2019 Adventures

[R.K.]

In an effort to not crowd up all the other forums, but still share my rookie experiences of my first-year hunting out west (and maybe some other hunts), I decided to start a live hunt thread.

2019 started with a blank for bear, but a trip back to the Ozarks gave up a public land turkey in April with my dad (there's a thread under "Feathers and Wings).



The summer has been far too much work and travel, and not nearly enough fishing. But that has come to an end, and fall hunting season is finally here.

Last Saturday was my first attempt at archery elk hunting. Started with a 2:30 wake up call to get together and drive out to the mountains.Unfortunately, it started raining on the way there, and didn't stop until almost 3 p.m. Fortunately, my vehicle is warm, dry, and comfortable enough to take extended naps in until then.

A mile and a half from the car, I found two young bulls in a meadow, and decided to sit on them to see if anything else showed up. I waited all afternoon, heard two bulls bugle in different drainages, but nothing else from where I was going to set up once the thermals changed that evening.

There's two elk in this photo- I swear.


Finally, at Sunset, I worked my way down the ridge and cut across the meadow at a broken line of trees, with a small rise between myself in the bulls. The wind was good, strong, and consistent, but my first sequence of cow calls didn't bring any results. A few minutes later, the second sequence got a response, but not quite the one I was hoping for.

Downwind of me, a hundred yards away, a bull was glunking as he entered the meadow with eight cows. Saying I was exposed would be an understatement, especially with the wind. The cows picked me off almost immediately, but I'm not sure the bull ever did. He responded to my calling and raking, but the cows were thoroughly spooked and led him away. With me having forgotten my rain gear, and the next day calling for substantial showers, I pointed the car down hill and headed home for the weekend at dark.

Wednesday night, I camped nearby, and hunted the same area at first light. Unfortunately, I didn't hear any bugles, and saw no elk. I put in 9 miles in a big loop before lunch, found lots of fresh sign, but never smelled elk, and never heard one.

That evening, I hunted a different elevation of the same area, but worked back to the same meadow I had seen the five point, picked a good spot for the wind and set up for the evening. The prevailing wind was already going downhill, and it stayed that way for the rest of the night. I tried some intermittent cow calling, mostly with no result, but right at sunset a spike crossed in front of me at about 80 yards. Shortly after, I see another hunter on the same side of the meadow with me, and we're out of shooting light, so walk up to talk for a bit.

Turns out, there was a raghorn following the spike that I never saw, and he had to come to full draw on it at 45 yards. That was the last elk I'd see for the trip, but not the last sign.

The next morning, put in maybe four or five miles total, then packed up camp and headed home to get ready for work. With the amount of hunters in the area I had been in, I decided to check a different area, but that didn't work out as well. Crossing off areas that aren't productive seems like a good idea, but I'd rather be in elk.

Plan is to head out again Friday night, and hopefully have five or six days to hunt. But if all goes well, I'll only need the one. Here's hoping they start bugling in daylight next week.

 

[KipCarson]

Good luck, keep it up! I’ll be following along

 

[Pucky Freak]

Fun to hear about the elk encounters. Keep it up!

 

[Crossbowguy]

Good luck!

 

[TheBenHoyle]

Good luck. I'll be looking forward to updates.

 

[R.K.]

Teaser for the next update. Should be able to catch up at least a couple hunts when I sit down for it.

Out of the mountains.


The best kind of sign.


Storm's a comin'.

 

[morley.tyler]

c'mon, man. You can't just put that up there and leave it...

 

[Crossbowguy]

Lung blood!

 

[paulblair0]

Good luck!

What do you use for hunting?

 

[dirtclod Az.]

Well he came to full draw at 45yds,I would guess a slingshot! Ha!,Ha!

 

[R.K.]

I've been using: Bowtech Admiral with QAD Exodus. Ruger American in .308 with 168g copper monolithic. Remington 11-87 with 1.25oz #4 steel. And a borrowed crossbow.

And I didn't get to full draw in September- the gentleman from Wisconsin did.

 

[Falcon75]

Is the next hunt for pronghorn or still elk? What state were you hunting for elk?

 

[R.K.]

