elkrchr
Well-known member
Two great bucks for two great friends! Way to get it done!
Southeast Montana - We're baaaack!
- Thread starter Big Fin
- Start date
fishing4sanity
Well-known member
Congratulations to both of you, two very nice looking deer!
Doesn't look like a problem to me...
noharleyyet
Well-known member
Liking the blading on that buck Randy....
recon6036
Well-known member
I wish I could see whitetails like that in Michigan. Think I need to head west and give whitetail hunting a try. There sure are some nice western Whitetails being posted on this forum. Big congrats Randy!!!!
Spot & Stalk
New member
- Joined
- May 22, 2016
- Messages
- 54
From my experience, mulies are generally more tolerant of hunters than WT even when love stuck. They hang around and get shot while the WT are shredding foliage running away. They are just a more patient species.
Nameless Range
Well-known member
2 excellent bucks. Quite the trip. Congrats!
Spot & Stalk
New member
- Joined
- May 22, 2016
- Messages
- 54
Man those are good looking bucks...both of them!!
backsmasher23
Member
Great bucks and congratulations.
Bowhuntrben
Well-known member
Congrats on a great hunt!
J Elky
Member
Nice job Randy!!
Curious, how far was the pack out?
Curious, how far was the pack out?
BlakeA
Well-known member
Congrats!
joelweb
Well-known member
Looks fun. Congrats!
Thinking I need to fill in a few more details to this story.
As with many of our hunts, the story often starts and eventually ends with these signs. Seems the FS is doing a good job of enforcing these new travel management rules. And it makes for a far better hunt.
Dick drove from Big Falls to Miles City on Thursday, then met us in Broadus on Friday, just before noon. It took some time to get the motel situation arranged, gassed up, and grab some lunch. The goal was not to make a big hunt of it, merely check some areas I have hunted in the past and see how they were impacted by the fire.
Was interesting to see how the fire has changed the landscape. Not only in terms of vegetation, but in the deer distributions. There is so much feed available and so many bedding fringes of burned/not burned, that deer distribution is far wider than what I was used to. Many of the normal whitetail hangouts seem to be overtaken by mule deer. Seeing nice whitetail bucks running the burned ridges was a big surprise. In burned areas, the brushy bottoms held more mule deer than whitetails.
With the first evening recon behind us, my original plan still seemed pretty good. We had glassed some deer further away from roads and we would look at those spots as our morning hunt. Not sure what Dick thought of my plan, but the morning sunrise was worth the effort to get here. A brisk 20 mph east wind made it feel a lot colder than the 36F the truck thermometer indicated.
We looked over a few groups of does, but the only bucks with them were pretty young. After a couple hours we were about two miles from the truck and it became obvious that the west side basins were the ticket, allowing deer to stay out of the wind and in the shade later into the morning. Using that tactic, we peeked into a basin with a good group of does and some younger bucks. Down below, in the black trees, a doe was hopping around as is normal for a doe being chased by a buck. Sure enough, a very tall buck was bumping her along. It didn't take long for Dick to assess him as a buck he would be happy to shoot.
Dick, being one of the more grounded people you could meet, wanted a representative mule deer, with no aspirations that the claims of the young guy at the gas station were true. A claim of, "We just can't find a 180" buck. We've been sorting through a ton of 170-175" bucks, but the 180+ bucks are just not showing themselves." Dang, I obvious am hunting the wrong place. I shoot all the 170" bucks I see, so I told Dick to be on the lookout for some and we would mop up the trash bucks those guys were stumbling over. All humor aside, it was fun to hunt with someone like Dick who enjoys the hunt for what it is and has reasonable expectations.
This buck would not give a shooting opportunity. Too far when he was in the open and too obscured when within range. Such is the hassles of hunting burns. And the hassles of filming lanes being primary to any shot we take. Soon, the does tired of our presence and traversed the ridges into the next drainage, taking them very close to private.
We followed tracks in the sparse snow, but gave up chase when it seemed they were on a B-line for the private a third-mile to our east. No worries, as we could see more doe groups on ridges further ahead of our original vector. We headed to investigate those, marking this spot for examination on our way out that afternoon.
