Deer

By: Tommy Sitz, Staff Writer

I grab my rifle out of the gun safe. It is the last piece of equipment necessary for the day ahead. Alex and I climb into his truck and pull out of our driveway to head to Gabe’s house. 

“I hope we see something today,” I say as we pull out of the driveway. We haven’t had much luck so far this year, but I have high hopes for today.

“I think we will. I have a good feeling about this spot,” he answers. We pull off our road and head into town to Gabe’s house. It’s 5:00 a.m., two and a half hours before shooting light. The plan is to be at the trailhead by six, so we have plenty of time to hike in before light. The date is November third, and the last weekend of deer season. There has been cold weather for the past week, so the deer migration should be in full swing. 

We arrive at Gabe’s house, and he throws his pack into the bed of the truck, then hops into the cab with a thermos of hot chocolate. 

“You ready?” Alex asks Gabe as he shuts the door.

“Of course,” answers Gabe. We leave Gabe’s house and drive west out of town. As we pass the last buildings on the edge of town, I think about what could happen today. What if we see a huge buck? What if we see nothing? These thoughts race through my mind as the country music plays on the truck’s radio.

I wake up to a bump in the dirt road driving up to the trailhead. The road is surrounded by green pine trees, along with the occasional stand of aspens that are holding nearly no leaves. We pull into the empty trailhead parking lot. All three of us sigh in relief, thankful that we are the only ones here. I get out of the truck and open the back door to my gear. All three of us grab our bino harnesses and buckle the straps around our chests. My rifle sits in a black case on the backseat floor, where I unbuckle the case and grab it. This rifle was a Christmas present from my parents when I was twelve, and it is one of my favorite belongings. It has been with me on many adventures and has harvested multiple animals. 

Along with my rifle, I grab my pack and prop it against the side of the truck. Alex and Gabe walk to me with their packs on, ready to go.

“You ready?” asks Gabe, in a demanding tone. 

“Bro, calm down,” I reply, annoyed with his remark. I throw my heavy pack onto my back, and we begin the hike. Complete silence fills the drainage, and the only light comes from our headlights. In silence, we continue up the creek bottom, listening carefully for any sounds of an animal, specifically a grizzly bear. Hiking up in silence while in the dark is dangerous in grizzly country. There could be a bear anywhere, and if we run into one, particularly a mom with cubs, this day will have a bad ending. 

The trail takes us up the side of the hill, then back down to where it crosses a small creek. Once across the creek, it is only a short climb to the top of the ridge where we can glass for the day.

One at a time, we jump across the narrow creek and head up the trail. The steep, tree-surrounded trail gives way to a massive expanse of open land as we crest the ridge. It is a huge drainage, where we can see everything for miles. We are happy at the sight, knowing we can watch most of the land today for deer. We head up the ridge to a draw of burnt timber where we have found deer before. They like to hang out in old burnt timber areas because of the new growth. After a burn, the fire takes out all the old, dead vegetation and makes nutrient-rich soil that plants can easily grow in. Deer like these areas because the new plants provide great feed for them.

We make it to a high point above the draw that provides a good vantage point for glassing. I sit just below the point, and Alex and Gabe follow, not wanting to skyline ourselves as we sit and glass. Mule deer have good eyesight, not like that of a pronghorn, but still exceptional. I attach my binoculars to my tripod and start glassing. The draw is black and white, with many burnt trees and a thin blanket of snow on the ground. The sun is now coming up, illuminating the far parts of the drainage. We can see the river that runs through the bottom, the river that carved out this vast drainage. Millions of years ago, this land was underwater. Seas covered the land, and marine animals lived in them. Now it is high mountains, with the only water being frozen snow and an insignificant creek in the bottom. Nine thousand feet above sea level, the only animals here are no longer marine. 

“There’s a group of six does in the bottom,” I say, spotting the first animals of the day. They are all bedded down close to each other, but no sign of a buck.

“We should keep an eye on those. The bucks will be looking for does right now,” Gabe answers. It is the middle of the rut, or mating season, for mule deer. Bucks during this time are very active and also very distracted. This makes it easier for a hunter to spot a deer, since they likely will not be bedded all day, and also makes it easier to sneak up on them. The bucks and does will be together, meaning if you spot a group of deer, it has a higher chance of having a buck in it, compared to when the bucks and does are divided.

