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Hunting Stories

Trouble with Turkeys

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Strutting tom turkey.

Trouble with Turkeys: My 1st Turkey Hunt

I never thought much about turkeys. I love bowhunting more than anything, but it was my wife Esther who took an active interest in hunting turkeys. In spring we drew turkey tags for Southern Utah where we’d come across plenty of birds in the past. Getting tags was easy enough, but that’s where easy ended.

First off, we decided to do it with a bow. I don’t do guns—I am a bow-snob…I mean purist—so now we were hunting unfamiliar prey with light tackle.

Second, Esther couldn’t get any time off work. Her schedule is a consummate nightmare, but somehow she was able to secure a single weekend at the end of the April. Now this proved to be a problem because the turkeys we ultimately hunted were already people- and call- wary. Can you say sloppy seconds?

Thirdly, the weather report called for heavy thundershowers and snow. What choice did we have? We went for it anyway.

We left late Friday night and already it was raining. Four hours later we set up camp in the back of the truck and went to bed. The morning was cool and lovely. We ventured across a small river and up the mountain. I decided to make a video of our ordeal, so Esther carried a bow and I carried a camera. I would be the caller for the first couple days, and after she got a shot it would be my turn.

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Me and Esther on our first turkey hunt.

We hiked and called for a few hours, but got no response. A while later, we heard a turkey gobble out of the blue, so we set up a decoy, dropped back, and began a calling sequence. The turkey ignored us and so we kept hiking.

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Esther using a turkey slate call.

Later that afternoon, some thick, black clouds rolled in. As we were making our way back down the mountain, a gobbler fired up fairly close by. We holed up under some junipers to devise a strategy, and that’s when the rain started. We pulled out our raingear and pretty soon it was a downpour. At some point I realized we were on the wrong side of the river, and if the rain continued we might get trapped on the mountain. So we bagged the hunt and made a run for it.

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Snow storm.

By the time we reached the truck the rain had turned to heavy snow. The snow let up later in the afternoon and so we ran back up to where we heard the gobblers. But they were gone. For the rest of the evening we hiked all over looking for tracks in the new snow, but found none. The turkeys had flown the coop!

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Esther creek crossing.

The next morning we woke to a full-on blizzard. Around 10 a.m. it subsided, so once again we crossed the river and headed up the mountain. We hiked from four inches to six inches of snow. We covered an immense amount of ground, but heard no gobbles and found no tracks. The turkeys were gone.

It seemed to me that the only direction they could have gone is downhill, so we packed up the truck and headed to the bottom of the mountain.

It rained most of the day so we spent several hours driving the low-elevation dirt roads and scanning the hillsides for black blobs in the snow. We found none.

In the late afternoon we decided to find a place to camp. I remembered a dirt road that gave access to the low-elevation drainage. Basically, the steep dirt road drops into a bowl before turning back up the mountain. Well, half-way to the bottom, the truck started sliding sideways and I struggled to maintain control. We got to the bottom okay, but now we were really stuck. We slopped to a flat spot to camp, then, with a break in the storm, hiked up the mountain to see where we’d be spending the last day of the hunt.

Things began looking up.

Almost a mile up the muddy mountain, we heard a gobble. With a couple hours of light left, we rushed in, threw out the decoy, and made some calls. There were three gobblers struttin’ around us, but it was way too thick for a shot. I kept dropping back and making hen calls, but they just kept circling us nervously and gobbling every few minutes.

We pulled the decoy and repositioned to a better clearing, but they still wouldn’t come in. We pulled the decoy again and rushed toward them. We were getting close, and so was nighttime. As we sat there trying to figure out where to plant the decoy, some big red heads came bobbing through the sagebrush. The toms were about to pass right in front of us at only twenty yards! Esther nocked an arrow, and when the turks went behind a juniper bush I whisper-yelled, “30 yards!” When they broke into the open, Esther let an arrow fly…and missed! The arrow sailed right behind the first turkey and the second turkey jumped straight into the air. Somewhat alarmed, they all trotted out of sight.

It’s funny how thin the line is between failure and success. After two hard days of hunting, we suddenly had turkeys all around us. Although Esther missed, we were just excited to finally be into the turkeys!