A mile further and it was time for some glassing of the distant white dots that represented mule deer rumps. The heat of hiking was quickly stolen by that east wind. I found a south facing rock that blocked most of it and allowed the sun to thaw my runny nose and windburned cheeks. Dick, being accustomed to the cold of Northern Minnesota, sat glassing, no gloves or mitts, seemingly unaffected by the windchill. I guess my blood has thinned since I left that frozen north country.
While we glassed, Tyler spotted some deer bedded on the ridge right above the private corner we had stopped pursuit. Through the spotter, we could see it was the same buck. After dropping off the ridge toward private, they must have circled back south to the bench with the scattered snow. After all three of us examined him in the spotter the plan was made the navigate around that private corner and come in from the northwest, using the east wind to our benefit. We would have to gain a bit of elevation to get on the same level as the deer,b ut it seemed to be a good plan.
As we approached, three of us walking was too loud to go where we first wanted; dead trees, brush, and two-day old snow that had frozen to a thin crust of noisy ice. So, we decided to come to the next bench slightly down from their bed, giving Dick a 150 yard shot of the buck were to push his doe around that area, as he had when we first spotted him a mile further west. Clearing the lip of the terrace, we identified the dead old snag they were right of. We set up there and started to wait him out.
After about twenty minutes, it occurred to us that maybe the buck had moved the doe when we had dropped out of sight. One problem with going out of sight while stalking is that you lose visual of the animal and they can move, leaving you to be hunting the buck that is no longer there. With that concern, it was hatched that I would drop down the property boundary, head east and then climb the ridge above the deer, using a deeper cut to conceal me while my scent slowly drifted their direction. If all went according to plan, the east wind would alert the deer to my presence, causing them to try sneak out to the west, where Dick and Tyler had set up the ambush.
I'm not sure what happened next, as I was on my trek. As retold to me, I had hardly even left the set up when the buck got up and nudged the doe from her bed. He forced her along the trail we had hoped for. But, as luck would have it, when the buck was open to the shooter, he was obscured for the camera. When the camera had a lane, Dick did not. And they were only three feet apart from each other. They followed the buck up the ridge and I cut their tracks as I was closing my loop. Their look of, "How that happened is just bad luck," told me it must have been an unfortunate outcome.
As with many of our hunts, the story often starts and eventually ends with these signs. Seems the FS is doing a good job of enforcing these new travel management rules. And it makes for a far better hunt.
Dick drove from Big Falls to Miles City on Thursday, then met us in Broadus on Friday, just before noon. It took some time to get the motel situation arranged, gassed up, and grab some lunch. The goal was not to make a big hunt of it, merely check some areas I have hunted in the past and see how they were impacted by the fire.
Was interesting to see how the fire has changed the landscape. Not only in terms of vegetation, but in the deer distributions. There is so much feed available and so many bedding fringes of burned/not burned, that deer distribution is far wider than what I was used to. Many of the normal whitetail hangouts seem to be overtaken by mule deer. Seeing nice whitetail bucks running the burned ridges was a big surprise. In burned areas, the brushy bottoms held more mule deer than whitetails.
With the first evening recon behind us, my original plan still seemed pretty good. We had glassed some deer further away from roads and we would look at those spots as our morning hunt. Not sure what Dick thought of my plan, but the morning sunrise was worth the effort to get here. A brisk 20 mph east wind made it feel a lot colder than the 36F the truck thermometer indicated.
We looked over a few groups of does, but the only bucks with them were pretty young. After a couple hours we were about two miles from the truck and it became obvious that the west side basins were the ticket, allowing deer to stay out of the wind and in the shade later into the morning. Using that tactic, we peeked into a basin with a good group of does and some younger bucks. Down below, in the black trees, a doe was hopping around as is normal for a doe being chased by a buck. Sure enough, a very tall buck was bumping her along. It didn't take long for Dick to assess him as a buck he would be happy to shoot.
Dick, being one of the more grounded people you could meet, wanted a representative mule deer, with no aspirations that the claims of the young guy at the gas station were true. A claim of, "We just can't find a 180" buck. We've been sorting through a ton of 170-175" bucks, but the 180+ bucks are just not showing themselves." Dang, I obvious am hunting the wrong place. I shoot all the 170" bucks I see, so I told Dick to be on the lookout for some and we would mop up the trash bucks those guys were stumbling over. All humor aside, it was fun to hunt with someone like Dick who enjoys the hunt for what it is and has reasonable expectations.
