Opening morning of the third rifle season had come. It was just November and me on this day. I’d looked forward to this moment for nearly a year, but for the first time in a long time, something was different. I’d never really had the patience to hold out for a trophy, and truth be told, I’d typically put my friends and family in the driver’s seat first whenever possible. This year, I was leading off and I’d made a commitment to hold out for a buck I thought would have a shot at the book and I was okay with the alternative.
I discovered my passion for the outdoors as a child, but it wasn’t until a college roommate introduced me to whitetail hunting on the East Coast that I truly fell head over heels for this addiction. Between hunting with him and a nearby cousin who taught me most of what I know, I’d become hooked. My first job out of college took me to Colorado. An archery deer tag and a leftover antelope doe tag proved to be my gateway drug to the many opportunities the West had to offer. I knew this was something I had to get my good friends and family into.
After half a decade of hunting the West and an equal amount of time utilizing Huntin’ Fool, I still had much to learn, but I did know a thing or two. By now, I’d been able to put several friends and family members on big game in the West. I’d sat beside an uncle as he harvested a 194"certified mulie bruiser, helped a cousin land his biggest buck, and cow called to stop my dad’s first 6-point bull at 61 yards. Truthfully, I get the most joy out of hunts like these, but as I said, this year was different. There were just two of us, and we’d agreed to split up to maximize our odds.
The opener was chilly, and I eagerly anticipated daylight as I tried to get a head start through my Vortex binoculars. With a mountain just behind me to the northeast, it would be a few minutes before I was really able to see much. As the shadows slowly retreated, I could take in 360 degrees of what my heart had longed for – western Colorado. Nearly an hour later, I pulled the tripod in tight to look at something way off to my 12:00. Several does had emerged from the aspens with a buck in tow. I could tell he was a big, mature 3x3, but from that distance, I couldn’t make out much more than that. I knew my dad was hunting in that area, so I was optimistic, but after 15 or 20 minutes, I figured he’d either passed him or hadn’t seen him.
Kaboom! I heard the impact first and then the shot. It was a long way off, but I had a feeling it was my hunting partner. Not much later, I realized it was indeed and he’d made a good shot on the big buck I’d seen earlier that morning. Dad was on the board with a mature buck that rivaled the definition of symmetry.
That evening, a front pushed through and with it came some truly untamed winds. It was brutal enough that we actually conceded for the day. Along with the perks of Daylight Savings Time came a little less sleep, but day two was well worth it. I saw a lot of action on this morning and passed on some nice bucks. I even put the crosshairs on a few, but I was swinging for the fences. That afternoon, we had a crazy storm roll in. We had high winds, thunder, lightning, wind, rain, snow, sleet, and more wind. That lasted about an hour and a half, but there was just enough daylight left for a short evening hunt. After getting set up, another storm crept in and it wasn’t long before the snow/ wind combo had stolen the majority of the evening’s visibility.
On the morning of day three, I saw an old, gnarly 3x3. The only thing he lacked was front forks. There was no age question with this buck. I’d passed him the previous day and made the same decision again, reluctantly. Later that morning, I observed a stout 4x4 buck about one-third of a mile away. He warranted a closer look, but due to the terrain, there would be no way to close the gap without alerting him. While eating lunch, I glassed up the ancient 3x3 again. He was bedded just over 500 yards away, and my desire to chase elk almost convinced me to make a play on him. For the evening hunt, I was all set by 1:45, plenty early. I saw deer from the moment I got settled. Around 3:30, I spotted a nice buck with deep forks some 550 yards out. I had started to set up for the shot when yet another storm blew in. Visibility had been stolen once more. Admittedly, I was feeling a little deflated.
Day four was underway. First light found me fixated on a cluster of action to the northeast. Around 7:10, I glanced back to the south and out of nowhere stood a stud of a buck and three does. Immediately, I knew he met my criteria, but I glanced through the binoculars to be sure. Check. He was at 225 yards and heading in my direction. I began to reorient and prepare, but he heard me. A seasoned buck like this doesn’t earn his stripes by being dumb. He knew something was up. I’d had the same electrical tape over the bore of my rifle now for three and a half days, but because of the crazy conditions, I was also using a waterproof sleeve to keep debris and snow off the rifle. Unfortunately, I hadn’t removed the sleeve once I was settled on this particular morning. This bruiser was about as excited to host me on his hill as Clark Griswold was to have Cousin Eddie move in over Christmas. Nevertheless, he was last ranged at 168 yards, and although I was finally prepared, he was making his exit swiftly to the west. I squeezed the trigger as he trotted to my right, and the shot was good. However, I took a quick anchoring follow-up shot as an insurance policy. He crashed to the dirt floor, DOA. He grossed 187 6/8".
Wednesday, the fifth day, was the coldest morning yet. Anything that dared to move sounded like a herd of dancing elephants. I did get to focus the Vortex binoculars on a decent bull, but he seemed to know which side of the fence to stay on and never gave me a legal opportunity. With the rest of our time in Colorado, we got the chance to share a morning hunt with a friend and lay eyes on several other pretty bucks. We hunted through midday on Friday, and after nearly seven days afield, our hunt had come to an end. Fortunately, 2018 prep and planning was just about to come into season.
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