As he stretched the tape to measure the spread, Carl just started laughing, “You’ve killed a giant.” My dad and I had been walking around about 15-20 yards above where the deer lay. We were analyzing the scene where the buck had been standing before the long shot. My dad loves to relive the moment, and this was one he would never forget. He was looking for blood, footprints, hair, or any sign he could find to replay the scene in his mind and ultimately figure out exactly where the buck was standing and exactly how far the shot was. That’s when we looked down the hill in response to his laughter, and Carl was just smiling. “Guess how wide he is?” Carl continued in an amused tone. Innocently, I suggested 28" or 29". My dad guessed about the same, 29" or 30". “Not even close,” Carl laughed back, “Thirty-four inches wide.” My dad and I rushed down the hill in disbelief as we had to see the tape for ourselves.
My entire life growing up, my dad had talked about finding that monster 30" wide buck. On a snow-covered sagebrush hill in southwestern Colorado, his dream had come true beyond his greatest imagination. There he lay, the biggest buck either of us had ever personally seen, 34" wide, not to mention quite tall as well. No wonder Carl, a professional guide and good friend, was so genuinely amused, even he had rarely seen such a beast.
This hunt actually started 18 years ago when I was away at college. I had enjoyed hunting with my dad ever since I could remember, but during my later teenage years, I lost some interest as friends, sports, and girls became more exciting than chasing hoofed creatures. Believing I would eventually remember my priorities, my dad began putting us in for points in Colorado. Living on a middle-class income, this was a bit of a gamble for him. Even the money it cost for the application process was a sacrifice he wasn’t sure would ever pay off. After 11 years of intense schooling, however, I finally had a little down time, and it only took a hunt or two for me to remember what mattered in life. I quickly realized there is nothing quite like the experience of spending time in the mountains with family and friends.
For years, we had dreamed of having a great hunt together where we would each have the chance of harvesting a trophy buck. Watching our points grow and studying the areas recommended by Huntin’ Fool, we realized in 2017 that we finally had enough points to draw the unit we had been considering. When I received the email in spring of 2017 from Colorado that said, “Successful,” I immediately called my dad. My excitement turned to disappointment when he inexplicably told me that he had somehow forgotten to put in before the deadline. My dad was the hunter of all hunters. He lived for this! He would never miss a deadline like this, but somehow he did. I would be hunting our dream unit on my own in 2017. Little did I know, that inexplicable mistake would turn out to be a double blessing.
After a quick scouting trip and learning the unit was wide-open, big-rifle country, I asked my neighbor, Carl Coates, a professional guide, if he would want to come down and help us spot. Carl was available, so off we went. My dad, Carl, and I hunted the unit hard for a few days. We had seen a lot of nice bucks but nothing extraordinary. Having used 17 points, I told my dad and Carl I wanted at least a 180" buck and preferably something with character.
Early morning on day two of the hunt, my dad and I were up in some high country when the call came through the radio.
Carl said, “I’ve got your buck. You want character, this guy has all sorts of character. He is tall with a killer back end and a little trash.”
When I finally got in position and got him in my scope, I knew immediately that he was the buck of my dreams. I found a dead rest, dialed my turret to 280 yards, systematically exhaled, and gently pulled the trigger. “Nice shot,” I heard Carl say over the radio. The big buck stumbled 40-50 yards and went down.
Waiting 17 years seemed completely worth it as we took some pictures and soaked up the experience of taking the best buck of my life. We had no idea the next year would be even better.
In spring of 2018, now much more motivated after my success, my dad remembered the deadline and applied for the same November rut hunt. At age 63, he was more than ready to use his 18 points. When he received his successful notice, we could hardly wait! As the hunt drew closer, we anxiously watched the weather, hoping for good conditions. The forecast was perfect – cold weather, a few inches of snow, and no wind.
As we moved around the unit, we couldn’t believe how many nice bucks we were seeing. Certainly, the cold weather and snow had positively impacted the hunt as we were seeing much nicer bucks in general than we had seen a year earlier. Opening morning, we hopped in my Ranger and set off in 8-below-zero freezing weather. Within 10 minutes of daylight, my dad had a tough decision to make. Feeding just 150 yards away was a ridiculously nice 5x5 buck. For a solid two minutes, we debated whether he should shoot. There were two problems. One, his hands were freezing, and two, we wanted the experience of hunting this awesome unit longer than 10 minutes. Very reluctantly, we hopped back in the Ranger and off we went, passing a buck we never could have imagined letting go. The rest of the day was a blast seeing one nice buck after another, but we still hadn’t seen the one.
The next morning, we were making our way to a higher elevation bowl where we had consistently seen good bucks over the two years. A little past sunrise, we came over a hill and my dad spotted a deer at the bottom of a draw about 600 yards away. We pulled out our glass, and while I thought it was a decent buck, my dad immediately whispered, “He’s a shooter.” However, we needed to get closer. My dad is old school and shoots the same .270 he got when he was 16 with no fancy turrets and 500 yards is his comfort limit.
We grabbed our gear and snuck, crouching for about 150 yards to the edge of a sagebrush clearing. To our dismay, the buck noticed us immediately and starting hurrying up the hill to accompany a group of does he was rutting. My dad lay down while I set up my spotting scope. He said it was 520 yards. I watched as the buck continued to walk uphill. “As soon as he stops, I’m going to shoot,” my dad whispered, struggling to catch his breath and calm down. I replied that I thought he was around 560 yards now. Just as my camera came into focus, bang! I looked through my spotting scope to see the buck awkwardly galloping down the hill to the left. His front left shoulder was broken, and he was breathing heavily.
“I think he’s going down. Nope, shoot again,” I said.
My dad shot twice more. One shot hit him a little back, and the next shot was perfect, right in the lungs.
“What a shot!” I said.
The magnificent buck managed to stumble a few yards and lay to rest in some tall brush.
Most deer have a significant amount of ground shrinkage when you get closer as any serious hunter can attest. This buck couldn’t have been more opposite. I swear the thing just kept growing as we looked him over. We knew he was a nice buck, but we had no idea how great he was. He was not only wide but was also really tall. He just didn’t look tall because he was so wide. That was a lesson Carl said he’s learned many times. He told us, “The hardest bucks to judge are big, typical bucks because from a distance, nothing looks special about them. Everything is nice, so they can look pretty average.”
Once we got back to camp, Carl scored him at 195" of pure dream come true. My dad said over and over that all his life he had wanted a really big typical. Well, that’s what he got.
Thank you Dad for teaching me to hunt. Thank you Huntin’ Fool for helping us know where to apply. Thank you Colorado for the wonderful opportunity. And thank you God for the perfect hunts with family and friends.
Login