As we prepared to move out, Diana said, "Wow, hear him raking?" Soon I caught the sound of a bull elk thrashing trees with his antlers somewhere below. Either he hadn't been as far away as I first thought or he was coming in on a rope.

We sprang into action, Steve quickly guiding us into a stand of open timber. He bugled, and the bull screamed a response and raked the trees with ferocity. We halted at the head of a shallow draw, and moments later the elk's big, tawny body emerged just 50 yards away. I put the rifle up, but there was no shot through the trees, so Steve steered me to the right, and I shouldered the gun again, my mouth dry and heart pounding.

The elk never broke stride as he walked uphill, swinging his head as he tried to catch a glimpse of the interloper. This time the glowing red dot of the Kahles CSX reticle found an opening, centered on the shoulder and tracked the walking bull. I pulled the trigger.

The bull wheeled at the shot and bounded behind a small knoll about 75 yards away, making a huge racket, and then complete silence fell like a curtain. I didn't miss, I couldn't have missed I thought, as Steve looked at me questioningly.

I began moving toward where the bull had disappeared, half expecting him to be dead just behind the rise and half worried that I'd blown it again. My worst fears seemed confirmed when a loud crash signaled the elk's departure.

We couldn't see the bull cross the small draw, but we could follow his progress with our ears. Then I saw brush moving on the other side just as the commotion ceased. In my excitement (okay, panic), I started to rush forward, but Steve stopped me and began leading us on a slow, cautious semicircle to a point below where we thought the elk was.

Then Steve started uphill, motioning me on, but out of the corner of my eye I spied a set of antlers through the brush.

"Steve, wait, no--he's right here," I said, desperation creeping into my voice as Steve continued to peer uphill. "He's right here."

Then he turned to me with a big grin and said, "Yeah, I know. I was just testing ya."

The tremendous hunting aside, the romance of a wilderness horseback adventure makes a trip such as this one of the best hunting experiences a person could have.

I blew out a long breath. At last I had my elk, a handsome 6x6. The 160-grain Winchester Supreme AccuBond had entered the near shoulder about halfway up, taking out one of the lungs before coming to rest in the far shoulder. A lesser animal would probably have dropped on the spot; it's a testament to the elk's toughness that the bull managed to run 75 yards before toppling.

It was a long hike back to the horses, but for the first time all week I rode into camp while it was still light. It wasn't until the next morning, as we saddled up the horses and got our pack string of mules sorted out, that our accomplishments really sank in: Two bull elk bugled in and killed in a single day.

Riding in to retrieve those elk--bombing through the forest without the benefit of trails--and then seeing the mules carrying those big manties full of elk meat, the majestic antlers riding atop the white canvas, I truly came to appreciate what an experience wilderness elk hunting can be. May I be so lucky to do it again someday.

For more information on wilderness elk hunting in Montana, contact Paws Up Outfitters, 406/244-5363, www.pawsup.com.