--- title: "I Shot the World Record Archery Elk While Hunting in Montana’s Belt Mountains" description: "During the early 1980s archery elk hunters kept breaking the Pope & Young record. Here’s how this firefighter from Las Vegas shot the world record bull." date: "2026-11-02" modified: "2026-11-02" authors: - name: "Rich LaRocco" job_title: "Contributor" link: "https://www.outdoorlife.com/authors/rich-larocco.md" url: "https://www.outdoorlife.com/hunting/world-record-archery-bull-while-hunting-in-montanas-belt-mountains/" categories: - "Big Game Hunting" - "Bow Hunting" - "Elk Hunting" - "Hunting" tags: - "News" --- # I Shot the World Record Archery Elk While Hunting in Montana’s Belt Mountains ![A big bull elk.]() *Photo by Harry Collins / Adobe Stock* Imagine yourself in a tree stand in Montana's Belt Mountains. You know a bull elk is approaching because you've heard him bugle several times. The bugles were high-pitched one-tone squeals, indicating an immature bull. You're after a trophy-class animal, but still you can't help but get excited and you tighten the grip on your 73-pound compound bow. A twig cracks behind you. You turn slowly and get the surprise of your life. There, not 30 yards away, stands a monstrous bull elk. His antlers are so massive that you wonder how he can hold up his head. This might be the next world-record elk! You slowly twist the upper half of your body to your right. Trying hard to control your excitement, you try to draw your bow. You can't! You're in such an awkward position and your bow is so powerful that you can't shoot! That's exactly the situation in which Dave Snyder, a Las Vegas fireman, found himself last year. But Snyder was no stranger to the frustrations involved in hunting trophy-size elk. He'd bowhunted the Belt Mountains seven previous times and each time he'd killed an elk. Two of those had been large enough to be listed in the Pope and Young Club record book of bow-killed big game. But this bull was larger than any other he'd seen. Big-game hunting has been in Snyder's blood ever since he was 12 years old, when he killed his first deer with an old .25/30 rifle in Nevada. Since he took up bowhunting 20 years ago, he has traveled all over the West in search of game. Among his trophies are an Alaskan moose and caribou, wild boars, bears, whitetail deer, Catalina goats and more mule deer bucks than some hunters see in a lifetime. But elk hunting has been his first love ever since he killed his first bull, a five-pointer, in Colorado in 1972. From each hunt, he has drawn knowledge that has improved his skills. As he admitted to me last summer, his success at bowhunting elk has not been an accident. For three years running, he bet friends as much as $500 that he'd kill, with his bow and arrow, a bull elk with at least five points on each antler. He won every time. Now he can't find anybody to bet with him. "It might seem pretentious for me to bet like that," Snyder said, "but it's really not. I'm just confident. If you know what you're doing, a bowhunter has just as good a chance as a rifleman of taking a big bull—maybe even a better chance. Most gun hunters do well only if there's a lot of snow. Bowhunters have the advantage of being able to hunt in September during the rut when elk are most vulnerable." Snyder's Montana elk hunting success started almost by accident in 1974. He and another Las Vegas fireman, Mike Freeman, were having trouble with their truck's carburetor, so they stopped by the side of the road and opened the hood. Dressed in full camouflage, they soon attracted the attention of a local logger, Dee Hills, who stopped to offer help. Hills had been very successful while rifle hunting for elk, but he was a novice bowhunter and had doubts about the killing power of arrows. Snyder and Freeman assured Hills that, yes, arrows kill elk very effectively. "Why don't you show me?" Hills suggested. "I know where the elk are and I'd be happy to take you there." After fixing the truck, the three hunters drove to Hills' hunting area in the Belt Mountains. The next morning they hiked into a deep bowl and found a herd of elk almost immediately. But it wasn't until afternoon that they got close to the animals. Soon a calf came ambling by Snyder and Hills. "Aren't you going to shoot?" Hills asked. "No," Snyder answered. "Too small." Soon the biggest cow in the herd walked to within 25 yards. Snyder drew his bow, aimed and released the arrow. It was a perfect hit and the animal dashed into the trees. "Guess you lost her," Hills said. Snyder stifled a laugh. Hills didn't understand that most arrow-shot animals streak away for 25 to 200 yards before piling up. "No, that was a good hit," Snyder said. "We'll find her. But this will be a good chance for you to learn how to track." Snyder had to eat his words when they followed the cow. A wide trail of blood plainly led to where the elk lay dead only 75 yards from where she had been hit. ![world record elk]() *Dave Snyder with the mount of his world-record bull. Outdoor Life* During the next few years, Snyder and some of his friends made a tradition of hunting together with Hills. They had remarkable success for bowhunters, something they attribute to careful observation and study. One afternoon, Hills, Snyder and Larry Crim were fanned out on a ridge when a bull bugled. Snyder trotted directly toward the sound. Soon two bulls began bugling back and forth. Stalking carefully, Snyder soon got to within 40 yards of a small five-point but he guessed that the other bull was bigger by the sound of its voice. Suddenly the big bull bugled again within about 60 yards. Snyder sneaked closer but stopped when he saw