Ok, so COVID has me in a position to finally be caught up enough on everything that I was able to type most of this up in a tent the other night- gotta love battery saver mode and a lack of cell service.

September 12- I went back to the same area for two days over my short weekend, but nothing of note happened other than seeing lots of people, and hearing very few elk. A mole managed to chew up one of the hold-downs for my small tent overnight. Not happy. But I drove around a learned a lot of country, so I could go all-in during the big hunt coming up.




So now, the big archery hunt. A full 7 days off work, the big tent, and the same general area. I had been in elk, but not the hot & heavy action I wanted, so I was hoping a week closer to the peak rut would put them in the mood to make some noise, and make some mistakes.

Turns out- I would be the one making the mistakes.



The area held elk- the sign was there, and it looked fresh- creek bottoms, drainages, ridges, fresh clear-cuts. Every morning held a bull that would briefly bugle on private, but wouldn't respond. The parking lots held more out of state plates than in state, and every good access point/old logging road uphill had a camp parked at the mouth of it. There seemed to be cattle in most of the good looking meadows, and hunters were around the rest. And being solo, I didn't think I was capable of hauling out an entire elk more than two miles in this country, especially with a pack and boots that were not fit for the task.

So I would dive in, get uphill, hunt a ways a certain distance from the road, and then hunt back down for 10+ miles a day. A friend decided to join me this time around, as the area he was hunting wasn't working out at all, and I had the big canvas 10x10 tent set up.

We ran around quite a bit, running into decently fresh sign, some wallows, and hearing some bugles on private early and late, but heard nothing mid-day, and no elk were sighted at all. Just lots of sign, and smelling them a few times.

On my friend's last evening to hunt, we got into a screaming match with a bull right at dark. He was on private, but seemed close enough to the boundary to shake the woods when he bugled. The sun set, we gave up, and my friend headed home.

I went back the next morning to find even more elk- the main attraction, plus what sounded like a couple satellite bulls throwing their names in the hat. I spent 6 hours bugling, raking, and cow calling, with a great wind, good cover, good visibility, and lots of responses- but nothing came in. All the back and forth, all the building adrenaline, getting them worked into a gutteral, timber-shaking, absolute screaming frenzy- it didn't work. It sounded like the big bull got close to jumping the fence a couple times, but then turned around. I was hunting back off the line (for wiggle room), so I couldn't see if he ever made it over. I wanted to hunt a little farther back, but a fresh clearcut had taken out the ideal place to set up.

And then they all went quiet. The rain came in, the wind picked up, and they went quiet. I stuck around a chatted with a couple Wisconsonites at the truck, who had apparently been listening to the show- they were both surprised that I didn't kill the bull, based on the back-and-forth they were hearing. Turns out, I had also called these two guys in the day before, on a ridge a couple miles away. I guess my calling is OK? Dunno- need to get on more elk, since they're the only judges that matter to me.

I decided to head into town, grab a burger, and check the weather report. Sitting there, eating my burger outside, I became acutely aware of my own personal smell- I was ripe... Oh well, not gonna change it now.

My last interaction with an elk came about 4 miles from the road. I had bushwhacked between a couple logging road systems, then hiked up an elk trail to the top of a wind- blasted ridge, in an open meadow with a couple good rubs on the only scraggly pines around. The road below was calm, but it was ripping 30+mph up there. Found lots of older sign, some sort of predator track, and let out a couple bugles. Then the realization set in- I had one day left. I'm four miles from a road. To get here, I have to hike a half mile of animal tracks though a maze of deadfall & widowmakers. And nobody knows I'm up here. So I point my boots downhill, and go back for to the sheltered road behind the ridge.

Heading back down the road, a bugle rips out from the top of the ridge. He's 400 yards downwind from where I called, at the same elevation. Way up above me. Really?



I call, but I know it's futile in the wind. I can see the trees swaying up there. He calls again- closer to where I called from up top. I left too soon...

Or maybe I left just in the nick of time. What if I had killed that elk? Then what? Alone at over 8,000ft, four miles from a road, with a 30yr old Coleman prototype backpack and worn out hiking boots, getting battered by the wind, and having to navigate a steep maze of deadfall. No friends available to help, no packer lined up. The shortfalls of my planning & preparation were laid relatively bare in that moment.

