A Landowner Stole Our Trophy Elk

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As Ben Rogers and I raced downslope toward the brushy ravine, I realized our dream elk hunt had taken a major turn, morphing from the adventure of a lifetime into a perilous situation. With every stride, pangs of worry crept into my thoughts. We were running into a potential ambush. Lurking somewhere inside this veil of grass and shrubs was a man we watched steal our buddy’s elk head. It was up to us to catch him.

As we approached the ravine, Rogers shouted for the man to come out. When no one emerged, more fear surged through me. Was the man armed? Was he willing to kill to avoid being caught? I didn’t know the answers, but to recover Ryan Chuckel’s elk head, we were about to find out.

Walking to the edge of the brush line, Rogers yelled again for the man to step out. Seconds later, a rancher in his late 60s to early 70s stepped into the meadow. He was breathing hard, lips quivering, visibly nervous. I was speechless. Rogers, however, demanded answers.

“I wanna know why you stole our elk head?” he shouted.

Eventually, the rancher answered the question we both knew the answer to. “Because I don’t want you guys hunting on this outfit,” he said.

LANDLOCKED ADVENTURE

To explain how we got into this predicament, we must back up two days to November 10th, when five of us embarked upon this elk hunt. The goal was to hunt mature bulls. Our destination was a parcel of landlocked public ground. Since we didn’t have permission to cross private ground, we hitched a helicopter ride with pilot Tony Chambers of Wind River Air.

Fly-in hunts aren’t for the faint of heart. According to Outdoor Life’s Andrew McKean, who joined us on this public land adventure, flying into landlocked State Trust or Bureau of Land Management (BLM) land is “an aggressive maneuver.” I won’t argue this. It may be aggressive, but it’s also completely legal. In fact, without paying a hefty trespass fee or buying an outfitted hunt, aerial access is the only way to recreate on millions of acres of public lands throughout the western U.S.

After a quick flight, Chambers dropped us on a faint two-track road on state land. We hiked a quarter mile and pitched two 8-man Kifaru tipis on BLM ground. It was a comfy camp, and even though we could see our vehicles four miles in the distance, it felt like remote wilderness.

On our first hunt of the trip, we intercepted a herd of bulls emerging from a stand of timber. When the largest bull left the herd and headed for water, McKean notched his tag on a gorgeous 6x6. We unsheathed blades from Montana Knife Company and got to work. One elk down, two to go.

The next day, I glassed a lone bull heading to bedding cover in an open basin. He looked good, so we set out to find him. After a mile hike, we arrived at the lip of the canyon. Peeking over the edge, Rogers quickly spotted a mature bull tucked into a drainage on state land. Five minutes later, we picked out a second shooter bull. A double was in the cards.

Slithering down a cactus-infested hillside, four of us crept into shooting range as the bulls began rising from their beds. With suppressors quieting our rifle shots, Chuckel and I proceeded to drop a pair of mature bulls. Our hunt was over. Now, the work began.

We split into two groups to break down the bulls, both of which died on near-vertical slopes. After butchering the elk and bagging and tagging the meat, we donned headlamps and hiked back to camp, leaving the meat and heads to cool overnight. That evening, we celebrated our group’s success under a glorious display of northern lights. It was an experience none of us will forget.

THE INCIDENT

The aurora borealis must have depleted our luck, because at daylight on the morning of the 12th, we heard three rifle shots from the vicinity of our quartered bulls. By the time Rogers and I returned to the kill site, it was 9 am, so we sat for a short breather before packing the first load.

“I wonder where that other hunter is?” Rogers asked.

Seconds later, we caught movement below us at approximately 200 yards. Through my Leupold BX-4 Range HD 10x42 binoculars, I saw a man carrying a mature elk head on his shoulders. I assumed a rancher or hunter he let in had killed a bull in the same basin we did, which would explain the three shots.

Rogers’ binos were back at camp, so he asked to use mine. By the time I unclipped them from my harness, he had a few seconds to examine the antlers before the man disappeared in the brush. To Rogers’ keen eyes, the bull’s back forks looked familiar.

“Is that Ryan’s elk head?” he asked before documenting the situation with his phone.

At the time, I didn’t believe a rancher would hike onto public land and steal a hunter’s elk, but Rogers had a hunch that was exactly what happened. To confirm this, he hustled back to Chuckel’s kill site while I scanned the brush line below. Five minutes later, Rogers’ voice boomed from the neighboring ridge.

“Go after him, David! He stole our elk!”

PUBLIC BATTLE GROUND

We were lucky to witness the rancher carrying Chuckel’s elk antlers. If we arrived 20 or 30 seconds later, we would have missed the crime, and his elk head would have either rotted in the ravine or sat atop a bleached mound of antlers at the nearby ranch. Fortunately, the regal antlers now reside in Wisconsin with Chuckel.

Why would a rancher commit a crime like this? As he admitted, it was because he didn’t want us there. Even though we were hunting on public land, he decided to teach us a lesson: stay out of my area.

Part of me is sympathetic. He did this to protect what he feels is his: his land, his elk, his way of life. A greater part of me feels that he deserves what’s coming. Stealing an elk head was a catastrophic mistake that will cost him dearly, and not just financially. If convicted, he may live the rest of his life as a felon. It’s a shame.

After a lengthy discussion with the rancher, tempers cooled, and the three of us entered the ravine to retrieve Chuckel’s elk head. The gully had a vertical cliff bank with exposed tree roots complicating the descent. I jumped down first to retrieve the elk head.

When I arrived at the antlers, I noticed fresh boot tracks in the mud. This is important. The rancher hadn’t just thrown the head into the ravine. Instead, he had climbed down and manually placed the antlers where they were almost invisible from above. He worked at it. After picking up the head, I handed it to the rancher and took a photo for evidence. The rancher then handed the antlers up to Rogers. Chuckel’s bull was in our possession again.

Once we climbed out of the ravine, the rancher offered to pack the head back to the kill site where he had taken it. Rogers declined that offer. Instead, he carried the head himself up the 300 vertical feet using the route the rancher suggested. I walked uphill with the rancher to where he’d stashed gear in the brush.

When we arrived at his gear, I saw no rifle, but I’ll always believe one was nearby. I’m positive he fired the three shots we heard. Believe me, there was no one else around. After an awkward handshake, the rancher hiked back to his land while we climbed up to my elk, thus ending the strangest hunting encounter of my life.

THE AFTERMATH

That night, after we packed both bulls to our landing zone, Chuckel called the game warden and reported the incident. The game warden asked us to meet him when we returned to civilization.

The next day at the Fish & Game office, we shared the videos and were handed statement forms. Our local game warden had never heard of a situation like this. Thankfully, we had video evidence. It was the smartest thing we did all trip. Otherwise, it would be his word versus ours. If you’re ever in a similar position, film the encounter.

Did the elk heist ruin our hunt? No, but only because we caught him in the act and recovered the antlers. Had Rogers and I stopped even briefly during our hike back to the kill sites—to take a leak, glass a basin, or retie boots—Chuckel’s elk rack would be gone.

This was a one-off event, but it’s a reminder that virtually anything can happen on a hunt. Unlike animals, which only want to live and breed, humans possess a range of emotions. Some are good, others bad, and a few—like greed—are ugly enough to cause people to do the strangest things. You’d be wise to keep this in mind the next time you hunt public land.

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