several cows feeding. Knowing that herd bulls often circle their harems to keep intruders away, Snyder knelt and waited. Within seconds an exceptional six-point bull appeared, walking directly toward him. When the elk was about 25 yards away, he stopped and looked back toward his cows. Snyder quickly drew and released. The Satellite-tipped arrow smacked into the chest. The bull threw back his head and galloped through a barbwire fence before crashing to the ground. The bull's antlers scored 357⅞ points with the standard measuring system used by the Pope and Young Club. The rack still ranks No. 17 in the club's record book. Most hunters probably would have taken a shot at the five-pointer, ruining their chances for the record-class bull. Snyder well understands the importance of passing up opportunities while trophy hunting. His other elk listed in the Pope and Young records was shot under similar circumstances. Snyder was watching a big herd of cows when a five-point bull came within 20 yards, offering an easy broadside shot. The elk didn't seem large enough to keep such a large harem to himself, so Snyder decided to pass up the shot. In seconds, a big six-point streaked around the cows, stopped within bow range and looked at the small bull. Then he looked toward Snyder, who was crouched in some undergrowth. When the elk turned again, Snyder shot. The arrow buried itself in the animal's lungs. The bull covered less than 50 yards before dropping dead. Its antlers later scored 248⅞. A minimum score of 240 is required for listing in the record book. Taking two record-book elk might satisfy many hunters but not Dave Snyder. He knew there were elk big enough to break the Pope and Young world record in Montana, a state that yields more truly exceptional bulls than any other. He felt his experience gave him just as good a chance as anybody else to find such an animal. The Belt Mountains offer ideal habitat. Covered mostly by lodgepole pines, Snyder's hunting area is broken up by dozens of logging clearcuts where elk find a good supply of the grass and low brush they need. Although the Belts aren't as rugged and remote as some other elk-rich ranges in Montana, they offer plenty of cover in which crafty old bulls can hide from hunters and attain the old age necessary for growing outsize antlers. The hunter had learned that elk are much more set in their habits than many sportsmen realize. In 1981, Snyder decided to take advantage of that by hunting from a tree stand near heavy elk sign. On the first day of the season, Snyder carried a portable tree stand to a drainage about two miles from camp. He'd taken one of his record-book bulls there and had seen larger ones. Partway there, he walked to within 35 yards of an unusual spike bull with antlers at least two feet high. Snyder already had decided to shoot nothing smaller than a six-pointer for the first five days of the season but he was tempted to take the spike. After all, it would yield a freezer full of delicious meat and would make an unusual trophy. He finally decided to hold to his resolution and so watched the spike feed out of sight. But he had second thoughts about doing so. Snyder set his stand in a tree overlooking a recently used elk wallow and several rubs—small trees had been debarked by elk preparing their antlers for the fighting and breeding season. The next morning, Snyder rose before dawn, confident that he'd have action. But he couldn't find the stand in the dark. By the time he finally found it, the sun was high and he decided to return to camp for lunch. That afternoon, he and another Las Vegas bowhunter, Lynn Williams, decided to glass clearcuts and meadows. After half an hour or so, they saw an unusually large bull in a clearcut about 1½ miles away. The men decided to move closer to study the size of the antlers. By the time they reached the cut about an hour later, the bull was gone. "I'm coming back here in the morning," Williams said. "I know he's a monster and, if he came here once, he'll come again." The next morning Williams returned to the cut, Snyder to his tree stand, and Hills and Crim to a drainage that had yielded four elk in previous years, including Snyder's biggest bull. The four hunters saw only one spike among them. "I don't think the rut has started," Crim said during lunch. "We might as well hunt deer this afternoon. Elk hunting will be a lot easier after the rut starts anyway because the bulls will be bugling." Williams and Hills agreed, but Snyder couldn't get the big bull out of his mind, so he decided to hunt elk while the others hunted deer. By 3:30 he was in the pines above the cut where he had seen the big elk. The elk sign was encouraging—fresh tracks and droppings and several newly destroyed saplings. Obviously elk had been feeding in the cut during the evenings. Normally, Snyder doesn't like to hunt in or near feeding areas because the animals are extra-wary there, just as they are in bedding areas. Instead, he finds routes between feeding and bedding grounds and ambushes the animals as they pass. But daylight would soon run out, so he decided to find a good place to hide. A game trail that led from the trees into the clearcut showed signs of heavy use. A spruce sapling, freshly mangled by a bull elk, stood next to the trail. Snyder happened to glance up. An old tree stand, made of two boards nailed between two trees, overlooked the trail. One board was hanging loose, nailed at only one end. Snyder took a rope from his camouflage fanny pack, climbed the tree and tied the loose board tight. Gingerly, he put his whole weight on the stand to test it. In half an hour it would be too dark to shoot. Less than 