LAST EDITED ON Aug-25-05 AT 01:11PM (MST)[p]This hunt began over the weekend of July 4 when we had our first of three scouting trips. We covered a lot of country and found our hot spot while ruling out several other potential areas.
Day 1: ?Big Dog?
We leave the cabin at about 4:30am with full, heavy packs. Drive the 10 minutes to our parking spot and set out. Hike 1.5 miles straight up to our first glassing spot. We waited a few minutes for it to get light enough. We were really excited to finally be hunting after lots of scouting, driving, map study and general strategy sessions. A few minutes after it gets light we start seeing deer. We spot a group of several bucks across the basin that are feeding up a sage bowl into the brush. There is one really big, wide, fat, forked horn that was the boss of this group. He was at least 22-24? wide and his body size towered over the other bucks in the group. I told Brent I'd keep an eye on this group while he continued to look around. About 30 minutes later he says there are a few does down low in the flat. Immediately thereafter he excitedly whispers ?holy sh!# dude, look at this buck!? With 3 or 4 does and a couple fawns was a buck we dubbed ?Big Dog.? He was only about 400 yards below and to the left of us. He was 26-28? wide, heavy, very tall, and a handsome 3x4. The strange thing was that he was hanging with the does. Odd for this time of year for sure. I immediately forgot about the group of bucks across the basin and focused in on Big Dog. We watched him for a while, he disappeared into a small gully and just as we were getting worried about losing him, he comes out behind some willows. He walked out into the sage and beds down in a perfect spot. He was just below a rock rim and in perfect bow hunting position. The problem was a couple does were frolicking around in front of him just annoying the hell out of him. His body language was hillarious, the buck was so frustrated and just wanted to rest. After a few minutes of this he decided he had enough and got up and ran out of his bed. He ran over the rise into the next bowl with the does chasing him. Bummed out, we decide to go set up camp and come back and look for him later. We hike another 1.5 miles into a canyon that was central to the area we wanted to hunt and had a stream nearby for making water. After getting camp set up we go back down to the low country and into the next bowl to look for Big Dog. We looked and looked but never saw any sign of him. Leaving that area we hiked up to a ridge above camp where we had seen 5 bucks bed the previous Sunday while scouting. We dubbed these bucks the ?Sunday bucks.? We never saw them that evening but saw lots of does and two fairly nice bucks over a mile away, way up on a bench, too far to get to that night. Excited about all the animals we had seen we head back to camp and crashed out. We heard a large animal breaking branches just outside our tent right as we were about to go to sleep. Some headlamp beams flashed that direction and whatever it was bounded out of there. I can only imagine it was a bear as we saw a TON of bear sign and scratches all over the trees in the area. Exhausted from 4 hours of sleep the night before and the uphill hike with heavy packs, we quickly fell asleep anyway.
Day 2: ?Heartbreaker?
First thing in the morning we went back to the low country to look for Big Dog. Not there and no where around. Bummer. Mid morning we went back up the ridge to look for the Sunday bucks again. We found them. We walked through the funnel and set up under our glassing tree in the shade. The bucks were bedded in the mahogany across from us and as soon as we got out of sight under our tree, they blew out of there and bedded in another mahogany patch a couple hundred yards away. A minute later, here comes a HUGE, MONSTER buck behind the group. He?s trotting behind and breaks off to find his own mahogany to bed under. He is in a perfect place for Brent to sneak in. He?s near the top of the ridge with the mahogany blocking his rear view. All Brent had to do was climb up and around the ridge, hope the wind was right, and come in on top of him. I stayed behind to spot and give hand signals. Well, the wind wasn?t right and the buck winded Brent as he got into position. The buck came running right