I stand there for 15 minutes, trying to talk myself out of fighting my way back up there. Logic, reason, and 4 hard days of fatigue catches up to me, and I leave the best chance I've had since opening day.

Nothing of note happens the rest of the day, until I run into a local that guides on some of the area ranches, but is up there hunting because "it's tradition". He advises me that this area is absolutely terrible archery hunting, due to wind, weather, and the fact that it gets absolutely POUNDED. But, he did mention that the worse the weather, the better the archery hunting. This didn't exactly appeal to me, though- I was in desperate need of a shower, a night in a real bed, and possibly a hunting partner.

Big winds the next day, ahead of an impending front. Endless swirls in the basins with sign, so it's impossible to hunt. I run across a young bull moose, and he luckily kept his distance. A group from ND has set up camp where I parked, and they inform me of a snowstorm headed for us- they seem excited, but I take that as my cue to pack up, and get while the getting is good, despite what the local had told me about bad weather.



I watch the snow fall outside the window of my apartment. My gear is put away, the ice bottles back in the freezer, the tent dry and stored for the next outing. My first archery elk season is in the books. Elk- 1, R.K.- 0. This was my first big (mostly) solo hunt. It was daunting. It was intimidating. And I lost the mental game, bigger than hell. But some takeaways-

Do: Change underwear (often, or at least once). Bring wet wipes (gamechanger). Hunt the fresh sign. Listen to the locals. Play the wind. Bring a power bank for charging your phone (truck doesn't run enough for that). Bring 2x as much drinking water as your think you need. Always tell someone where you're hunting (or have a hunting buddy). STRETCH- before, during, and after the day's hunt. Find some way to protect your skin from the sun. Bring good rain gear. Take lots of naps. And wear merino wool everything, just so you can stand yourself in the truck.

Don't: Camp near running water (causes Midnight outhouse trips). Climb through a widowmaker maze in the wind. Bring food that gives you excessive gas. Carry too much weight on the mountain. Hunt solo farther in than you're comfortable. Use un-maintained vault toilets... Drink lots of water within an hour of going to sleep. Overdress at the truck. Expect it to be easy. Give up.

More photos- https://photos.app.goo.gl/wqwe2ZkikMbbLr4D7

 

[R.K.]

I was lucky enough to draw my first choice Pronghorn tag, but the doe tag drew my second choice. Which was fine, because it was local, and another friend had that unit as his either sex tag. I spent opening weekend at work, but was able to take an afternoon to scout before, and then a weekday hunting my doe tag with my friend. The scouting was not promising, but I did at least see a few.

We spent 8 hours driving, hiking to promontories, glassing. There wasn't a single antelope to be found. Nowhere in that unit. Not a single Pronghorn that we could see, let alone access, in that unit.

It also happened to be youth deer season. So when we did find a couple mule deer that we were interested in chasing the following weeks, there was already a small herd of pumpkins headed down the draw to get into range. And we were completely fine with that.

I hunted ducks in that unit several times across the season, but never saw another antelope that wasn't being hunted or butchered after my scouting day. I will never put in for that unit again, unless I see endless herds of the little buggers running around. Even then, I still might not. So I put my doe tag in the drawer, and focused on other things.

Like my either sex tag. I found some large BMAs, but they were all a good drive away from me. So I called the coordinator for the type II the day before, and talked to him about access, herds, and success. He pointed me elsewhere, as Plan A had a hard winter, and wasn't doing very well at all. And those areas were Type I. Truck packed, I went to sleep, and woke up early to hit the road in the dark. A relatively uneventful trip, aside from one coffee-induced pit stop, I rolled into the first check in box slightly after sunrise. Yeah, yeah- that's late. I got it.

No check-in tickets at the first sign-in box. It seems they were all used, or possibly just taken as a deterrent to other hunters. Either way- lots of tire tracks, a long way to the next glassing knob, and no visible animals. I hit the road for Plan C.

I finally see an antelope in the hunting area, but I'm not signed in yet- a lone doe runs across the road in front of my truck, apparently straight at another hunter that was parked just around the knob. Great- this is looking just as bad as my first hunt of the year.

