September 2026
Josee’s Favorite: A Nevada Archery Velvet Mule Deer Hunt
Hunter: Josee Lytle
Story by: Shawn Lytle
Species: Mule Deer
Location: Nevada
Method: Archery, from a ground hide
The Hoyt box stood alone, casually leaning against the wall near the front door. Not a square box, but the long rectangular kind that they fill with hope, promise, and potential before it leaves the factory. Josee’s birthday present from Randy Ulmer had arrived. The note that accompanied the bow certified that he had performed his ceremonial “Muley Magic Mojo,” which he performs on all his bows. I’ve never witnessed the ceremony, but I can attest to its validity. Randy may be known for his legendary hunting prowess, but his true achievement has been fostering a love of archery and bowhunting in young folks and others who might just need the feel of a new bow in their hands to reconnect. He’s also a longtime friend and has watched my girls grow and progress throughout their hunting careers. Josee’s new bow would pair nicely with the fresh archery mule deer tag she had drawn a month prior.
Scouting Velvet Bucks in the Summer Heat
Preparation, practice, and scouting were in full swing with the archery deer season fast approaching. The slow summer heat stretches the days and compresses the nights, offering exceedingly small windows for glassing and finding bachelor bucks. The reprieve of a thunderstorm is very welcome but painfully unreliable. A simple cloud to block the sun is oftentimes enough to get a buck out of his bed to feed. Without cloud cover, they live their lives walking the line between sunlight and shadow.
As the season began, there was one buck that I knew had caught her eye on several scouting missions. He was an old deer, and he looked it. Not ancient and winding down but mature and solid, with a deep chest and a characteristic round, fat belly from a season of plenty. His head was large, with wide ears and a broad forehead that supported beautiful velvet antlers that stood high and heavy. One morning, as the sun rose to meet him, he stopped feeding to stand quietly and still in the warm light, letting the chill of the overnight rain drain from his body. That was the morning he began living in our minds rent-free.
Water, Wild Horses and Three Mature Bucks
He shared company with two other mature deer—both trophies in the right circles, but no match in stature or frame compared to Josee’s favorite. The burned-out canyons these bucks often fed in were steep and rocky. The feed was lush, especially on the north sides, but a long way from a water source. The water they frequented was a small, spring-fed stream that trickled down a deep-cut drainage only to sink out of sight again a few hundred yards from where it surfaced. As with nearly every water source in Nevada, wild horses had trampled the area to dust and ensured that the three bucks would be making strictly nocturnal visits. Our attempts at stalk and ambush over several days failed to present Josee with a reasonable shot. Frustration began to outweigh patience, so we decided to give these bucks a rest.
We hiked a different route out to avoid detection by a herd of wild horses. I’d rather be lucky than good, so when we crossed a well-used trail with deer tracks on top of the horse tracks, I chalked it up to luck. I hadn’t anticipated many deer traveling in that direction, especially our bucks, but we decided to check it out anyway. After all, there were times when we couldn’t find them at all. This could be where they had been hiding.
A Hide in the Burn Scar
The trail led into a tight canyon with a flat sandy bottom that gradually rose and broadened into a cool north slope. The old growth pinyon and juniper that choked the bottom and sides was interrupted by an old lightning strike burn scar that exposed the canyon to the midday sun. Deer and elk sign littered the area, and the fresh buck tracks throughout were the inspiration we needed.
We continued our trek out. Later that day, we returned to the clearing with everything we needed to construct a suitable hide. A couple of hours later, I was satisfied that it would be adequate for leopard, let alone deer, and that even Capstick would approve. We gathered our possibles and left the area to let it rest.
A Summer Storm Gets the Bucks Moving
Four days passed before the nagging responsibilities of life allowed us to resume the hunt. After an actionless afternoon and morning of sitting in our hide along the old burn scar, we returned for a third time. The weather had changed. Towering thunderheads had begun to build over the surrounding mountain ranges, and the air in the tight canyon grew sultry. A scruffy, old, summer-coated coyote ambled by within bow range, constantly testing the air, and passed by without noticing us—a reassuring sign. Distant thunder rolled as the shrunken world outside the aperture of our blind was thrown into shadow. A fresh new breeze carried with it the smell of sweet summer rain. It began slowly, then built to a deafening barrage that pelted our little hide. And then, quite suddenly, as happens so often in the high desert, someone unseen shut off the tap. The cooling effect that ten-minute shower had on our world was miraculous. I knew it was all that might be needed to get a buck out of his bed and speed up his timetable for the evening. With over two hours of good light left, I reassured Josee and settled back in to watch the rest of the evening play out.
