Hunters: Justin Winter and Cody Boose
Story by: Justin Winter
Species: Coues Deer
Location: New Mexico
Method: Rifle, backpack hunt
Coues deer hunting has been an obsession of mine since I started hunting them in college. I have been addicted to their behaviors and looks: a small, elusive deer inhabiting rugged and remote landscapes in Arizona and New Mexico. They’re a secretive deer that blend into their environment and are difficult to hunt, which has made me “Coues crazy.”
I have been hunting and applying for Coues deer in New Mexico for the past fifteen years in one particular unit. Through blood, sweat, tears, and time, I have been fortunate to have harvested and been a part of hunting some big, mature bucks in New Mexico. This unit is remote, with choked-out vegetation and steep terrain that allows bucks to get some age and reach maturity.
In 2024, we had tags, and my hunting partner took a great 113-inch buck. During that hunt, I dug up a giant four-by-four with split G2s. We named the buck “Split G2.” I spent the next five days trying to harvest the buck but failed at his cat-and-mouse games. The buck was always one step ahead and lived on a knife ridge, which made it extremely difficult to make a move and get within shooting distance. This buck was burned into my memory.
In 2025, my hunting partner and I were fortunate to draw tags again and were looking forward to backpacking up on the mountain. I knew exactly which buck I was going to hunt.
Fast forward two days before opening day. My hunting partner and I arrived at the unit and prepared to backpack in and spend the next day and a half scouting before the opener. Our base camp was about two miles and 1,000 vertical feet up a canyon on a steep bench. Due to drought conditions, there was no available water, so we packed ten gallons in with us to make it through the five-day hunt.
Despite anticipating a great hunt, doubt started creeping into my head with the eighty-degree temperatures and full November moon. Deer activity was at a standstill, and we only glassed up a few does while scouting. Sweating to death in my sleeping bag the night before the opener, all I could think about was whether or not we would glass up Split G2. Could he have died within the past year?
With minimal sleep, I rolled out of the tent and walked onto a rock outcropping to glass the area across the canyon where we’d seen Split G2 the year before. With the sun peeking through ragged rock peaks and lighting up the hillsides, we found a few does and fawns right off the bat. The opening morning excitement quickly faded away with the rising temperatures. My mind started to shift, and I realized this was going to be a grind of a hunt. Over the next hour, I kept bouncing, glassing different pockets to see if I could turn the buck up.
After burning up other glassing spots, I decided to go back to the rock outcropping where I’d started the morning. About 1,000 yards just north of where Split G2 had been the previous year was a tight cut with dead, standing pines. Part of the cut was now in the sun, and I picked up a buck licking his back leg while sunning himself. Instantly, I knew it was a giant buck. His sweeping, long G3 points were shining in the sun. I got ahold of my hunting partner and told him that I’d found a big buck. After a quick verification through the spotter, we knew it was Split G2. This year, due to drought and age, the buck only had one split G2.
The cut the buck was in was very tight, with one small opening. Knowing mature Coues bucks are wary and don’t hang around much, I hustled with my hunting partner and got the rifle set up. The buck moved up the opening, feeding behind some oak. Watching the buck through the scope reticle, it felt like it took an eternity for him to step out. Finally, the buck stepped out, quartering away and slightly uphill. I settled the crosshairs and let a shot out.
The bullet impacted at the top of the shoulder, and he wheeled downhill about ten yards. The buck was hurt and couldn’t put weight on his front leg, so he bedded instantly. The job wasn’t done. I racked another round. With the buck bedded broadside, I decided to shoot again…and shot right over the top of him. The buck moved about five yards up the cut and bedded again, this time in a patch of oak.
As I was laying prone on the rifle, my hunting partner was debating whether I should shoot him again while he was bedded. The worry was that he’d get up and disappear, but all of a sudden, the buck stood up, so I shot again. This time, I made the best shot of my life, and the buck went straight down. My hunting partner said, “He’s dead. You stoned him,” in a calm voice (he doesn’t get very excited, which is hilarious to me). Once I heard those words, an overwhelming rush of happiness filled my body. I stood up and did a couple of fist pumps, a weird little habit I do when I harvest animals and get excited.
We quickly loaded our packs and jetted off the mountain to cross the canyon. I couldn’t wait to admire this deer. Navigating a tight rock chute, we finally reached the bottom of the cut. Busting through brush and deadfall, we made it to the buck. I was in awe. Giant mass, swooping beams, split G2, extra off an eye guard—it was truly my dream buck. I cherished every detail of this buck, from the coloration of his hide and the mass of his body to his missing front incisor teeth. I had so much respect for this deer and the fact that it was able to thrive in this rugged and unforgiving habitat.
Looking at the teeth wear, we estimated the buck to be eight years old (helps being a wildlife biologist). The buck grossed 121 inches and had almost thirty-five inches of mass. I’ve never seen a Coues buck that heavy before. He was truly southwest gold. Two days later, my hunting partner harvested a 110-inch buck with matching cheaters. It was an amazing trip spent hunting my favorite deer species in the world, and I will never forget.
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