This year was our year. My father had been putting in for over 30 years and me for 5, as long as I could. Well this year he finally got drawn for a bull in unit 2, which was not our first choice but our second, and we're not complaining. It was a long 2 months of scouting every Saturday and planning our hunt. Finally the day came and we moved into our camper. The first morning, Monday, I passed up a 40+ inch bull about 30 minutes into the hunt. It was a hard decision but I passed it up anyways. Then that evening we called in a smaller bull but it wasn't close to a shooter and we let him go. Come around to Tuesday all we saw was a spike bull, which was way out of the question. Wednesday things were starting to get a little dismal. Halfway into the week and nothing. All we saw Wednesday was a measly cow with horns. Thursday morning was a stressful morning in the camper. But that's when our luck changed. We just got into the area we were hunting and walked up into a large clear cut and saw just what we had been looking for. A large bull bedded in the clear cut. That's when things went bad for the moose. I fired first and the moose stood up, then my dad fires and hit hm in the lungs, then I fired and hit him in the forward shoulder, then dad fired and missed, then my 3rd bullet hit home, hitting him in the hump and breaking his back, all while the bull was on a dead run at 200 yards I must tell you. I had to then walk up and finish him off with a neck shot. Both my father and I were using .270's, mine a ruger American rifle and his a savage. The bull dressed out at 890 and had a 58" spread! The best part was we didn't have to pack him out.