On Sunday we got up early and hiked to where we left the turkeys. We were excited, and I even carried a bow this time. Sure enough, we were greeted by gobbles. Several times we set up the decoy and made calls. The toms responded diligently, but wouldn’t come in. Instead they continued up the mountain and we followed.

Now this is where things get real bad; where Nate and Nature have a serious falling out.

With plenty of new snow, it was easy to follow their tracks. We spotted the turkeys a hundred yards ahead of us. I quickly set up a decoy and dropped back to call. Just as I started calling, a small herd of elk came running through the oak brush. The elk had caught our scent and ran right through the turkeys, nearly trampling them! The turkeys spooked farther up the mountain and we followed.

We caught up to the turkeys moving ahead of us in some boulders and brush. Squatting low to the ground, I trotted up and planted the decoy again. No sooner had I started calling, some coyotes suddenly lit up howling like crazy a short distance behind us. The toms made one last gobble, some other turkeys across the canyon gobbled back, and then everyone shut up. Those were the last gobbles we heard.

Esther and I followed the tracks way up the mountain into the deep snow, but they were moving too fast. Eventually the tracks led out of the huge valley, crossed a saddle, and disappeared. Stupid coyotes!

Frustrated, we turned back. While on top of the mountain, Esther decided to call into work and let her boss know we were stuck in the mud and may not get out by tomorrow. Her boss wasn’t there, but the nice fellow who answered the phone informed her that her 23-year old work-friend had crashed his motorcycle and died over the weekend. Now we were super-bummed for the rest of the day.

With the day slipping away, we had no choice but to make our way back to where we started. Who knows; maybe we could find some new turkeys.

And we did! Half-way to the bottom of the canyon I spotted a hen walking in the sagebrush. I made some calls and some new gobblers fired up. I snuck out to the open and plugged the decoy in the mud and snuck back. I could barely make out two large, strutting males wandering back and forth in the trees ahead.

We started calling and this time a herd of nine deer came bounding out below us. Now, these deer were hell-bent on going uphill, and did so by running right through the turkeys. All the commotion spooked the turkeys off and again it was silent. You gotta be kidding me! First elk, then coyotes, and now deer!

With no other choice, we followed the toms into the dark timber. The snow had melted in the lower elevations, so following tracks was no longer possible. However, a short while later we got them gobbling again. The problem was they refused to come in. We called for more than an hour with no luck.

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Using aluminum turkey slate call close up.

Frustrated, I decided to make a move. I told Esther to hang back. I’d sneak above them, and if they spooked, they might run back towards her.

It didn’t work. Instead, one of them busted me and all three toms slipped away down the mountain. I went back and got Esther. With only a couple hours of daylight, we made one more setup at the bottom of the canyon.

After half an hour of futile calling, I couldn’t take it anymore. I wasn’t going to just sit there and watch it get dark on my hunt. I told Esther I was going to enter the dark timber and sneak around for the last hour of light. She would stay in the ravine with the decoy and continue calling occasionally.

I was hiking up the steep, timbered mountain slope when out of the blue I heard something: “Cluck—-cluck—–cluck.” Well, this was new to me! I pulled an arrow. Sure enough, 40 yards below me, a huge chicken—I mean turkey—came sneaking and clucking along, all alone and completely oblivious to my presence. As it rounded a tree I let my arrow fly.

The arrow hit the giant black bird perfectly broadside and dead-center. The tom’s wings flapped wildly as it sprinted out of sight with my orange fletched arrow sticking straight out of its side. I was super excited as I dropped down to see my trophy…which was gone.

I found a couple clipped feathers and some torn up dirt, even a speck of blood or two. I followed in the direction the stupid bird ran, found another feather, and then lost the trail. I started walking circles. I called Esther on the radio to come help. She showed up and we search up and down and all over. The turkey was gone; run off to who-knows-where with my arrow. The problem with turkeys is two-fold: they don’t leave a blood trail, and they can sure take an arrow!

We continued our search by headlamp, but with no trail to follow, there was no choice but to give up. I was so deflated as I walked back to the truck. Few words were spoken.

The next morning we somehow slogged the truck out of the mud and drove home with nary a feathered foe for food.

