And then it was my turn...

To kill something.

We made the experience about as exciting as it gets for a cow hunt.

Or I'm just guessing, anyway, since it was the first time either one of us had ever been on a cow elk hunt. Brandon and his friends are much too manly to take down a cow, and I didn't come across any elk hunting opportunities as a Texas resident.

We only had three chances to make something happen. The hunt opened Friday morning, and I had a cousin from Tennessee in town Saturday night who I hadn't seen in more than a decade.

We made it into the mountains just in time to catch a few elk headed out to feed Thursday evening and put a game plan together for the next morning.

Brandon's dad and I enjoyed some coffee, breakfast and good conversation for about an hour before Brandon actually rolled out of bed at 4:30 Friday morning (yes, he's the big, bad hunter), which was the time he suggested we leave camp the night before.

When we finally made it out, Brandon and I hauled off the mountain side in the dark, and ended up climbing two other mountains before we were in position to bust out a cow, calf and bull his dad caught going into the trees to bed from his vantage point.

At 75 yards, the cow pegged Brandon, but was out of my sight behind a tree. At 100 yards, I had a perfect shot. She had stepped out, but her head was in a dead tree and I wasn't absolutely certain it was the cow, so I held off. By the time I was certain, she was high-tailing it up the mountain, with the calf and bull close behind.

At 125 yards, I had a shot on the move, but couldn't get my rest right. At 200 yards, I had a shot in the back as she went straight up the mountain, but I didn't want to take it due to some confidence issues. And at 300 yards, I had half a second to take a shot before they all went around the side of the mountain, but didn't capitalize.

So basically, I blew it.

That evening, the only elk we saw were at least a mile away right at dusk. Nothing we could make a move on.

Saturday morning was crunch time. We went out on a bluff at daylight just in time to catch another bull, cow, calf trio and a spike heading to the trees. Brandon and I dropped our jackets and half our gear, including my binoculars, with his dad and hauled off toward them. His dad thanked us later for wearing all those clothes when he had to pack them back to the Jeep.

Before we could get within 800 yards, the bull, cow and calf had disappeared. We decided to head down into the trees and come up on the other side of them to catch them coming out. So we set off across the wide open face of a mountain, and Brandon spotted a cow feeding at 300 yards on the next ridge over.

We dropped and got set up, but he had about a six inch elevation over me, which was just enough for the cow to be too low for me to see her over the hill. So we waited.

Eventually, the bull and spike we had seen earlier both made their way across that same ridge, after some cows we suspected were out of sight at the bottom.

Then, about 400 yards away, the cow and calf were migrating toward us. I was just getting ready to move the gun to that cow at 360 yards, when I spotted a closer elk moving out of the trees.

"Is that one of those bulls coming out, or is it a new cow?" (I had to ask, since we left my binoculars at the top, thinking I was just going down to shoot.)

Brandon, after a quick look: "Nope, it's a cow."

Me: "Move the gun on her?"

Him: "Yes, and get ready to shoot."

Me: "Okay, I'm on her. Can you zoom it in?"

He cranks the scope to nine-power for me so I can stay in the gun...

Me: "Keep going."

Him: "That's all there is."

Me: "Oh, crap. She's far away."

30 seconds later, still steady on the cow..."Okay, can I shoot now?"

"Yep, whenever you're ready."

All of a sudden, I turn into a shaking, heavy-breathing mess. I take a few deep breaths and still can't get completely steady, but decide I better shoot before the elk moves on me.

And then I hear, "You smoked her!"

But I loaded another bullet and ran up 50 yards, just in case.

After 15 minutes or so, we made the hike over to find my cow. Sure enough, the only move she made after the shot was a ten yard nosedive down the mountain. This was about the only move possible, since I blew out both her shoulders. At 320 yards. Yes, I'm quite proud of that.

When I told my dad about the hunt, particularly my shot, he said, "Man, Brandon better watch out and think twice about all this target practice you're getting. 320 yards is a long way off for him to be sitting on the tractor."

Anyway, Brandon's dad was able to maneuver the Jeep down the mountain to within 500 yards of the bottom, where Brandon and I had drug the elk to get our meat and pack it out. This was very fortunate, since we had left it more than a mile away straight up a mountain.

The men packed out the meat, and I packed out the gear. They are both still giving me a hard time about this, even though I repeatedly insisted I could help pack out my own elk. I think they just enjoy having something to hold over my head.

We all enjoyed the obligatory Coors Light to celebrate my kill, then made our 1.5 hour drive back to camp.

Hunt over.

And of course, the pictures:

We now have two elk in the freezer, with two coues deer tags left to fill.

I think we'll make it through the winter.