The winter of 2022-23 was brutal. Most mountains in Northwest Colorado received more than 400 inches of snow, which compacted down to 12 feet on the ground for most of the winter. Even the low-lying Elk winter ranges were several feet deep. The winterkill was devastating.

Rachael Gonzales of Colorado Parks and Wildlife said they lost 50% of the elk herd, which is one of the largest in the world. Hunters make a quick, clean kill in a matter of seconds, but Mother Nature can be cruel. When animals starve to death, it is a slow, torturous process sure to challenge the mindset of any anti-hunter.

Starvation takes months of suffering. Only in the spring, after the snow melts, do you see and smell the devastation. In the fall 2023, a good friend of mine, Steve Walls, who spends a lot of time in my hunting area, advised me to return my tag. He saw no sign of elk that spring while hunting for mushrooms.

---

---

Because of the past winter, I considered it but, luckily, I did not return the tag and in return got to experience the greatest hunting “God-incidence” of my life. Two days before the season opener, there was a freak October snowstorm that dumped over 8 inches of snow — great for hunting, but I had to purchase tire chains just to get to my remote “honey hole.”

You can imagine my disappointment when I arrived to find two other guys in my camping spot. Dejected, I set up about a 100 yards from them, imagining that they would also be hunting in my spot.

---

---

While setting up my tent, I realized I had forgotten my hammer to pound in the stakes. Rocks were hard to find under the snow, so I asked the two guys who “stole” my camping spot if I could bum a hammer. They offered me an ax, and when I returned it, they shared with me that they were not hunting — they hadn’t even brought a gun. They were just there for a good time.

As I walked back to my tent, I was thinking many thoughts — none of them good. Who in the world would come to this remote spot in this nasty weather and not even go hunting? I was a little freaked out and totally suspicious.

“Stay away from those dudes,” I said to myself. Later that evening, they called me over to their roaring fire. Reluctantly, I obliged.

We officially introduced ourselves, and I now knew the names of my “camp crooks” — David Cox, aka Ginger, and his sidekick, Andrew O’Donnell. Only after some conversation did they reveal the real reason why they were camping in “my spot.”

“Our good friend Gabe Juarez drew an elk tag for this season,” Ginger explained. “It was going to be the first elk of his life hunting with us.

“Unfortunately, he passed away in his sleep a few weeks ago at the age of 31. Andrew and I want to honor his memory by camping here even though we can’t hunt with him.”

Suddenly, I felt so ashamed of myself that apologized for the thoughts I had had about them. They laughed and said: “We understand.”

I then thought how cool these guys were, along with an unbelievable respect I had for what they were doing. Sure, we all have friends, but how many of us have friends like that? Friends that would drive four hours, camp in a snowstorm that collapsed the roof of their tent, in freezing temperatures, just to honor their buddy who wasn’t physically there.

“I love these guys,” I thought to myself.

As they shared their fond memories of Gabe, I was beginning to understand why they were there. This was a guy who not only helped his family and friends, but also fed the homeless and took veterans out shooting. They had wonderful memories about the time Gabe fell asleep in the goose blind only to wake up later and shoot “doubles.” Even though I never met Gabe Juarez, I felt I knew him well.

“Hey, if you need any help, we’ll be here to help you,” Andrew said as I left the campfire.

“Hopefully, I’ll take you up on that offer tomorrow,” I replied as I walked back to my tent. The next morning I left an hour before daylight to head to my spot. To my dismay I counted seven other headlamps headed in that same direction.

“Oh, the joys of hunting public land,” I thought and plopped myself down.

I sat there all day missing my son, Colton, who drew an elk tag in a different unit. He’d been my hunting partner for over 20 years and my son for 34 years. He has an unbelievable knack for spotting elk. He’s also strong and well able to walk miles packing one out.

“Man, I really miss hunting with him,” I thought to myself.

Then I imagined what Ginger and Andrew were going through.

“Suck it up,” I said to myself.

Around 3 o’clock, I made my way back to my camp to eat, crossing fresh elk tracks 50 yards from my tent in the dark timber. Ginger and Andrew saw them as well after they went on a “hike” with Gabe.

“I think I’ll hunt that dark timber,” I told my newfound friends.

“If we hear you shoot, we’ll come help you,” they said.

“These guys are freaking cool,” I thought as I headed into the dark timber.

After 20 minutes, I had this strange sensation to return to the spot I had been all day even though I did not see a single elk earlier. When I sat down, I said a prayer that I’m sure many other hunters have prayed for — a nice elk and one for Colton too!

With an either sex tag, I was prepared to shoot the first one I saw, but had not seen an elk all day. Less than 10 minutes after my prayer, I caught a glimpse of an antler but could not see the animal. I waited, resisting the urge to move in closer.

Not sure I made the right decision, I waited for what seemed like forever. Then suddenly it appeared. The answer to my prayer was a stunningly majestic bull elk that came out of nowhere into the soft evening twilight. Plus, he was walking directly toward me.

“Is this really happening?” I asked myself.

Using my trekking poles as a bipod, I fired a shot from my 6.5 Creedmoor when he was within 75 yards. He ran 10 yards and stopped. I fired a second insurance round and he went down. I could not believe what just happened.

Hearing the report from my rifle, Andrew and Ginger arrived to help me pack out the elk, just as they had promised. Andrew was so inquisitive about the whole “dressing” process, as this was his first time being a part of an elk hunt.

He was like a little kid — it reminded me of my experiences with my son. Ginger had hunting experience and was a great help to this old guy. Unbelievably, they packed out my entire elk in just two trips. I only had to carry out the backstraps and the head.

To show how much I appreciated their help, I offered them an entire backstrap and tenderloin. Plus, I offered to take them on a guided float trip for some trout the next spring. They graciously accepted and said they were going to prepare this elk as a meal for Gabe’s family when they celebrate his birthday next month, to honor the hunt Gabe never got to do. I only asked for one thing and that was that they send me a picture of the celebration.

Wouldn’t it be great to have more people like this in the world? At our last campfire that evening, we discussed and solved many of the world’s problems while gazing up at an unbelievable star-filled sky. I happened to mention some advice I had given to my students, friends and Colton: “The secret to life is knowing when you are having that moment of a lifetime right when you are having it … and to soak it all in.”

I said, “Buddies, this is one of those moments.”

We all agreed. When we parted ways, my camp crooks were now my new best friends, but it really didn’t hit me till I got home. What some people might call a coincidence that I forgot my hammer, and that “crooks” were in my camping spot, I now know better.

You see, my friends, to Andrew and Ginger … I was Gabe. And, while I may have been walking in his tracks, I would never fill his shoes. On the other hand, Andrew and Ginger, why they were the hunting partner I was so badly missing … my son, Colton. That is not a coincidence. It’s what I call a “Godincidence.”

And after my prayer, Colton got his bull elk too.

Editor’s Note: This article first appeared in the 2024 edition of Colorado Hunter. For more, visit CoHunter.com/ or pick up for the free magazine on local news racks.