Later study proved the turkey’s can take an arrow better than most animals. Basically their stiff wings, when folded against their bodies, creates a sheet of armor, like a stack of zip-ties. This armor will slow, or even stop an arrow, before it penetrates anything vital. In most cases it eventually kills the bird, but only after a lengthy sprint. A head/neck shot is really your best option.

The story ends here. But it also begins here. Next year you’ll find me and Esther in the same area, earlier in the season God-willing, with both heavier arrows and more experience in our quivers.

When facing nature one-on-one, the mountain and its infinite variables often wins. But this particular mountain still owes me a turkey, and I’ll never give up until I get one.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Hunting Stories

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.

Hunting Stories

It’s Story Time!

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Hunting Stories Told Here

The benefits of an outdoor lifestyle are many: beauty, experience, clarity, peace… It’s endless, really, but the greatest benefit seems to be the memories. Insert yourself regularly into the harsh beauty of nature and you’ll come out with some dramatic stories for the ages!

Since I’m currently on a bowhunting adventure, I’m taking a break from deer talk and focusing on stories from the past that haven’t been published.

The next few posts will be exciting stories of success and failure; stories that beg to be told…

Zen Hunting

Hunting Goals and Priorities

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Hunting Goals and Priorities

I didn’t shoot the photo above; I borrowed it from the Utah DWR. However, it perfectly captures what goes on in my mind 25 hours a day, 8 days a week, 366 days a year.

The Utah archery deer hunt opens this Saturday! From there I’ll have 4 weeks to accomplish the one thing I live for: harvesting a trophy buck with my bow. In this article I’m goint to talk about goals and priorities and how they relate to hunting and life.

Hunting Goals

Each bowhunt I go through the same process: A grand, ritualistic prehunt meditation that consumes my being. My mind is being reformatted. Time expands to include the present, past and future simultaneously. As I sit here typing, I’m already in the woods. For the last couple weeks I have become useless in every facet of my life. My soul is set upon a nearly impossible goal that consumes every minute of the day. My phone rings, people talk, and I walk around, but it is all background noise. I can’t focus on anything but the glorious task ahead of me.

As the hunt nears, I also become overly hopeful. Last year my goal was to shoot my third 200+ inch deer in five years. I hunted harder and put more days in than ever before, and I didn’t even see a 200″ deer. The biggest was maybe 180″.

Half-way through the season I started to realize that any big four-point was the best a bowhunter could hope for these days, mainly because there just aren’t that many big bucks left. Thanks to greater and greater human expansion into Utah’s winter range–not to mention a whole new onslaught of statewide poaching and highway casualties–fewer and fewer bucks live to maturity. So the odds of success are always declining. Does this mean I should set the bar lower? Maybe; I’ll wait for that deer to step out and then decide.

Hunting Priorities

Being a professional photographer, archery instructor, taxidermist, and writer has made this the busiest year of my life. I worked every single day in July, mostly out in the hot sun, sometimes ten hours without a break. As busy-ness began winding down, I was discussing work with an associate of mine. He remarked, “Hey, at least the money is good, right?” I said, “You know, the only reason I work so hard is so I can take the entire hunt off work if necessary. Bowhunting is all I care about. Every single thing I do–the whole reason I even get out of bed in the morning–is so I can hunt. Everything else is secondary. When my wife asked me to marry her, I tried to warn her, but she married me anyway (ha-ha). I know my purpose in life…”

There’s a saying: People enjoy what they’re good at (and despise what they suck at.) A couple years ago I had an epiphany: I’m good at lots of things (archery, photography, music, taxidermy, etc.), but I’m great at only one thing: Bowhunting. I didn’t choose it; it chose me.

Not too many years ago I stunk at hunting, so I only committed to hunting three or four days a year. Now I commit several weeks, mostly because I know that quality bucks take a lot of time, skill, and yes, even luck. And the best way to be successful and lucky is to be in the field, not at home, not at work, not golfing, etc. I set a very lofty goal, then do whatever it takes to achieve it.

