Few experiences in life rival the opportunity to harvest a big, mature mule deer buck, but even fewer rival the opportunity to see your children have the experience. Such was the case in southern Colorado last fall.
We live in Utah but have hunted the same area of Colorado many times in the past. The rifle deer hunt in Colorado for 2017 began a little different than previous years. First, typically we hunt the third season and it is not uncommon for us to eat tag soup. Not that we don’t see bucks, we certainly do, but many times we wait until the last day as we pass on immature bucks and end up not making it happen before sunset on the last day. This year, we were hunting the fourth season. We were pumped at the chance to hunt rutting bucks late into November in Colorado. Second, I usually just hunt with my brothers-in-law, but this year, my 14-year-old daughter was coming with us. This was her first hunt ever since getting her blue card.
Hunting many hours from home is a challenge. We rarely, if ever, get an opportunity to scout. We are very familiar with the area and terrain and know where to find bucks, but we never have “the buck” scouted before we put boots on ground. Day one of the hunt was unremarkable and memorable all at the same time. We arrived at our favorite spot just before sunlight. My daughter and I saw a few does and smaller, immature bucks but nothing to really get her excited. It was the same for the afternoon hunt. I was disappointed, but my daughter reminded me how fun it was to spot deer through our optics, hike in the cool weather, and ride our ATV to and from our hunting grounds.
Days two and three were very similar to day one with a lot of riding, hiking, glassing, and sitting. It was exhausting for sure. My daughter slept as we drove to the trailhead. She fell asleep when we would glass for extended periods of time and as we drove back to town after each unsuccessful day. I was growing increasingly frustrated. This was Colorado! It was the fourth season! Deer were supposed to be in full rut, but it was over 60 degrees and we were walking around in T-shirts during the day. There was very little water to be found. I was wondering if the deer would even rut this year.
Day four began with a little pressure. It was now Saturday. I come from a religious background that honors Sunday as the Sabbath, and we try everything in our power to pack up and leave on Saturday. My brother-in-law had been seeing some decent 4-point bucks in a different area, so I asked him to take my daughter that morning and I would scout a mile or so away and radio if I found anything. Just after dawn in a valley below me, I spotted a dozen or so does running single file through the clearing. No bucks. Suddenly, an hour later, a 4-point buck cautiously walked out of the cedars below me, all alone. He was 200 yards away, and he was awesome. I judged him at 28" wide and heavy with dark horns and eyeguards. He was more than a perfect buck for my daughter. Strangely, without me moving a single muscle and no wind at all, he had me pegged sitting on the side of the hill. I had no idea how. There was no way to call my daughter to run over and take a shot. We were in a staring contest. He looked at me motionless for five minutes solid before he cautiously trotted through the clearing. There is a reason big bucks get big. They have another sense that tells them when danger is present. I still have no idea how he knew I was there. I radioed them in disappointment to tell them what had happened. Even more disappointing, they didn’t see any deer that morning.
The afternoon hunt came quickly. I was trying to decide if we should go back to where I had seen that buck or head deep into the country where family had seen a nice buck a day earlier. My heart said to take the ride deep into the country. We rode in, set up, and began to glass. Within an hour, several does appeared 300 yards across the canyon from us. Two small bucks then appeared and began to rut the does. Finally! Suddenly, a decent 24" classic 4-point buck appeared. We sat and watched them for the better part of an hour. We had less than an hour of daylight left. Thankfully, my brother-in-law and his son then showed up and began helping us glass the valley. It was getting dark, and I decided to have a talk with my daughter. I told her she had hunted hard and had a great attitude for the entire hunt. I reminded her that in 30 minutes or so darkness would fall and Sunday would be the final day. I told her I never like to hunt on Sunday, but if she made the choice to do it, I would help her. She alone had to decide to take a chance on the 4-point across the canyon or hunt Sunday. She looked me in the eye and said, “Dad, I hoped for something bigger, but I don’t want to hunt on Sunday either. Let’s just shoot the buck over there.”
I was both proud and a little selfishly disappointed at the same time. I pulled out some shooting sticks and began to get my daughter arranged to take a shot at the buck. Just as she was zeroing in, my brother-in-law called from up the hill and motioned up the canyon. I turned, and with my naked eye I saw a huge rack coming out of the brush a few hundred yards away. Stunned, we quickly got up and moved several yards closer. We crept to the hill’s edge and looked down. At 320 yards away was the monster 4-point buck. My daughter got prone and found the deer in her scope. I was lying right next to her ear, whispering words of encouragement, “Take your deep breath. Slowly exhale while gently pulling the trigger. Take your time. You’ve got this.”
Suddenly, the gun clicked. The primer had failed on her handload. In thousands of loads, that had never happened. We quickly ejected the cartridge and threw in another. A few seconds later, the gun fired. My nephew who was recording on his camcorder yelled, “He’s down!” My brother-in-law was yelling with excitement. We stood, and he jump-hugged all of us. He may or may not have been screaming like a little girl. For the purpose of this story, we will say he did not. My daughter had just killed her first deer on public land, and it was a monster. Upon returning home, we measured him and the rough estimate put him at 33 1/2” wide, 26" tall, and 196” gross.
Memories were made, lessons were learned, convictions were reinforced, and we had a successful harvest. Above all, I spent precious time with my daughter forging an unforgettable experience.
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