Tag Archives: buck

Triumph Favors the Prepared

I consider myself quite lucky when it comes to hunting, not only am I blessed to hunt frequently, but I’ve managed to become mildly proficient at it. This past season was a tough one when compared to the preceding decade, but perseverance and healthy bit of luck kept a special surprise for me waiting at the end.
I say it was a tough season, but to be more accurate, it was a season void of mule deer bucks. This came as surprise to most of us as it had been a wet year, with plenty of feed. And there seemed to be as many deer around as there always had been.

I spent several weeks scouting my traditional spots, trying to get a pattern established with them. But I was astonished with how few deer I saw, and nearly none of them were bucks, much less a good buck. So as October arrived, and friends, family and I began hunting, the outlook wasn’t too good.

Days passed before we even aimed a rifle at a buck, and even then it was nothing big enough to write home about. Everybody I spoke to both on and off the mountains described a very quiet and inactive hunt. Dad and I were lucky enough to get on to a small buck that found his way into the bed of the truck, but even after five days hunting, I could count every buck we’d seen on one hand. And not one of them was more than a fork.

On the last day of the season, we had another patch of good luck. A very cold wind had brought in a snow flurried storm, dusting the entire mountain with a white coating. I know from experience that when the weather turns off bad, the hunting gets better. The tops of the mountains were enveloped in clouds, making it almost impossible to see more than a hundred yards or so. I determined that the foothills would be a better place to try, at least there we could see for half a mile or so, depending on the snowfall. As the early-morning darkness slowly turned to light, I found myself glassing everywhere I could make out through the falling snow. And before it was even quite shooting light, I spotted three deer feeding their way up through a grassy open area on the edge of a deep river ravine. Their dark bodies contrasted greatly with the all-white surrounding, I could tell immediately that one of them was a good buck.
The deer were eight hundred and fifty yards or so away, they were feeding quietly, so I decided to close the distance to somewhere that at least had a better place to shoot from than my current position. Anybody who has hunted Mule Deer knows how tricky they can be, and this guy was no exception. He must have either sensed our closing presence or perhaps caught sight of us as we snuck through the brush. When we reached the spot I had hoped to ambush him, they had gone into the deep river draw with its thickly wooded sides. I knew that the buck was likely to have either gone down the river towards the safety of civilization, a place I surely could not shoot at him. Or he went up the river, towards the safety of the brush-covered canyons that expand for hundreds of miles. I took a gamble, expecting that if he’s gone down, he’s likely already gone and we missed our chance. So we went up, towards the top of the ravine, slowly and quietly glassing the whole way. The snow continued to fall, and the wind picked up carrying wisps of snow from the trees where it had accumulated. I prepped for the shot I hoped was coming, though I had no idea where it would be.
The flying snow made my rangefinder almost useless, still I estimated the distances to various locations where the buck might come out. I laid flat on the snowy ground, hoping to avoid further detection by either the deer, or a large group of wild turkeys that foraged about sixty-yards uphill from us. I brushed the snow off the lens of my scope, knowing that any second I would need to see through it clearly.
As I laid glassing above the opposite side of the draw my eyes caught through the fog the unmistakeable image of a white deer butt, with a broad face beside it looking back directly at me. I knew it was him, and I immediately dropped my binoculars, and shouldered my rifle, I could see him through the falling snow. He was only a step or two away from disappearing into the brush permanently, he made his last mistake by looking back to see if I was there.
I knew that there was only seconds to shoot or lose him forever, I had estimated that treeline to be about 400 yds, and with no time to dial, I held four MOA just inside his right shoulder, hoping to cross his vitals diagonally. I pressed the trigger, and the shot broke.
Everything felt right, despite my rushed shot. Steady hold on him, good clean trigger pull, and I held a good hand, full of Blackjacks. My 25 Creedmoor is quite possibly the most predictable and flat shooting rifle I own, and I had a warm feeling that the buck had succumbed like many others, to the 131 Grain Ace.
After a grueling hike across that miserable little creek canyon, I closed in on the spot where I’d last seen him. The snow continued to fall as I quietly poked into the trees, prepared for another shot, I carried my rifle at the low ready. But the tension evaporated into excitement as my eyes picked out antlers just a few yards away, already built up with a white snowy coating.

The buck was the biggest deer I or anyone I know even saw during the whole hunt

The buck had only made it a leap or two before he collapsed, the shot had hit him perfectly. It entered at the back of his rib cage on his right side, it traversed him diagonally and exited left of the side of his neck. The Ace had cut his lung in half, and detached most of its pulmonary plumbing.

