5 Elk Hunting Lessons That Changed My Life
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What the Mountain Teaches Us | Five Lessons That Changed My Life
Welcome to Backbone Unlimited. My name is Matt Hartsky.
This one’s different. It’s not a gear review or a tactics breakdown. This is about the hard-earned wisdom that only comes from putting boots to dirt, sweating through quiet places, and choosing to listen when the mountain starts to speak.
Because out here—where the trail fades, where the road ends, and the ridgelines stretch farther than your legs want to carry you—you learn quick. The wild doesn’t hand out favors. It doesn’t care how motivated you were at the truck or what quotes you posted on Instagram. Once you’re in it, it’s you versus the elements, you versus your thoughts, and you versus whatever truth the mountain’s ready to reveal.
If you’re not paying attention—if you’re too busy forcing your own agenda—you’ll miss it. You’ll miss the real reason we come out here in the first place. But if you slow down and listen, the wilderness becomes something else entirely. It stops being a proving ground and starts becoming a teacher.
The lessons it teaches don’t stay behind on the trail. They follow you home—into your marriage, your parenting, your business, your mindset. Because the way we hunt is often the way we live.
In this article, I’m sharing five lessons the mountain has taught me—lessons forged through storms, setbacks, and quiet miles. Each one applies both in the backcountry and in life.
Lesson 1: Endure the Storm
Some lessons don’t come in the sunshine. They come when the sky turns black, when the wind howls, and when everything in you wants to quit.
Years ago, I was solo 10 miles deep chasing a herd bull I’d patterned for three days—until the storm hit. Hail, fog, freezing wind—the kind of high-country chaos that makes you question why you came. My gear was soaked. Visibility gone. No shelter for miles.
I almost quit. But something said stay.
So I waited. No calling, no glassing—just silence. Hours later, as the clouds broke, the world turned gold. That bull stepped out right where I’d hoped he would, calm as ever. The next morning, I killed him clean at 35 yards.
The real victory wasn’t the bull. It was the lesson:
You don’t have to conquer the storm—sometimes you just have to outlast it.
Survival is strength. Out there, the biggest trees don’t snap; they bend. The elk don’t panic when lightning cracks—they hold tight. And the hunters who consistently succeed? They don’t fold under chaos. They adapt, absorb, and stay grounded.
The same holds true in life.
When my oldest son took his own life, no preparation or mindset work could have softened that blow. There was just the storm. But what the mountains had taught me—stay your ground, don’t thrash, let it pass through—helped me survive it.
Sometimes surviving is the victory.
When bulls go quiet, when plans collapse, when life hurts—hold steady. Root yourself in discipline, not emotion. Because no matter how fierce it feels, the storm always passes. And when it does, you’ll still be standing—stronger, steadier, and harder to break.
Endure the storm.
Lesson 2: Move Forward or Die
If you’ve ever been stuck—mentally, emotionally, spiritually—you know how heavy it gets. That fog where nothing excites you and motivation’s gone. I’ve lived there.
Years back, I was burned out running my gym. From the outside, everything looked fine—clients, growth, progress. Inside, I was done. No energy, no spark, no clarity.
Then one morning, I stopped on a ridge overlooking a river. Watching it carve through rock, I realized something simple: rivers don’t stop. They don’t wait for perfect conditions. They just keep moving. Not because they’re strong—but because they’re consistent.
That day, I decided to move again. No grand comeback. Just steady action. I trained daily. Ate clean. Focused on showing up—not on being perfect. Weeks later, the fog began to lift.
That’s when it hit me: stagnation kills.
In the backcountry, it’s the same. Sit too long in a dead drainage, and the elk move on. Hope is not a strategy. The mountain rewards motion.
If you haven’t seen sign in 24 hours—move. If thermals shift—adapt. If you’re mentally fried—take one step, not ten. Action creates momentum.
And that principle applies everywhere. Don’t wait to feel motivated—move first. Don’t wait to feel strong—start weak and build. Passion and clarity aren’t prerequisites; they’re results of consistency.
The river carves the canyon not because it’s powerful—but because it never stops moving.
So neither should you.