This buck would not give a shooting opportunity. Too far when he was in the open and too obscured when within range. Such is the hassles of hunting burns. And the hassles of filming lanes being primary to any shot we take. Soon, the does tired of our presence and traversed the ridges into the next drainage, taking them very close to private.
We followed tracks in the sparse snow, but gave up chase when it seemed they were on a B-line for the private a third-mile to our east. No worries, as we could see more doe groups on ridges further ahead of our original vector. We headed to investigate those, marking this spot for examination on our way out that afternoon.
A mile further and it was time for some glassing of the distant white dots that represented mule deer rumps. The heat of hiking was quickly stolen by that east wind. I found a south facing rock that blocked most of it and allowed the sun to thaw my runny nose and windburned cheeks. Dick, being accustomed to the cold of Northern Minnesota, sat glassing, no gloves or mitts, seemingly unaffected by the windchill. I guess my blood has thinned since I left that frozen north country.
While we glassed, Tyler spotted some deer bedded on the ridge right above the private corner we had stopped pursuit. Through the spotter, we could see it was the same buck. After dropping off the ridge toward private, they must have circled back south to the bench with the scattered snow. After all three of us examined him in the spotter the plan was made the navigate around that private corner and come in from the northwest, using the east wind to our benefit. We would have to gain a bit of elevation to get on the same level as the deer,b ut it seemed to be a good plan.
As we approached, three of us walking was too loud to go where we first wanted; dead trees, brush, and two-day old snow that had frozen to a thin crust of noisy ice. So, we decided to come to the next bench slightly down from their bed, giving Dick a 150 yard shot of the buck were to push his doe around that area, as he had when we first spotted him a mile further west. Clearing the lip of the terrace, we identified the dead old snag they were right of. We set up there and started to wait him out.
After about twenty minutes, it occurred to us that maybe the buck had moved the doe when we had dropped out of sight. One problem with going out of sight while stalking is that you lose visual of the animal and they can move, leaving you to be hunting the buck that is no longer there. With that concern, it was hatched that I would drop down the property boundary, head east and then climb the ridge above the deer, using a deeper cut to conceal me while my scent slowly drifted their direction. If all went according to plan, the east wind would alert the deer to my presence, causing them to try sneak out to the west, where Dick and Tyler had set up the ambush.
I'm not sure what happened next, as I was on my trek. As retold to me, I had hardly even left the set up when the buck got up and nudged the doe from her bed. He forced her along the trail we had hoped for. But, as luck would have it, when the buck was open to the shooter, he was obscured for the camera. When the camera had a lane, Dick did not. And they were only three feet apart from each other. They followed the buck up the ridge and I cut their tracks as I was closing my loop. Their look of, "How that happened is just bad luck," told me it must have been an unfortunate outcome.
Lawnboy
Well-known member
You're telling me! I was just telling my brother that story. Would of been my best buck to date. I can still see him in those cross hairs.
We sat for a half hour, glassing all the basins where the duo could have escaped to. The south slopes were free of snow, so tracking was no longer an option. On the bright side, they were headed back into the heart of the public ground, giving us more options if we were to find them. Convinced the deer were out of this basin, we headed SW, thinking that would take them to the bigger basin where they were rutting and feeding this morning.
On our way to that basin, we topped the ridge where a small depression interrupted the flow of the crest, creating a big of a bowl, maybe forty yards across. As I peeked over, a whitetail doe stood from her bed, obviously surprised by my sudden appearance. I stopped, bringing our procession to a halt. Given the plan was for Dick to shoot a mule deer and me try for a whitetail, I started to prepare in the event a buck was around. I looked back and Tyler and Dick had frozen in their tracks a few yards behind and below. Hearing a snort, I turned back toward the doe that was stomping a front foot and letting me know she was not fooled. And now, there were two whitetails, with a really, really nice buck standing another fifteen yards behind her, looking at her and almost oblivious to me.
As any smart doe would do, she didn't wait for further evidence that trouble was here in the form of my Howa .308. She bolted, with a very nice 5x5 buck dogging here every leap through the burned timber. Dick and Tyler being just a bit under the lip of this bowl only caught parting glimpses as they scramble to see what had me cussing my luck. Such is the life of filming. I would have shot that buck on any whitetail tag I've ever had. Or should I say, tried to shoot that buck.
