My alarm went off at 5 a.m. I could hear the rain tapping against the siding. I hit the snooze button.  An hour passed. Eventually, my wife, the most forgiving hunter’s wife on Earth, elbowed me and told me to get going. She was upset I hadn’t shot the five-point I called in on opening day. She said she didn’t get it. But she really did. She loves me.

I packed up quickly, grabbed my three year old son, and was out the door. I had work, but I decided there was time for a quick scouting trip. On a whim, I decided to check a spot I hadn’t glassed yet. There had been elk there the last time I drew the unit. Sure enough, there were elk again, and it didn’t take long to locate a big bull. I knew he was big, even at a distance. I just didn’t know how big. I sent the picture out to several trusted friends. You know the type. The ones with the assurance they are the greatest hunters since Jeremiah Johnson. I got no replies; not even a “he looks decent.” I admit, I lost some enthusiasm. Plus, I had my son. I decided to head to work for a bit.