down the hill towards me like he was on a string. He re-bedded under another mahogany that was directly across canyon from me at 472 yards. I let him sit there for about 45 minutes to get nice and comfortable. This time he bedded above the mahogany, looking up the hill towards what had spooked him before. Now the tree was blocking his downhill view and the wind was perfect from him to me. I snuck in to about 150 yards and took off my pack and boots. I was making progress. I was doing it, getting closer! I was stalking a trophy buck in open country. It could be done. At 65 yards I knocked an arrow. I'd wait until I got a good gust of wind and close in another 3-5 yards. All the while, I have a voice inside my head saying ?you are going to do it, you're gonna kill a trophy muley with a bow.? My heart was pounding and my mind was racing. There were so many conflicting ideas in my head over what to do next. I stopped at 34 yards and kneeled down not wanting to push it further. I could just see his fuzzy antler tips through the mahogany. I was thinking 34 yards was a piece of cake. I'll nail 3D targets at 20 yards further all day long. This shot would be no problem. It was about 2 in the afternoon and the thought of waiting him out, crouched on my knees, on an uncomfortable slope, in rocky soil, when it was about to rain, did not sound pleasurable. So I reached down and picked up a walnut-sized rock and stood up slowly. I pitched that rock over and to the left of the buck. Like clockwork, he stood up, walked 4 or 5 yards out of his bed and stood looking away from me, towards where the rock landed. I somehow got my release on the string loop and drew. As I tried to get the pins on the buck I fell apart. I lost my marbles, my body turned to jello, my mind mush. I remember the pins bouncing across his breadbasket as I punched the trigger in a rushed attempt. The arrow sailed harmlessly over his back. He trotted about 100 yards away and stopped looking around. He never knew what happened. I was overwhelmed with a sick feeling in my stomach. I wanted to puke, cry, curse, and scream all at the same time. I sat down to try to collect myself. I was a wreck. I'd done the impossible and gotten within range of a trophy buck, only to blow the easy part. For any new bow hunter who thinks they will be able to keep it together and go through the mental checklist in order to make the shot count, forget about it. Once that buck stands up, you will melt, guaranteed. I thought I ruled the 3D range, and when it came down to it, the shooting part would be easy. Hogwash, throw all that crap out the window. It is a totally different ball game when you put hair and horns on your target. For the record, and for those who care, this buck was easily 28? wide, massive, great front forks, nice and tall, and a perfect 4x4 with eyeguards. An easily mid 170 class buck that might have pushed 180. Yes, I'm still sick about it and I know the experience will forever haunt me. The buck will be perpetually remembered in my mental history book as ?Heartbreaker? and his bedroom as ?Heartbreak Ridge.?
That evening we glassed a bowl behind camp. I spotted a sleek 3 pt and watched him bed down. After a few minutes I mustered up the gumption to attempt another seemingly impossible stalk as this buck is in the middle of a sage flat. I backed off the rockpile and hiked down to a cattle trail that put me on a good approach to the buck. I came around a bend in the trail and caught movement on the ground. No more than 8 yards away was a pissed off badger, in the crouched, attack position. I knocked one, came to full draw while thinking to myself that I really don't want to kill this guy. It's a Mexican standoff. I look down out of the corner of my eye and there is a nice round rock in front of my foot. I kick it at him, he hisses at me and turns and runs off. I continued with my stalk. I took off my boots and attempted to sneak in but the endless sage twigs and dried mule?s ear leaves were noisy as hell. I had no wind to speak of. An unseen doe popped up right as I got to 62 yards. BUSTED! She snorts and stomps. The buck is at 86 yards and now has me pegged too. Almost! I back out, hoping not to spook them too much. It's dark by now and we headed back to camp. What a day!
Day 3: ?The Cowboy Buck?