I make it to the box, sign in, and stop to talk to another hunter glassing from the road. He has his young kids with him, out from Anaconda or somewhere in Western MT, and his daughter's buck in the cooler. I mention where I'm headed, and he tells me he saw some back there, but it was too far to take the kids in. This was exactly my Plan C, so I wish him luck after a bit and head off. Nice guy- really hoping he can find one and take his son along on the stalk.

End of the road. Pack on, orange on, rifle on- start making tracks, trying to not skyline myself. I make it maybe a half mile in before I see my first antelope- a small herd around a water tank, way off on private. And I mean waaaaaay off. I stay put, trying to stay hidden in the taller sage brush, and keep glassing, hoping some of them will head my way. I move up and over a saddle to get a bit closer, and see two bucks- but they're all still nearly a mile off and moving. Unfortunately, the closer herd take the far ridge, which will take them even farther from the truck, and most likely stay on private. But I decide to move, wrapping around a knob to keep out of sight and make my way to the border of some state land adjacent to the BMA. At the boundary, I keep an eye out, but all the animals have decided to head way out away from this place that's been hunting for a couple weeks.



My phone rings- I have service? Nothing in sight, might as well answer. Start chatting with a friend who's in GA for work, like we normally do on weeekends, and trading opinions, with the odd joke, and lots of general BS. I start thinking how fantastic a donut and a nap sounds, standing up there in the sun on that ridge.

Then I hear barbed wire rattle, and look into the coulee below- three antelope just crossed into the BMA from private. One of them is a buck. I obviously panic, shrink down and whisper harshly into the phone for my friend to hang up. The pronghorn are all looking at me, but decide to trot off parallel instead of straight away. Once they're behind the knob I had curled around to get here, I drop back 50 yards, crouch and run to cut them off.

Here- this is the spot. Trekking poles out and looped for makeshift shooting sticks. Rifle out and loaded. Kneel. Range- 285. They're skylined, and I can't get steady for a shot. Damn. They move. Damn. Now they drop into a coulee after crossing the saddle.

Leave the pack. Sneak & run. Look through the sagebrush. They're below me. This is the shot. I sit down and get set, picking my gap in the brush, staying low, but checking that my bullet with clear the dirt. I scoot forward a bit, still sitting. Scoot some more.

They stop and look at me- they have to have seen something they don't like, but they haven't bolted. I'm trying to stay behind the sagebrush as best I can, with a 3" window between bushes I can shoot through.

It feels like minutes pass, but the does eventually move. The buck steps into my shooting lane, I make a noise to stop him, and he looks right at me.

The rifle kicks, the pronghorn rears back, then buckles forward. He runs 30 yards and lays down on his stomach. I keep the crosshairs on him, just in case. I can't believe it- it actually worked. I got my first pronghorn.

I might have been a bit overgunned for these critters- 168gr solid copper from a .308. But they shoot well from my gun, and I'm not changing. A couple pictures, and time to get to work- It was 80, and I've heard getting the meat cold is crucial. It felt pretty damn good to notch my first Montana big game tag.



I also wasn't prepared for the smell- that was a bit... "stronger" than I expected. It was mostly on the hide, so it was tolerable with nitrile gloves and the gutless method. Quarters, backstraps, rib, neck, brisket- all that was left was tenderloins. One down, no problem, one to go. I make one last cut, and I hear gas escaping. Rotten sagebrush and antelope musk hits me in the face, and I come away with the tenderloin. "And I thought they smelled bad on the outside." Great- now my gas is gonna smell like this for a couple days. Just great...

But the meat is clean, so I bag it up and free up the head. Meat in pack. Pack on back. Head in hand. Boots towards truck. God, does a nap sound good right about now...



I roll into home after dark. I'm shot from a short night and driving into the sun twice that day. I plan to let the meat age for 3 days in the cooler, so I arrange it to let the blood drain, the air move between cuts, and unfold any folded up cuts that might harbor bacteria if they stay wet. More ice bottles into the cooler from the deep freeze, and unpack the necessities from the truck. I'll swap out ice as needed to keep everything cold. I take a shower and promptly pass out for a good long while.