I also know a whole lot of very unsuccessful hunters, some whom are close family and friends. Most of them say that I’m lucky and they’re not. Maybe they’re right, but I’ll tell you right now: while I’m alone in the woods from Tuesday through Friday, or trudging five miles up some frozen canyon in three feet of snow, those people are sitting at work or in front of the television, waiting for me to get lucky. And then I stumble into some unsuspecting giant…

Conclusion

Long story short, trophy hunting isn’t for everyone. Most hunters would be happy with any deer, or at least some sort of consistency from year to year. But it’s hard to achieve even moderate success when we put so many other priorities ahead of hunting.

I believe everyone get’s ONE THING; one big thing that you’re great at. That’s the great mystery of life; finding that one thing! Unless that “one thing” is hunting, don’t expect a trophy deer too, because in the deer woods it’s all or nothing. You either commit 100% to the task loooooong before the season opener, or you’ll likely fail. The season blows in and out, haphazardly.

This blog is about one thing: Successful trophy bowhunting. I truly believe that success in hunting is a decision, and anyone who sets their priorities in that direction will accomplish it year after year.

When I was just starting out as a photographer, I made a conscious effort to learn only from the greatest photographers and study only their methods. There were tons of “good” photographers out there, but great photography can only be learned from the greats. The same idea applies to hunters.

I don’t know that I am a great hunter. But I do believe in the methods I’ve developed and follow. I also believe that the greatest teacher is the woods itself. I know there is a natural law and how to follow it. I know how a mountain lion hunts and survives by successfully taking a deer every ten days or so all year-round. Lions are the “greats” of the hunting world.

Lastly, I believe that the road map to success is fully integrated into the text of this blog and my book, Zen Hunting. I don’t think I’ve left anything out, but I will keep trying to help.

Good luck this year!

Zen Hunting

Deer are NOT Where You Find Them

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Mule deer buck. Photo courtesy of Utah DWR.

Deer are NOT Where You Find Them

Has anyone ever told you, “Deer are where you find them?”

Maybe it’s a Utah thing, but I’ve heard that:

  • Deer are where you find them…
  • Gold is where you find it…
  • Fish are where you find them…

While scouting last weekend I found a group of big, blocky buck tracks in an unassuming area. Why were the bucks here?, I wondered. Were they moving from bed to feed, or vice-versa? Were they just migrating through? Was there low spot on the mountain that funneled them through here? I’m not sure, but I have my theories. If I can figure out why, then maybe I can intercept them during the hunt.

What does this have to do with hunting? Because wherever a deer is, he has a good reason for being there. Deer don’t take vacations, they don’t explore randomly, and they never wander aimlessly. If a deer is moving, he’s moving for a reason. Maybe he’s coming from feed or bed; maybe he’s trolling for a doe; maybe he was spooked by a predator and is following an escape route. Or maybe–God-forbid–he’s making random tracks just to throw you off! There are many reasons for a buck to move, and it’s your job as a bowhunting detective to figure out why.

Big buck tracks aren’t just pretty; they also hold valuable clues. For instance, if the tracks are meandering around vegetation, then it’s a feeding area. If the tracks are dug in, far apart, or appear to be running, then maybe it’s an escape route.

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If the tracks are deep or appear to be dragging, then it’s probably a big, heavy, old buck. Maybe the tracks are old with debris accumulated in them, or new with sharp edges. You can pretty easily guess the age with a little practice. Also, what direction are the tracks pointing? Kinda important to know whether the buck is coming from or going to a certain area.

If I learned anything about deer over the years, it’s that they take things very serious–which makes them very un-human by the way. Everything a deer does, it does deliberately and purposefully. We can use this to our advantage. The important thing is that you get in the habit of asking questions, making logical theories, deductions, postulations, or just plain guesses. It’s better to wonder why a buck is somewhere than to wonder why he’s not. At least you have a starting point for the opener.

Nowadays when I hear someone say that things are where you find them, I cringe. It’s the ultimate cop-out. What I really hear is, “My brain is where I left it.” It means they’ve given up. They rely on sheer luck; no more thinking, no deducing, no more trying. Maybe they’ll stumble upon a big buck, but if not, oh well. It’s out of their hands anyway.

No one knows what really goes on in a buck’s head, but we can make some pretty good guesses which will lead to more success and more venison in the freezer. Feed, bed, water, migration routes, escape routes–all of these things should be running through your head. The next time you run across some big buck tracks, do yourself a favor and start asking questions. Lots of questions.

