Story By: Corbin Martin
For most hunters, chasing a giant mule deer with a bow is the definition of a dream. For me, it had always been something I put on the back burner. I’ve always loved big elk and spent most of my fall seasons chasing bugles. Even so, I knew that one day I wanted the chance to kill my “dream buck.”
When spring rolled around and it came time to apply, I knew I was guaranteed an archery deer tag. On paper, it didn’t feel like much—just another general season deer tag in Utah. But deep down, I had this pull that maybe this was the year. The only hesitation was time. Fall is always slammed with guiding commitments. My calendar fills up fast helping others, and I don’t usually leave much space for myself. Hunting has always been about sharing the mountains with friends and clients, and guiding them to success is rewarding in its own way.
During the summer, while scouting elk, I stumbled across a buck that stopped me in my tracks. He wasn’t just another good buck—he was the kind of deer that makes your heart race and your hands shake when you glass him up. Wide, heavy, and everything I’d dreamed about in a mule deer. From that day forward, I kept close tabs on him. I couldn’t shake the thought of putting my tag on him.
The weeks leading into the opener were hectic. Guiding comes first, and the first stretch of archery elk season had me chasing big bulls with clients. After knocking down a couple target bulls early, I finally had a window of time. With my brother and three of my closest friends, I shifted gears and pointed my focus toward the buck I’d been dreaming about all summer.
The Beaver East unit is as unforgiving as it is beautiful. It’s vast, rugged, steep, and covered in country where big mule deer can vanish like ghosts. Public land archery hunts in terrain like that are never easy. Mature bucks don’t get that way by mistake.
That first morning was spent looking for bulls while covering similar country. We turned up the mule deer I’d scouted during the summer. He had finished growing better than expected.
The first stalks were close, but not close enough. Twice I found myself at full draw. Everything inside me wanted to let an arrow fly, but I waited for a better opportunity.
The second day began like the first, glassing and waiting, trying to predict his moves. Mule deer in this kind of country always seem one step ahead, but we kept after him. That afternoon, the moment I had dreamed of finally came together.
At just 12 yards, I found myself at full draw. My brother and buddies were watching the whole thing unfold, and my heart was pounding. This wasn’t just a shot—it was the shot. I settled, squeezed, and let the arrow fly.
The hit looked good, but, like so many archery hunts, the work wasn’t over. We followed his track for over three hours before I finally got another arrow in him. The chase was over.
Walking up to him is a moment I’ll never forget. The five of us just stood there in silence for a moment, staring at him. He was bigger than any of us expected—stretching over 32.5 inches wide, carrying 42 inches of mass, and breaking the 200-inch mark. My dream buck. My first archery kill. My first time truly hunting for myself with a bow.
Inches are easy to measure, but they don’t tell the whole story. This hunt wasn’t just about the score—it was about the journey that led to this buck. The miles hiked, the close calls, the patience, and, most importantly, the people I shared it with.
Hunting is about far more than pulling a trigger or releasing an arrow. It’s about the bond built with the people standing beside you in the mountains. It’s about the laughs around camp, the encouragement when doubt creeps in, and the stories you’ll tell for decades. For me, having my brother and lifelong friends there when it all came together meant everything. This wasn’t just my victory—it was ours.
And of course, none of it would have been possible without my wife. She supports me through every season, every hunt, every dream. Those who know her know how lucky I am to have her in my corner. She is truly my better half.
When I look back, this wasn’t just a deer hunt. It was a reminder of why I fell in love with hunting in the first place. The chase, the challenge, the camaraderie—those are the things that matter. The buck was the reward, but the real treasure was the experience.
In the end, I didn’t just notch a tag—I lived out the dream I’d been carrying for years. And when I look at those antlers, I don’t just see inches. I see the story of a hunt I’ll never forget, the people I was blessed to share it with, and the reminder that sometimes, dreams really do come true.