Ghost Bull over the horizon…

Have you ever wanted to do something so badly that it somehow keeps whispering in your ear for years? That subtle nudge as a reminder that this is what your soul wants to experience? It’s quite interesting how once we stop plugging our ears and listen to what we are being led to, the universe provides this unbelievable bounty of exactly what we have been yearning for all along.

I recall as a child, peering through the lens of my dad's spotting scope, at the ridge across the way. As he asked me, “You see it?” Referencing the herd of elk grazing on the side of the mountain. This activity wasn’t confined to seeking elk; the spotting scope was used to look at the stars, a full moon on a summer evening, wildlife galore, and more. However, there is something about elk that is truly special, from their bugle filling the air, to finding their tracks that remind a person how small and insignificant we are compared to what lives in the natural world around us.

Elk meat has a flavor unlike beef, with a richness that bleeds out the wilderness where it lived its life. For years, I had wanted to fill my freezer with meat that I had raised or harvested. Always trying to find my place with people who I had hoped would want to do the same. Yet, I had been met with little to no interest from others in my life prior.

The majestic Rocky Mountain Elk had filled my dreams; they were increasingly seducing me to the wild. I wanted to experience the hunt. I’m notorious for seeking pleasure in pain, and love hard manual work. I constantly find myself wanting to be immersed in their habitat, to hear their bugles, to embrace my inner predator, and to seek this animal out.

Fast forward to 2024, and I was watching every elk-hunting video I could get my hands on via YouTube and Instagram. My social media was soon favoring an algorithm filled with camo, calls, and hunting, rather than anything else. I was drawn to it, all of it. The subject of elk hunting consistently felt like I was aligning with what my soul wanted. I was vicariously living through those on a screen because my life at the time didn’t allow for the hunt. 

As the Fall of 2024 came to an end, many changes awaited the new year. Then this man wandered through the door and took my hand in his. We connected through our love of the natural world, along with many other alignments in our viewpoints and more. I’m not one to voice my wants much, but I do leave hints here and there. I knew this man was a hunter, and not just any hunter, but an archer, which I find personally more respectable within the dedication & skill it takes. In no way was I going to try to pry into this man’s hobbies and interests. Yet, once the time came to draw a tag for hunting season, he asked if I’d like to as well. My heart could hardly contain itself! I was over the moon with excitement and wonder. I thought about it endlessly, then the day came when the Oregon Department of Fish and Wildlife released the results… I got a bull elk tag (technically, I could also harvest a cow elk with this same tag). I sat there, peering down at my phone in amazement that I actually got a tag! Teary-eyed and taken aback by the fact that I was not only going to experience a hunt but I was going to get to do it with the man I love, Tim Mazac. 

The time had come after months of waiting. I checked my list twice,... realistically probably three times or more, to ensure that I had all the right clothing, supplies, snacks, etc. We loaded up the side-by-side and truck and headed out towards the vast country that I have so dearly fallen for. When I think of elk hunting, I think of cold mornings, where you can see your breath, and a hot cup of coffee is needed to thaw out one's body. Instead, we were met with a warm morning, so we shed more clothes than expected. Most days, insulated pants and heavy jackets were exchanged for T-shirts and sunscreen.

On our first day, we decided to stop at a location along the way to our intended campsite. Unloaded the bike (side by side) and headed into the hills. Our first encounters were with a small herd of Muleys. The rutt was was in full swing, and about 6-8 does were being heavily guarded by a buck. As he swooped down his head chasing the doe up the hill, he barely noticed our presence, as the ladies below all stopped to look directly at us. Finally, a break in his hormones stopped him in his tracks. He looked at us almost as if to say, “What are you doing here? Can’t you see I’m busy?” His distraction didn’t last long before he dropped his head again to appear like a stalking missile through the sagebrush. 

Encounters like these are one of a million reasons I love being out there. To be completely immersed in a different world. Their world.

We didn’t see much that first morning, but the Muleys and some Pronghorn. On the drive into our camp location, a good buck jumped right out in front of me! I pulled over the car to take some pics and check him out. Riding the high of seeing the buck and good tunes jammin' overhead, I sped right past my turnoff where I was supposed to follow my boyfriend & love, Tim. As I quickly realized what I had done and was searching for a turnaround, I couldn’t help but laugh. I approached the road to where I was supposed to turn, and saw him sitting in the truck. We had a good laugh and headed down the long dirt road towards our camp location. I often think of how so many people nowadays just don’t spend enough time driving on a dirt road, with music that touches the soul. Times like that can be pivotal in decisions, meditations, and soul-enriching experiences.

We set up camp at our favorite spot here. Not one person there. However, we were saddened to see that some previous campers had left this location in disarray. The anger of seeing how people could enter a place like this and just leave trash everywhere. Especially, in a time like this, when the government was in shutdown, which meant BLM had few staffers to take care of this location, let alone the time or funding to get down there to do so. They had left a large frame for a sunshade, likely crumpled by wind, fly traps, socks, and discarded food. Actions like this only make me stress the message of ‘Leave No Trace!’ more and more. Always leave a camp spot better than you found it. Even during times when the government is fully operational, the BLM lacks the funding and staffing to visit locations hours from its field office to provide regular care. This is a good reminder to donate to nonprofits like Friends of the Owyhee, which often are the resource the land needs most, providing essential stewardship.

