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One Step Ahead: My 2023 Deer Hunt Story

The Quest for “Big 5”

I never felt so tired! It was 4:30am on the nineteenth morning of my Utah bow hunt. Whenever I lied down to sleep my mind swirled with strategies to outsmart the giant, velvet-clad buck I called “Big 5.” But he always managed to stay one step ahead of me.

I spotted Big 5 on the fourth day of the deer hunt. He was feeding in a thick, oak brush-covered hillside, and I raced to get ahead of him in the fading evening light. Just as I was closing in, the wind shifted and blew him out of the canyon. I spent the next week searching surrounding canyons and exploring other parts of the unit, but couldn’t turn him up. Although I saw plenty of other bucks, none compared to the amazing Big 5. At that point I decided to devote the rest of the season to hunting this one buck.

First sighting of Big 5 (from video footage).

Just before dark on the twelfth day, Big 5 reappeared in the canyon where I first saw him. There wasn’t enough light for a stalk, but I returned to camp with newfound hope.

My mind buzzed with excitement as I lied in bed anticipating the morning stalk. But wouldn’t you know it, over night a great herd of elk moved in and pushed all the deer out. I spent the next three days searching for him, but to no avail.

The Return of Big 5

During this time I joined forces with two elk hunters—Brian and Mike—who were hunting in the same general area. We had an agreement: I would keep tabs on any big bulls, and they would keep an eye out for Big 5.

Just when I was beginning to lose hope, Mike spotted Big 5 crossing into the canyon at dark on the fourteenth evening. The next morning I sneaked into the deer’s primary feeding area, but ended up busting him out again while still-hunting through the thick and noisy oak brush. This was the lowest point of my hunt.

Bowhunting is a low-odds venture to begin with; things don’t work out most of the time. As a rule, bowhunting success comes from having multiple opportunities, and the fastest way to limit your success is by hunting for one deer exclusively.

The daily glassing game.

To keep hope alive, I wrote a list of positive affirmations in my hunt journal. Of particular note was a reminder that not only do I have 27 years of bowhunting experience under my belt, but I’ve been down this road before: Hunting for just one deer. Only this time was different. I didn’t have three years to get the job done!

The Tank Buck

Hope returned on day 16 when I discovered a new buck—a massive, old, wide-racked 4×4 I called the “Tank”—in an adjacent canyon. He wasn’t as impressive as Big 5, but the longer I watched him the more I fell in love. He was a magnificent deer, and if nothing else he served as a good backup. The season was half-way over after all, so I was relieved to have another target on my very short list.

The “Tank” buck.

So you can imagine my disappointment when, the very next morning, I found that Tank and Big 5 had joined forces! They were now feeding together—along with a few smaller bucks—in the bottom of the canyon where it all started. And just like that, all my eggs were in one basket:  Bust one, bust ‘em all.

Desperate to make a stalk, I threw down my glass, picked up my bow and scrambled to the bottom of the steep, aspen-choked canyon. But just as I was closing in, the wind changed and blew one of the smaller bucks out of his bed. I turned and backed out immediately to avoid further damage.

Stalk through the aspens.

The next morning, in complete darkness, I snuck to the bottom of the canyon hoping to get in front of the bucks before first light. But once again my plans were foiled when I glassed up the bucks feeding at the top of the canyon! As morning dragged on, the bucks side-hilled out of view and disappeared. Once again they stayed one step ahead of me.

Endless Pursuit

By day nineteen I was at wits end. At some point during the restless night I hatched a plan to get ahead of the bucks. I knew from experience that big bucks get big by being unpredictable. So if they fed at the top of the canyon yesterday, perhaps they’d be at the bottom today. Again, in the cover of darkness I dropped down the canyon. And wouldn’t you know it, the bucks stayed high! This time, however, I wasn’t letting them out of my sight.