Since the whitetail tandem was headed toward the basin we thought the mule deer went, it only seemed reasonable to follow their tracks. Soon, a good whitetail buck appeared on a far distant horizon and quickly disappeared. Dang, not going to catch up to them today.
We continued the remaining few hundred yards to the rim of the largest basin in the area. We expected the buck and his doe would be there. We peeked slowly as we cleared the ridgeline, using dead trees to keep us from skylining. Nothing to be seen. I motioned that we would head right to a small grassy flat that would allow good visual of most of the basin. About two steps from the small breakline that offered this good vista and a dozen mule deer does burst from their beds that blended so well in the mixed grass/brush/burned timber below. As they ran, they picked up a few more friends, and a few more, and a few more. Damn it. Trying to sort bucks as they stotted through the burn was hard. Yet, one buck was markably bigger than all the others. And, he had far better fronts than the buck that we came here pursuing. All we could do is watching below and see which coulee swallowed them.
I apologized for not seeing them sooner. But, as I get older, my hearing sucks and I think my peripheral vision is not too far behind. We sat in this grassy spot while the woods calmed. Withing an hour, a quiet woods combined with the sun now arching hard to the west, gave deer comfort that all was safe. They started appearing again, as if they had sprung from holes in the ground.
A long finger rolled down into the middle of this big basin. It provided some excellent lanes to look down into the thickest cover and also provided great views of the opposing faces that formed this drainage. A few deer were feeding out the south bottom and up the facing slope, so we snuck down the back side of the ridge, using the cover to occasionally peek over for a glance. A half hour of sneaking had us in the position we wanted and where the good buck had vanished. Either he was below us or he continued further down the drainage where nasty brush would give him life-saving sanctuary.
Around 4 pm a group of deer came around one of the small corners that often hides deer that seemingly have no place to hide. In the group were three bucks, including a smaller four-point Dick had passed this morning. As rutty as they were, one of those does had to be the subject of their attention. We determined that our best hope was to wait longer and see if one of the bigger bucks came forth and took command of the situation. In the hour until dark we discussed the virtues of each buck, wishing they were wider or heavier or had deeper forks. By the time shooting light ended none of the bigger bucks had made an appearance. It was a great first day, and like many hunts, filled with chances that "might have been."
On our way to that basin, we topped the ridge where a small depression interrupted the flow of the crest, creating a big of a bowl, maybe forty yards across. As I peeked over, a whitetail doe stood from her bed, obviously surprised by my sudden appearance. I stopped, bringing our procession to a halt. Given the plan was for Dick to shoot a mule deer and me try for a whitetail, I started to prepare in the event a buck was around. I looked back and Tyler and Dick had frozen in their tracks a few yards behind and below. Hearing a snort, I turned back toward the doe that was stomping a front foot and letting me know she was not fooled. And now, there were two whitetails, with a really, really nice buck standing another fifteen yards behind her, looking at her and almost oblivious to me.
As any smart doe would do, she didn't wait for further evidence that trouble was here in the form of my Howa .308. She bolted, with a very nice 5x5 buck dogging here every leap through the burned timber. Dick and Tyler being just a bit under the lip of this bowl only caught parting glimpses as they scramble to see what had me cussing my luck. Such is the life of filming. I would have shot that buck on any whitetail tag I've ever had. Or should I say, tried to shoot that buck.
Since the whitetail tandem was headed toward the basin we thought the mule deer went, it only seemed reasonable to follow their tracks. Soon, a good whitetail buck appeared on a far distant horizon and quickly disappeared. Dang, not going to catch up to them today.
We continued the remaining few hundred yards to the rim of the largest basin in the area. We expected the buck and his doe would be there. We peeked slowly as we cleared the ridgeline, using dead trees to keep us from skylining. Nothing to be seen. I motioned that we would head right to a small grassy flat that would allow good visual of most of the basin. About two steps from the small breakline that offered this good vista and a dozen mule deer does burst from their beds that blended so well in the mixed grass/brush/burned timber below. As they ran, they picked up a few more friends, and a few more, and a few more. Damn it. Trying to sort bucks as they stotted through the burn was hard. Yet, one buck was markably bigger than all the others. And, he had far better fronts than the buck that we came here pursuing. All we could do is watching below and see which coulee swallowed them.