Our camp was perfect, I couldn’t wait for our adventure in the morning. For years, getting up early in the morning wasn’t my cup of tea, but as the years have waned, I’ve found joy in doing so. (It helps when you don’t work nights, too.) Five mornings, we awoke anywhere between 3:30 and 4:30 am, grabbed coffee, and Tim heated a breakfast burrito, as we headed out on the bike. There was one of two of those mornings where it got so cold that we had ice on the inside of the tent. But we still stayed plenty warm in our sleeping bags that zipped together. Every night, we may have been shut-eye before our heads even hit the pillows.

We’ d ride for miles to watch the sun come up, and glass the hills dropping into the canyons below for the elusive wapiti. These sunrises, I will never forget. Surreal in colors and depth that stretch on for miles, separated by pseudo lines in the dirt where state lines exist. Watching the clouds roll, twist through the sky, each time changing the colors of the high desert blanketed by bunchgrass and sagebrush.

Tim made an excellent dinner of Antelope and beans, and we sat by the fire as the sun tucked in for the night. Watching up above for the stars to make their debut, there were interesting ribbons of blue and light green dancing above the canyon wall. We had joked about how it might be the aurora borealis in the desert, not knowing if any solar storms were actually happening. Eastern Oregon or the desert aren’t your usual locations that come to mind when you think of the northern lights. Tim and I zipped up the tent for the night and didn’t think much of it. But then, he had awakened in the night and opened the tent to be welcomed by the brightest purple magenta hue that illuminated the sky. We, in fact, had been witnesses to an aurora borealis that night and the next. 

Days went on, miles and miles we traveled, glassing every bit of the way. Mule deer and Pronghorn roamed freely, almost knowing we were not in pursuit of them. Weaving through Juniper to see elk tracks, but nothing recent enough to perk our ears. There was only one bull that Tim spotted, and I lifted my glass to see him. He was a beautiful blond grazing on the hillside. The thing is, getting from where he was to where we were is not just a hop and skip, but through tough terrain and dodging canyons. We tried our damnedest to locate him for 2 days. But he was like a ghost. Seducing us through the arid landscape.

There were a few times that we came across other elk hunters in the area. Stopping by to chat and hear if they had seen anything on their travels. No one had any luck seeing elk. It was an unusually warm year, and it was speculated that the elk weren’t migrating into their wintering area, where our unit was located, due to the warmth.

On our last day, we set out for a new location we hadn’t scouted yet. This particular place had been on my list of destinations I wanted to visit for some time. The morning was cold and rainy, a refreshing contrast to the copious dust we had encountered the week prior. As we climbed in elevation, surrounded by mountain mahogany, the area had an eerie yet magical feeling. Like something mysterious lurked in the trees. Even though it was November, there was flox blooming all around on the mountainside. We were searching far and wide, and no elk could be found. From here, we dropped back down into the valley below and rode for miles more. Stopping along the top of hills to glass below along the weaving river. There were several times during this day that I had to just stand still and breathe. It was almost too much to bear. The closing of the season, and to fully digest the beauty which my eyes had devoured for the last week. 

Standing and gazing out among the ever-changing terrain of this landscape. I couldn’t help but think of the work I did in 2024, which focused heavily on the area being proposed for a national monument. You see, the Owyhee isn’t just a landscape; it’s history, stories, wildlife, and geology that people travel the world to see, yet it’s in my backyard. Standing in this one spot, I could see the changes in ecosystems and soil composition. It spans across the distance with red rocks, hoo doos, and colors that capture the artist's heart. The beauty of the Owyhee isn’t just picturesque; it’s rugged, fierce, and will swallow you whole, as it is not for the weak. To think that anyone would not want to protect this place baffles me to my core. As with that designation, I would still be granted the right to stand in this exact place and glass. I would be allowed to hunt and fish the places Tim and I hold dear. The ranchers would still be allowed to graze their cattle as they’ve done for generations. Those who like to ride a side-by-side for a Sunday drive would still be allowed to do so. Guess what, though? You couldn’t build a new lithium mine there. Shucks right (Which would essentially pollute the soil, water, etc., you can’t graze cattle where there is a lithium mine, wildlife die, ecosystems die.) *Follow me on social media, for news on the protections and ways to preserve this land. 

On the ride home, I felt overwhelmed with gratitude. We were dead tired and looked it. Even though we didn’t fill the freezer, my heart was bursting with love. Of the experience I had been dying to be a part of. Sharing camp with a western spotted skunk, seeing the white-tailed jackrabbit, sage grouse, mule deer, pronghorn, and more. Stopping in an old burn to shed hunt, which was an adventure on its own. Feasting my eyes on old massive juniper trees that I wished could tell me the stories that they hold. To me, nothing could compare to this experience. It was everything I could have imagined and better. To have these memories with the man I love, hunting an animal that has always meant the world to me, was a dream come true. I don’t view the time we spent out there as a failure to fill the tag because there was none to fill. We hunted hard and never gave up. Sometimes, weather and other variables can keep the animal from being in the right place at the right time. I will remember this experience until I depart from this world. For it is my heart on so many levels, the land, the company, the skies, and stars; the tracks that lead through the juniper. It all fills my soul to carry on to the next day. 

The Ghost Bull that gave us the slip…