We head back up to Heartbreak ridge to try and find the Sunday Bucks and/or Heartbreaker. We bump a good 3pt on the way to our glassing tree. We was quite a bit outside his ears and a very respectable buck. He casually trotted off not too spooked. We glassed for a bit and did not see anything. We decide to go find some new country. We hike around and on top of the ridge and saw nothing but some pretty country and a few does. At one glassing spot, I hear hoof beats. I peak out from behind my tree and see brown hair. Brent grabs his bow as I crawl out from behind the tree. It's a cowboy on a horse. We were both mutually startled as we were way into the back country and were not expecting to see any body else up there. We chat for a while and he goes on about his business of repairing a fence for the grazing cattle up there. We hike down to a lower spot on the ridge so we can better see into the shade on the other side of the canyon for bedded bucks. After a few minutes of glassing, I spotted the big 3 bedded in the sage. We watch him for a while as he runs out of shade. He gets up, walks about 150 yards and beds in another spot that is perfect for a stalk. Only one problem, the cowboy is right below us. We thought he would go on up behind us, opposite direction from the buck, to fix the torn down fence. Well, he didn't. He crossed the fence and went the other way right towards the buck. The buck was bedded only 75 yards above the fence line the cowboy was riding along. No sooner had Brent finished putting on his face paint for the stalk, and the cowboy spooks the buck and over the saddle, out of sight, he goes. Big time bummer as this was almost a sure thing. Brent said he already had him on the wall. We go back to camp to regroup and grab a snack. Later that afternoon, we climb back up to the bench that the cowboy buck went over for the evening. We glass and glass, and see nothing but a few does and a small spike. He?s long gone.
Day 4: ?The Whiffers?
We head back to the low country to look for Big Dog as he was such a big buck and we had not educated him yet. We had to keep looking for him. Several hours later and no sight of him, just does and a couple small bucks. I get a gut feeling and look at the mountain behind us. This is the same mountain as Heartbreak Ridge but we are now on a different side of it. I tell Brent I think we should climb to that rockpile up there and glass that face. It is a side that we had not looked at before. We knew this mountain was holding bucks, and nice ones too. I knew ?Boss Hog,? another 28? wide 4pt that had main beams to the moon, was up there somewhere. I had spotted him with a bachelor herd of 8 bucks while scouting a month earlier. We agreed and hiked up to the rock pile. Brent set up to glass up and I set up to glass down, I immediately spot bucks heading down hill. There are 4 of them and they are all good sized forked-horns (California hunters are allowed to use this oxymoron, Rocky Mtn. hunters cannot). They bed down in a small gully with thick sage and bitterbrush that is chest high. The brush swallows up the deer. There are no trees or rocks around for landmarks so it was hard to pinpoint exactly where they bedded. Brent and I discuss it and after some bickering he insists I attempt the stalk while he watches with the glasses. I creep in and bust three spikes about 125 yards from the bucks. Fortunately they go uphill and do not blow out my bucks. I take off my shoes and sneak in all stealthy. I'm looking right in front of me where I think the deer are when the biggest buck (a 20? fork) skyrockets out of there 25 yards to my right. I was just a little off. He bounds away about 150 yards. I look back to where he came from and there are two more bucks standing there looking at me. With no chance to use my range finder for fear of being busted, I estimated them at 45 yards and drew slowly. I put my 40 yard pin on his back and let fly only to hit in front of him. He bolts. The other buck is still staring at me. I knock another arrow, this buck is a little farther, and put my 50 on this buck. Let rip, and it falls short too. All the bucks blow out unharmed. I'm dejected. I'm down on myself. I'm thinking, I'm a lousy archer. Who executes two good stalks and blows three shots? I decide I need to hang it up for the day. Brent has an exciting version of this part of the story but I'll let him tell it. I affectionately named these bucks ?The Whiffers.?
We go back to camp and break it down. We decide to pack back to the truck tonight and day hunt from the cabin the next, and last, day. This was mainly so I could light the water heater giving us hot showers before we had to drive home. After 4 days of 8-10 miles of hiking each day and in the midday heat, we were funky and a shower sounded very inviting. Furthermore, after the last two misses, I was feeling undeserving of another chance so I tell Brent that he can stay on the hill for the evening hunt and I'll pack out to the truck, drive to the cabin, light the water heater, drive into town to the store, come back at dark to get him, and have a hot meal ready when we got back to the cabin. It was not a tough sell. So I head back to the cabin and fix up some bacon cheeseburgers. Picking Brent up at dark, he saw nothing other than a little spike/fork. The soft bed, cold beer, and hot meal was a welcome experience.
Day 5: ?The last hurrah?
