CLASSIC GOODHUNTING TRIP REPORTS ---- HUNTING (VI)

My Most Unforgettable Gator Hunt
GATOR
My Most Unforgettable Gator Hunt
Gator (Florida)

I had several gators to catch in that area of a local lake so Booger, my daughter Danielle, another buddy and myself went after the dastardly beasts. We had hunted till about 2:30 am and had caught 2 gators of about 10' alive and had them in the boat with us. We entered a creek off the main lake and as we rounded the corner, I saw an eye shining on the left shoreline. My buddy was on the gig pole as he had never gigged a gator before and I figured to give him a chance. Booger was running the motor and I was ready to assist. We put the electric motor on and eased in to take a look. As we got near, I could tell this gator was a behemoth and seemed very unconcerned with us.

We got close enough and you could feel the boat vibrating from my buddies knees shaking as he had now figured out how big the gator was. Well, he gigs the gator and all hell breaks loose as the gator made his initial run. All at once everything goes slack. The harpoon had pulled out! Man, I was not a happy camper to say the least (Kribbs can attest to my feelings when this happens).

So here we are, sitting in the middle of the lake very dejected, when I look over with the light and there's the gator back up in the same spot where he was before. Now at this time my buddy wants no part of gigging again but I know things are going to be hairy when we get him on the rope and I want to be free to do whatever is necessary so I talk him into trying again. Booger expertly puts the boat back in position and Robert gigs him again. Well, it is very obvious immediately that the gig has held as we are now being pulled at flank speed out into the lake. I have never, before or since, seen a gator with the strength this one had. We were all very shook and excited at this time and I had no problem deciding we needed to kill this one with the bang stick. (Today I would catch him alive and possibly get more money for him.)

After the gator has fought us for awhile, I load the bang stick and move onto the bow along side Robert. We work the gator to the surface and he is now directly below our feet at a distance of 12 inches. My God I couldn't believe the size of his head and neck. I was leaning over the bow trying to get the shot on him that I needed to kill him instantly. Now, there was nothing on the front of my boat at this time to hold onto. While we are trying to position him for the kill, he decides he's not through fighting yet. He whirls around to give the boat a severe thrashing and knocks it sideways in the water which throws me off balance to the left.

The next thing I know I'm falling through the air backwards toward the water. This brought a bit of concern to me as the last thing I remember seeing was this monstrous head and neck right where I was falling. I remember going under and the only thoughts going through my head was thinking over and over "he's going to bite me". Now, I'm not exactly lying there waiting as I'm reaching with my hand to find the boat (it is pitch dark as you know). My hand finds the side of the boat and I pull with the power of the terrified and then Booger has me and snatches me over the side and in on top of 2 live, very irritated 10 footers.

Well, I'm lying there thinking about whether or not I still have all my parts and it suddenly occurs to me Booger is screaming at me to tell him if I'm all right. I say some colorful things and make him understand that I'm still checking to see if anything is missing. Well, I stand up and look to the back of the boat and my daughter is crying her eyes out. Now this truly touched my heart to see she was so concerned for dear old dad. I went to her and put my arm around her and assured her I was OK. She looked me dead in the eye and said "I'm not crying about you, I almost fell out of the boat too!!". Booger then told her she had made a serious mistake. If she had said she was concerned for me, she could have had anything her heart desired!!!!

Another thing is, though I went completely under and seemed to be there for a very longtime, when I got back in the boat and removed my wallet, it wasn't even wet! Guess I wasn't in there as long as I thought. Anyway, I still had the bang stick in my hand so I went back to the bow and we finally managed to dispatch the critter. The fear wasn't too bad at this time, however within a few days the nightmares began and lasted a few weeks. All in all a very memorable trip.

NOTE: To see a picture of the alligator Gator is talking about, go to Gator's Web Page and click on "Pictures and Stories".

____________________

Chasing Gators with GATOR
Jim Kribbs
Scary, but fun
Chasing Gators With Gator
Jim Kribbs (Florida)

As you all know, when Tony and I go gator hunting, it's usually at night. One of the scariest times to catch a gator is during the day, on land. The last time I went up, we had two emergency calls, both daytime and on dry land. For one, during the day, these gators can see you, whereas at night, they are semi-blinded by the light and just thrash around biting anything close which is "usually" the side of the boat. They have been known to get hold of a paddle or the gig pole though, then LOOK OUT, he'll beat you to death with it! Also on land, those suckers can run and there's NO man on earth who can outrun a gator. Usually they just bite and hiss as we approach close enough to grab them, but it's always in the back of your mind whether or not they're going to charge you. Then look for the nearest tree!

