An old redneck buddy of mine has a saying, “Even a blind hog finds an acorn every once in a while.” As long as you keep hunting and rooting, you’re going to find what you have been looking for. That is exactly what happened to me this last fall on a cool, wet October morning.
Rewind 18 months when we were dealing with one of the worst winters in western Wyoming and eastern Idaho that I had seen in the last 25 years. As you can imagine with a harsh winter and late spring, the deer that survived were in rough shape. The antler growth that summer was slow going with bucks trying to recuperate and fatten up. As mean and brutal as Mother Nature can be sometimes, she can also turn right around and be calm and nurturing. That is exactly what happened in 2018. With all the moisture and vegetation growth from 2017 and a complete 180 degrees of winter conditions for 2018, the mule deer bounced right back.
Scouting that summer was unbelievable. Every time we hit the mountain, a new big buck would appear in the spotting scope. By the time mid-August rolled around, I had five or six bucks on the hit list between Wyoming and Idaho, including a giant 34" typical and one of the prettiest non-typicals I had ever laid eyes on. Unfortunately, I had committed to a hunt in Alaska and wouldn’t get back until September 9th.
I was back in the Wyoming mountains on September 12th with just three days before the rifle opener, trying to relocate the bucks I had summer scouted. After two and a half days of scouting, the only hit list buck I had found was a 28" wide, heavy horned buck with matching in-lines in his back forks. My wife and my oldest son, Brodie, had found him in July and appropriately named him “Mr. In-Line.” During dinner that night, my boys and I discussed where we should be come opening morning. It didn’t take us long to decide to try and find the giant typical we had scouted in early August. Even though we had not seen him in over a month, I believed he was still in that basin.
A two-hour horseback ride had us where we wanted to be, and as daylight broke, deer started to appear. We found every buck we had scouted that summer in that basin except for the one we were after. We hunted a couple more days without finding any shooter bucks and returned home so the boys could get back to school and football.
Six days later, I was back in that country with my youngest son, Zane, and my wife, Kresta. I had talked Kresta into coming back for a couple of days before she had to get back for Brodie’s football game. That evening, Zane spotted some bucks feeding out of a big timber patch in a big canyon about two miles away. With the help of great optics, I was able to determine they were the bucks that had been hanging with Mr. In-Line all summer. Even though he never showed himself that night, I was fairly confident he was there, so we decided to be on the opposite ridge come daylight the next morning.
“There they are,” I whispered to Zane and Kresta as the mountain started to slowly lighten up. Not 200 yards from where we had seen them the night before, the bucks were feeding and Mr. In-Line was there. My rangefinder showed he was 340 yards across the canyon slowly working his way back towards the timber. I told Kresta, “This is your buck. You found him, you kill him.” My wife is a very athletic woman and a great shot, but at that moment I could see she was a little nervous. After a quick pep talk, she settled in over my pack and squeezed the trigger. Mr. In-Line never knew what hit him. I have been fortunate to be on several hunts in my life and have had great times with great people, but that morning with my wife and son jumped right to the top. As happy as I was with Mr. In-Line on the ground, I was still obsessed with finding a big buck for me.
With the high country of Wyoming closing, I turned my attention southwest towards Idaho for my general tag. There were two bucks that I had scouted that I would be happy to put my tag on, including a non-typical I guessed would score well over 200". Unfortunately, I had not seen either of these bucks for weeks and knew it was going to be difficult to relocate them. As luck would have it, my dad had seen a good buck a few days earlier and told me I needed to go take a look at him. With just three days until the opener, I was torn between checking out the buck my dad had found or trying to find the big non-typical. My dad had said, “He is big. You had better go take a look.” That won over my curiosity and I headed that way the next morning.
I always tell my boys to listen to their elders as they might learn something. I was really glad I had taken my own advice because 15 minutes after daylight I was staring at four bucks and one was a big framed non-typical. As the morning lightened up, I got a better look at the buck and couldn’t believe what I was seeing. It was him. The non-typical we had found earlier that year was feeding across the canyon from me nine miles from where we had first seen him two months ago.
The excitement of relocating the buck made it hard to sleep or do anything the next couple of days. My hunting partners and I put a plan together that looked flawless, and I was sure it would work. As usual, Mother Nature has a way of messing up the best-made plans. The night before the opener, it began to rain and turned to snow with the clouds dropping low on the mountain. We were a little discouraged but stuck to the plan. John dropped me off at the base of the mountain an hour before daylight, and I started to climb. John and Lydia drove to a high vantage point where they could glass a lot of country that I couldn’t see. The only problem with our plan was that the clouds never lifted and John could never see more than 100 yards.
Later that night, we assessed the situation and decided we needed to try to relocate the buck as I was sure he had been bumped with all the other general hunters hiking around. The next morning, I went to a high point where I could see for miles. It turned out to be the best decision I made all year as shortly after daylight I spotted the four bucks, including the big non-typical, about three-quarters of a mile away. I texted John to let him know I had found the buck. He quickly responded, and he and Lydia were on their way.
By the time John and Lydia arrived at my vantage point, the old buck had worked his way up the canyon about 400 yards and bedded down. He was lying in some sagebrush with just his head and antlers visible. The buck was extremely nervous and stood up and laid back down three different times in about 30 minutes. I was worried he was going to head for a patch of timber in the bottom of the canyon. John and I decided to go up the draw parallel to the one the buck was in and come out on the ridge straight across, hoping he would be within range. Lydia would stay and watch and film the stalk with my PhoneSkope.
With the adrenaline flowing, it did not take us long to get over there and we topped the ridge where we had marked a small elk-rubbed tree. I quickly spotted the buck. He was still bedded in the same place and was facing right in our direction. From this location, I had no shot due to the high brush in front of us. We needed to move about 30 yards closer where the brush opened up on the ridge edge.
As we crawled to where I wanted to shoot from, the old buck seemed to be staring a hole right through us. I believe he had seen some movement, but we were 540 yards away and low to the ground, so we held tight. I was in the prone position with my pack for a rest and binos under my elbow for extra stability.
John whispered, “Can you kill him?”
I responded, “Yeah, I got him.”
I believe in always being confident in whatever you do, even if you are not 100% confident. As confident as I was in myself and my rifle at the moment, my nerves and adrenaline had my heart racing. With just the head and neck of the buck visible, I settled the crosshairs on the white throat patch and squeezed the trigger. The sound a bullet makes when it hits a solid object is one of the greatest sounds a hunter can hear. That is exactly what I heard a second after squeezing that trigger. John quickly confirmed the buck was down, and the celebrating began. I knew we had killed a great buck, but as I walked up on him a few minutes later, the realization of how badly I had under judged him set in. Everything about him was a whole size bigger than I had thought, from his body to his antlers.
The best part about the giant buck and the hunt was that I got to share it with so many great people. John and Lydia were there when I harvested him and may have been even more excited than me. My dad, who raised me to love and appreciate the outdoors, will always be the biggest influence in my hunting life. My wife and two boys inspire me every day to be a better man and help me chase my dreams and passions in life. Thank you to all of you! Let’s do it again next year.
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