Zen Hunting

Big Buck’s Highest Priority

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Big Buck’s Highest Priority

What is a big buck’s highest priority, Food or Safety?

The answer is SAFETY!

In the first edition of my book, Zen Hunting, there’s a slight discrepancy. In one chapter I say the buck’s highest priority is food, and in another chapter it’s safety (or survival). The 2nd edition attempts to separate the two, but it’s really impossible.

The problem comes from real-life observation and experience.

First, a buck can’t survive without daily food intake. I cited David Long’s observation that bucks can’t even stay bedded for the entire day without occasionally getting up to feed. However, while hunting the Utah-Cache unit for three years in a row, I observed that big bucks never up and feeding during daylight hours. As an example, the four times I busted the infamous Droptine buck, he was bedded. Never was he on his feet during daylight hours.

What it comes down to is hunting pressure. As soon as hunters file into the woods, the bucks become completely nocturnal. You’ll still find plenty of tracks and sign because they are indeed feeding at night, but nowhere is a buck found feeding during the day. Bucks simply adapt to a nocturnal lifestyle that negates daytime feeding.

This makes perfect sense. The bucks of Monte Cristo are the smartest I’ve seen. If it comes down to eating or starving to death, the bucks will gladly starve to death. But they don’t really have to because they’re feed at night, and only at night. In this example safety far outweighs eating.

The hunting pressure on Monte is ridiculous and has been for decades, yet there are still trophies haunting the woods (and my nightmares). As I put it in my book, “These are the neurotic decedents of lone survivors.” It’s simple adaptation; survival of the fittest. The bucks that feed during the day get shot!

I’m certain that there are plenty of other areas where big bucks wander around, stuffing their faces with vegetation during the day. I’ve even seen it in Central Utah, but not up north.

Since I’ll be hunting Monte again this year, it’s my job to figure out how to approach these deer differently to beat the odds. I’ve done it before, and here’s how I’ll do it again:

  1. Hunt the opener. In my book I have a whole sub-chapter entitled Never Hunt the Opener! My thinking has changed a little since then. It’s true that on opening day most bucks have already noticed the increased traffic/ATV noise and bailed onto secondary ridges or deep, dark, holes. But I realize now that there are always a brave or stupid few that will wait until they actually see a camo-clad dude before bailing out. These bucks are still in their summer routine and therefore huntable. My best chance is to catch them on the opener.
  2. Hunt mid-week and late in the season. After opening day, my plans change. Since I work most weekends, I can schedule my hunts between Tuesday and Friday. I’ve found that the best day to hunt is Thursday. After the weekenders terrorize the deer, it takes half a week for them to calm down. By Thursday they feel more secure and let their guard down. Therefore your best odds are Thursday and into Friday before the weekend warriors come smashing back into the hills. Also, the hunting pressure falls off dramatically during the last couple weeks of the bowhunt, making September the best time to be out.
  3. Hunt the Beds. The most difficult thing in the world is hunting big bucks in their beds. First you have to find their beds, preferable while pre-season scouting. Big bucks use multiple beds, so you’re not just looking for one bed. Second, these beds are generally found in deep and steep cover and perfectly situated to detect predators from a distance using wind and terrain. It is possible to hunt deer in their beds using ambush techniques or a super-stealthy still-hunting approach, it’s just not probable.
  4. Hunt the Secondary Ridges:  After opening day I will bail off the top and start hunting secondary ridges and deep, steep areas. By then I’ll have multiple backup areas that I’ve cataloged from my diligent scouting trips. It sucks dragging a deer up miles of vertical slope, but there’s no other option.

The methods you use to hunt big bucks is relative to the amount of hunting pressure the area gets. Once again, you must understand the nuances of your prey and adapt yourself as a predator. In high-pressure areas remember, Safety First! Big bucks only care about surviving.

That’s all there is to hunting high-pressure trophy mule deer. Well, that and a ton of luck.

Good luck!

Hunting Stories

One Giant Antler

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Deer Hunting Story:  One Giant Antler

There is an image, not unlike the one above, that still haunts me today.