Well, now to the subject of this report. Saturday morning Tony and I were on the lake, cruising around and b/s'ing. Tony pointed to his left and said, "That's a gator...and a big one". I saw nothing but a bubble trail, but with Tony's 20+ years of experience, he knew what it was. Cool, this is a new experience! I was on the bow and Tony yelled for me to grab the gig pole.

We followed the bubble trail 'til it stopped. Tony eased the boat right on top of the bubbles and I blindly slammed the gig hard into the water. (you can't see the bottom, it's muddy and murky) BAM!! It was like hitting a steel plate. F..K! I hit him in the head! (No way in the world to hurt a gator like that, it's like concrete) He hauled ass and we again started chasing bubbles. Now he's pissed, but never surfaced. We lose the trail and Tony yells, "He's coming straight at us"! He came at us broadside and went under the boat! We spun the boat around and the chase was on again.

The bubbles stopped and we eased up to them. Again I slammed the gig into the lake bottom. DAMN! I felt him hit the pole as he hauled ass again! I evidently hit right beside him and he hit the pole as he took off. The chase is on again. Tony asked why I thought that gator was hanging out there. About this time I heard some splashing and noticed up toward shore was a big white dog walking around in the lake. There was a nice lake house there and we assumed that gator had plans to make the family Fido into a nice breakfast 'til we came along.

Back to the gator. We eased up on the bubbles again and again, I slammed blindly into the bottom, BUT...this time I connected! That gator went ape shit! The rope was ripping off the coil a zillion mph through my hands leaving some nice rope burns. I tightened my grip and the bow of the boat spun around as that bad boy started dragging us across the lake.

There's no way to explain the power these things have. That is a HEAVY boat and he's dragging us through the water like a cork on a string! Picture yourself standing on a skateboard with a lasso. You ease up to a wild stallion and slip the rope around his neck just as someone shoots him in the ass with a pellet gun! Man what a rush!! Fishing has NOTHING on this!

Well he hauls ass and I'm hanging on to the rope with everything I've got when all of a sudden, the line goes slack. DAMN!!!! I tell Tony the dart came out! SHIT! Then we notice, NO, he's turned and is coming straight at us! I'm gathering rope as fast as my hands can move. I get all the slack gathered just as he surfaces right at my feet on the bow. He's PISSED off big time and starts to roll. SHIT AGAIN! Now I'm reeling rope out of my hands as fast as I can to keep him from winding right up on top of me like a yoyo! I'm running low on rope and trying to unwind as he rolls to keep him from getting too tangled.

He's all wrapped up now, but most of the rope is towards his tail. If I try to lift him up by grabbing him (uhhh, so Tony can grab him that is), he comes up tail first and that leaves the business end to thrash around and do some nasty things to whatever soft flesh gets in the way.

We finally wear him down and get him in the boat just as a big thunderstorm rolls in. We made a mad dash for the ramp and brought another trophy home. A real nice fat 10footer! Damn, I may have to go back next week. We have about 50 complaints that need to be handled. Tony calls this work. I call it almost as great a head rush as skydiving! There's just something about getting up close and personal with something that can EAT YOU!




Bubbles' First Deer
Bubbles
Bubbles First Deer - 11/27/1997
Bubbles

I am so high. This is incredible!!! I just had to log in from my mom's computer to tell you all about my day. The bear trip report will come next week. To make a long story short, we didn't get one, we hunted hard, and it was cold and snowy up there.

My deer hunt: At about 3:00 this afternoon David (farm owner in Frederick Co, VA), his son Tim, and I drove up at a line of trees bounding a corn field and clover field - a prime deer spot. The weather couldn't have been better - about 50 degrees, no wind, sunny, dry. Quite a change from the snow in Pennsylvania.

As I was putting on my coat and orange vest I hear a shot, look up, and David had already dropped a 10 point buck not 50 yards from the truck. Wow! I watched as David field dressed him, then helped drag him to the truck.