I was amazed at how quickly this season had turned from bust into bounty. The sun was just coming up, though you’d never see it through all the snowy storm clouds. We could get this buck back down to town, and be home for breakfast.
It was mostly luck, but triumph favors the prepared. Turning off during the hunt just isn’t an option for me, eyes, ears, and nose are always going. Familiarity and training with my gear all year long have paid off over and over, so that one chance you might get doesn’t go to waste. Be prepared, and embrace the high speed tunnel vision that is the mind of a predator within you, it’s there for a reason…

-CBM

A bucket full of Bucks

We all have heard it before; “he’s no trophy” or “you can’t eat the horns”. For some reason, the hunting public feels the need to justify themselves when a small or young buck is taken. Whether it be because of declining herd numbers, bad timing, or even just pure old fashioned laziness. Most times we end up filling our tag with an animal that won’t make the cover of Eastman’s, or Field & Stream. Why do we do it? I’m as guilty as anyone else on the subject, so in this piece, I’d like to address it directly.

I got what some might call a delayed start in big game hunting, sure I went hunting as a child with my Father and Grandfathers, but my own engagement with big game took place many years later. I had always had a passion for hunting, and like most I had dreams of stalking a big buck or bull using only my skills and tackle. I still remember vividly the first time I went hunting with a tag in my pocket, it was a doe tag due to my not being in-country at the time of our states draw period. A doe tag was my only option, and I was so excited to go I jumped at the chance. Green as can be, and completely unprepared I went with my younger brother and some friends. I was the only one to draw blood that trip, probably more due to my doe tag than any hunting prowess. But I can still remember the rush of the chase, sneaking through the brush, getting into a shooting position and making a shot as my young heart pounded. The excitement and participation in this millennia-old practice touched me so deeply that it sparked a passion that at times seems to overshadow almost everything else in my life.

I hunt for many reasons, to eat, to enjoy time afield with family and friends, and to take my place as an active participant in the circle of life. The size of our quarry holds no bearing on those aspects of hunting.

Of course, we all want to shoot the biggest buck, we all want to lay hands on a monster bull. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t matter to me. But why do we somehow find shame, or at least a lack of pride when the animal we tag is not as big as we had hoped? It’s a complicated question I suppose, I think it is partially because of our perception; all we see on hunting shows and in the magazines are pictures of huge bucks and bulls. We naturally aspire for the same thing, we all want to be the guy with a monster bull rack affixed to our pack. Surely there is nothing wrong with a goal like that, but a large set of antlers is not the only way to judge a trophy. For those of us who hunt to eat, a full cooler of meat can be a trophy. I haven’t had to buy meat for years, and I’m not about to start,that too is a prize I take pride in.

I have been lucky to take a mule deer buck almost every year since I started, as well as several does, cows, and other animals. For the longest time, we have had a joke in my family about a five-gallon bucket, a joke at my expense. The first decade or so of my hunting career, not only could you fit all my buck antlers in a five-gallon bucket, you could fit them all in there together, at the same time. I wasn’t particularly proud of it, because I wanted bigger, but I didn’t feel bad about it either. I go deer hunting because I enjoy it, as mentioned above. I like hunting, and I like getting what I’m after, the act of taking an animal is the climax of the hunt and I don’t like to give that up. Others in my hunting party are far pickier, their sights are set for bigger and more mature bucks, which is fine. But they haven’t gotten to feel that rush of engagement or the satisfaction as often, nor have they eaten as well as I have

This particularly puny buck stepped out on the last day of my hunt, the only thing I killed that year.

There are many reasons put forth to not shoot young bucks, many people say let them get older and more mature. That’s fine I guess, nothing wrong with it. As I’ve matured I have come to understand and come closer to that perspective, and I too have let plenty a young buck walk. But is doing the opposite actually a bad thing? As much distrust as I have in state-run wildlife agencies, I have to assume they are mildly competent in their regulations regarding wildlife populations. If shooting two points was actually detrimental to the population, then my state of Utah would be barren. A trigger happy pumpkin patch is standard for any general season here, and anything with antlers is almost sure to be gunned down by everyone who catches a glimpse of him.

There are also many reasons put forth to shoot small bucks, though I don’t subscribe to or even know them all. But I do know this; if you have a child or other first-time hunter, one of these small and inexperienced animals can be the difference between a heartbroken aspiring hunter, and a future addicted sportsman or conservationist.

It also can make a huge difference for a seasoned hunter. Imagine packing out the last animal ever with a loved one like your Father, cousin, or Grandparent, imagine savoring that last memory together in the forest, the size of the animal you hauled out together is likely not the part you will tell your own Grandchildren about. Many times its the journey that matters, not the destination.

If chasing and taking mature animals is your thing that’s great, I wish you luck. And if you are hunting just to hunt, and to get something you can take home to share with your loved ones, I wish you luck as well. I don’t think we need to make excuses for shooting small or immature animals though. If you show up to a game check station, be as proud as you want of your animal. Don’t make excuses like “he’ll taste better” or some other qualifying justification. Don’t dishonor the sacrifice of an animal’s life by consigning him to just a tag filled. We never know which hunt will be our last, so take pride in what you do, savor every moment you are given. Eat what you kill with pride and honor the sacrifice that it took to get it there.

-CBM