It was the muzzleloader hunt of 2001. I was still getting used to my new hunting area near Fairview, Utah. I knew the hunting pressure would keep the big bucks in the thick timber, so that’s where I spent my days. I’d never gotten a real trophy-size buck before, and up until then, I’d only seen a few true trophies in all my years of hunting. But I’d seen enough in this unit to know it was possible. These were the bucks I daydreamed about.

On opening morning our camp dispersed across the land. I dropped into the deep and steep pine forest below camp. The deadfall was so thick I had to hop from log to log, not touching the ground for a hundred yards or so. Eventually it opened up with aspens and narrow feeding swathes. Judging by the sign—and I was no expert back then—there were plenty of deer around, but where they went during the day, no one knew.

I’d grown accustom to blowing stalks on large deer, and as you’ll see, my confidence was way down. I knew there were big deer in this unit, attested to by an occasional flash of antler, a loud snort, and the sound of heavy hooves smashing away through the dense woods. I pressed on, but really, I’d already given up.

Judging by the high sun, it must have been close to noon.  I knew the deer wouldn’t be up on their feet at midday, but I wouldn’t allow myself to return to camp and make excuses for my failure; blaming the lack of deer on the area and then bedding down for the day myself. That would be submission. No, I would continue my quest, beating the pine-needled forest floor to death with my stinky old boots.

I was still-hunting along on a steep and rocky slope. The timber was less dense at the edge of the pines where interspersed aspens and deer brush heedlessly  begged for a more sun. My predator eyes suddenly and haphazardly caught the slightest bit movement a hundred yards below me in some tall brush. My cheap, murky binos came up and locked on. ANTLERS! Little bits of tines bounced and bobbed through the tall brush. What they were attached to I could not tell in the thick brush; no fur nor face nor hide nor hair, just bits of antlers appearing and disappearing. How big was he, I wondered? A two-point? A four-point? No way to tell and no shot; I needed to get closer.

Here’s where my lack of confidence shines brightest. Based on previous buck encounters, I told myself this would never work out. I didn’t really believe I could get close enough for a shot, but I had to try—I desperately had to try!

It’s different these days, here in the future. Today, I would just sit tight. The wind was most likely rising from late-morning thermals. I would sit and wait for the buck to feed into the open, even if it took all day. 100 yards is an easy shot with a gun. Woulda-coulda-shoulda. But this is how we learn…

I dropped to my butt and began my slow-motion descent. The pine needles were dry and loud, and the terrain was terribly steep. I used the wind and forest sounds to cover my approach. For twenty minutes I slid, scooted, and crab-crawled down the hill, drawing closer and closer to the sighting. Minutes felt like hours.

The buck eventually moved out of sight, swallowed up by the forest. Unable to keep tabs on him, I became increasingly skeptical.  Did he bed down? Did he sense me and move off? Gotta get closer! I crept closer and closer until I was within a few yards of where I first saw him. All was quiet. Now what?

He’s gone! I must have busted him out. I knew this would happen. Oh well… I would’ve been a little upset if I ever truly believed I had a chance at this buck.

I stood up, slung the gun on my shoulder, and dug my GPS unit out of my pocket. I stared blankly at the screen as it tracked and tracked and tracked for satellites. There’s nothing more tedious than waiting for the GPS to track in thick timber. My eyes lifted and floated around the forest. What direction did he go, I wondered.

As my gaze drifted to the right, my lethargic eyelids suddenly flashed wide-open; my heart stopped. Fifteen yards away, a massive, tall, sweeping, 4-point antler stuck directly out from behind a large tree trunk. On the other side, the long gray line of a deer’s back extended outward.

No thoughts, just action.

In one motion my left hand opened and the GPS went into free-fall. My hand flashed to the butt of my gun. The GPS was halfway to the ground as my gun twirled like a baton in front of me. My right hand caught the gunstock and lifted it to my shoulder. The GPS bounced inaudibly as the gun’s muzzle swung towards the buck.

Too late. Heavy hooves dug into the ground with a loud thud and every trace of that monster buck instantly vanished into the woods. Frantically I aimed at the crashing and snorting of my invisible foe, but he was gone.

And that was that. Nothing left but a haunting technicolor image of a huge antler sticking straight out of a tree trunk, burned forever in the forefront of my long-term memory. For the duration of the hunt I beat myself up for my failure.

