He's a barn bull. Not the rack you nail above the barn door, but the kind you wedge up in the rafters. He was also the most memorable elk I've ever killed.
The fall of 2002 was a dry one, and hot, but I was determined to make the most of my five-day Colorado elk season. My secret location was home to elk, including some good bulls. It was actually a friend's honey hole, graciously shared, and lay on national forest. But the secret was safe because very few people were dumb enough to try to hunt it.
Rocky Mountain Elk Foundation Bugle Magazine
