Mine was 2004 in the mountains in the East Cape. Six bulls starting to climb out of the bottom of a steep canyon on the oppisite hillside. One grand old bull stood out with his dark blue hue and massive body. The horns didn't matter. As he walked into a opening at 348yds, he stopped and looked up the oppisite hillside at us and the .338 win mag bellowed, sending the 210gr Partition on it's way. The angle was steep enough to allow little drop as I was sited in 1 1/2" high at a hundred yds. The bullet hitting it's mark sounded back up the steep hillside to us as the great bull lurched forward, took a few steps, then toppled over backward rolling back down the hill until we heard him stop by crashing into a stand of trees, shaking them violently as he came to a stop. What a grand old bull. His horns were worn down substantially, but they made him even more grand. Once I made it down to him and looked back up to where we had to get him too, I realized just how important all of the packers back at camp were to be!