I am tempted to leave the story right there, but habit forces me find the good in the bad. I knew then, as I know now, that my biggest mistake was over-estimating the buck, and under-estimating myself. I failed because I accepted failure from the start. I had him in my hands, if only I’d been patient. If only I had believed this one burning truth: that he was “just a deer” and not an impossible phantom.

The End.

Zen Hunting

Over- and Under-Estimating Big Bucks

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muledeer_011
(Photo courtesy of Utah DWR)

Over- and Under-Estimating Big Bucks

Any seasoned hunter will tell you, “NEVER underestimate a big deer!” I agree, but experience also tells me that ‘NEVER’ really means ‘SOMETIMES.’

I have spent up to seven hours stalking big bucks, and other times, I’ve barreled right in on the animal, either because I was losing light or he was distracted by something.

I’ve also watched hunters watched hunters stalk directly at a deer or elk in plain view, thinking he was invisible because he’s wearing camouflage! I’m not joking! You should’ve seen the look on the animal’s face just before it jumped up and ran away.

What it boils down to is that every situation is different. You can’t judge the current situation on the last one, whether it worked out or not. In bowhunting there are just too many variables.

Big bucks are extremely wary…or at least most of the time. On rare occasion you’ll still catch a buck being lazy or carelessly feeding along. But most times you won’t be able to get inside the buck’s 60-yard security bubble without using extreme caution. Within this bubble a buck’s senses are exceptionally acute. This is where critical decisions make or break your hunt.

Below is a list of situations that either cause me to speed up my approach, or sloooow waaaay down:

When to Speed Up a Stalk

  1. It’s getting dark. Assuming you won’t be able to relocate your target buck later on, you’d better roll the dice and make your move. I’ve seen a lot of stalks end in dark failure. If it’s the last evening of your hunt—for example—you will have no choice but to make a move. Even if you have to walk straight at him, it’s still better than doing nothing.
  2. The buck is about to unbed. Finding an unaware, bedded buck is a Godsend. If he it’s early and he just bedded down for the day, you’ll probably have several hours to implement a stalk strategy. But if he’s been bedded all day, you’d better make your move. Can you get close enough for a shot before he stands? I hope so, because when he stands you’ll likely be pinned down.
  3. The wind is about to change. If the wind is blowing steady in your face during a stalk, you’re golden. But wind can change at any moment. If the wind is starting to swirl, you’d better speed up your stalk. Wind direction changes more often in stormy weather or with thermals: in late morning it begins to rise, and in the evening, as the sun begins to set, it cools and goes downhill. Anticipating wind changes is probably the most important factor in speeding up or slowing down during a stalk.
  4. There is cover noise. I’ve used every possible noise for cover including wind, flying grasshoppers, squirrel barks, jets and planes, buck fights, etc. Anything that makes noise–other than you–will help you get closer faster. Wind rustling through the trees or brush is the most common cover noise. It’s also important to pattern wind. For example, at higher elevations winds are mostly non-existent early and then kick up between 10 a.m. and 11 a.m. In the evening winds often die down precipitously just before sundown.
  5. The buck is distracted. Distractions range from buck fights to antler rubbing to squirrel chatter; basically anything that distracts the buck away will give you a chance to move in. The best distraction is when he’s raking a tree with his antlers. Bucks are practically blind and deaf when they head is buried in a tree

When to Slow Down a Stalk

  1. When the buck beds down for the day. Once a buck beds you’ll likely have several hours to get close, so take your time and move with the wind or other cover noise. It’s usually best to wait a couple hours for the buck to start sleeping before making a move. Usually the buck will rise up and re-bed at least once before really dozing off. So the longer you can wait the better.
  2. The wind is blowing steadily in your face. If you’re lucky enough to be hunting during a stretch of steady wind, you can keep your stalk slow and methodical. Unless there’s unsettled weather, wind will prevail from a certain direction for several hours of midday.
  3. The ground is noisy. See how quiet you can be while sneaking twenty yards across a forest floor covered in dry pinecones, gravel, or pine needles. Dry conditions can be a nightmare, especially in thick cover. Oftentimes it’s simply impossible to stalk close to a buck. Fortunately, there are a couple things that can help you. First, take your boots off and stalk-in-socks. Second, wait for cover noise like wind or jets. Dry, hot conditions often bring flying grasshoppers to life. Their loud, short-burst flying noise is the ultimate cover noise when you need to get one step closer. Worst case you can always scoop sticks and brush out of the path with your hands.
  4. The buck is facing you. If you’re trying to stalk close to a buck that’s facing you, you probably can’t move at all. If you can see the buck’s eye, it can see you. However, if the buck’s face is partially hidden then a super slow-motion stalk is possible. Deer have a hard time seeing fine detail and slow motion. Technically, if you could move slowly enough, you could literally walk right to a buck without him seeing you.

