As we built points in multiple states, Colorado was on the hit list for a self-guided hunt with my dad, Bill Huck. We had 6 points, and I wanted a sure thing so we could plan ahead. I spoke with Hunt Advisor Garth Jenson twice, going over my notes and research and cross referencing with his suggestions. I wanted to stay as close to the northwest corner of the state as possible with a good doe to buck ratio and possibility of 150-160"+. Garth delivered the suggestion of unit 5, and with a second season overlap of “normal” third season, it turned out to be a great trip.
We put in two days of scouting prior to season, and I spotted 40-50 deer a day. Scouting was 50 degrees with a sudden change of rain/snow mix and highs of 40-45 degrees for the opener. I had turned up a great 160"+ buck during my scouting but was unable to find him again for the first day.
The second day, I found him about 800 yards away with a group of four other bucks and three does, but my stalk in the open sage was unsuccessful with swirling winds through ravines and local winds that switched 180 degrees at dark as a west wind to east at about 10:00-10:30. It was difficult to say the least.
The bucks were not in full rut, so many eyes and ears were on alert. I hunted the buck two more days with three more unsuccessful stalks as he seemed to disappear into country with no heavy cover other than thickets of mountain mahogany. My dad saw many small bucks and a lot of hunters, but he hunted more conservatively at his age.
Day three began the bitter rain. No other headlamps were noticed on the trail that morning. The fatigue of hiking into my desired area every morning was beginning to hit. At approximately four miles just to get to “my spot” before hiking to multiple glassing points, I was feeling it. The mud would culminate on my boots to 3"+ before finally becoming heavy enough to fall off, and if you have ever hunted Montana, this clay mud was competitive if not having it beat.
Day four was extremely wet and foggy, so I sat on a glassing point where I could see miles of country. Long story short, the fog began to lift at about 9:00, and multiple does began pouring out of the red brush about 100 yards to my left. They continually looked back over their shoulders, so I sat it out for about 30 more minutes until my 4-point walked out. He was heading for a deep ravine where the nice 160" had disappeared magically, so it was a now or never instance. I placed my KUIU Icon Pro pack between my legs and rested my Remington 700 in .270 Win upon it. With one quick shot, he was down. He was not the biggest buck, but I will definitely remember the journey.
I knew I had a trek out, so I went to work, boned him out, and decided I would pour my soul into a one-time, hard-hit pack out. Thank goodness for good gear! The KUIU pack with heavy pad shoulder straps allowed me to carry it all. I looked like a beached whale attempting to get back in the water as I attempted to first stand, but with two Gatorades in hand, I was able to trek back to camp.
The next day was another rainstorm. I told my dad I was at his disposal, so we headed in early again with nobody following once more. I told him there were more bucks filtering into my area, so he pushed back into “my spot.” As we hit the ridgetop, we spotted four does and two smaller bucks. We began the Old West stare down because their body language was screaming more deer behind them over the ridge and the possibility of a good buck.
They finally disappeared over the ridge, trotting but not blown out. We pushed to the edge of a thicket of mountain mahogany and watched two nice bucks follow the group down a draw and up the next ridge. We slowly pushed down to a possible shooting location and waited and watched as they fed back and forth across the ridge, in and out of visual. Suddenly, as if they had teleported, the two larger bucks appeared about 70 yards on the side of a small draw in front of us instead of the ridgeline we had expected. The shooting sticks were out, so my dad rested his rifle and I reported to him the desired larger buck on the right. The shot rang out, and my heart sank as I watched my veteran of a hunter father miss to the left.
I told him, “Left, you shot left! Take another, he doesn’t know where it came from!” Another shot rang out. I told him, “You missed left again, hold right!” in the gravely “whisper” us hunters use under duress.
Finally, a third shot and the buck was down. I had to swallow my heart back into its rightful place, but then the high fives and hugs began! It was a great end to a hunt. To get to hunt and stalk a great buck with my dad was far better than getting my own. It’s still unknown how his scope got so far off as we shoot through the spring and summer months, but it was confirmed at the range and corrected. Thanks again to the Huntin’ Fool team and the ability to utilize the Hunt Advisors along with the Member Draw Database!
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