During the 2022 season, I was watching for a decent 5x5 that I had seen in velvet in summer. I saw him a few times but never had an opportunity on him during legal shooting hours. Come February 2023, he showed up on my coyote cams with a broken left side. I searched for him all summer of 2023 with no luck. I saw nothing worthy of buying a tag and was disappointed. Then about three weeks before the rifle season opened, I saw a big rack with the “Wow!” factor sparring with another buck in the high grass and Russian olives. Through the scope, I knew it was him.
That night, I got online and bought my tag. I saw him a couple times again feeding on a red clover and alfalfa field right at dark. I was pumped at the opportunity. He dwarfed all the other little bucks.
Opening morning was Saturday, and I set up on that field an hour before shooting light with just a doe, some yearlings, and a one and a two-year-old buck to be seen. I heard three distant rifle shots that morning, hopeful he wasn’t on the end of any of them.
Opening afternoon, I again set up on the same field in an elevated deer blind with the same deer coming out of their bedding areas an hour before dark. The old doe and her buckling fawn walked below the blind and looked up right at me before snorting and quickly moving off. I came to the conclusion that the blind was too close to their bedding and feeding areas and didn’t want to blow this opportunity by trying to sneak out there again.
Sunday, I gave it a rest to watch football but checked the field just before dark and only saw that old doe and three yearlings. The weather was starting to change and was going to get cold and snowy.
Monday evening after feeding livestock, I checked the field at sunset. There he was grazing. I scrambled to get my rifle and my orange and bino harness on and hustled to get to a nice perch on top of one of our haystacks about 300 yards from him. According to the chart, I had 15 minutes of shooting time left. I hesitated because I couldn’t get steady enough and it was a bit too dark with the cloud cover. I climbed back down the ladders and had regrets but hoped he would be back again the next day.
On Tuesday, it was cold and spitting snow all day. I figured the buck might get out early, so I did chores and checked the field at 1730 hours and there he was. Shooting light ended at 1844. I had time to get back up on the hay bales and was looking at him through the scope at 200 yards by 1755. I was calm, solid, and prone, and at 1810, I shot. It was a loud “Whack!” and he ran about 50 yards toward the trees and stopped, quartering away. Without a spotter, I had no idea where I hit him, so with another round in the chamber, I let it fly. Another loud “Whack!” and he ran off the field and into the trees and brush. I tried to locate him from the perch as it got darker but to no avail.
Without disturbing the other deer, I backed out, went to the house, and wondered where I would find him the next morning. After feeding and milking, I jumped in the Ranger and it didn’t take long. The shots were good, and he was not 40 yards from where he went into the trees. I got the camera on the tripod and tried to take some photos to do justice to this nice Montana whitetail.
With not that much public land, a management plan of 10 bucks per 100 does, general tags, hundreds hit on the highway, and a five-week season through the rut, you rarely see a buck over two and half years old. I sent two teeth to Matson’s Lab to get him aged. There are great genetics here. It seems every couple of years one smart buck will avoid the cars on the highway and stay hidden long enough to get your heart pumping.
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