmouth

HUNTING, March 2002, by A.E. Walsh

"An elk hunt in Utah's Wasatch Range pushes the author to the brink of breakdown, but ends with his harvesting the bull of a lifetime."

I typically don't get cold, but I wasn't offered much choice on the windward side of Broadmouth Canyon Ranch this past November when 50 degrees of Utah sunshine turned overnight to 20 degrees and horizontal snow -- and Rulon and I were stuck miles from camp.

We had set out only hours before, just as the sun broke the horizon, first in the truck to the end of the road, then on foot to the end of the ridge. We dropped into the canyon and had covered several miles and seen several branch-antlered bulls, but were unable to get in close enough for a shot in the treacherous winds.

Across the steep canyon wall we caught a glimpse of tan moving through the timber and decided to take a closer look. As if on cue, the skies turned charcoal in color and the clouds lowered, reducing visibility to near nothing. The cold wind quickly went from unpleasant to horrible and packed a punch of sleet, and regardless of which direction you turned, it was blistering your face.

The rock-salt-sized hail was relentless, like a thousand swarming bees with the wind at their back. Luckily, my face went numb quickly. Occasionally, in a foolish attempt to draw a breath at 9,000 feet, I'd get a throat full of thumbtacks.

We continued on. Gasping for air and peering out from underneath my tightly drawn parka hood, I could barely see Rulon 20 steps ahead on the near vertical incline. Trying my best to keep up was not good enough, as the horror stories told by friends and guides came true: Rulon could walk these mountains like the elk we were hunting. Ordinarily I would blame my ever-increasing age or a pair of knees that have suffered countless sports injuries, but this wasn't going to fly with Rulon Jones, a former All-Pro defensive end for the Denver Broncos and nearly 20 years my senior. I didn't know what was worse: failing to keep up like an oafish friend of mine a year earlier, or freezing to death because I dared to stop and rest my legs and lungs. After much deliberation, I realized I was much less afraid of a frigid death than bursting my lungs trying to keep pace.

The son of early bow hunting legend Larry Jones, Rulon was born near the mouth of Broadmouth Canyon and learned its every secret over years of hunting and scouting. In fact, if you ask him about his superstar playing days, he still laments the fact that he lost years of hunting this canyon. That's why, when the huddle no longer called, he purchased his childhood stomping grounds and, after years of sweat-equity, has established one of the premier hunting lodges in the West.

Broadmouth Canyon Ranch

Broadmouth Canyon Ranch, situated on 12,000 acres at the foothills of Utah's fabled Wasatch Range, offers a diverse collection of wild game from which hunters can choose. From mule deer, cougar, and Shiras moose to the trophy elk that made it famous, Broadmouth Canyon Ranch has developed the ultimate hunting setup.

As part of Utah's landmark Cooperative Wildlife Management Unit program (CWMU), private landowners grant public access to their lands for special lottery-drawn hunts administered by the state in exchange for a determined number of tags for these same species to use as they wish. Rulon just happens to sit on some of the finest big-game country in the state, so participation in the CWMU is a no-brainer. Each year, Rulon's hunters take trophy animals on his CWMU lands and because the harvest is well managed, the quality of animals only goes up each year. In fact, in the 12 years Rulon has operated Broadmouth Canyon Ranch, the business has averaged about 90 percent on deer, better than 95 percent on elk, and 100 percent on moose.

To satisfy his lifelong passion for elk, Rulon offers 2,000 acres exclusively managed for trophy bull elk. This fenced section of the property offers a varying terrain to accommodate hunters of all physical abilities. From sheer rock ledges to aspen draws and rolling hills, Broadmouth Canyon climbs from 5,300 feet at the lodge to just under 10,000 feet at the summit. Accomodations range from first-class lodge life to a true wilderness experience at the spike camp. The lodge, a split-log structure with an impressive display of mounted game -- some taken by Rulon's father on his famous adventures and some from the ranch -- offers private bedrooms and a family-type atmosphere. The well-appointed kitchen is always staffed with a smiling cook, the showers are always warm, and the beds always soft. The lodge accommodations are truly an oasis after a tough day of hunting

The spike camp, while offering much more than what many elk hunters might expect, is short of luxurious. The wall tents are new, but the cold air still finds its way in as soon as the stove dies down, and the latrine is the way it should be -- far enough from the camp. While there are no showers and the beds give way to cots and sleeping bags, the cook tent is even more appreciated in this rugged setting, and camp cooks Zon and Jeanne Everts quickly became my best friends. This is the true meaning of an elk hunt, and something everyone should do at least once in their lives.

Although I must admit that I snuck down to the lodge on one occasion to steal a shower, the elevation of the spike camp (about 6,5000 feet) made it possible to hunt a section of the ranch that was high enough to serve as an elk retreat. Each morning we would rise well before the sun was up and start out either on horseback or on foot.

