It wasn’t until 2018 that my sights switched from giant mule deer to these little, elusive Coues deer that call Northern Arizona home. I went into the August OTC season with high hopes, and by the end of August, I was so brutally humbled that I verbally admitted, “I will never be hunting those stupid little deer again.” I then put Coues deer on the back burner as I went through the following guide season. December rolled around, and I found myself sitting behind another great late season mule deer. I was beyond happy, but it wasn’t my goal of a giant velvet Coues. As the offseason approached, I could not shake the monkey that was on my back. I realized a lot more work and effort were going to have to go into it than I had originally expected.
The 2019 season arrived, and on day six, I finally came face to face with one of my target bucks. Due to the dry conditions and the buck’s disappearance, I knew they had left their normal pocket in search of a new water source. After an hour-long standoff with these deer, I found myself with a full quiver of arrows and a long walk back. Out of the nine days I had to hunt, that would be the last day I would see any of my target bucks. Once again, I ended another early OTC season unsuccessful. This was a pattern I was getting very tired of, but as hunting goes, it’s all part of the game. Hindsight is 20/20, and on that drive home, I went over every second of the last nine days like football game tape. I had run more cameras than ever, and that still didn’t guarantee the results I had hoped for. Realizing what I needed to change, I yet again went into the offseason with this monkey on my back.
The only constant thing I learned during this several year Coues deer vendetta was that big Coues deer aren’t dependable. Opening day came for the 2020 OTC season, and like clockwork, the bucks all disappeared. I could only laugh over the course of the next three days as I sat in the summer sun glassing with no luck. Coming out of a spring season that lacked in moisture, I knew I needed to concentrate my focus back to the last few remaining water sources. I glassed until just before noon and then grabbed my stuff and bailed off the rim, making my way down to the water. Kicking rocks and cussing the heat, I crested the dam of the dirt tank only to come face to face with two of the bucks I had been looking for. Unprepared and speechless, I made my best attempt to nock an arrow before the bucks ran off. That was a tall order considering I never even had a chance to clip my release before they snorted and blew out, tails raised. I realized that with the time I had left, sitting this water was going to be my best chance at getting an arrow in one of these bucks I had been looking for.
For the next two days, I was up hours before sunrise making sure I was in the brush blind with plenty of time for the area to settle around me. Each day, I was blessed with perfect wind direction and warm temps. All the right circumstances needed to sneak an arrow into one of these elusive bucks was working in my favor. I knew the odds of the deer showing up right after I blew them out was little to none. Even on a regular schedule, the deer tended to come in on their own rotation. Law of averages was in my favor as each day came and went, knowing it was only a matter of time.
Day six was different in the sense that nothing went right. From burning my breakfast and forgetting my morning energy drink, I knew I was off to a rough start. I parked and made my way in the dark down to the dirt tank. For the record, nothing in this world sounds like a spooked black bear other than a spooked black bear. Standing there frozen, trying to decide where this bear had gone, I heard it splash through the mud on the backside of the tank. Along with it, I heard the recognizable sound of Coues deer snorting and running for the canyon. I was sick to my stomach thinking this run in with the bear had ruined my chances for a successful morning. Discouraged, I crawled into my brush blind with the anticipation of sunrise.
The surrounding area seemed to be a ghost town for the first few hours of the morning. By 9 a.m., the thermals and wind had switched and I was worried about its direction. Against my better judgment, I got up and walked around the tank, crawling into an oak patch downwind, hoping I could salvage the morning hunt. Within minutes, the wind had switched again and was back to its original forecasted path. Back into the blind I went for the remaining morning hours. Half an hour had gone by before I whipped out any game I had on my phone. Seeing a flash at the water, I looked up, expecting to see a hawk or bird, not one of those giant Coues deer. To this day, I don’t know how I never saw or heard him walk in, but there he stood at 35 yards. By the time I had my bow in hand, he was done drinking and walking off the water. I drew back as soon as his head disappeared behind the think pines, and when he finally stepped out, he was at 22 yards and had me pegged. Only exposing shoulders forward, I knew my only shot was right in the neck. With that thought, I wasted no time and let it fly.
Three years’ worth of time and effort came down to a simple 22-yard shot. I’m speechless to this day at how it all unfolded, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything. At no point did I expect to harvest a 117” velvet Coues deer with my bow on an OTC tag in Arizona. After the adrenaline began to wear off, I put the pieces together. It was a buck I had seen in previous years, but he had ghosted me the entire season leading up to that morning. All said and done, sunburn aside, I couldn’t be happier. I’m just thankful the monkey is finally off my back.
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