Story By: Hunter Mabile
This one was special.
My brother Risley and I had over-the-counter archery tags in Arizona. As we were planning the hunt, we decided to invite our parents, Paul and Rhonda. They had recently been enjoying some traveling around the country, so we thought this would be a cool, new experience for them. They were excited to join. This would be the first time my family was involved in one of my self-guided western adventures, and I couldn’t be more stoked to share it with them.
Over-the-counter archery tags are hard to fill. Success rates hover between five and twelve percent, depending on whom you ask. It’s the kind of hunt you go into knowing you’re statistically going home empty-handed.
But sometimes the story ends differently.
We arrived in Arizona excited and ready to go. Archery mule deer hunting isn’t easy, and we knew we’d have to earn every opportunity. The country was diverse. Steep in places, open in places. Rocky in some areas and brushy in others.
My parents were driving their camper from Florida, where we live, and arrived shortly after my brother and me. By the time they made it to Arizona, we had our first campsite picked out. We got set up the first night and went to bed.
Some sort of stomach flu hit me hard as soon as I lay down on my cot. I spent the remainder of that night vomiting. The next day, I felt like garbage. No appetite. No strength. No energy. The kind of sick where you don’t feel like standing up, let alone hiking up a mountain. A couple of days later, I was finally feeling better.
Now three days into our hunt, we officially “started hunting.” We found a group of deer that morning. Risley went on a stalk but couldn’t get close enough. When we met back up after the stalk, he said he felt off. A few hours later, there was no doubt. He was sick too.
Between the two of us being sick, we lost four days of hunting. (If you’re wondering why I wasn’t hunting while he was sick, I had already filled a 2025 tag on a Coues deer in early December, so I couldn’t legally hunt until New Year’s Day.)
By the time he finally started feeling human again, it was January 1. Now we were both in the game.
But unfortunately, the weather turned. It rained for two and a half days. Fog rolled in thick. Visibility dropped to about 150 yards almost everywhere. Glassing was useless. For a hunt that depends heavily on spotting deer at distance, that kind of weather is crippling.
The weather finally cleared, and we were finally able to get a couple of solid days of hunting, but the clock was almost out. We saw deer and plenty of rutting activity, but we just couldn’t get close to the action. The deer we saw were too far away and moving too fast. On a hunt like this, you need time. Unfortunately, we were out of that.
Our final day arrived faster than we wanted it to. The plan was simple: hunt the morning hard, pack up camp midday, drive to the airport to return our rental car, and get a hotel to get some rest before the next morning’s early flight.
We spent the morning hiking and glassing. Hours of climbing. Hours of scanning. Nothing.
I found myself praying that the Lord would provide a buck for us. Mostly because I knew, at this point, that was the only way it would work out. The hunt was practically over.
By late morning, we headed back toward camp to begin packing.
Before we started loading gear, we decided to take one more slow drive around the area we had been hunting. No big expectations. Just one more look.
Then everything changed.
As we eased through the area, glass up, scanning slopes and pockets of shade, we spotted him.
A buck, bedded on the side of a mountain with some does.
I drove past the area so we wouldn’t spook them, parked out of sight, and quickly made a plan. The wind was good. The terrain offered a route up the offside of the mountain where I could crest over and hopefully get a shot. I started my climb.
The hike wasn’t long, but it was steep enough to get my heart rate up fast. I came up the backside, eased over carefully, and picked him up in my binos.
He was still there, standing in the open, but I knew he was far. I ranged him—eighty-nine yards. I stepped back slightly to get a cleaner shooting lane and ranged again.
Ninety yards.
I dialed my bow sight to ninety. Drew back. Anchored. My heart was pounding so hard from the run up the mountain that my pin was bouncing off the buck’s body with every heartbeat. In those moments, everything slows down.
I focused on my breathing. Let the pin float naturally over his vitals. I talked myself through the shot. “Don’t force it. Don’t punch it. Just pull through the shot like you’ve practiced a thousand times.”
The shot broke clean.
I watched the arrow fly as far as I could. Due to the distance, I lost sight of the arrow shortly before it hit. Then I heard it.
A sharp, unmistakable “smack.”
It was one of two things: ribs or rocks. I was obviously hoping for ribs.
The buck wheeled around and started running. I’ve seen that run before—low to the ground, compressed. It’s the kind of run that tells you something connected. He jumped across a drainage on the side of the mountain. As he did, I was pretty sure I could see blood pouring out of his rib cage. But I didn’t believe it was real.
Then he disappeared around the mountain.
I lowered my bow and looked down toward Risley with my binoculars. He was standing at the base of the mountain, already looking up at me, pumping his fist in the air.
He had already seen enough.
The buck was down.
As I approached my buck, I realized exactly where the shot had landed. Perfectly behind the shoulder. I couldn’t contain my excitement as I realized I’d done it. Not only had I harvested my first-ever mule deer, but I had made a perfect heart shot at ninety yards with a bow. We drove back to camp to tell my parents. They were jacked! And in disbelief, to say the least.
I still can’t believe how it all came together. The four days lost to sickness. The two days lost to rain and fog. The hunt nearly over. The plan to pack up. The decision to take one last look. The ninety-yard heart shot.
It wasn’t the easiest hunt I’ve ever been on. It wasn’t the cleanest week. It wasn’t smooth. But it was providential. My prayer was answered.
Additional Resources