We get up early to be on the hill glassing at first light. For the first 2+ hours we see nothing but does and one freak spike with 10? main horns and 4? smaller horns protruding out in front of the main spike. We decide to hike back up to the Whiffers. After cutting through 2 miles of sagebrush (which feels like a 5 mile hike from all the winding left and right and stepping over the sage), we get to the area. Brent stops to glass and I go back to the scene of the Whiffers to try and figure out what happened. I find one arrow and range the spot where I shot from. 80 yards! Sure the arrow may have skipped a few yards but through that brush, not far. So what I thought were 45-50 yard shots were more like 70. Due to the thick brush and the topography, I was way off. Oh well, it was good to figure out what happened. Those bucks are just a little smarter now. Sore, and beat, we call it a trip and hike home. Back to the cabin for clean up and we are on our way.
We could not stop talking about this trip and what a great success it was. Some of you may know that I have been very fortunate to go on several out of state trips and I've been lucky to bag a few trophies over the last several years, but this hunt was far more rewarding even though it wasn?t ?succesfull? in the sense of bringing home a deer. I'd bet Brent would say the same thing. We both learned a great deal, have become much better hunters, found an incredible hotspot full of bucks, and several good ones at that. After 7 days of scouting, and 4.5 days of hunting, we found 43 bucks (not including spikes) in our hunting area which consisted of about 8 square miles. 12 of these bucks were good, mature animals and 3 were absolute trophies by any estimation. It was a very rewarding hunt to have all our scouting pay off and see the fruits of our efforts. And please, I don't say this to be a jerk, but Brent and I put in a TON of effort to find this area. It took a whole lot of sweat, struggle, and strategy to find these bucks. We will be keeping this area a secret. Please, do not even ask. I hope you guys can appreciate that. I will say this, even in California and on public land, it is amazing what an area with good feed, no roads, and little pressure can produce.
The only thing that could have made the hunt better is if Buck-eye would have been able to make it. Joe, we missed you. Now find us some hunting in Florida.
Brent, thanks a lot. We made a great team. I'll share a hunting camp with you any day. I appreciate your drive, discipline, stamina, knowledge and good attitude. If you guys ever get a chance to hunt with this dude, jump on it. Brent, I'm sure I left out lots of details so chime in here and fill in the gaps. Thanks again.
That's my story and I'm sticking to it!
Day 1: ?Big Dog?
We leave the cabin at about 4:30am with full, heavy packs. Drive the 10 minutes to our parking spot and set out. Hike 1.5 miles straight up to our first glassing spot. We waited a few minutes for it to get light enough. We were really excited to finally be hunting after lots of scouting, driving, map study and general strategy sessions. A few minutes after it gets light we start seeing deer. We spot a group of several bucks across the basin that are feeding up a sage bowl into the brush. There is one really big, wide, fat, forked horn that was the boss of this group. He was at least 22-24? wide and his body size towered over the other bucks in the group. I told Brent I'd keep an eye on this group while he continued to look around. About 30 minutes later he says there are a few does down low in the flat. Immediately thereafter he excitedly whispers ?holy sh!# dude, look at this buck!? With 3 or 4 does and a couple fawns was a buck we dubbed ?Big Dog.? He was only about 400 yards below and to the left of us. He was 26-28? wide, heavy, very tall, and a handsome 3x4. The strange thing was that he was hanging with the does. Odd for this time of year for sure. I immediately forgot about the group of bucks across the basin and focused in on Big Dog. We watched him for a while, he disappeared into a small gully and just as we were getting worried about losing him, he comes out behind some willows. He walked out into the sage and beds down in a perfect spot. He was just below a rock rim and in perfect bow hunting position. The problem was a couple does were frolicking around in front of him just annoying the hell out of him. His body language was hillarious, the buck was so frustrated and just wanted to rest. After a few minutes of this he decided he had enough and got up and ran out of his bed. He ran over the rise into the next bowl with the does chasing him. Bummed out, we decide to go set up camp and come back and look for him later. We hike another 1.5 miles into a canyon that was central to the area we wanted to hunt and had a stream nearby for making water. After getting camp set up we go back down to the low country and into the next bowl to look for Big Dog. We looked and looked but never saw any sign of him. Leaving that area we hiked up to a ridge above camp where we had seen 5 bucks bed the previous Sunday while scouting. We dubbed these bucks the ?Sunday bucks.? We never saw them that evening but saw lots of does and two fairly nice bucks over a mile away, way up on a bench, too far to get to that night. Excited about all the animals we had seen we head back to camp and crashed out. We heard a large animal breaking branches just outside our tent right as we were about to go to sleep. Some headlamp beams flashed that direction and whatever it was bounded out of there. I can only imagine it was a bear as we saw a TON of bear sign and scratches all over the trees in the area. Exhausted from 4 hours of sleep the night before and the uphill hike with heavy packs, we quickly fell asleep anyway.
