Mine was back in 1991. Hunting Heppner for bull elk with my old man. Opening day, we hunted the morning and came back for lunch. Went back out, and as we were heading to "our spot" we came around a corner, I saw some deer. Dad backed up so we could get a better look, there was a nice buck with 3 does as I recall. They finally wandered off, so Dad drove ahead. About 40 yards down was the next corner. As we came out of it, the right side timber shot off leaving a large "meadowy" area open. There he was.....I saw nothing but the snow sparkling off his rack as he was trotting through the open headed for the Timber. I couldn't spit out "ELK!" or nothing....so I just bailed out the passenger side as he was still driving. I was using a Remington 270. I started firing off shots, and I knew I was hitting him because after every pull of the trigger, he slowed down. But he was still heading for the timber. I think I popped off 3 or 4 shots, so I ripped out my extra ammo from my coat pocket, shaking like mad trying to reload. Live shells were flying everywhere into the deep snow, but I managed to get a few more loaded into the rifle. I remember running through the deep snow off to the right, thinking I would try and cut him off. My Dad was yelling, "What are you doing? You'll NEVER find him!" I just kept hauling butt...determined to kill this bull! As I got deeper into the timber, I saw him standing there broadside. I could only see from his neck to about half way back. I knelt down, took aim, and heard Dad say...."You have one chance kid....otherwise I'm gonna drop him!" I touched off, the bull's front end collapsed, then he rolled over to his side. Done deal! Nice 5X4 Thanks for the memories old man! ....It was a bitter-sweet hunt. The next day, OSP tracked me down. My Grandmother had passed away, and my step-dad planned on flying his Stinson in to pick me up for the funeral. He couldn't make it in due to weather, and we got snowed in at camp. Missed her funeral.