Mule Deer Hunting | California
Story By: Barrett Lindsay
While pouring over unit draw odds this past offseason, it occurred to me that both my good buddy, Jon, and my dad, Byron, would have enough points to draw a coveted tag here in California. I spoke with each of them and pretty soon they had agreed to enter as a party. As a few agonizing months went by, our excitement and anticipation built. Finally, the day came; the draw results had been posted. I was sitting with my dad as he checked the online portal, and we saw the little letter “Y” next to the section: “Did I win?” We quickly got Jon on the phone to let him know that he finally drew a premium tag and we would all share a hunt camp this fall.
The anticipation of waiting for the draw now paled in comparison to the wait for opening day. The summer months came and went; we planned and speculated on what was to come. Pretty soon, photos of some monster archery bucks made their way to our phones, which only heightened our excitement.
Finally, the time had come. It was a week before the season opened and my dad was set to head up early and scout when disaster struck. Towards the end of loading the truck, he tore his right bicep tendon. The preseason scout was now out of the question. Moreover, his ability to even hunt this year was up in the air. We had no idea where to go from here. After a few trips to the doctor, it was determined that he would still have limited use of his right arm. Unsurprisingly, he bravely declared that he was still going. Though my supporting role had become exponentially more difficult, I was over the moon nonetheless.
My dad and I were now set to leave the Friday before opening day, while Jon, due to prior engagements, would meet us up there on Sunday. During our Friday drive, we received a call with some exciting news. Another good friend and long-time hunting partner, Tom, was forgoing his own general unit tag to come up and help us complete the task of getting two bucks down. We now had a team of four guys, and felt confident coming into camp on that opening Saturday; we were going to get it done.
After setting up camp and getting a fitful night of sleep, our hunt finally began. The first day was filled with wildlife. We spotted endless coveys of quail and chukar, close to 17 does, and even one wolf. But to our disappointment, we hadn’t seen a buck all day. We knew the area fairly well and looked forward to day two when Jon was set to arrive. The next day, we decided to divide and conquer. This allowed us to see significantly more country and, in our eyes, greatly enhanced our chances of finding some shooters. We each went our separate ways, however the second day passed much like first. Though we only saw does and small game species, we did spot ancient petroglyphs on several rocks while glassing. These markings reminded me that we weren't the first, and wouldn’t be the last to hunt this land.
Disaster struck again the afternoon of day three. Jon’s check engine light came on and when we popped the hood, we discovered a large, desert pack rat on the engine block. He quickly bolted but we could tell the damage was done when we found several wires chewed to pieces. Tom helped Jon limp his truck to the closest highway to then be towed away to a dealership for evaluation and repair. My dad and I hunted out the day, again, without seeing a buck. At this point spirits had begun to drop. We were down a truck and hadn’t spotted any bucks the whole trip.
The next day, Jon and I headed to an area that we heard held several smaller bucks. He was after his first deer and with what we had been seeing, was happy to shoot something smaller. We glassed our way into the area and at our second stop I spotted a group of bucks. Jon quickly confirmed the deer as I pulled his rifle off the quad and set him up on the back where our packs were strapped down. His rest was solid. I gave him the range at 230 yards. He had a clear shot at the biggest buck’s neck. I told him to take a breath and take the shot when he felt ready. He touched off and the buck dropped in its tracks. He was down. We grabbed our packs and hiked over to the area where he dropped. After a minute or two of searching, we found his first buck laying there in the brush. We hooped and hollered, hugged and high-fived. Many pictures and videos were taken before we quartered the buck and packed him out the short distance back to the quad. There's nothing like helping a buddy shoot his first deer; it was as special for me as it was him. We will have these memories for the rest of our lives. With one buck down, camp was re-energized to help my dad get his deer on the last day. That night, as if to confirm our hopes, we were treated to a rare and stunning show of northern lights. Not usually seen in Northern California, we knew this was a good omen.
Friday morning all four of us headed to our spot only to find two other hunters glassing the area already. We moved one draw over and began the day by spotting several does. My dad was eager to make something happen so he and I decided to hike the rim around the area we had seen the does, in hopes that a buck was hanging around. During our hike, Jon and Tom began glassing the distant hillside. It didn’t take long for Jon to call me with news they spotted some deer and one was a buck. They couldn’t tell how big he was, but he had a decent frame and was bedded down with several does about 1400 yards away. My dad and I made our way back to the guys to plan a stalk. There was a lone doe about 100 yards away from the others that we would need to keep an eye on and the wind was swirling, but we devised a solid plan.
My Dad and I took off on our stalk while Jon and Tom stayed back to keep an eye on everything with the binos. We played the wind as best as we could, eventually tucking into some rocks about 400 yards from the brush where the deer were bedded. Upon first inspection we couldn’t spot anything. We assumed we couldn’t see them and would have to settle in and wait them out. On a whim, my dad started looking for the lone doe down the hill and shortly after spotted her. As I was scanning down towards the area he was looking, I spotted the buck! He was hanging out in some shade and was way bigger than either of us had hoped. It almost didn’t seem real. I ranged him at 226 yards and my dad tucked in preparing for the shot. I again said, “Take a deep breath, whenever you’re ready.” His .270 roared to life and I watched his shot take the buck right behind the shoulder. The buck got up and hobbled behind the bush and out of our sight. We didn’t see him come out so we knew he was down.
We celebrated amongst ourselves for pulling off a perfect stalk. When we walked up on the buck, we were shocked by the size of his body and the sheer mass of his rack. We started taking pictures and collected ourselves while Tom and Jon hiked up to us. More celebrations ensued as we broke down the buck and made the hike out. It took all four of us to get this buck on the ground. A true teamwork buck. It was an experience that none of us are ever likely to forget.
The cherry on top came the next day while packing up camp. Tucked inside the engine of the quad, my dad spotted the same pack rat that ruined Jon’s truck. Jon turned the bike off, while I made a spear using my Montana Knife Company Speed Goat and the flagpole we hung old glory from all week. I handed Jon the spear and he maneuvered it into the bike and stuck him, killing the pack rat that had cost him his truck. A fitting end to an amazing trip.