Next we headed off to a small thicket about halfway down the clover field. Since David was out of tags, having used his last on the buck, he left his gun in the truck. He and I stayed in the trees while Tim continued around the edge of the field just inside the tree line. This was a big field - about 200 yards across and 800 yards long, so it took him a while to skirt it. Just before dusk I saw a fat doe feeding along the edge of the field straight across from me. I steadied the rifle against the tree line, sighted across the field, and fired. BANG!!! Even though my ears were ringing I could still hear David shout, "She dropped, so you hit her!" I was shaking like a leaf and my heart was pounding about 100 beats per minute. We waited a few minutes for her to die, and then incredibly saw her limping toward us through the field about 125 years away. DAMN DAMN DAMN. I picked her up again in the scope and fired. BANG - THWAP! I heard the bullet hit, and she dropped again. David and I walked out across the field to check her, and discovered that my first shot hit her knee. I felt worst about the deer suffering for those minutes than I did about killing it.

When I turned her over to start field dressing we realized that she had balls and was actually a button buck. David talked me through the field dressing, and it wasn't nearly as bad as everyone had made it out to be. He didn't even smell bad, and I didn't cut up any of the intestines or anything, thanks mainly to the advice I received from you guys.

Since none of the check stations are open tonight, this being thanksgiving, my little buck is hanging up until tomorrow morning. After he's checked, David and I are going to skin and butcher it ourselves.


Buckrub's Big Buck
Buckrub
Buckrub's Big Buck

Persistence pays off. It'll get you laid, it'll get you employed, and it'll get you a deer. After 17 total days of deer hunting most every daylight hour, and seeing only one little one (which I killed on day 3), I finally scored. Got a decent 8 pointer this morning. Not anything Len would brag about, but nice for south Arkansas. 14 1/2 inside spread, 141 pounds. Very symmetrical, very pretty rack. I just finished putting up the meat, and am trying to type this before I hit the sack and head out for St. Louis in the morning.

I just tried about every spot on our lease and seen almost nothing. I spent several hours just riding, and looking, and thinking. I stumbled on an area that no one hunts much. It's in the general area where I killed the little on with the smoke pole, but very different type of terrain. That was a hardwood creek bottom. This is a pine forest. Big pines, but spread out, leaving unreal thickets between.

A wheely trail goes through it, with pines about 12 feet high on both sides. I took a chance, and broke through the wall of small pines with my Suzuki D9 Caterpillar, and VOILA, a little bit of a clearing. In the middle is ONE big, huge, size large white oak tree. BONANZA. This is what I look for. White oaks. Forget the rest. Deer candy.

I tried to finagle around and find a spot to hang a climber but couldn't find one. I left mad, and got back on the wheely trail. Then it hit me. I'd hunt a tree on the side of the wheely trail, close to the white oak. I found a few big pines, with the little ones making a wall on the trail, and climbing up. I could see the top of the white oak, but not the bottom. So I hunted it Saturday afternoon. Nothing. Three tree rats.

This morning, I went back. Overcast, colder by 8:00 than it was at midnight, but not very. Rained the night before. I climbed up, and began to figure out where I needed to make shooting lanes. I plan on going back after the season and working on the spot. I was thinking "there" and "there" and maybe "there". By about 9:00, I was getting the blahs, and the feeling that a deer was gonna step out at any time was beginning to fade. I still felt confident about the spot, but was about to decide today wasn't the day.

Then I saw movement 30 yards out from me, parallel to the wheely trail. The deer had come from the white oak, though I couldn't see the ground there. I picked him up in one small opening, instantly realized he was gonna walk through the next little opening on the other side of a tree, and that would be it. After that sayonara. My gun was across my stand, so I just picked up the gun while watching the deer, raised, pointed, found him in the scope, and covey shot him. All that happened in two deer steps.

He fell over like a carnival silhouette shot with a BB gun. I never had seen the whole deer. I just saw the kill zone in my scope, noticed something was sticking out about his ears, and fired. I would have been content with a doe, so I was in the "if it's brown it's down" mode. I didn't have to examine the headgear. After I shot, he fell over away from me, and died medium dead. I could see white belly sticking out at me. I watched through the scope for 12 minutes, without moving (been there, done that, won't make that mistake again). Convinced he was out for the count, I climbed down and went and drug him out. Took forever to get him on the wheely, but I finally managed with only three successive heart attacks. Small ones.

That's it. End of story. He's in the freezer. His horns are in the shop. And I'm going back next Friday to see if I can find his granddad.