Immediately I ascended the aspen ridge between us, and then watched as all three deer—Big 5, Tank, and a smaller 3-point—fed along the ridge top and eventually bedded beneath a couple big pine trees. I pulled out my notebook and drew a diagram of the bedding area, noting landmarks that I could use during the stalk. But first I’d have to wait for the thermals to stabilize.

Stalk landmarks and notes.

I returned to camp and was just about crawling out of my skin waiting for the south winds to prevail. Finally, at noon I set out on a low-odds stalk towards the bucks, knowing that one false move could blow the bucks out forever. Surely they were growing weary of my chase.

Big 5 bedded underneath big pine.

The Final Stalk

The midday sun beat down on my face as I crested the ridge fifty yards above the bedded bucks, but thick oak brush obscured my view. Must get closer.

Hot, south crosswinds carry away my scent and the sound of my footsteps amongst the loose gravel on the hillside that grows steeper with each step. A frightened chipmunk shrieks and scurries away. I freeze for a minute, then take a range from the lower limbs of one of the trees: 45 yards. I slowly load an arrow and continue forward. Everything must be perfect now.

Each footstep is timed with the occasional gust of wind or the raspy sound of flying grasshoppers. I take another range: 35 yards. I wince as the wind continually dips down, then rises again. My heart-beat quickens; sweat beads up across my face. I take another step and look up again. Fuzzy antlers are suddenly bobbing through the oak brush. Big 5 is up and feeding, but only his head is visible.

I slowly raise my bow and scan ahead for a shot window. The situation unfolds in strange contrast: the natural world flows lazily along, but my mind is frantic as I try to manage a myriad of details in a heightened state of awareness. I’ve been here before; I know the odds. “What happens next? How does this end?”

The buck slowly feeds towards a little, two-foot gap in the oak brush. It’s all a blur as I draw my bow and track the buck with my 30-yard pin. He finally steps through and my arrow is off. There’s an audible “thunk,” and then pandemonium as all three bucks explode down the mountain. Seventy yards out, Tank and the smaller buck regroup and look back, but Big 5 continues out of sight.

Twenty minutes later I begin tracking down the mountainside. There’s blood right away, and for the first time in weeks I feel a sense of relief. A little further down the canyon and there he is. In my haste to shoot, the arrow hit forward in the neck, but did the job.

The buck is finally mine!

Like a dream, I reach down and grasp the buck’s sprawling antlers in my hands. I feel strangely numb. Whatever elation I’m supposed to feel has been cancelled out by the rigors of mountain, dampened by loss of sleep, and swamped in disbelief. Sometimes a hunter gets lucky; other times he earns it. In this case, the only luck I had was seeing the buck in the first place. I gave this hunt everything I had; I paid full price for my trophy.

Final Thought

Long ago, in a personal attack fueled by jealousy, an old “friend” once said to me, “I don’t have to shoot the biggest deer on the mountain to prove I’m a man!” I don’t disagree, however it does prove other things:  That you have a special skill set; that you are a provider of meat; and above all, you are the top predator you were meant to be. And that, my friends, puts you one step ahead of the rest.

Ancient petroglyphs in my hunting area.

A Road Hunt to Remember

My 2020 doe.

2020: A Year to Forget

As a dedicated bowhunter, the thought of driving dirt roads and looking for deer runs counter to everything I love about deer hunting. It took a dreary year like 2020 to push me to such detestable methods.

I beat myself ragged trying to find a buck in Utah that season. My usual public land area was swarming with stir-crazy city-folk fleeing the pandemic. All that commotion in the mountains drove big bucks back to their private land haunts and my hunt ended in failure.

Off to Idaho

When the hunt ended I turned my attention to Idaho where five years earlier I took an incredible trophy buck. With high hopes Esther and I loaded the truck and headed to Southern Idaho for last two weeks of bow season.

Upon arrival I was dismayed to see my beloved deer unit overrun by thousands of sheep. Severe drought and waves of sheep had decimated the deer habitat, and for ten days I couldn’t to turn up a single good buck. With only three days left and desperate for meat, I decided to take a doe.