I apologized for not seeing them sooner. But, as I get older, my hearing sucks and I think my peripheral vision is not too far behind. We sat in this grassy spot while the woods calmed. Withing an hour, a quiet woods combined with the sun now arching hard to the west, gave deer comfort that all was safe. They started appearing again, as if they had sprung from holes in the ground.
A long finger rolled down into the middle of this big basin. It provided some excellent lanes to look down into the thickest cover and also provided great views of the opposing faces that formed this drainage. A few deer were feeding out the south bottom and up the facing slope, so we snuck down the back side of the ridge, using the cover to occasionally peek over for a glance. A half hour of sneaking had us in the position we wanted and where the good buck had vanished. Either he was below us or he continued further down the drainage where nasty brush would give him life-saving sanctuary.
Around 4 pm a group of deer came around one of the small corners that often hides deer that seemingly have no place to hide. In the group were three bucks, including a smaller four-point Dick had passed this morning. As rutty as they were, one of those does had to be the subject of their attention. We determined that our best hope was to wait longer and see if one of the bigger bucks came forth and took command of the situation. In the hour until dark we discussed the virtues of each buck, wishing they were wider or heavier or had deeper forks. By the time shooting light ended none of the bigger bucks had made an appearance. It was a great first day, and like many hunts, filled with chances that "might have been."
Having no better plan for Day Two and knowing two good bucks were in the area, it seemed logical that we retrace our steps from Day One and hope luck was more on our side. At the trailhead, a warmer southwest wind sure made it seem like the wind could be at our back, both literally and figuratively. We headed to the first saddle that allowed us to examine the basin we had left the night prior.
It took a half hour, but when we got there the rising east sun served to light up mule deer butts in big numbers. Way more deer than we had left in here last night. We were on the binos and spotters feverishly inspecting bucks as they appeared. Crazy how many deer can appear from nowhere, well somewhere that just seems like nowhere.
Straining my eyes to examine a white-racked buck below, I heard Tyler proclaim he thought he had the buck from yesterday morning. Instantly, all optics were directed toward that white rump whose body was obscured by blackened trees. Two other bucks were spectating, including the so-so four pointed Dick had passed yesterday morning and which we had walked away from last night. Given he had relented his short-tenured crown during the dark of night, it did not surprise me that Tyler thought the obscured buck was much better.
Rutting bucks not known for standing still, within a minute the gray body turned right and gave a menacing stiff-legged posture to the smaller four pointer. While doing so, allowing us to see it was the buck that had slipped away from us twice yesterday. I ranged him to be just over 600 yards. Surely not a shot we take on TV. The wind was perfect for an approach to a saddle that was about 400 yard south. We figured that would leave 300 yards if a shot could be provided.
In short order we were at the destination, sneeking glances through the dead trees in hopes of identifying any bedded deer that could screw us up. Seeing none, we scooted into the shade provided on the west face of the rocks that had kept any timber from gaining foothold on this section of the ridge. Dropping down further gave use the same shooting plane as the buck was last seen and even though we might have to thread it through the trunks of dead trees, such was a better option than trying to find a clear lane among the burned out crowns from which small limbs seems to protrude in every direction.
Immediately the buck started rutting around as if he had read our script. He just needed to clear the trees he seemed so fond of. Other bucks were darting in and out, but he was holding his ground. His doe seems intent on making him prove his worth, prancing and hopping in some manner that probably makes sense to a doe being pursued in the name of love. Whatever he path, it made no sense to me when she decided to bounce around the corner of the small cut and take her loving man out of our view. Dang the luck.
We used their temporary exit to slide a bit further down to the butt of this big pine that had fallen victim to the fire. It was kind enough to fall straight up/downhill, coming to rest near another big tree that though still standing, bore the same scars of bark burning flames. This intersection of trees, combined with a stack of two Mystery Ranch Metcalf packs, made for the best rest we could manufacture. All we had to do now is wait for the doe to bring her buck back to our face of the ridge that I had ranged from 305-340, depending on which opening I hit.
Our wait was not long. As she came across our screen, she stopped next to one of the other bucks who did not realize the near-death situation this lady had created. Bursting from the brush, the bigger buck lunge toward the unsuspecting youngster, almost impaling his flank. The young guy had good reflexes and pretty good judgement, trotting down the ridge in consolation that this would not be his day.
