When I set aside four days in early October for a solo backcountry mule deer hunt, I knew I would be facing an awesome challenge. Those mid-season bucks are generally still hanging out in their summer range prior to migrating in some of the steepest, rockiest, and nastiest terrain.
The night before departing for my hunt, as I was packing my bags, my wife reminded me, “Don’t forget, your nephew, Michael, will be here Friday night.” My heart sank. I totally forgot. I had agreed several months prior to take my 10-year nephew on his first deer hunt. I needed to be home in time to take him for the weekend. My four-day trip was now a one-and-a-half-day trip. Feeling the pressure to get it done as quickly as possible and get home, I knew this would be an absolute bonsai trip. I am by no means a trophy hunter, but my standards were cut down considerably on the type of deer I would be looking for.
The first morning, I hiked in to where I wanted to be based off what I could see on Google Earth and onXmaps. The snow quickly became deeper and deeper until at around 8,000 feet I was in knee-deep snow. Thick fog and howling winds plagued me for several hours that first morning. With glassing eliminated, I resorted to cutting fresh tracks and following them, hoping to happen on some deer in this extremely limited visibility. By the end of the day, I had hiked eight miles with almost 3,000 feet of total elevation gain.
By the end of the day, I had seen a total of two does and two fawns. I decided against sleeping on the mountain because with only half a day left to hunt, I wanted to try a new basin. I got back to my truck and drove a few miles down the road to my backup area. The whole time, I questioned myself and my abilities as a hunter. The struggle with solo hunting is that after a long, hard day, there is nobody but yourself to pick you up. You must be tough mentally to tell yourself to get back out and go after it again, and this was only after one bad day. I have been solo hunting for several years now and this is something I still struggle with. My negative self-talk lasted only a few minutes before I reminded myself that I’d been here before. I’d done this before. I knew I could do this.
The next morning, I packed my gear in the dark as quickly as possible trying to get on the mountain and get hiking. I looked at my spotting scope/tripod and questioned whether I should bring it. I recalled the constant fog and limited visibility the day prior and decided to leave the excess weight behind so that I could be lighter and quicker. I set out in the dark, expecting about a two-hour hike to get where I wanted to be glassing from at first light.
Upon getting to my first vantage point, I reached down to grab my binoculars. Where my binocular harness typically sits, I found empty air. An immediate wave of nausea set over me. I looked down and saw nothing but my vest and backpack sternum strap. This meant not only no binoculars, but no rangefinder either. Here I was at first light standing at a perfect vantage point at 7,000 feet and the only optic I had was my riflescope. I begin debating whether I could make it down to my truck and back up the mountain in a reasonable time. I quickly ruled that out knowing my time was very limited. I decided to stick it out. I was going old school. I would use my naked eye to try and spot deer and then use my riflescope to verify buck or doe. I had already been feeling the pressure, but now this was starting to feel insurmountable. I snuck into a small stand of burnt up pines. I huddled in the shade of a tree, behind a large boulder, and began to scan the area. You don’t realize how much you use binoculars until you don’t have them. I became completely reliant on the subtlest of movements. You begin not looking for deer, but for things that are out of place. The size, color, or shape of something that could be a deer is what catches your eye, and then movement is a dead giveaway.
Quickly, I spotted a few does and their fawns. I continued my scan across the hillside and noticed two deer crest the opposing ridge and feed down into the stand of trees where I sat. I could tell right away they were bucks. A few seconds later, the two bucks squared up with each other and began locking antlers in a quick sparring session. I looked through my riflescope, and these two bucks practiced this instinctual act of dominance. I appreciated this moment on a different level than I ever had. I felt like everything I was observing and witnessing I was having to work twice as hard for. Through the riflescope, I saw one of the bucks was a standard two-point and the other was a basket-sized three-point. With only a few hours left to hunt, I thought about taking the three-point buck. These were the first bucks of the trip that I had seen, and it wasn’t for lack of trying. With no optics, I also didn’t know if I would be able to locate another buck, let alone get within 150 yards where I felt I could make an ethical shot without a rangefinder.
In the end, I decided this deer needed a pass. It just didn’t feel like the right deer for me at the time. I continued hiking into the next drainage and saw a large outcropping of boulders sticking up from one of the finger ridges. I thought those boulders looked like a good place to set up in for some naked-eye glassing. It took some getting used to picking my glassing spots. Instead of glassing one mile away across these vast areas as you typically do with a spotting scope, I was trying to position myself into vantage points where I was looking about 300 yards max. After settling in, I poked my head over the rocks to be met face to face with an alerted doe at about 15 yards. I froze as our eyes locked. Without moving, my eyes began scanning the area around her. There were does everywhere. The entire hillside was crawling with deer. With a quick blow, the doe spun around and began bounding off in the opposite direction. She alerted the rest of the does, and all at once, they began busting out of the draw. I watched through my riflescope as they fell into a line and ran over the ridge. Nothing but does and fawns.
I sat for several more minutes in the rocks as I continued to watch the hillside. What seemed like just a few minutes later I noticed four does feeding up from the bottom of the draw. About 50 yards behind them was the sight I had been waiting for, a large framed buck. The does continued to feed up the draw as the buck trailed them from behind. I knew without a moment’s hesitation that this would be my best and last opportunity to make this happen. I moved into a flatter area just below the rock outcropping and set up prone on a rock. I knew that the distance was somewhere between 100-200 yards. With a stable rest, I centered the crosshairs. As the buck made a slight directional change, my shot angle went from straight behind to quartering away. With one squeeze of the trigger, my hunt was over. The deer didn’t take another step as a perfect impact was made. I couldn’t help but stop and take a few moments to reflect on the difficulty and challenges I had faced the last two days. From grinding it out all day the day prior to hunting without optics, it was an absolute roller coaster. When I got to the buck, I couldn’t have been more excited. I didn’t care that he was nowhere near that 180” mark we all strive for. I know what went into making that a successful harvest, and nobody can take that away from me.
As I took photos with the buck, I felt the strongest connection to an animal that I had ever harvested. It was almost as if that animal had been put in the right place at the right time for me to take. There isn’t a great way to explain it, other than maybe I just got lucky. Prior to that hunt, I’d never made the mistake of leaving my optics at the truck, and I don’t think it is something I will ever do again. I can’t even describe how stupid I felt up on the mountain without those things. I kept telling myself I had to keep working and keep looking and it would all work out. I could not give up. Optics do not make the hunter. The optics are a tool of a successful hunter, but they do not make the hunter. I kept telling myself I would find a way. In the end, the fact is with all this technology available to us, none of it is truly a necessity for us to find a way to get it done.
Whatever challenges you face on the mountain, find a way and get it done. For me, I call this buck “Old School.” He’s my constant reminder that there is always a way no matter what the challenge is.
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