Doe Hunting

I’d seen plenty of does running around, and I expected an easy, one-day endeavor. Boy was I wrong. On the evening of the 28th I hiked up a ridge with plenty of deer sign. A group of six does appeared feeding on a steep, wooded slope.

Just as I entered bow range, a woodpecker flew into a dead pine tree next to me. There was a small crack, and then a large branch came crashing to the ground next to me. Not surprisingly, the entire doe group spooked out of the area.

No problem, I still had two days left.

More Bad Luck

In the morning I headed back up the mountain. I was slowly picking my way through a patch of dry brush when a group of does appeared in front of me. I crouched down quickly and pulled an arrow. The wind was perfect and the does were oblivious to my presence.

Suddenly, the whole herd exploded in all directions and ran away. Flabbergasted, I stood up to see a pack of coyotes filtering through the brush. I was enraged and I launched an arrow at one of the intruders, but my arrow skipped off a branch and missed.

Perhaps I was trying too hard. It’s just a doe, after all! That evening I set up ambush on a roadside waterhole. Earlier in the hunt I’d seen deer near the water and figured it would be a good ambush spot.

The mountain was falling into shadows as I sat motionless 30 yards from the water’s edge. The pond was surrounded by trees, so a deer could approach from any direction.

I was lost in thought when I heard a light crunch behind me. Slowly I turned my head and saw a big doe pop out of the trees just 10 yards away. Before I could raise my bow, the doe snorted and bounded off. Of all the places to sit; what terrible luck! With only two hours of light left I called Esther to pick me up.

A Time to Road Hunt

No more mister nice-guy; desperate times call for desperate measures. Creeping around the cruel woods and sitting water had proved fruitless. It was time for some good old-fashion road hunting. Everyone knows that deer are much less concerned by slow-driving vehicles than camo-clad hunters.

We pulled onto a side road next to a big mud puddle left over from a past rainstorm. I didn’t think much of it because there was a camp full of drunken miscreants nearby blasting hip-hop music over their smoky campfire.

You can imagine my surprise when I spotted a lone doe standing on a hillside 100 yards away and looking longingly at the water. Clearly she was waiting for darkness to make a quick water run. With this in mind, we drove a short distance up the road. Once out of sight I hopped out and instructed Esther to drive further up the road and wait.

Racing against nightfall, I dropped into the timber and backtracked towards the water. It was so quiet that I couldn’t even shift my weight without crunching pine needles. Now I was stuck. I balanced my feet on two dried cow pies to muffle my footing and waited.

With only minutes of light left I began to wonder if the doe was going to show. Suddenly she appeared, silently weaving through the trees 15 yards in front of me. In a steady, slow movement I raised my bow and drew back.

The doe caught the end of my draw and jerked her head up in fright. Before she could whirl, my arrow was off, catching her in the shoulder. She spun around and crashed headlong into a Christmas tree, then got her feet and bounded away.

After confirming a good blood trail, I radioed Esther. Before I could get a word out she told about a doe she just saw by the truck.

“I don’t care about that, I just shot one! Come help me track it.”

Tracking Effort

The doe ran away so fast that the blood trail petered out quickly. The dug-in tracks led through the sagebrush and then crossed the dirt road, it’s hooves touching only once in the dust on the road before disappearing in some rocky terrain.

Three hours passed as we continually backtracked and crawled forward on hands and knees trying to find the next track or sign. We split up and wandered in ever-widening circles, but to no avail. How could this mortally hit animal elude us?

There was no choice but to back out and return in the morning. Coyotes howled in the distance as we walked back to the truck making me uneasy about leaving the deer overnight. Esther suddenly stopped and asked, “Hey can we just check one thing first?”

“What?”

“I wanna check where that doe popped out by the truck?” Could it be the same deer, she wondered?

I was doubtful, but the timing was uncanny. We turned around and walked back to the truck turnaround spot. On the way I interrogated Esther. “What was the deer doing? Was it running? Did it look hit?”