I refocus on glassing and continue to scan the draw. The draw ends about a mile away at the bottom, near where I had spotted the does. The does are just above the river, where they have plentiful vegetation and water. I look at the does again to make sure that it is truly only does. This time, I count seven, but still no bucks. I slowly begin to glass the draw from the bottom up, knowing that mule deer can be extremely hard to spot in the burnt timber with their gray bodies and white butts. Usually, in snow, it is fairly easy, or easier, to pick out the dark gray bodies. But in the burnt timber, there are many dark spots, making it hard to find the right one.

I pause from my glassing and look at the sunrise in all its glory. The reds, pinks, and oranges fill the sky and paint the surrounding clouds. It is beautiful, and I pause to just stare at it for a moment. How lucky I am, I think to myself as I stare. I continue to watch the sunrise until the vibrant colors start to fade, and the big yellow ball gets bigger, making it the only color left. 

“Wow,” Alex says, who must have also been looking at the sunrise.

Early morning is the best time of day to spot deer. They are usually more active in the morning and evenings, but I especially like the mornings. I’m not sure if they are more active in the mornings, but finding something in the morning gives you ample time to make a plan and stalk the deer for the rest of the day. If you spot something in the morning, it is likely you will have enough time to make it to the animal. Also, you have a chance of not packing out in the dark in grizzly bear country.

“There’s a nice buck,” Gabe announces. 

“Where?” I reply, wanting to see it for myself

“That big rock on top of the opposite ridge, go straight down from it.”

“That is a nice one,” Alex comments, also spotting the deer.

“I still don’t see it,” I say, frustrated with my eyes.

“Tommy, maybe you need your eyes checked,” snickers Gabe, thinking he might be the funniest guy in the world.

“Shut your mouth, I see it now,” I reply, finally spotting the deer. I study it through my binoculars and see its set of antlers. It appears to be big, but I put the spotting scope onto the tripod to get a better look. He is alone, no does or other bucks. This surprises me, given he appears to be a mature deer. At this time in the mating season, I would expect that all the mature bucks would have found a group of does.

“Wow, he’s big,” I say, seeing the buck through the spotting scope. I move from under the tripod to let Alex and Gabe have a look. 

“Ya, he’s a dandy,” Alex comments, agreeing with me. We decide we should get after him right away and start hiking towards the opposite ridge of the draw he is in. If we get on the far side of the ridge, the buck will not see us. Once we get close enough, we will pop back over the ridge and have around a 300-yard shot.

We crest the ridge to where the buck cannot see us and head down the hill. Burnt logs that fell in the fire cover the ground and leave black char marks on our boots. They make our descent slower than we would like it to be, but still, we make our way along at a steady pace. We are now about halfway to where we want to pop over, and have 400 yards to go. I am starting to get a little nervous knowing I could be about to take the shot. The thought of feeling a big set of antlers goes through my mind, along with having more wild game meat in the freezer. My heart pounds faster than it should be, and I try to take deep breaths to slow it down.

We make it to the part of the ridge we want to go over, and my hands are now shaking. I climb to the top of the ridge and look over. The buck is right where we last saw him. Perfect. I motion for Alex and Gabe to come up next to me. They too slowly climb up and sit to my right as I ready my gun. We are on a spot where the ridge plateaus, so I have a flat area to shoot off of. With my gun just in front of me, I lie down and pull it to my cheek. With my face against the stock, I look through the scope and find the deer. Once on target, I fully zoom my scope in. I can now very clearly see the buck's huge rack of antlers. He is a four by four with a small kicker on his right antler. I take a few deep breaths to slow my heart rate down. 

“You ready?” I say to Alex and Gabe.

“Yup,” they reply in unison. I slowly squeeze the trigger. Here we go. The buck of a lifetime. Click. I forgot to rack a bullet. Well, I guess it was a good practice shot. This time I rack a bullet and restitute myself on the gun. I take a couple of deep breaths. Again, I start to slowly pull on the trigger. I can see the crosshairs lined up with the deer's vitals. It would be incredibly nice to have the rest of the day to deal with this deer. Bang! 

The gun goes off. I look up to see if I hit the deer. It is running away straight up the hill where I shot him from. He appears to be uninjured.

“You missed just above him,” Alex says. 

“No,” I groan, extremely frustrated with where my shot hit, “There’s no way I missed. That buck was huge.” I cannot believe it. That is one of the biggest bucks I have ever seen. I watch the buck crest the far ridge, still sprinting away. 

“Ya, that sucks,” Alex comments, sharing my disappointment.

“Man, I felt steady, I don’t know what happened,” I reply, confused as to why I missed.

“He’s gone, I don’t think we’ll have another shot at him,” Gabe says, “Maybe we’ll see another one.”

We did not see another one.