It turns out my shot was forward- broke both humeri and took out the aorta. But surprisingly little loss to bloodshot, given the trauma inflicted by the forward shot.



I also wasn't the cleanest doing this, as it was maybe my second time doing the gutless method, so I spent a boatload of time trimming off the fascia with a fillet knife, prepping everything for vacuum sealing. I also made sure to look for any bone or metal fragments in the meat that might damage a grinder, if I choose to go that route (I did). Found a place to grind and vacuum seal the meat for $1/lb. Cheaper than buying a grinder myself...

Halved backstraps, tenderloin, front shanks, and some trim for ground.



Hindquarters (clockwise)- rear shanks, top round, eye round, sirloins, bottom round.



One antelope, fully butchered, ready for grinding and sealing.

 

[R.K.]

General rifle season- it's what everyone in Montana waits for. Opening day. The alarm clock goes off, and I hit snooze- a small act of rebellion, as it's my weekend on at work. Hopefully everyone can get the stupidity out of their system this week, and my friends and I can have the mountain to ourselves when we make our trip in a few weeks. I need to make it through the weekend, pack my bags, and hop on a plane to the Midwest.

An early Thanksgiving, since I'm working the holiday- a covert mission to see the important family and friends, and not alert the others of my presence. Meaning my dad & I can hopefully squeeze in a few days to chase deer with a crossbow in the northern Ozarks of Missouri. Non-resident archery licenses are $225, cover two deer, two turkey, and small game- no additional license needed. Season is nearly 4 months long, and you can use a crossbow. Did I mention how easy it is to hunt in Missouri?

Just a small parcel of timber next to a river, but it's ours. Oak and hickory and small maples, with a large grove of cedars on the south face of the ridge. A small cabin near the gravel access road up front, with all the comforts of home. All perched on a sloping ridge of weathered chert and sandstone, and not much dirt at all.

The first evening finds me with a climbing stand up a red oak, on a finger ridge bucks like to travel parallel to the river. It's a good route between a grove of white oaks that had a bumper crop of acorns, and a bedding area for does. But all I see that first evening are a couple does, running through the bottom of the ravine towards the river. My dad saw a small buck while walking to his stand that evening, but nothing else but the typical parade of squirrels.



We spend a day midweek to poke around some local public land, but don't see anywhere near the sign I was hoping for. So it's back to the cabin for a bit of fishing and more hunting, stopping some bbq on the way. Gotta get that fix, since Montana isn't exactly known for BBQ.

The next morning finds me set up at the head up the ravine, a small saddle on the main ridge where several trails come together to cross the top- I set up on the downwind side of the trails, and pick a good red oak for the climber (they're usually the sturdiest trees with no low limbs). Wind in the trees, shaking leaves and stripping some to fall to the ground. Squirrels everywhere, but I'm not wasting a broadhead on one of them. Bluejays cry and jeer over acorns. I sit and watch and listen, sunlight filtering through the leaves, and everything moving through the beams of light.

A rush of splashing in the leaves- something bigger than a squirrel. Two somethings. I can't see them yet, but I shoulder the crossbow, as they'll come right in front of me. A flash of brown! A flash of... White? What the hell? It's a... dog? Two dogs? Oh, those dogs...

A local piece of property has had some... "unsavory" types move in, and they keep several mutts around, running wild and terrorizing cars, trucks, and wildlife in the general area. I'm pretty sure it's their alarm system against police or other unsavory types. This is conjecture, based on one of the tenants being sent away for murdering a woman and dumping her body in a pond (that part is not conjecture), along with other odd behavior. I'm surprised to see these mutts so far away from home, though.

The dogs run off, legally protected, despite their location and habit of running off all the deer and turkeys from an area. I decide to sit there a while, since it's so much effort to set up the climber. Pull out the phone, and pray I have cell service to kill some time. About 30 minutes later, I'm sending photos of my morning to some friends. All things considered, it's a great morning to be outside. I look up from my phone and catch movement to my right. 80 yards and quartering in- it's a small buck.

I had already decided to not wait for a big one, especially with those dogs running loose. My brother and his wife like venison, but don't want to risk any lead from the meat at that point in time (good news!). So an archery buck fit the bill.