“No,” she replied, “It just walked out of the trees, saw the truck, and went back into the trees.”

“Well, we better take a look.”

Happy Ending

A minute later we arrived at the flat spot where Esther had parked. She showed me where the deer was standing, but there was no blood. Discouraged, we began walking in circles and you can imagine my surprise when I nearly tripped over the doe lying less than 20 yards from where she’d parked. What were the odds of my deer running 300 yards and expiring right next to the truck?

It’s been a long time since I’ve been proud of taking a doe, but that deer got us through the winter and was just what I needed after 37 fruitless days afield. As it turns out, adventure can be found just off the side of the road. Perhaps I won’t be so quick to disparage the fine art of road hunting in the future.

The End

Bowhunting Top 10 Tips for 2021

Bowhunting Top Ten Tips for 2021

In reviewing notes for my last 25 years of bowhunting, I decided to compile a list of my ten tips for bowhunting success.

  1. Hunt where the deer are, not where you want them to be. Use the off-season to study, scout, and explore promising new areas. Always have multiple areas for opportunities.
  2. Be a wilderness athlete. At the very least maximize your physical fitness—especially cardio—so you can actually make it to where the deer are. Minimize your body weight and field gear so you can go farther and  move with stealth.
  3. Learn everything about your prey. Study books, videos, and actual deer behavior. Become obsessed with the daily lives of deer, not just hunting.
  4. Avoid people at all costs (it gets harder every year). Deer hate people more than anything! As a rule, you need to put as much energy into avoiding people as you do hunting. Nothing good ever lasts, and eventually you will lose your secret spot to the crowds. So be adaptable and mobile, ready to cut your losses and find a new area at any time.
  5. Maximize time afield. Hunting is equal parts skill, luck, and time. The longer you hunt, the higher your chance of finding or lucking into a big buck. Spending a more time afield is the only way to attain the experience you’ll need to hone your hunting skills.
  6. Scout effectively. Whenever possible, locate your target buck before the season starts. Off-season scouting begins the day your hunt ends.
  7. Get as close as possible, and then let things play out naturally. Rarely can you force the situation with big bucks. They are extremely wary and fragile. Hunt them on their turf and on their schedule. Success is simply the result of many good decisions plus time and luck.
  8. Flawless shot execution. Shooting your bow must be effortless and subconscious. If you can’t shoot straight under pressure then nothing you’ve done up to this point matters.
  9. Hunt alone. The ultimate goal in bowhunting is not to even exist., to become invisible to the deer. Hunting alone reduces your scent, sound, and visibility. More importantly it allows you to focus on your instincts and innate skills rather than hunting by committee.
  10. Be eternally open-minded and humble. Great hunters learn something new every single day they spend afield. The moment you become an “expert” is the moment you stop learning.

I hope you enjoyed my tips. Did I miss anything?

9 Surprising Facts About Mule Deer

9 Surprising Facts About Mule Deer

With the Utah archery deer hunt only a week away, I’ve been thinking a lot about mule deer, particularly their behavior and ecology. In reflecting on past hunts, I’ve come to realize that the biggest factor contributing to hunting success is having an intimate knowledge of your prey, whatever animal it happens to be. By learning your prey, you can more accurately dissect the mountain and predict their locations and movements.

I really love mule deer. Not only are they exciting to hunt, but these brilliant survivors are endlessly fascinating to observe in the wild. I’ve read just about every book and article written on mule deer and have kept careful notes along the way. Today I’d like to share some of the most surprising facts I’ve learned about mule deer.

Surprising Mule Deer Facts

1. In 1900 there were only 10,000 deer living in Utah; today there are more than 350,000! The main factors contributing to herd growth is better resource management, relatively mild weather in recent times, and an increase in predator control efforts. Considering that only 30% of today’s hunters are successful in bagging a buck each year, it’s surprising how many deer there really are out there.