Day 2: ?Heartbreaker?
First thing in the morning we went back to the low country to look for Big Dog. Not there and no where around. Bummer. Mid morning we went back up the ridge to look for the Sunday bucks again. We found them. We walked through the funnel and set up under our glassing tree in the shade. The bucks were bedded in the mahogany across from us and as soon as we got out of sight under our tree, they blew out of there and bedded in another mahogany patch a couple hundred yards away. A minute later, here comes a HUGE, MONSTER buck behind the group. He?s trotting behind and breaks off to find his own mahogany to bed under. He is in a perfect place for Brent to sneak in. He?s near the top of the ridge with the mahogany blocking his rear view. All Brent had to do was climb up and around the ridge, hope the wind was right, and come in on top of him. I stayed behind to spot and give hand signals. Well, the wind wasn?t right and the buck winded Brent as he got into position. The buck came running right down the hill towards me like he was on a string. He re-bedded under another mahogany that was directly across canyon from me at 472 yards. I let him sit there for about 45 minutes to get nice and comfortable. This time he bedded above the mahogany, looking up the hill towards what had spooked him before. Now the tree was blocking his downhill view and the wind was perfect from him to me. I snuck in to about 150 yards and took off my pack and boots. I was making progress. I was doing it, getting closer! I was stalking a trophy buck in open country. It could be done. At 65 yards I knocked an arrow. I'd wait until I got a good gust of wind and close in another 3-5 yards. All the while, I have a voice inside my head saying ?you are going to do it, you're gonna kill a trophy muley with a bow.? My heart was pounding and my mind was racing. There were so many conflicting ideas in my head over what to do next. I stopped at 34 yards and kneeled down not wanting to push it further. I could just see his fuzzy antler tips through the mahogany. I was thinking 34 yards was a piece of cake. I'll nail 3D targets at 20 yards further all day long. This shot would be no problem. It was about 2 in the afternoon and the thought of waiting him out, crouched on my knees, on an uncomfortable slope, in rocky soil, when it was about to rain, did not sound pleasurable. So I reached down and picked up a walnut-sized rock and stood up slowly. I pitched that rock over and to the left of the buck. Like clockwork, he stood up, walked 4 or 5 yards out of his bed and stood looking away from me, towards where the rock landed. I somehow got my release on the string loop and drew. As I tried to get the pins on the buck I fell apart. I lost my marbles, my body turned to jello, my mind mush. I remember the pins bouncing across his breadbasket as I punched the trigger in a rushed attempt. The arrow sailed harmlessly over his back. He trotted about 100 yards away and stopped looking around. He never knew what happened. I was overwhelmed with a sick feeling in my stomach. I wanted to puke, cry, curse, and scream all at the same time. I sat down to try to collect myself. I was a wreck. I'd done the impossible and gotten within range of a trophy buck, only to blow the easy part. For any new bow hunter who thinks they will be able to keep it together and go through the mental checklist in order to make the shot count, forget about it. Once that buck stands up, you will melt, guaranteed. I thought I ruled the 3D range, and when it came down to it, the shooting part would be easy. Hogwash, throw all that crap out the window. It is a totally different ball game when you put hair and horns on your target. For the record, and for those who care, this buck was easily 28? wide, massive, great front forks, nice and tall, and a perfect 4x4 with eyeguards. An easily mid 170 class buck that might have pushed 180. Yes, I'm still sick about it and I know the experience will forever haunt me. The buck will be perpetually remembered in my mental history book as ?Heartbreaker? and his bedroom as ?Heartbreak Ridge.?