Lesson 3: Wait with Purpose
In a world obsessed with speed, learning to wait feels wrong. But in the backcountry, patience is a weapon—and most hunters don’t know how to use it.
I once had a bull at 60 yards. Quartering away, feeding uphill, tense. I could have forced it. Every instinct screamed shoot. But something deeper said wait.
Ten minutes later, he turned broadside at 28 yards. Clean double-lung. Perfect shot.
That moment taught me: waiting with purpose isn’t weakness—it’s strategy.
There’s a difference between waiting because you’re scared and waiting because you know the moment will improve. One’s hesitation. The other’s discipline.
In hunting, patience kills more bulls than calling ever will. When the setup’s good, trust it. When the angle isn’t perfect, hold. Don’t let impatience steal your shot.
And in life, the same rule applies. Not every opportunity deserves a “yes.” Some things require time to mature. The best decisions I’ve made—in business, in relationships—came from waiting when everything around me said to rush.
Stillness isn’t surrender. It’s preparation. It’s what separates guys who flinch from guys who finish.
When the moment’s right, act with everything you’ve got. But until then—wait with purpose.
Lesson 4: Adapt or Get Left Behind
The backcountry doesn’t care about your plan. The mountain doesn’t care how much time you spent on OnX. And the elk definitely don’t care how many podcasts you listened to.
If you can’t pivot, you’re done.
I’ve seen it over and over—guys clinging to a plan that “should have worked.” I’ve been that guy too. Until I learned: adapt or get left behind.
One hunt, I hiked into a “perfect” setup I’d been watching for weeks—water, bedding, feed. Day one? Dead. No sign. No sound. I moved two miles over, glassed new country, and two days later killed a bull. Not because I was better—but because I moved.
Adaptation kills elk—and it sustains men.
The same principle applies off the mountain. Life changes. Seasons change. What worked before won’t always work now. You can’t take last year’s map into this year’s terrain.
Let go of who you were. Adjust to who you need to become. That’s not weakness—that’s wisdom.
The elk that survive are the ones that shift when the pressure hits. The hunters who endure are the ones who evolve when life demands it.
Adapt or get left behind.
Lesson 5: Nothing Is Given
The mountain owes you nothing. Not a bugle, not a shot, not a tag. You can do everything right—train, scout, shoot, prepare—and still come home empty-handed. And that’s exactly how it should be.
Because if you’re chasing guarantees, you’re in the wrong pursuit.
I hunted 60 straight days one season. Over a dozen close encounters—every one of them fell apart. On day 61, it finally came together. Perfect shot, perfect recovery.
The lesson? Nothing is given—and that’s what makes it worth it.
We live in a world obsessed with quick returns. But neither elk hunting nor life works that way. This isn’t a transaction. It’s transformation. The process itself changes you.
What the hunt gives you is who you become—the discipline, the humility, the resilience to keep showing up when things don’t go your way.
That truth carried me through the darkest moments of my life—especially after losing my son. Nothing prepares you for that pain. But the mountain had already taught me: peace and strength aren’t granted; they’re earned.
You don’t get to choose your storms—but you can choose to stand through them.
Nothing is given. Everything is earned.
Final Reflections: Let the Wild Rebuild You
The wild isn’t just a place you go—it’s a place that rebuilds you if you let it.
When you strip away comfort and convenience, when you’re cold, tired, and sore, you find out who you really are—and who you’re becoming. These five lessons weren’t theories. They were earned—through real pain, real miles, real storms.
Endure the storm.
Move forward or die.
Wait with purpose.
Adapt or get left behind.
Nothing is given.
Let these truths guide you not just into the backcountry, but into every hard thing you face. Because this isn’t about talking tough—it’s about living relentless.
When life gets quiet or hard, remember what the mountain taught you. Out there, you don’t just hunt—you rebuild.
TEAM BACKBONE: Join the Movement
If this message hit home, join TEAM BACKBONE at BackboneUnlimited.com.
It’s more than a membership. It’s a tribe of men who train for the hunt and for life—who live relentless, lead with integrity, and keep climbing no matter what terrain they’re in.
Let’s sharpen the edge together.
Train harder. Hunt smarter. Never settle.