Range a good gap in the trees- 35 yards. Shoulder the crossbow, grunt to stop the deer. The crossbow jumps, and I hear a "whack!" The deer buckles, spins, and runs off the way it came, out of sight. The sound of it running fades into the shaking leaves. No crash. Damn.

Down the tree, look for the bolt- no luck. But I do find some blood- red splashes on the leaves. Found some bubbles here and there- this was a pretty good spot on a chinquapin oak leaf, with some good looking bubbles.



Dad joins me & finds the bolt- yellow & orange fletchings don't stick out to me in the leaf litter like they do to him. The blood trail is decent, but we're keeping our eyes in front, just in case. We walk 5 yards apart, on either side of the blood trail, easing through the woods.

He suddenly stops, hand out for me to do the same. Crossbow to shoulder like he's drawing a shotgun on a quail. WHACK. I still see nothing from my angle. I take two steps to the right, and he appears from behind the line of big oaks, unmoving. Hunt over. So here's to the meat buck-



My initial shot had been off- the deer was quartering away, and the shot was high. Lethal, just not as quickly as we had pursued. But in the end, mine was not the coup de grace.

This is why you should always check your equipment- it seems that the scope was damaged, impact to the elevation turret, which was now dented in. No idea when it happened, and it's entirely my fault for not noticing during the quick judo point check on some cans. But, the deer was down, and I'm thoroughly impressed with what a crossbow can do- several broken bones, complete passthrough, and the bolt buried in the dirt. Butcher the deer, then get some family time, see some friends, and catch a boatload of fish at my old stomping grounds. I'm still a lot better at fishing than hunting.





Hop a plane back to Montana to work for the week. Some, however, weren't so thrilled to see me go.

 

[R.K.]

The following free weekend- my opening day. Months of slacking at work, studying OnX. Working out. Shooting. Aquiring the right gear. Kicking my caffeine habit. Planning with friends. Prepping meals. Convincing friends to hike up a mountain. Lying to them about the elevation. It was finally here.

We camped in the bottom of the valley, hoping to climb 1500' over two miles the next morning and look for elk and deer. We jumped some whitetail does out of the chosen campsite- a decent enough sign for me. Then we grilled elk burgers over the fire- the final few pounds of my friend's shoulder hunt last year- and went to bed. We had 3 guys over 6' tall in a 10x10 canvas tent, with gear, and a little buddy heater to knock the chill off when we were awake. It was comfortable, and I could definitely get used to this kind of camping.

Morning came too soon. Heater on to knock off the chill, then crawl out of the bags and get dressed. Coffee for the other guys. Breakfast and snacks, fill water, hit the road to the trailhead. Take too long to get everything together, toe warmers in boots, etc., and the sky is already gray to the east by the time we get moving.

Some deer tracks cross the trail on the way up, but we don't see anything in two miles. We start seeing snow patches here and there, taking a few stops for "water", but it's mostly just to suck wind. The patches turns solid underfoot, with some horse tracks having turned to ice in the trail. Almost to the top, and it levels off considerably. Some footprints head off to a small glassing knob- probably a good idea, but we decide to still hunt the flat as we move to the low ridge in front of us, then glass everything on the other side.



Moving slowly forward and scanning ahead, deer tracks are everywhere in the snow, now knee-deep in places off the trail. I'm kind of happy to be following horse hunters, as it makes for some easy walking. Buck! BUCK!

My neck nearly snaps as I turn to look at my friend bringing up the rear. He's dropped to a knee, fumbling to get to his rifle clear of his pack. His eyes dart between his work and the low ridge ahead of us. There! My other friend exclaims. I still can't see it. If he had a deer tag, I think he may have shot it then and there. A doe hops out from some low cover, stopping to stare at us. I still can't find the buck. There- movement catches my eye 100 yards past the doe, alert and trotting over a finger ridge of sight. They're a lot grayer than I thought- guess I'm still used to the brown whitetails of the Midwest.

It looks like a 3x4- not a monster, but good enough for any of our first muleys. We decide to follow the trail as it wraps around the finger ridge, keeping out the knee deep snow, and putting us in a slightly better position. Another doe pins us down from 30 yards before we can make it around and see the buck again. We spend a couple minutes half-crouched before she moves off, as well.