I felt it more than I heard it: that primal signal that stops your breathing and instantly sharpens your senses. I slowly leaned my head to the right. The ragged window to the world offered a limited view of the clearing, but my guess had been correct. Josee sat to my right with her bow resting vertically on a nervous toe and a casually nocked arrow running out toward the void. A gentle nudge was all it took to answer her silent question: three bucks were making their way toward the little burned clearing.
Josee’s favorite pulled up short and briefly surveyed his surroundings. The other two spilled into the open like a river clearing rapids into a deep, broad pool. They checked their progress and eddied about, slowly taking in the evening’s first nibbles. I was glad for this delay because the heartbeat from inside the girl to my right was carrying clearly out through her KUIU. Another nudge reminded her to breathe, and she soon settled and focused.
Eighteen Yards from the Blind
One of the lesser bucks raised his head and walked within eighteen yards of our hide. The temptation of a serviceberry bush was too great, and the others closed the distance also. Now all the deer were within Josee’s effective range, but her favorite was covered by the buck closest to us. I had to remind myself to breathe. The precautions for silence we’d taken had proven effective so far, and the deadly hole that was our window to the deer was nothing more than an empty shadow from the outside, but you can only spend so much time that close to a mule deer before their sixth sense alerts them.
A minute limped by like an hour. Every unbearable part of my body either itched or ached. Josee was rock steady and calmly awaiting the okay. She and her sister have learned to trust the process and wait for the go.
Slowly, Josee’s favorite began to walk toward the buck in front of us. His head and those antlers were all that was visible over the closer deer as he bobbed and hopped over some unknown obstacle. The sudden movement startled the lesser buck, and he splashed away from the perceived threat. Josee’s favorite took his place at the table broadside and buried his head in the serviceberry bush to feed. Another nudge meant a green light. Josee’s draw was a silent, simple, steady movement. She held for what seemed like too long without shake or check. The release, when it came, triggered an explosion of sound outside our little hide. All three bucks stotted away. The sudden adrenaline-fueled forty-yard dash abruptly ended in confusion as they attempted to confirm the unseen danger. They stood rigid with heads held high—except for one. Josee’s favorite stood with his head down, blood dribbling from his side where the one-hundred-grain Sevr had made its escape. He coughed and stumbled, then began to walk backward in a slow, imperfect circle before bedding. The heavy brush prevented a follow-up shot, so we held tight.
Leaving Him Overnight
The canyon was now in full shade, and the light was slipping away. The other bucks had decided that discretion was the better part of valor and faded back into the trees. Josee’s buck reluctantly labored to his feet and followed on unsteady legs, obeying the voice in his head or some wizened instinct, which reminded him of the safety in numbers. I watched until his feet in the trees were all I could make out through my binoculars in the failing light. In the silent dark, we slipped away.
A quiet hike was followed by a question-filled drive. I knew the buck was most likely mortally wounded, and I knew I would find him the next day. It’s an uncomfortable feeling, leaving a wounded animal to suffer through the night, but it’s often necessary. Fools rush in, as they say.
The next morning, I hoped to alleviate Josee’s uncertainty by telling her to take the time to do whatever she wanted to do to be ready for pictures. It might not seem important to the uninitiated, but being a girl dad has a way of adjusting your priorities.
Finding Josee’s Buck
We found Josee’s buck lying on his side after about an hour of tracking. She was the first to touch her trophy, as is the custom. I watched her as obvious relief turned to the pure joy that only the accomplishment of such an ambitious goal can bring. Watching my daughters achieve these goals brings me the same pride and joy. I also saw the familiar, brief melancholy of taking a big game animal wash over her and was prouder still to see the appreciation she had for her buck and the responsibility that comes with harvesting any animal.
I’ve been a part of hundreds of trophy kills in my life. I’ve seen every reaction you can imagine from hunters, but it’s the journey that should inherently strengthen our appreciation. The journey never ends when you value the hunt above the kill. Having said that, good stories are always better with a successful conclusion. Josee went home with an incredibly good story.
Additional Resources
- Nevada Application Strategy
- Nevada State Profile
- Nevada Hunting Regulations
- Huntin' Fool Adventures
- Become a Huntin' Fool Member