2. Before 1950 half the bucks harvested in Utah were mature (3.5 years and older). Today only 10% of bucks harvested are mature. This is obviously the result of “quantity over quality” management, coupled with high demand for tags and the resource manager’s desire to maximize permit sales. For the trophy hunter you’ll have to sift through lots of deer to find a true trophy. In Utah only about 1 in 56,000 bucks harvested will make Boone & Crockett.

3. Using their sensitive snouts, deer can detect water up to two feet below ground and then use their hooves to dig it up. During hunting season water isn’t a concern unless it’s really hot and dry, in which case the deer must drink once a day. Because it’s so dangerous to travel to water, the deer will often sniff it out. The deer’s nose is estimated to be 1000 times more sensitive than humans. They also use their incredible sense of smell to find best food sources, find mates, and of course to sniff out predators like ourselves.

4. Deer have a 310-degree field of view, as compared to humans who see less than a 180 degrees. Not only can the deer see 86% of it’s surroundings, but he has amazing night vision and motion detection. For all of these strengths, however, it sacrifices the ability to see colors in the red spectrum and fine details.

5. Most big bucks are “hiders,” as opposed to “runners,” when encountered in high-pressured areas. If you typically hunt in dense cover, chances are you’ve been seen by far more deer than you think. The bucks that run are either small or know they’ve been spotted.

6. Mule deer antler growth exceeds two inches per week during spring and summer, and then greatly declines the first week of August. Final antler size is largely determined by three factors: age, genetics, and available forage. A wet spring and/or early monsoon season is your best chance to harvest a trophy buck.

7. The unusual form of bounding (called stotting) where all four legs leave the ground simultaneously, is unique to mule deer and was adapted to escape cougars in mountainous terrain. No other big game species in North America uses this unusual mode of locomotion. Not only is stotting useful for navigating heavy cover, but is done quickly, covering 22 to 29 feet with each bound on level ground.

8. The average home range for a deer is only .6 square miles. Since deer don’t like to wander outside their home range, it might seem easy for us hunters to locate a buck. The problem is that deer are highly adaptable to human pressure and will quickly evacuate the mountain to predetermined safe zone, sometimes miles away from it’s home range.

9. Elk compete directly with mule deer, especially on winter ranges. Although elk are 3.5 times bigger than a deer, biologists estimate that one elk is the equivalent of 5-8 deer in terms of winter range degradation. In areas where both elk and deer populations are high, elk will gradually replace the mule deer. The greatest long-term threat to mule deer, however, is the natural reintroduction of the whitetail deer which will likely force the mule deer into extinction! Enjoy the great muley while you can.

Fascinating creatures, aren’t they?! I hope you enjoyed these facts.

The Majestic Muley Buck: Insights and Observations

The Majestic Muley Buck: Insights and Observations

In September, 2012 I hunted the Wasatch Extended Range with a friend. The bucks in this area are just as wily as anywhere in Northern Utah, if not more. We eventually split up to more thoroughly cover one particular steep and wooded slope; I took the upper section and he took the lower.

Not far into the route, a big, mature 4×4 buck came flying up the mountain, probably spooked by my hunting partner. The buck didn’t notice me as he blew by and then paused briefly on the hillside just outside of bow range while scanning for danger below.

I was instantly enraptured by the buck’s majesty. He held his neck high, donning a beautiful, square rack with heavy tines standing like swords above his noble face. His muscular body pulsed with deep breaths. He jerked his head left and right, simultaneously scanning for danger and planning his escape route. I just stood there, mouth agape, bow a-dangle. What a creature!

Seconds later he picked a line of trees and bounded away, his hooves barely poking the earth between great strides, seemingly floating over the treacherous terrain with awesome speed and agility.

Nothing to do now; no point in following after. The buck would be valleys away by the time I caught up with him. I was gripped with a sense of helplessness. The sheer magnitude of this creature made me feel inept in my abilities. How could one ever outwit such a powerful and wary animal? It was humbling, and exactly what I needed.