Searching High And Low

The first day ended without ever catching up to the elk we had seen across the canyon. The low clouds made it nearly impossible to cover any ground with our eyes, and the bulls we were after had been pressured and were perfectly content to get in the timber and stay put. The clouds eventually lifted and blew to the east, giving way to clearing skies, and rising hopes for the next day.

We rode back to camp, threw down a quick but delicious meal, and before my head hit the pillow I was sound asleep.

After the first day's physically demanding hunt, I awoke sore, yet optimistic. We had seen several nice bulls, and were it not for the weather I'm sure we would have been able to drop the hammer on one. After a full breakfast and some mutual moaning amongst my fellow spike campers, Rulon and I saddled up and headed into the morning dark.

Not long after the black and stars relinquished their grip to a fiery-orange, then pale blue morning, Rulon spotted a monster muley feeding in a small bowl of chaparral. His main beams stretched well beyond his oversized ears, and the typical four-point sported mass all the way to the tips. We discussed, and then decided he would probably score into the high 190s. Fortunate for him, we were hunting elk.

The change in atmospheric pressure must have thrown the elk out of sorts, as we had a difficult time finding anything better than rag-horn bulls. We searched all morning and most of the afternoon before spotting a lone elk a half-mile away. The light was fading by the time we got close enough for a good look with the 10x42 Leicas I carried, but it held out long enough to determine that this was a great bull. In the gray light he looked to be a heavy 6-point, or maybe a 6x7. We would get after him in the morning.

Though the day was long and I was still achy and tired, sleep was difficult. The excitement combined with cold night air leaving me to toss and turn all night. At one point, I awoke to hear the song of nearby coyotes celebrating an unknown kill, and prayed selfishly that it wasn't my bull caught by ambush. The horrible thought was interrupted by the droning beep of the alarm clock and the gentle nudge of tent-mate, great guy, and guide Chuck Creamer.

An hour later, Rulon and I settled into the saddle, checked the wind, and pointed our horses uphill. In the dark, our faces were slapped and scratched by oak and maple brush, but the excitement of what lay ahead dulled the sting. We timed our arrival perfectly, breaking through the timber as daylight came. We were standing on the same ridge we had spotted the bull from 14 hours prior, and quickly found him again in the binoculars. He had moved no more that 100 yards under the cover of night.

After dismounting and tying our horses at the edge of the timber, we gathered up backpacks and took a slug of water. Although the bull was directly across from us, to get a shot we would have to get well above him, then cross over to close the distance. We guessed correctly that it would take us about an hour.

When we closed to within 300 yards, we noticed the bull was walking with a limp. Though we could see no obvious sign of a wound, Rulon didn't want to risk pushing this bull into the timber to suffer further, so he asked if I thought I could take him from this distance. The 180-grain Partition erupted from the muzzle of my .300 Win. Mag. At 3000 fps, but missed cleanly. With this, the bull whirled, crossed the canyon just below our horses, and disappeared into an island of still-turning aspens. When he never came back out, we agreed to close in tighter if there was another shot to be had.

Another hour and a half back to an overlook above the bowl into which the bull had settled, and we began picking apart the shadows with our glasses. Eventually, Rulon spotted the bull cruising the timber for a place to bed, and we scrambled to find a solid rest. Determined not to make the same mistake, I waited until the bull was well within 200 yards, and as his front shoulder crossed through a small opening, I squeezed the trigger. The "thud" of the bullet was distinct in the still air, but the bull did nothing more than take another step and lay down.

Eventually, his head started to slowly lean from side to side, then settled to the earth.

In the end, I held the antlers of the bull I'd pursued across the rugged Broadmouth Canyon and back, and in the process I'd learned much more about myself than the game I sought. I'd been physically pushed to the brink, challenged to dig deep inside for the endurance to continue when my body ached, and learned that no matter how much I could push myself beyond my physical limits, the limits of my shooting should remain steadfast.

Broadmouth Canyon Contact

Broadmouth Canyon Ranch offers a great hunting opportunity for elk experts and novices alike. Hunt packages are designed to meet the wants, needs, and expectations of their clients, and though space is limited for 2003, there are still hunts available.

Located only one and a half hours from Salt Lake International Airport, Broadmouth is very convenient. Their private shuttle is part of the package price, and from the time you land in Salt Lake City everything, except meat/trophy processing and shipping, is included. It's a no-hassle operation from the word "go".

For more information about Broadmouth Canyon Ranch and its hunts, contact them by writing Broadmouth Canyon Ranch, Dept. AH, 3985 North 3775 East, Liberty, UT 84310; 801-745-1912. You can also check out their website at www.utahelkhunt.com.

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