Virginia Deer Hunt
LJ
It was cold for Northern VA but thanks to my Sorels and new coveralls I was pretty toasty walking down the logging road/trail. The moon was so bright, I didn't need my flashlight at all. Usually, with the moon being so bright, our deer will stay out all night was cold for Northern VA but thanks to my Sorels and new coveralls I was pretty toasty walking down the logging road/trail. The moon was so bright, I didn't need my flashlight at all. Usually, with the moon being so bright, our deer will stay out all night through bow season.

As I got my stand up about 25 feet, I had the full moon at my back and the beginnings of the light coming to the front of me. I sat over a large draw where I could cover the whole draw for about 200 years which led to a creek, and then farms. Over the other side of the draw rises about 250 feet, very steep, but I could see real well, maybe 150 years. To my back were numerous trails that wove in and out of thick brush that had alot of sign but I never say anything during bow season. Out in front of me, I tossed my Tinks #69 "cooter bombs".

Anyway, as first light began to creep, I hit my grunt tube with 2 short "I'm a buck" calls. About 10 minutes later as I'm facing into the draw, 10-15 mph wind at my back I hear a step, then two, pause, step, pause pause pause, step, eeerrrrrp!!! DAMN!!! There's one behind me and it's close!!! Here goes the pulse rate... faster, harder, shirt's moving, surely he can hear that... He's held up, no noise whatsoever so i figures he's looking my way trying to make sense of the blob in the tree that won't move... What the hell is he doing moving with the wind at his back??? They never do that... I started to try and calm myself down, develop a plan of action because he's on a trail that will bring him right under my stand so I have to get around and get the scope on him or all I'm going to see is buck butt bounding away... As my heart rate drops after about 3 minutes I begin to execute my patented "37 mobe noiseless motionless wonder 180 degree turn" every time I even THINK about rotating a foot or supporting my weight on the tree this guy looks right at me. Once I get around enough to see him, I can see a small rack, that's all I need to see. Finally, I get around enough to get my rifle up SLOWLY and look at him. He does a 180, then begins to move perpendicular through very thick brush. I looked ahead to find a shootable place and he stopped right before it... one more step, BANG!!! He dropped instantly, but looked like he might try to get up. I racked another round quicker than I ever had before and put the cross hairs back on him but by then he was still... good shot. As the ringing cleared from my ears, I hear another deer on the far side of the draw moving away from me. DAMN!!! There was another one and I never knew he was there... it was probably the doe this 5 pointer was chasing... Oh well... As I feel the sense of relief wash over me because of my epic, deerless struggle has come to an end, I still hear the deer moving away from me every once in a while... It seems in no big hurry now... I hit the grunt tube with 2 more short grunts and hear it coming back down the ridge, into the wind this time, with tinks in the deers nose and my grunt in the deers ears... I hit the grunt tube (inhale/exhale model) with a series of aggressive grunts and this deer starts crashing toward me.. I STILL haven't seen it, but it's moving with a purpose now. It holds up again, out of sight.... damn, it's too wary after hearing that shot, it'll never come out. I hit the aggressivegrunt again and here he comes, I see little pieces at a time, a flash of antler a BIG chest, powerful hind legs... This is a big deer and he's vought the scope, I see a nose, attached to a big buck that's staring RIGHT AT ME from 100 yards away. MISFIRE !!!! damn damn damn... oh $hit, wait a minute... that bolt throw that I thought was so quick, was quick because I threw it back far enough to eject the cartridge but not far enough to chamber another.... I am the dumbest person on the planet. This buck is GONE... He's dead still, still staring at me. Well, he's pointed in a direction that will put him out of range in 3 or four steps, I've got to try and jack another cartridge.

I stared at him throught the scope as he started at me through apprehensive eyes. He definitely knew something was not right. I slowly raise my right thumb and loose the bolt but can't get it open all the way without making noise, my arm starts shaking under the weight of what seemed to be my 379 pound rifle. He turned away and I brought my rifle down in a quick, quiet motion. He looked back but I had enough of the rifle concealed behind my tree so that with sticking my finger in the magazine, I was able to get another round chambered, it seemed SO LOUD, but I managed to pull it off. He took another two steps and his head went behind a good size tree... ZING, rifle up and on him, safety off... He stepped out from behind the tree and I took him at roughly 100 yards. He tumbled to the bottom of the draw, dead before he stopped.