That evening we glassed a bowl behind camp. I spotted a sleek 3 pt and watched him bed down. After a few minutes I mustered up the gumption to attempt another seemingly impossible stalk as this buck is in the middle of a sage flat. I backed off the rockpile and hiked down to a cattle trail that put me on a good approach to the buck. I came around a bend in the trail and caught movement on the ground. No more than 8 yards away was a pissed off badger, in the crouched, attack position. I knocked one, came to full draw while thinking to myself that I really don't want to kill this guy. It's a Mexican standoff. I look down out of the corner of my eye and there is a nice round rock in front of my foot. I kick it at him, he hisses at me and turns and runs off. I continued with my stalk. I took off my boots and attempted to sneak in but the endless sage twigs and dried mule?s ear leaves were noisy as hell. I had no wind to speak of. An unseen doe popped up right as I got to 62 yards. BUSTED! She snorts and stomps. The buck is at 86 yards and now has me pegged too. Almost! I back out, hoping not to spook them too much. It's dark by now and we headed back to camp. What a day!
Day 3: ?The Cowboy Buck?
We head back up to Heartbreak ridge to try and find the Sunday Bucks and/or Heartbreaker. We bump a good 3pt on the way to our glassing tree. We was quite a bit outside his ears and a very respectable buck. He casually trotted off not too spooked. We glassed for a bit and did not see anything. We decide to go find some new country. We hike around and on top of the ridge and saw nothing but some pretty country and a few does. At one glassing spot, I hear hoof beats. I peak out from behind my tree and see brown hair. Brent grabs his bow as I crawl out from behind the tree. It's a cowboy on a horse. We were both mutually startled as we were way into the back country and were not expecting to see any body else up there. We chat for a while and he goes on about his business of repairing a fence for the grazing cattle up there. We hike down to a lower spot on the ridge so we can better see into the shade on the other side of the canyon for bedded bucks. After a few minutes of glassing, I spotted the big 3 bedded in the sage. We watch him for a while as he runs out of shade. He gets up, walks about 150 yards and beds in another spot that is perfect for a stalk. Only one problem, the cowboy is right below us. We thought he would go on up behind us, opposite direction from the buck, to fix the torn down fence. Well, he didn't. He crossed the fence and went the other way right towards the buck. The buck was bedded only 75 yards above the fence line the cowboy was riding along. No sooner had Brent finished putting on his face paint for the stalk, and the cowboy spooks the buck and over the saddle, out of sight, he goes. Big time bummer as this was almost a sure thing. Brent said he already had him on the wall. We go back to camp to regroup and grab a snack. Later that afternoon, we climb back up to the bench that the cowboy buck went over for the evening. We glass and glass, and see nothing but a few does and a small spike. He?s long gone.
Day 4: ?The Whiffers?
We head back to the low country to look for Big Dog as he was such a big buck and we had not educated him yet. We had to keep looking for him. Several hours later and no sight of him, just does and a couple small bucks. I get a gut feeling and look at the mountain behind us. This is the same mountain as Heartbreak Ridge but we are now on a different side of it. I tell Brent I think we should climb to that rockpile up there and glass that face. It is a side that we had not looked at before. We knew this mountain was holding bucks, and nice ones too. I knew ?Boss Hog,? another 28? wide 4pt that had main beams to the moon, was up there somewhere. I had spotted him with a bachelor herd of 8 bucks while scouting a month earlier. We agreed and hiked up to the rock pile. Brent set up to glass up and I set up to glass down, I immediately spot bucks heading down hill. There are 4 of them and they are all good sized forked-horns (California hunters are allowed to use this oxymoron, Rocky Mtn. hunters cannot). They bed down in a small gully with thick sage and bitterbrush that is chest high. The brush swallows up the deer. There are no trees or rocks around for landmarks so it was hard to pinpoint exactly where they bedded. Brent and I discuss it and after some bickering he insists I attempt the stalk while he watches with the glasses. I creep in and bust three spikes about 125 yards from the bucks. Fortunately they go uphill and do not blow out my bucks. I take off my shoes and sneak in all stealthy. I'm looking right in front of me where I think the deer are when the biggest buck (a 20? fork) skyrockets out of there 25 yards to my right. I was just a little off. He bounds away about 150 yards. I look back to where he came from and there are two more bucks standing there looking at me. With no chance to use my range finder for fear of being busted, I estimated them at 45 yards and drew slowly. I put my 40 yard pin on his back and let fly only to hit in front of him. He bolts. The other buck is still staring at me. I knock another arrow, this buck is a little farther, and put my 50 on this buck. Let rip, and it falls short too. All the bucks blow out unharmed. I'm dejected. I'm down on myself. I'm thinking, I'm a lousy archer. Who executes two good stalks and blows three shots? I decide I need to hang it up for the day. Brent has an exciting version of this part of the story but I'll let him tell it. I affectionately named these bucks ?The Whiffers.?