The doe crisscrossed while the buck would stop and start, sniffing and lip curling along her trail. Never once did he offer a shot as he transected from right to left. He stood for many minutes watching the doe that now occupied a small open window at 324 yards. Not sure what she was telling him, but his motionless posture made it seemed as though he was listening intently. Satisfied she was still in charge, she turned and started slightly downhill and back to the right, nibbling and peeing as she went.
Unable to take it any longer, the stiff-legged buck hobbled down to where the doe had stood. Facing right and slightly downhill, he was as broadside as one could expect. I gave Dick the rangefinder reading of 325. He checked the CDS dials and clicked the safety forward. Tyler, following the buck since he reappeared, told Dick that he was free to shoot when comfortable. I had my eye in the spotter when the rifle fired. I saw the buck do the high mule kick so indicative of a lung shot. In a few bounds he was out of view and the hillside was quickly clearing of alarmed deer. Of all we saw exit, none of them were the tall four pointer Dick had shot at.
Tyler and I assured Dick it was a lethal shot. He was not as convinced as we were. Dick noted that in the thick whitetail woods of Northern Minnesota, 150 yards was considered a longer shot. To date, his longest deer shot had been around 290 yards.
While Dick was regaining his senses and filtering the adrenaline from is blood, I was smiling and laughing, not at Dick, but at all this moment represented. It as the culmination of many years of discussion that we would get together and hunt again "someday." Well, "someday" was here and it turned out far better than I could have reasonably hoped for. One of my lifelong friends, a guy with whom I have spent days celebrating great life events and other days drowning sorrows, had just taken his first mule deer and I got to be right there next to him as it happened.
Dick is not the kind of guy who is going to paint his face, not going to jump up and down pumping his fist while yelling, "That's what I'm talkin' 'bout!" Nope, he is low key, humble, and understated. Yet, through all that humility, Dick was visibly pleased. As was Tyler. As was I.
It didn't take long to cross the one drainage that separated our ridge from where the deer had last disappeared. When we got there, Dick took the lead to look for blood and tracks. As he got to the spot of the shot, he looked downhill and thirty yards away laid the dark-horned buck, his white rump contrasting the dark ground. Dick turned to report the findings, sporting a smile worthy of the day.
We spent a lot of time taking pictures, doing TV parts, and Tyler earning a case of beer for running back to where we had spotted this buck; the place where Dick thought he might have lost his cell phone when taking off a morning layer of clothes. We had finished the picture session by the time Tyler had returned and handed Dick his phone.
With packs loaded and mostly down ridge to the truck, we laughed and retold each part of the stalk with exactly detail from the perspective each of us had. We thanked our luck. Dick asked Tyler what beer he preferred. And we promised that the next "someday" would not take as long as this one had.
A few more pics of Dick's buck. A trophy by the important standards - friendship, camaraderie, and accomplishment.
It took a half hour, but when we got there the rising east sun served to light up mule deer butts in big numbers. Way more deer than we had left in here last night. We were on the binos and spotters feverishly inspecting bucks as they appeared. Crazy how many deer can appear from nowhere, well somewhere that just seems like nowhere.
Straining my eyes to examine a white-racked buck below, I heard Tyler proclaim he thought he had the buck from yesterday morning. Instantly, all optics were directed toward that white rump whose body was obscured by blackened trees. Two other bucks were spectating, including the so-so four pointed Dick had passed yesterday morning and which we had walked away from last night. Given he had relented his short-tenured crown during the dark of night, it did not surprise me that Tyler thought the obscured buck was much better.
Rutting bucks not known for standing still, within a minute the gray body turned right and gave a menacing stiff-legged posture to the smaller four pointer. While doing so, allowing us to see it was the buck that had slipped away from us twice yesterday. I ranged him to be just over 600 yards. Surely not a shot we take on TV. The wind was perfect for an approach to a saddle that was about 400 yard south. We figured that would leave 300 yards if a shot could be provided.