15 minutes later, he heard a faint bugle. It was more of a one-tone squeal than a bugle—typical of the sounds made by spike or raghorn bulls. In reply, Snyder blew his own bugle, a simple tubular plastic whistle. The bull answered. Snyder considered climbing to the ground where he'd have good mobility, but he knew he'd be harder to see 15 feet above the ground and that his scent would be more likely to drift high above the bull's sensitive nose. The bull bugled again. Snyder bugled back and the elk immediately answered. Knowing that too much bugling can spook elk, he decided to wait for the bull to bugle on his own. A minute or so later, the elk squealed again, probably from within 200 yards. Apprehensively, Snyder whistled for the third time. Again the bull answered with a high-pitched whistle. Snyder was certain the bull was a small one but he decided to prepare for a shot anyway. The bull bugled again, this time within 100 yards. Soon some limbs broke about 50 yards away and a faint sound of hooves on the ground could be heard. Snyder checked his bow and arrow one last time. The sound of his pulse in his ears made it difficult to hear the approaching bull. He fully expected the animal to offer an easy broadside shot on the trail to his left. Suddenly, less than 30 yards away, a twig cracked behind him. Turning slowly, Snyder saw a magnificent bull with heavy mahogany antlers walk into the clearcut. Twisting to his right, Snyder started to draw his 73-pound Martin Cougar compound. Because of the awkward angle, he could draw it only partway. The animal began walking slowly to the left. Snyder realized he'd have to twist back to his original position to shoot. He shifted his weight and the thing he had feared happened—the old tree stand creaked. The bull instantly stopped, swung around and stared right at him. Snyder didn't dare to move. During that tense instant, another bull bugled no more than 200 yards away. The big elk turned and looked toward the sound and resumed walking to the left. Snyder prepared mentally to take a 25-yard broadside shot. When the bull was behind some branches, it stopped and bugled the call of a spike elk. "Come on, baby, just three more steps," Snyder thought. "Just three more steps." The other bull bugled again. For no apparent reason, the heavy-antlered bull turned 180° and began walking back into the woods. This time Snyder drew his bow and then twisted around. He could see the bull between two trees that were perhaps 12 inches apart, so he crouched low to shoot under some branches, judged the distance at 45 yards, aimed and released. The orange aluminum arrow was visible during the first part of its flight but then disappeared. The bull hunched over as though he'd been hit and galloped across the clearcut, kicking up such a great cloud of dust that he was hardly visible as he fled. Moments after the bull disappeared into the trees, Snyder heard a crash. Had the magnificent animal fallen? Snyder climbed to the ground and looked for blood and tracks. Already there was very little light and he could find no sign that he had hit the animal. He returned to camp to get help and a Coleman lantern. Finding nobody there, he left a note and returned to his stand. He looked for his arrow or blood and found neither, so he searched a logging road that encircled the area but could find no sign that the animal had crossed it. Right then Crim, Williams and Hills arrived. The four men, carrying lanterns, spread out in a line and walked through the trees where Snyder had heard the crash. They knew they had to find the elk within a few hours or the massive animal's body heat would ruin the game meat. They'd gone about 50 yards when Hills shouted, "There he is!" The group walked up to the dead bull in silence. He'd fallen so hard that his antler tines had dug several feet under the sod. The antlers were so massive and his body so huge that the four hunters just stood there staring in awe. Finally Hills broke the silence: "Well, we better get to work or we'll be here all night!" To get the antlers out of the ground took the combined strength of all four men. The elk was so heavy that just dressing the carcass and dragging it 100 yards down a grassy slope took from 9 p.m. until 3 a.m. The hunters decided to try winching the carcass off the ground so that the meat could cool. Fortunately, Williams had a powerful winch on the front of his four-wheel-drive pickup. They threw the winch cable over a branch in a large pine, attached the cable to the antlers and lifted the animal clear of the ground. Hanging this way, the bull looked as big as a full-grown rhinoceros. Later, the bull yielded 560 pounds of boneless fat-free meat. Snyder estimates that the animal weighed well over 1,000 pounds, even after it had been field-dressed. **Read Next: [The Real Story Behind the Casey Brooks Bull, the Pending World Record Elk]()** The 45-pound antlers were a bonus surprise. Though they had looked huge, none of the hunters had guessed that no bowhunter had ever killed a bigger bull. After a required 60-day drying period to allow for shrinkage, the rack was conservatively measured at 389⅞ points with the measuring system used by the Pope and Young Club. That exceeded the score of the world-record elk taken by Jay Elmer of Arizona in 1980 [("Back-To-Back Bulls,"]() OUTDOOR LIFE, November 1981). The actual score verified by a panel of judges at the Pope and Young Club's award banquet last spring was officially put at 391⅞. Snyder's bull is now recognized as the world record. Even Dave Snyder should be satisfied with that. *This story was originally published in the November 1983 issue of Outdoor Life.*