These are just a few examples of when to speed up or slow down a stalk. What it really boils down to is common sense and experience. It also helps to spend some time observing and studying your prey. What are their strengths and weaknesses? The more you understand your prey, the better you’ll understand its limitations.

Zen Hunting

Taxidermy Turkey Fan Mounts

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Deluxe turkey fan with wings, fan, spurs, beard & skull.

Taxidermy Turkey Fan Mounts

In just the last three decades, previously nonexistent wild turkeys have flourished in Utah. Now anyone can buy an over-the-counter general turkey tag and go out hunting for these big, noisy, and tasty birds every spring.

Strutting display of a Rio Grande tom turkey. (Photo courtesy of Utah DWR)

If you apply for a “limited entry” turkey tag, you can even hunt them in April, a full month before general hunters. This definitely  increases your odds of success.

Once you’ve harvested a great gobbler, it seems a shame to just  waste all those unique, iridescent feathers. The wild turkey is no Thankgiving birdis is no thanksgiving bird;  it is nature’s beauty at it’s finest.

Fortunately, your friendly, neighborhood taxidermist (me) now offers a wonderful way to display your turkey and preserve all those exciting hunting memories for a lifetime. I proudly present the…

Turkey Fan Mount

Turkey1a
Standard fan mount w/ beard and spurs.

This turkey was taken by my brother, Brent.  Congratulations on a fine, adult strutter!

Turkey2

The spurs shown on the plaque above are used for fighting among breeding males.

Turkey fan mount with beard, spurs, and skull.

If you’re interested in having your turkey fan mounted, prices start at $100. There’s an additional cost if you want to include the skull and/or wings. You can choose an engraved nameplate attached.

For more info, visit natestaxidermy.net.

Note:  I don’t sell the wood plaque mount, I just mount the bird on the plaque. If you’re interested in mounting one yourself, the mounting kits are available on Amazon and some sporting goods stores.

HAPPY HUNTING!

Zen Hunting

Hunt Smarter NOT Harder: Part 2

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Hunt Smarter Not Harder Part 2

GridFlat_small

What the heck is this a picture of???

This is Mount Ben Lomond with a grid overlay. Maybe I just have too much time on my hands, or maybe I’m actually hunting smarter these days.

Last October, my brother Brent had a once-in-a-lifetime mountain goat tag for Ben Lomond. Once you’re on top of the mountain, it’s almost impossible to see down the steep sides. Therefore, the best way to hunt is to have a spotter (me) park at the base of the mountain looking up, while the hunter (Brent) is on top receiving directions to the goats via cell phone.

Although effective, this method requires a lot of explaining and guesswork in communicating directions. So, one day while sitting below Ben Lomond, it occurred to me that if we both had a picture of the mountain overlaid with a grid, then it would be much easier to communicate where the goats were. Being a somewhat photo-tech-savvy-individual, I did a multi-photo pan of the mountain, from north to south. Then, in Photoshop I overlaid a grid and put numbers and letters along the sides.

So basically all I have to do is spot a goat, call Brent, and say, “G-13.”

It’s like goat battleship!

Although very effective in theory, we never had a chance to use this grid-method. Brent ended up shooting his goat on a day I couldn’t be there. Fortunately for me and my brother-in-law Josh, we are looking to draw the same goat tag either this year or next, and I have the feeling this map will come in handy.

Incidentally, Brent shot his goat in section I-11.

brent_goat2

P.S.  If you would like a digital copy of the Ben Lomond Grid Map, let me know and I’ll send it to you.

Hunt Smarter NOT Harder: Part 1