In short order we were at the destination, sneeking glances through the dead trees in hopes of identifying any bedded deer that could screw us up. Seeing none, we scooted into the shade provided on the west face of the rocks that had kept any timber from gaining foothold on this section of the ridge. Dropping down further gave use the same shooting plane as the buck was last seen and even though we might have to thread it through the trunks of dead trees, such was a better option than trying to find a clear lane among the burned out crowns from which small limbs seems to protrude in every direction.
Immediately the buck started rutting around as if he had read our script. He just needed to clear the trees he seemed so fond of. Other bucks were darting in and out, but he was holding his ground. His doe seems intent on making him prove his worth, prancing and hopping in some manner that probably makes sense to a doe being pursued in the name of love. Whatever he path, it made no sense to me when she decided to bounce around the corner of the small cut and take her loving man out of our view. Dang the luck.
We used their temporary exit to slide a bit further down to the butt of this big pine that had fallen victim to the fire. It was kind enough to fall straight up/downhill, coming to rest near another big tree that though still standing, bore the same scars of bark burning flames. This intersection of trees, combined with a stack of two Mystery Ranch Metcalf packs, made for the best rest we could manufacture. All we had to do now is wait for the doe to bring her buck back to our face of the ridge that I had ranged from 305-340, depending on which opening I hit.
Our wait was not long. As she came across our screen, she stopped next to one of the other bucks who did not realize the near-death situation this lady had created. Bursting from the brush, the bigger buck lunge toward the unsuspecting youngster, almost impaling his flank. The young guy had good reflexes and pretty good judgement, trotting down the ridge in consolation that this would not be his day.
The doe crisscrossed while the buck would stop and start, sniffing and lip curling along her trail. Never once did he offer a shot as he transected from right to left. He stood for many minutes watching the doe that now occupied a small open window at 324 yards. Not sure what she was telling him, but his motionless posture made it seemed as though he was listening intently. Satisfied she was still in charge, she turned and started slightly downhill and back to the right, nibbling and peeing as she went.
Unable to take it any longer, the stiff-legged buck hobbled down to where the doe had stood. Facing right and slightly downhill, he was as broadside as one could expect. I gave Dick the rangefinder reading of 325. He checked the CDS dials and clicked the safety forward. Tyler, following the buck since he reappeared, told Dick that he was free to shoot when comfortable. I had my eye in the spotter when the rifle fired. I saw the buck do the high mule kick so indicative of a lung shot. In a few bounds he was out of view and the hillside was quickly clearing of alarmed deer. Of all we saw exit, none of them were the tall four pointer Dick had shot at.
Tyler and I assured Dick it was a lethal shot. He was not as convinced as we were. Dick noted that in the thick whitetail woods of Northern Minnesota, 150 yards was considered a longer shot. To date, his longest deer shot had been around 290 yards.
While Dick was regaining his senses and filtering the adrenaline from is blood, I was smiling and laughing, not at Dick, but at all this moment represented. It as the culmination of many years of discussion that we would get together and hunt again "someday." Well, "someday" was here and it turned out far better than I could have reasonably hoped for. One of my lifelong friends, a guy with whom I have spent days celebrating great life events and other days drowning sorrows, had just taken his first mule deer and I got to be right there next to him as it happened.
Dick is not the kind of guy who is going to paint his face, not going to jump up and down pumping his fist while yelling, "That's what I'm talkin' 'bout!" Nope, he is low key, humble, and understated. Yet, through all that humility, Dick was visibly pleased. As was Tyler. As was I.
It didn't take long to cross the one drainage that separated our ridge from where the deer had last disappeared. When we got there, Dick took the lead to look for blood and tracks. As he got to the spot of the shot, he looked downhill and thirty yards away laid the dark-horned buck, his white rump contrasting the dark ground. Dick turned to report the findings, sporting a smile worthy of the day.
We spent a lot of time taking pictures, doing TV parts, and Tyler earning a case of beer for running back to where we had spotted this buck; the place where Dick thought he might have lost his cell phone when taking off a morning layer of clothes. We had finished the picture session by the time Tyler had returned and handed Dick his phone.
With packs loaded and mostly down ridge to the truck, we laughed and retold each part of the stalk with exactly detail from the perspective each of us had. We thanked our luck. Dick asked Tyler what beer he preferred. And we promised that the next "someday" would not take as long as this one had.
A few more pics of Dick's buck. A trophy by the important standards - friendship, camaraderie, and accomplishment.
