You may remember my Dad had left to deal with some family obligations. On Wednesday last week, I was talking to my grandmother on the phone, who was at their house. She casually mentioned that my Dad had stumbled in the night before, looking dead tired and that he and my mother were butchering today. Wait, what? He didn't even tell me he was going back out, let alone that he got one?!
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Back when we parted ways, we had discussed that if a weather change was to move in, that could be really good for the deer movement, rather than this bluebird 80 degree stuff we'd been having. Dad said he'd try to come back on Monday, predicting he would have the place to himself. Turns out that is exactly what he did. After an eventful Monday morning where Dad was within range of a nice 4x4 and was just waiting for the right shot, a storm moved in HARD, ending the opportunity. It dumped several inches of snow, knocked down a pile of trees, and blew out Monday night.
The final day of the season found my Dad heading up the same logging road where we had jumped two bucks out of their beds the week before, with the larger one slipping away just before Dad could shoot. Wouldn't you know it, those same two bucks bedded in that same exact clump of young aspens. Though they bailed in the same directions as the previous encounter, the smaller buck made a fatal error and looked back. And while he wasn't the 30 incher we'd dreamt of for the last month, Dad was able to tag his first ever mule deer buck!
I have to say, I'm really proud of my Dad with this one. He quartered up and hauled this buck out from 2.5 miles back. It took him two trips, as he's not quite as prepared as I am for dealing with such a situation, using what I would call a grade school backpack, but he did it!

That would be over 10 miles for him in one day, 5 miles of it under a load, which is more than I would have given him credit for. Good job Dad!