Letting the Buck Out of the Bag

My Utah Superbuck Obsession

 

My 2015 obsession.
My 2015 obsession.

Finally, a year later I’m letting the buck out of the bag. Actually I never bagged this buck to begin with, so unless someone else has, he’s still out of the bag.

Either way, this amazing 200″+, Northern Utah mule deer buck haunted me every day since the 2015 season. I promised myself never to obsess over a buck again, but not a single day went by for the entire year that I didn’t think about it.

The pictures in this article were taken from a video I shot at from 200 yards away. At the time, he was surrounded by three other deer and there was no way to get closer. So I let him walk, thinking I might get a better opportunity the next day. But he had other plans and disappeared.

A sentinel buck that ran with my buck.
A sentinel buck that accompanied my buck.

Like most big bucks, he changed his routine and kept me one step behind him until the season ended.

Hoping to get a second chance in 2016, I spent nearly 20 days looking EVERYWHERE for him–high and low– but he was nowhere to be found. He’s gone.

If you happen upon this tremendous buck, please give him my regards and tell him I miss him.

A look from behind.
A look from behind.

P.S. Despite the great heartbreak and strife of my 2016 bow hunt, I was still able to score on an impressive Idaho buck. Here’s the story link  ——–>>>  https://zenbowhunter.com/a-second-chance

Travails from a Frozen Mountain

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Wasatch Mountains, Utah

Travails from a Frozen Mountain: A Cold Weather Hunting Story

In 2013 I bagged a giant 200-inch buck and was determined to repeat this feat in again in 2014. But dreaming too big doth a nightmare make!

The regular season was a frantic search for non-existent superbucks. The biggest buck I saw grossed well below 190”, and all told I passed up more than a dozen smaller four-points.

The Wasatch Extended Hunt

Fortunately, Utah offers an extended bowhunt which lasts from mid-September through November. I’ve seen a few great bucks in those steep and rugged mountains over the years.

A week after the September general hunt ended, I took a two day trip into the mountains above Salt Lake City. I had both an unused elk and deer tag, as well as a floundering bowhunting blog dangerously void of success stories.

But this trip stunk! Everywhere I’d seen deer in the past I found nothing but old tracks and other hunters. The biggest problem with the extended hunt is the pressure from hundreds of fools-like-myself who couldn’t get the job done during the regular season.

So I was patient and waited for November when the big deer come down from their snowy, high-country haunts to participate in the rut.

Rut Hunt Round 2

On November 5 I hiked a few miles up a steep canyon and pitched my tent beneath an old pine tree. For years this was the place to be during the rut. I once saw five 4-points all fighting for a small group of does. But this year there was very little snow, and I was a little skeptical.

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My frozen bivvy camp.

I was feeling a little ill on my hike in. In bed that night I was suddenly gripped by fever and a sore throat. I tossed and turned all night, and by morning I was sick as hell. I went hunting anyway. Sadly, there wasn’t a single buck in the whole canyon. I spotted a couple decent elk in the distance, but passed them up in hopes of finding a good buck.

The second night was a disaster. I shivered and tossed all night with a full-body fever, sore throat, and coughing. I woke up dizzy and sore, but clambered out of my tent anyway. Determined to hunt through my illness, I somehow managed to 1000 vertical feet in search of deer.

I finally spotted a couple bucks rutting across a canyon: bits of antler, fur, and deer prancing around in the trees. Excitedly, I stood up, took two steps towards them, then reeling with dizziness, flopped back down on the ground. My hunt ended right there. I dragged my bent-over body off the mountain, swaying like a zombie. Each step pounded in my head; every muscle and joint wrenched with pain. I passed a couple hikers on the way out. They said, “Hi,” and I could barely croaked out a sickly “hello.”