Around the ridge, low and quiet. Sneaking forward, large shooting lanes offer ample visibility through the trees. The buck appears on the hill above us- range is 149. "150!" I whisper at my friend, who has now taken the lead and dropped to a knee. The deer looks bigger than I first thought. The rifle cracks, and snow explodes above his back. "High! Shoot him again!" My friend turns around, gives a puzzled look, then back to the scope. "150!" I whisper again. Another shot rings out, more snow explodes behind the deer, who is now very nervous.

"High again! Shoot him again!" Exasperated, dejected, and a few other things, my friend says "You shoot him!" "No, it's your deer." "No, I'm done."

I'm not sure if that counts as having to tell me twice, but that's all it took. I didn't hesitate to grab my rifle and drop my pack in the snow. I wanted my friend to get his first mule deer and some meat in the freezer, but he lives in Bozeman- there's plenty of time.

I find a sapling to rest against, and can't help but be reminded of chasing squirrels with a .22 back in Missouri. Too many limbs, no shot- yep, just like squirrels. The deer is just standing there, staring at all the commotion below.

I move again, hoping for a better lane, but no dice. This time, I decide to wait out the deer (who still hasn't moved) instead of pressing my luck. Maybe my friend actually hit it? In that case, better anchor him. The deer steps forward, I give a low grunt and stop him. The reticle settles on the vitals, and I squeeze the trigger.

The buck drops where he stands, then starts sliding down the snowy hill. He comes to rest in a small tree about 30 yards downhill, and doesn't move. I still have the reticle on him, having reloaded while he was sliding. Gotta say, I'm really impressed with these copper bullets.

A short congratulations, complete with high fives and maybe a hug or two. "Nice shot! Where did you aim?" "Right on him- he was only 150. Didn't you hear me?" "No, I didn't." "Oh." "Oh no..." Mystery solved- my friend was aiming over the deer, thinking he was over twice as far as he was.

I was still hoping that there was a second hole in the deer as we walked up. Nope- just a single, high lung shot under the spine and well behind the shoulder- missed liver and guts, even on the exit. Perfect. I was so excited, I didn't even bother cleaning up the deer for pictures. Notice the tongue...

My first mule deer, and probably my best deer so far. Turns out, he was a 5x5, if you count eyeguards. Just really small top forks, which I didn't pick up on initially.






And now, a lesson in the gutless method for my friends that have never seen it. This is the now the... 3rd? big game animal I've done this way, and I had a job after high school at a butcher shop, so I guess I'm OK at it. But it still takes well over an hour to skin, cut, and quarter the deer. After the first half, I convince my friend with the tag to go glass for another deer- already here, and have another day to pack, so might as well try for another one.

After watching the wind in the peaks for a bit, we start thinking the deer were in this area because it was sheltered behind the ridge. Climbing the top of the ridge you can see in the photo above, this became immediately apparent. The wind blasted us in the face, and made glassing a damn near impossible for more than 5 minutes at a time. We see several does, but no bucks. Black clouds start gathering upwind from us, and we're worried enough about it that we load up and head down the mountain, without a deer for my friend with the tag. Bone-in quarters and meat later weighed out to 100# at home, and the head was another 11 pounds. Definitely glad to have friends for this- I still owe them beer for that packout.



We spent the evening in the valley, looking for a whitetail & hiding from the wind, and then the next day trying to find another buck. Nothing at all on public, aside from a truck at Every. Single. Pullout. Discouraging, to say the least.

My freezer was now full- antelope and mule deer. I kept both heads for Euro mounts at a later date, too, so the freezer was really full. I was also nearly out of time for an elk hunt, and convinced myself to not bother going, especially solo. Now, I'm kind of regretting not taking the opportunity to go, even to just get more experience doing it.

Aside from some time spent chasing ducks, that closes out my 2019 hunting season, and my first Western Big Game season.

Hope you enjoyed the stories and photos, and can forgive the long delay. I'll see if I can get a photo of the deer euro mount once I decide how to mount it, and if I want to bleach it or not.