The application lottery struck twice this past year, and while no sheep, elk, or moose punched my ticket, two bucks did. I’d drawn a couple coveted tags. The first was in Arizona for mule deer in the Kaibab unit on the North Rim of the Grand Canyon, and the other was for blacktail in Southwest Oregon in the Applegate. Both were prime rut tags. The first was a rifle hunt, and the latter was with a traditional muzzleloader.
The blacktail season was a long one and opened on November 12th, while my Kaibab mule deer tag opened on November 18th. My plan was to drive from Arizona to Oregon and hunt the first four days of the season, and if I hadn’t tagged out, I’d be back in Arizona the day before the opener for my mule deer hunt. As luck would have it, a good friend of mine who had been doing some scouting let me know the rut wasn’t even close to starting and to stay home. That saved a two-day drive and a lot of diesel fuel. Thanks, Brian!
The Kaibab had taken me 22 years to draw, and being new to Arizona, I decided to hire an outfitter. I’d been in contact with Hunter Weems for years with my application strategies when I was a non-resident, and he was the clear choice for me. I pulled into camp, and it was obvious I’d made the right decision with Arizona Custom Hunts. Hunter had his entire team on board, and with only three other tag holders in camp, it became obvious there were a lot more spotters than hunters.
It was a restless night as opening morning couldn’t get here soon enough. We saw bucks right from the start but nothing quite worthy of this 22-year tag. On the third day, we pinned down a 180-ish buck, and if in any other state or with any other tag, I probably would have laid him down, but he just didn’t rock my world, so I passed. That’s when all the doubt and questions crept in. Had I messed up? Would we find another buck? Should I have taken him? That night, another hunter pulled into camp and had killed a slammer. A major celebration commenced. The next morning, my head felt two sizes too small for my cap, but away we went.
The bucks were rutting pretty good now, so if we spotted a doe, we’d start the wide scan for her boyfriend. We first spotted the does, and I think there were eight of them. As soon as my binos spotted this guy, I tossed them aside and grabbed my rifle. I looked at Hunter for a quick confirmation, and he was looking away with his fingers in his ears. I guess that was a yes! I could only see the buck’s face and neck, but he was only 80 yards away, so I took a quick shot and he dropped in his tracks. A beloved old timer once told me, “Dem shells cost money. Gotta get ‘em on the first shot.” I still think of that every time with a smile and a laugh.
This buck and the setting were spectacular. We posed him for pics right on the North Rim of the Grand Canyon. It was a very special place for multiple reasons. I thank Hunter, Levi, Coleden, and the whole Custom crew for all their help, friendship, and comradery. I’ll never forget it.
Now, with my mulie tag punched, I’d have time to stop by Northern California and meet my wife for Thanksgiving. We’d planned on my missing it this year, so she had headed to spend it with family. A day of thanks was quite appropriate, and I was thankful for my family, God’s beauty, and the ability to enjoy it all.
With my muzzleloader now in hand, it was off to Southwest Oregon. I had eight days left in the season, and a couple buddies, Brian and Steve, were there to aid me. The rut was finally kicking in, so our confidence was high.
Steve had obtained access for us to some private ground, and the very first few minutes of our first morning, we saw a stroker, but one antler was broken in half. I was half thankful a shot never presented itself as he still would have been a tough one to pass. The next couple days, things really slowed down and no shooters were seen. We decided to head to state ground as Brian knew this area like the back of his hand.
We were still spotting some lone bucks roaming and even one group with three bachelored up. The rut was late this year, but our confidence was still sky high. One of the three bachelor bucks was a massive 3-point. He was so heavy and tall that I considered him a shooter. I quickly grabbed my muzzleloader, but they had spotted us as well and were on the move. We circled the mountain but were unable to locate them again.
The next day, while on a long hike, I jumped a deer but never got a good look. Brian knew of a trail below that would allow us to glass up into the thick stuff. It didn’t take too long before we found a doe. Again, this was a rut hunt, and even with the rut not quite in full swing, the wide scan for her lover commenced. It was a repeat of my mule deer spotting because as soon as I saw this buck, I tossed my glasses aside and grabbed my muzzleloader. With certain deer, there’s no need to think, one just knows it’s a shooter and it’s game time.
This doe was hot, and the buck was right on her. The timber they were in was too thick for a shot, but they were headed toward an opening. The only problem was that it was about 120 yards away. Oregon doesn’t allow scopes, so at 100 yards, the bead on the end of the barrel covered the entire deer. The buck hit the opening, and his entire being was covered by my bead. I squeezed, and when the smoke cleared, he was running after his doe. I thought he might be wounded, but after close inspection, there was no blood.
This time, when we circled the mountain, we were able to relocate them. Thank the good Lord for that hot doe! I was on a deer trail headed up, and he was on the same trail headed down. We were in a stare down, and he was facing me straight on. It was open enough that I was able to get prone and put my bipod down. I was dead on him, but even at 90 yards, the bead covered that whole deer. Once again, the smoke cleared and he was still standing there, staring right at me. How did I miss? Dem muzzleloader balls cost money too!
By this time, my reload became a little more frantic and I thought I’d blown it. We spread out, and Steve spotted him up high on the mountain, still on that doe. Gotta love the rut! I had a huge oak between us, and I was able to sneak to within 60 yards. With the oak as my rest, this shot anchored him in his tracks and the celebration was on. It’s funny how guys can hunt together all week and share a couple handshakes or fist bumps, but once a Mack Daddy hits the ground, we all became huggers.
There was no ground shrinkage here as he was even bigger than I had thought. He had it all, including kickers and trash. As I was admiring him, I rolled him over and there was a two-foot strip of hair missing down his neck and right side. My second shot had just missed the mark but did quite the shave job. I’ve asked the taxidermist to try and keep it there as I thought it was a cool part of the memory.
I’m not one to measure animals in the last number of years as I once let a tape discourage a great hunt. My buddies weren’t having it with this buck, but I insisted I didn’t want to know. A Master Measurer friend said, “Yes, you do.” The buck ended up going 150 5/8" and is the new #2 SCI with a muzzleloader and #27 overall any weapon. A special thanks to Brian and Steve for all their help. You guys rock!
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