Find YourTrip.

Seven days in the timber when the bulls go loud. Spot-and-stalk and call-and-wait, close enough to hear them breathe.

Pack in by horse and mule to a wall-tent camp miles past the last trailhead. Hunt elk and deer on ground that sees no one.

Above timberline for old, heavy bucks. Long glass, longer climbs, and a shot you have earned by the time you take it.

Deep cold and migrating herds. When the snow stacks up high, the elk bunch in the bottoms — and that is where we hunt them.

Cold mornings cutting track behind a good string of hounds. When they strike, you go — up the drainage, through the snow, until the tree.

The week the weather turns and the elk move. Fresh tracks in new snow, glass to the ridgelines, a rifle steady on a pack.

The hardest tag, the highest country. A once-in-a-lifetime ram hunt for the few who draw, guided by the people who know the rock.

The first green-up brings the bears to the south slopes. Glass the avalanche chutes from across the canyon and pick your boar.