We go back to camp and break it down. We decide to pack back to the truck tonight and day hunt from the cabin the next, and last, day. This was mainly so I could light the water heater giving us hot showers before we had to drive home. After 4 days of 8-10 miles of hiking each day and in the midday heat, we were funky and a shower sounded very inviting. Furthermore, after the last two misses, I was feeling undeserving of another chance so I tell Brent that he can stay on the hill for the evening hunt and I'll pack out to the truck, drive to the cabin, light the water heater, drive into town to the store, come back at dark to get him, and have a hot meal ready when we got back to the cabin. It was not a tough sell. So I head back to the cabin and fix up some bacon cheeseburgers. Picking Brent up at dark, he saw nothing other than a little spike/fork. The soft bed, cold beer, and hot meal was a welcome experience.
Day 5: ?The last hurrah?
We get up early to be on the hill glassing at first light. For the first 2+ hours we see nothing but does and one freak spike with 10? main horns and 4? smaller horns protruding out in front of the main spike. We decide to hike back up to the Whiffers. After cutting through 2 miles of sagebrush (which feels like a 5 mile hike from all the winding left and right and stepping over the sage), we get to the area. Brent stops to glass and I go back to the scene of the Whiffers to try and figure out what happened. I find one arrow and range the spot where I shot from. 80 yards! Sure the arrow may have skipped a few yards but through that brush, not far. So what I thought were 45-50 yard shots were more like 70. Due to the thick brush and the topography, I was way off. Oh well, it was good to figure out what happened. Those bucks are just a little smarter now. Sore, and beat, we call it a trip and hike home. Back to the cabin for clean up and we are on our way.
We could not stop talking about this trip and what a great success it was. Some of you may know that I have been very fortunate to go on several out of state trips and I've been lucky to bag a few trophies over the last several years, but this hunt was far more rewarding even though it wasn?t ?succesfull? in the sense of bringing home a deer. I'd bet Brent would say the same thing. We both learned a great deal, have become much better hunters, found an incredible hotspot full of bucks, and several good ones at that. After 7 days of scouting, and 4.5 days of hunting, we found 43 bucks (not including spikes) in our hunting area which consisted of about 8 square miles. 12 of these bucks were good, mature animals and 3 were absolute trophies by any estimation. It was a very rewarding hunt to have all our scouting pay off and see the fruits of our efforts. And please, I don't say this to be a jerk, but Brent and I put in a TON of effort to find this area. It took a whole lot of sweat, struggle, and strategy to find these bucks. We will be keeping this area a secret. Please, do not even ask. I hope you guys can appreciate that. I will say this, even in California and on public land, it is amazing what an area with good feed, no roads, and little pressure can produce.
The only thing that could have made the hunt better is if Buck-eye would have been able to make it. Joe, we missed you. Now find us some hunting in Florida.
Brent, thanks a lot. We made a great team. I'll share a hunting camp with you any day. I appreciate your drive, discipline, stamina, knowledge and good attitude. If you guys ever get a chance to hunt with this dude, jump on it. Brent, I'm sure I left out lots of details so chime in here and fill in the gaps. Thanks again.
That's my story and I'm sticking to it!
