This was the first time in six days of hunting that I had my scope on a buck, but after 10 minutes of watching him chase does in the meadow below me, I was still asking myself if this was the buck I wanted to shoot.
A week earlier, I had driven from Oregon to Colorado with high anticipation for this hunt. The anticipation was fueled by a few things. It had taken 17 years to draw this tag, these were the latest dates ever for the third season, and the late dates coincided with the annual migration and rut. Although a busy fall schedule didn’t allow me more than one afternoon to scout, I was familiar
with the unit. Friends of mine had owned property there in the past, and I was able to hunt deer with landowner tags three times in the past decade. I had gotten bucks each time and connected with elk two out of the three years as well. Each time I finished a hunt, I left anticipating the next time I could return.
It had been an exciting week of hunting. I explored further south than I had ever been before. I covered a lot of ground and saw many deer. I encountered 10-22 bucks a day with some of them hanging very close to the does, evidence of the impending rut.
A couple buddies I thought were going to come along ended up not being able to, so I had to hunt alone. Although I prefer to share a camp with friends, I don’t mind being solo in the mountains. I met several other hunters along the trails, some I saw and chatted with multiple times, telling each other about the bucks we had seen or discussing previous hunts, always wishing each other a good hunt.
On day five, I saw a tall, heavy buck. He had to be close to 30" tall, but he looked like a 2x3. Getting a spotting scope on him, I realized he had one more point on each side but still was not what you would usually look for in a mature deer being only 20" wide.
I didn’t pursue him that day but decided if given the opportunity the next and final day I would.
On my last day to hunt, I figured I only had the morning because of the distance in and I needed to start breaking down camp so I could leave early the next morning. I rode my quad 45 minutes in the dark to get to a point where three days earlier I had seen several bucks in an old burn. One had chased a doe over a ridge. I had tried to get a closer look at him but never could relocate him.
As it got lighter, I could see deer moving around. I glassed this hill for 15 minutes but never saw a buck like the one from a few days earlier. I got back on the quad and drove to another point close to where I had seen the tall buck the day before. Now I was walking forward slowly along the side of a south-facing slope that was broken by draws. The slope was scattered with juniper and sagebrush. Moving in and out of those draws, I was seeing many deer feeding in the grassy meadows below and a few in the junipers. One of the larger meadows had about a dozen deer with a few small bucks. I watched them for a while and then saw another buck move out of the trees and start chasing a doe. I looked through the binos at 600 yards, and he was impressive. He circled around her and then followed her over the hill. A few minutes later, he was back out and checking another doe.
I quickly lay down prone with my gun on a bipod and got my rear rest in place. I was looking at him with a 22x scope. The minutes were ticking by as he circled around does, following some briefly, nose forward with his head back. He was posturing toward the other bucks, proving he was clearly the dominant buck of the group. This had been one of the highlights of the week, watching the deer interact with each other. At this point, I ranged him and set my scope for 580 yards, but I was not in a rush. I didn’t see any other hunters around me, and I was enjoying the moment. I wondered, “Is he the one?”
He left the group of does and started crossing the meadow, heading straight in my direction. I kept ranging and adjusting the turret. 550...500...450. He turned broadside and stopped. Decision time. I double checked the range at 450 and then got behind the gun and squeezed the trigger. He seemed hit but then took a few steps forward. A juniper on a ridge between us blocked my view of him. I quickly grabbed my gun and moved over 20 feet to lay down and get on him again for one more shot before he disappeared behind the trees. I thought I had for sure hit him with both shots, but I didn’t see him go down, so I was second guessing myself. I hate the anxiety that weighs on you until you know for sure.
It took me close to an hour to get down to where he was, and I found him lying in some dead branches. Walking up to him, I realized he was bigger bodied and heavier horned than I had thought. He also had an extra point that I hadn’t been able to see in the scope as he was running around. I was thinking I probably shouldn’t have hesitated so long to pull the trigger. Sometimes they grow after the shot.
After quartering him and loading the meat, head, and my gear on the quad, I made the drive back to camp slowly, partly to keep my load stable, partly to savor the last of this hunt. It was a great time of year to be in the mountains. As I replay the scenes of the morning, I am still trying to figure out why it took me so long to decide “is he the one?”
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