Good news, I got a good size 5 point buck that dressed around 140-150 and a big 8 Point buck with a nice rack that dressed about 170-180lbs. Bad news, I got a good size 5 point buck that dressed around 140-150 and a big 8 Point buck with a nice rack that dressed about 170-180lbs and now I had to drag them out of the draw and another 200 yards to where I could get them with a truck. It took me an hour to drag the big one less than 100 yards...

Since this was all before our traditional opening day lunch of venison BBQ, steaks, potatoes, pinto beans, and cole slaw, I was able to get the bucks back to "camp/staging area" before everyone came down from their stands. I had them there side by side as I was congratulated by my hunting buddies... My 68 year old Pop-In-Law came to me and said in his most falsely grouchy cadence.... "nice buck". My season was a success. His stubbornness almost staved me off, but I was able to give him the 5 pointer for freezer meat.

He's getting older and his health is failing. This could be his last deer season because he's just not as mobile as he used to be. He's shared stories like this one with me, time and time again. He's had so many of these successful hunts that I caught him, out of the corner of my eye, grinning at me and my somewhat puffed out chest.... Yes indeed, my season is a one day success.

The next three deer go to Hunters For the Hungry.

TT - Len Jenkins


Best in the West
Archer
Best in the West

Several years ago I was sitting in a wall tent in a wilderness area of southwest Colorado, but I wasn't happy. I understand to some this may seem the trip of a lifetime, but this trip was just not filling the bill. The mountains were breathtaking and the area was typical of western elk and mule deer habitat. What is missing, you ask? It surely couldn't have been the hunters, as they were everywhere. I could only hope the elk were 3 cows being chased out of a nearby canyon by hunters on horses.

We had been dropped here the past week by an outfitter in Southern Colorado (who is to remain nameless) and were supplied with 2 wall tents. One tent was dedicates as a sleeping quarters and the other was for eating and storage. This arrangement was typical of most booked drop camp hunts as seen in the back of many favorite hunting publications. There were plenty of hunters and little game. Where were the hundreds of elk I expected to see daily? How did all of these 4-wheelers get here? This was not my idea of a remote drop camp in a pristine setting.

Contrary to the promises this outfitter had made, I was beginning to learn the hard way what many had told me about the great variance of quality of outfitters. Let me tell you, it is extremely difficult to find one that will consistently live up to his word. I had checked the references he gave me but I never thought to ask if they were friends or family of the outfitter. I should have suspected something when we arrived at the airport and there was no one to pick us up. After hours of calling and searching for the outfitter we finally reached his father, of all people. Reluctantly, he came to the airport to pick us up.

We quickly found out that the outfitter was guiding other hunters in the High Country, had a large turnover in guides, and no one was available to pack us into our remote camp. After a full day of waiting we were shuffled to a trailhead where we are introduced to the worst string of pitiful pack animals I had seen, before or since. I actually inquired if I could carry my own gear because I was afraid these packhorses would not make it. After a very funny session of packing and a lesson in knot tying buy two fellows who didn't know which end of a horse to feed, we set out for our destination.

The environment was as I had always pictured. I was finally riding high in the mountains of beautiful Colorado. All around me were high mountain peaks covered with snow, and the peacefulness and tranquility that only the wilderness can offer. This was it. I had finally made it. What I had always dreamed about. Well... at least I thought so. After an hour or so of riding, one of the outfitter's helpers jumped off his horse and loudly proclaimed that we were lost. He had never been in this area before and the directions he received from the outfitter were incorrect. After another day of riding we finally reached a small clearing overlooking the trailhead where we began. That's right, after a day of riding we were right back where we started.

There waiting on us was our wall tent and camp. We were within a mile from where we started and finally nestled in our High Country remote camp. I could have carried my gear there from our origination point on my back in about an hour. We stored our gear and decided to try and make the best of it. We waved good-bye as the packers grabbed a bottle of Old Granddad from the saddlebag and headed back down the trail. As they were leaving I heard them talking about packing in the next set of hunters and how they were just over the ridge from us. That didn't quite mesh with my idea of remote!

The next morning was day one of a five day combined elk and mule deer hunt. We woke with eager anticipation and found 10 inches of fresh snow. Great! This was perfect weather for tracking and with the most incredible form of wildlife on this earth. They were apparently able to walk all over the snow-covered country without leaving a single track. Not one. We traveled from ridge to ridge glassing every nook and cranny and never found a track.