Rut Hunt Round 3

Ten days later I crawled out of bed and headed back up the mountain. Still weak and feeble, it took three hours to reach my lonely tent under the pine tree. The weather had turned bitterly cold that week. The cold air streaming down the canyon stung my exposed skin. It was so cold that I could hear things freezing in my pack. What had I gotten myself into?

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By the time I crawled into bed, my water jugs were mostly frozen, my pile of boiled eggs froze solid in my pack and split open, my energy shots froze, as did my scent spray, Visene, and water filter. When I moved in the night, flakes of frozen condensation snowed down on me. I stuffed every bit of clothing I had into my sleeping bag with me, and wore six layers of uppers including my down coat.

Cold be damned, by morning I was out hunting. I squinted through freezing eyeballs and couldn’t sit still very long before catching a chill. I wrapped a game bag around my neck and stuffed extra pck items into my coat pockets just to trap the heat in. My lungs, heavy and tender from illness, coughed and wheezed in the frigid air.

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My pack thermometer.

There still wasn’t enough snow to push the deer down, so I hiked farther and farther up the canyon. On the evening of the second day, I finally located both elk and deer near the top, but it got dark as I  tried to close the distance in the crunchy snow.

I was planning to hunt four days, but was running dangerously low on food. I failed to anticipate the amount of calories my body would burn just to stay warm and on the third day I had no choice but to pull out early.

The following week, on November 22, I headed back for one more big push. The forecast called for heavy snow and blizzards, which I welcomed with open arms. Perhaps it would finally push the deer down to lower elevations.

The next morning, while hiking up the steep ridge above camp, the skies began to darken. Just as I was reaching the “elk zone”, I spotted movement way back down where my tent was. An entire herd of elk had moved in, including a few good bulls. Still trying to catch my breath, I began a hasty descent. Halfway to the bottom, some damn hunter appeared and spooked the whole herd off.

It started snowing around this time. I followed the elk tracks for about a mile and a half until they left the canyon. Luckily I ran into a bunch of new deer tracks. The snow was really coming down and the wind howled through the aspens and pines. Pretty soon the unrelenting snow was blasting horizontally and stinging my eyeballs.

I scrambled from pine tree to pine tree, ducking and diving for shelter from the blinding snow. It was late afternoon and I was nearly two miles from camp in a violent blizzard. The deer tracks soon disappeared under a fresh blanket of drifting snow, but at this point, shear survival is all that mattered.

Hoping to catch a break in the storm, I holed up under the bows of a huge pine tree. I was passing the time, poking away at my little video-poker game, when I heard a nearby shuffle. I looked up and ten feet away stood a little 3×3 buck peering into my tree hollow and wishing I wasn’t there. He spooked out to 50 yards and stared back at me. Apparently I was sitting in the most coveted shelter in all the woods because that poor buck stood there looking at me for 20 minutes and turning completely white with snow. With the end of the season nigh, I considered shooting him, but changed my mind. I envisioned myself out there field-dressing the thing, and then having to climb into its body cavity for warmth. No thanks!

With the storm worsening and evening falling fast, I had no choice but to make a run for it. I headed straight into the blasting snow, but hadn’t gone very far when up ahead, through the murky twilight, I caught the movement of a big buck chasing some does. A second later the wind swirled and blew them out.

My knee was killing me as I hobbled into camp that night. My clothes were soaked and I was starving, but at least I’d brought extra food this time. Tomorrow would be better…or so I thought.

The blizzard continued all night. Every couple hours I’d wake up and bang snow off my collapsing tent. I slept in until about 9:00 when the storm finally broke and the sun lit up a winter wonderland the likes I’d never seen. I burrowed out of my tent and dug my bow out of snow. It was caked with ice and wouldn’t even draw one inch. I worked to de-ice it using my breath and rubbing it with my fingers throughout the day.

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Snowed into camp.

The snow was well over my knees as I trudged up the mountain in search of that big buck from the night before. I spotted a group of deer way up high and spent several hours working towards them. The higher I climbed the deeper the snow got until I was forced to abandon the stalk altogether.

