Member’s Hunt: A Little Help From My Friend

By Richard Saunders, Cheney, Wash.

Every once in a while, someone comes along in your life who makes a big impact on you and the way you live. This is pretty rare—I can count the number on one hand. I recently lost a dear friend and brother who I spent many years chasing elk with in the rough country of the Saint Joe drainage of north Idaho. There were three of us who hunted and bonded in this country.

We rode dirt bikes down goat trails and cliffs, and packed in our wall tent, collapsible woodstove and all the gear we needed for a weeklong hunt. We hunted in deep canyons and tall yellow alder brush that the elk loved. We shot many nice bulls over a 17-year period. We worked as three brothers to pack elk out of some pretty tough places and shared stories in the evening about our day on the mountain.

We were extremely tight and all hunted with the same passion. Rain, snow or cold, we headed out well before daylight to chase elk. We hunted this area hard. My friend and brother left this world before his time after losing a long battle with cancer. And then there were just two, and sometimes just one, me, as was the case with my Idaho hunt in 2019.

Hunting a different area with not many elk and some tough hunting conditions, I ventured out to hunt by myself. I beat the bush and walked several miles looking for elk or at least elk sign. I hit some backcountry and sat for a while overlooking a nice area and glassed what looked like a great place to see elk. After day three, I was becoming weary of being able to take an elk this year. With dead silence and nothing moving, I sat beneath a tree and thought about my fallen brother—who I thought about often but had never really spoken to—and decided to ask him for some help: “Hey brother! How about throwing a little something my way? I’m working hard here. Can you help a brother out?” I laughed at myself, then looked around again as though I might see a big bull step out of the woods at any second.

I decided to head back to camp a little early as it had been a very quiet day—a couple of muley does and a small black bear. As I headed back, walking down an old logging road behind a locked gate, I thought: 45 minutes until dark and I’m in a beautiful place—perfect time of the evening to enjoy the quiet, slow walk. I looked down a valley to my left, and about 250 yards away, I spotted a cow elk in a small opening. I quickly found a tree to rest my rifle on and within seconds, a bull appeared out of nowhere. I reacted quickly and pulled off a double lung shot with my .300 Win. Mag. The bull went 25 yards and tipped over.

I was very excited that I had this opportunity in country with low elk numbers. It turned out to be a younger 5x5 bull. When I got to the bull a few minutes later, it felt like an honest to God miracle. All I could do was look up as darkness set in and thank my brother for maybe a little help on this day. There is a 0 percent chance I will ever head off into the backcountry looking for elk without having this person in my thoughts and prayers.

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