In camp that night my friend Jim and I discussed how we had been so easily misled by this outfitter. The price was great, which is attracted us to him in the first place. I should have been suspicious when I checked him out with the local Game and Fish warden. I was inquiring about his license and reputation as a guide when the warden laughed softly and suggested that maybe I shouldn't believe everything I heard. This should have been a red flag, but I was blind. I was going to hunt the touted west for the first time and this was my guide. All I could reflect on were the glossy pictures in his brochure. Monster elk and 30-inch mule deer were there for the taking. All that was not to be. On my first guided trip west, the one I had planned for so long, I had been taken. What's worse, I had been a big influence on my hunting partner and had messed up a fellow hunter as well.

We had not done our homework properly and we paid for it. The trip was a flop. That night as we sat around the campfire discussing our hunting future we promised ourselves that things were going to be different. From now on we would find the best quality guides in the business. If we could not afford the hunts offered by that type of guide then we would just stay home. We made a promise that night that I never dreamed would be so rewarding. That promise led me to open my eyes as a hunter and afforded me a chance to hunt with the best guides and outfitters in the business. From that moment on, I was to be a different hunter. No richer and no more skills mind you, just a smarter hunter. The locations I picked to hunt would be the result of religious and relentless homework. No more corner cutting for me.

When I arrived at work on Monday morning after a week out of the office, I had the normal chores to catch up on. While the memories of my disgusting hunt were fresh on my mind I picked up the phone and called United States Outfitters in Taos, New Mexico. They can be reached at 800-845-9929 or they are on the World Wide Web at the URL http://www.huntuso.com. This turned out to be the first step in what proved to be the best decision I have ever made as a hunter. That day I spoke with a fellow who turned out to be the most knowledgeable hunter I have ever known. He was different, and wasn't some slick talking guide that rustles cattle for a living and guides as a sideline. This fellow was intelligent, articulate, and most importantly he had a strategy for hunting Big Game in the west that was unique. I was talking to George Taulman, owner and operator of United States Outfitters, and I give him the highest recommendation I can muster.

George had been a licensed Pharmacist who started United States Outfitters ten years earlier after finding an acute shortage of quality guides in the hunting and outfitter industry. George and his operation are first class all the way. With the likes of Jim Zumbo, Craig Boddington, Judd Cooney and Bob Robb as references, how could this outfit be anything but first-class? As I listened to George explain his unique licensing service I realized that I had found my outfitter. His licensing service offered an average hunter like me the opportunity to hunt quality areas without the large expense so prevalent elsewhere. I could apply for a species such as elk in multiple states and if I did not draw a tag I could hunt on one of his ranches. Each ranch is managed for quality and in total they comprise in excess of one million acres. If I was lucky enough to draw a limited entry tag I could have the hunt of a lifetime for less than half the price of a more expensive hunt. After my last experience, I was apprehensive but convinced. That day I booked an archery elk hunt with George, and that hunt changed my hunting opportunities for life.

The following fall I hunted with George after being unsuccessful in drawing a tag in Arizona or New Mexico. I hunted on one of his private ranches in New Mexico. This was much different than before. When I arrived at the airport there was someone waiting on me. He was dressed professionally and I quickly noticed the USO jacket that all of his guides wear. This was the first of many things to impress me about USO. That week I hunted a 338,000 private ranch that ended with my first archery elk and memories of monster bugling bulls that I will never forget as long as I live. I was hooked. I had hunted with the best and I wanted more.

The following two years I drew elk tags in Arizona as well as a mule deer tag in the storied Kaibab area that was icing on the cake. These hunts accounted for another bull that barely missed the Pope & Young record buck and a mule deer that is the largest I have ever seen. As I look over my shoulder while writing this article I can see him mounted on my wall and the memories flood back once again. He looks just as he did when George and I looked at him through the spotted scope. He's a true trophy, the mule deer of a lifetime, and I owe it all to USO. I will never forget that week in the field with the best outfitter I could ever expect to find. George and USO have never failed to provide me with everything he promises... and more.

I have been lucky to draw the tags and to have the opportunity to harvest big game. But George sees this as planning not luck. He is good at this business. His clientele numbers hundreds of hunters each year and one of these could be you. I was fortunate to find an outfitter like United States Outfitters, especially on only my second attempt. When I look back at this escapade, I realize that my miserable Colorado hunt was a blessing in disguise. It made me search hard for the best and I found it. You owe it to yourself as a hunter to experience the best in the west and that is United States Outfitters.

Thanks greatly for the editing help of Buckrub!