Completely exhausted from plowing snow all morning, all I could do was head for the trail at the bottom of the canyon. When I got there I was surprised to see a beautiful 4×4 buck chasing some does on a nearby slope. Finally, some hope!

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Video still of giant buck in snow.

While contemplating my approach, a dog appeared out of nowhere and began barking up a storm. There was a cross-country skier coming up the canyon and when his dog saw the deer it ran after them in a barking fit. The deer splashed away through the snow and out of sight. In my weary state I knew I could never catch up to them. Disgusted and exhausted, I hiked back to camp, threw my tent in the sled, and headed for home.

Rut Hunt Round 4

On November 28, the weekend after Thanksgiving, me and every other hunter with a tag headed for the hills. The Black Friday hunting pressure had pretty much blown out the entire mountain; I never saw it so bleak! I hunted a different canyon that day, closer to the road. Partway up a side draw I jumped a little forked-horn buck. He ran to 50 yards and stopped, just in time to catch one of my arrows through his chest.

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My last chance buck, 2015.

My last chance buck didn’t come anywhere near my 200-inch goal; hell, it barely broke 20-inches! But I gained something. Actually I gained a lot. I gained venison. I gained humility; grim humility bordering on disgrace. I also gained strength; both mental and physical strength beyond measure! Never again would anything be too difficult; never would any mountain seem too steep.

You might be wondering, would I do it all over again? The answer is a decisive YES, starting next November.

Out of the Woods

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Out of the Woods

So that was the 2015 bowhunt; it came and went faster than I could imagine. What I expected to be just another same-old archery season ended up being a whirlwind of ups and downs and a dramatic unfolding of failure and success, coupled with new ideas, concepts, and a solidification of theories that sprung up during the 2014 season.

But in the end I failed to bag a buck, which was so spiritually deflating that I decided to take a month off writing and devote my energy to regrouping and digesting it all. Fortunately, the whole adventure was documented in my super-top-secret field journal. There is now enough new information in this little notebook to fill an entire book, and someday it will.

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Enough with the pleasantries, let’s move on to the details.

My hunt was 28 days long, but I devoted half of it to my wife Esther’s, limited-entry bull tag in Fish lake. This was the most difficult hunt of my life. The terrain was super-steep, thick, boulder-strewn, log-fallen and all-round unforgiving with mostly hot, 90-plus degree days. A myriad of cow and spike hunters chased the herds into the far reaches of the worst mountain tops long before we arrived. We beat ourselves ragged on two separate trips just to close the distance on this silent 310-class bull which wouldn’t respond to calls. Esther was finally able to shoot it bedded, facing us, at only 20 yards. Thus began a most grueling 11-hour pack out on our backs. All in all it was a wonderful success and Esther’s very first bow kill. Congrats, doll!

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In the end I shot nothing…just like last year. So here we go again, into the even more difficult extended season. The difference this time is that I am building off countless lessons learned last year. Not only is it my goal to shoot both a Pope & Young buck, but a P&Y elk too! Unlike last year, I’m not just saying it; I’m doing it.

So we say goodbye to the 2015 general season forever. Incredibly difficult throughout, but beautiful. The story has just begun; can’t wait for next year!

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Backyard Buck

Backyard Buck

Last night, just before dark, I got a visit from my favorite backyard mule deer buck. If you don’t remember him from last year, his name is Henry the Bigger than Average Two-point, and he ate most of our ripe tomatoes.

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Last year he should have been a three-point, but remained a two-point with tall antlers.

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This year he was supposed to be a small four-point, but instead he’s a two-by-three. That’s poor genetics for you, but he’s still a beautiful little buck.

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Henry has a tall rack with good mass and multiple little kicker points around his eyeguards. Definitely good potential if he ever sprouts a normal rack.

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Last year it was easy to get close to Henry, but now he’s getting a lot more cautious, like all big bucks. I learn a lot from observing my backyard deer.

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Goodbye Henry!