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Bitterroot Mule Deer 261/270

cmartynn said:
Darn Atlas, giving it away! Well here is the highly anticipated story..... enjoy!



Once in a blue moon, fate grants a hunter like me a golden opportunity—a limited-entry mule deer tag in Unit 261, home to some of the biggest bucks in the country. When I drew that tag, I felt like I’d hit the jackpot. This was my chance to finally bag the mule deer of my dreams, the kind with antlers that stretch to the heavens. I was confident, prepared, and ready to make it happen.

Or so I thought.

On the first morning, I headed out before dawn. My rifle was spotless, my pack was stocked, and I was sure nothing could go wrong. Just as the sun lit up the ridge, I saw him—a massive buck standing out in the open meadow. He was the kind of deer you see in magazines, a true giant. My heart was pounding as I raised my rifle, took aim, and squeezed the trigger.

Click.

I opened the chamber and stared in disbelief. I’d left my ammo back at camp. The buck, hearing the noise, stared at me for a second with a look that said, Really, dude? Then he bounded off into the timber, and I was left standing there like a fool.

The next day, I wasn’t going to let anything stop me. I triple-checked that I had ammo and set out again, this time heading up into the high country where the big bucks liked to bed. While climbing a steep slope, I dislodged a loose rock. That rock started rolling, and before I knew it, I was tumbling down the hill like a human avalanche. My pack flew off, my rifle went one way, and I went the other. When I finally came to a stop, bruised and covered in dust, I looked up and saw two bucks standing on the ridge above me. They were incredible—massive antlers, perfect symmetry. They stared at me like I was some kind of idiot before trotting off into the distance.

By the third day, I decided to get smart. I found a watering hole and set up in a good spot downwind. I sat for hours, perfectly still, until finally, a buck came into view. He was a real brute, gray-faced and wide-racked, the kind of deer you dream about. I adjusted for the shot, but in doing so, I knocked over my thermos. Coffee spilled everywhere, and the smell carried right to the deer. He froze, snorted, and then bolted before I could even shoulder my rifle.

This pattern continued for weeks. I spooked deer by stepping on twigs, sneezing at the worst moments, and once by getting my pants caught on a barbed-wire fence. Every day, I was more desperate, and every day, something new went wrong.

Finally, nearing the end of the season, I spotted a buck. He wasn’t anything like the monsters I’d been chasing. This guy was a puny, forked-horn buck with a dull, scraggly coat. I looked at him, sighed, and decided I wasn’t going home empty-handed. I steadied my rifle, took a deep breath, and made the shot. He went down, and I walked up to him, staring at my so-called "trophy."

To say I was disappointed would be an understatement. After all the effort, the scrapes, the bruises, and the embarrassment, this was the buck I ended up with? I couldn’t even bear the thought of taking it home. Instead, I loaded the little guy into my truck, drove straight to the Poverello Center in Missoula, and dropped him off. I figured the unhoused could roast him over their illegal campfires, even if there was a good chance he had CWD. At least someone would get something out of it, even if it wasn’t me.
Click to expand...
WTH?
There’s so much wrong with this. I normally try to have an open mind about what other hunters do and how they view their animals but you just don’t get it. Time for you to take up something else and quit shooting animals (I’m not even going to call it hunting).
 
cmartynn said:
Darn Atlas, giving it away! Well here is the highly anticipated story..... enjoy!



Once in a blue moon, fate grants a hunter like me a golden opportunity—a limited-entry mule deer tag in Unit 261, home to some of the biggest bucks in the country. When I drew that tag, I felt like I’d hit the jackpot. This was my chance to finally bag the mule deer of my dreams, the kind with antlers that stretch to the heavens. I was confident, prepared, and ready to make it happen.

Or so I thought.

On the first morning, I headed out before dawn. My rifle was spotless, my pack was stocked, and I was sure nothing could go wrong. Just as the sun lit up the ridge, I saw him—a massive buck standing out in the open meadow. He was the kind of deer you see in magazines, a true giant. My heart was pounding as I raised my rifle, took aim, and squeezed the trigger.

Click.

I opened the chamber and stared in disbelief. I’d left my ammo back at camp. The buck, hearing the noise, stared at me for a second with a look that said, Really, dude? Then he bounded off into the timber, and I was left standing there like a fool.

The next day, I wasn’t going to let anything stop me. I triple-checked that I had ammo and set out again, this time heading up into the high country where the big bucks liked to bed. While climbing a steep slope, I dislodged a loose rock. That rock started rolling, and before I knew it, I was tumbling down the hill like a human avalanche. My pack flew off, my rifle went one way, and I went the other. When I finally came to a stop, bruised and covered in dust, I looked up and saw two bucks standing on the ridge above me. They were incredible—massive antlers, perfect symmetry. They stared at me like I was some kind of idiot before trotting off into the distance.

By the third day, I decided to get smart. I found a watering hole and set up in a good spot downwind. I sat for hours, perfectly still, until finally, a buck came into view. He was a real brute, gray-faced and wide-racked, the kind of deer you dream about. I adjusted for the shot, but in doing so, I knocked over my thermos. Coffee spilled everywhere, and the smell carried right to the deer. He froze, snorted, and then bolted before I could even shoulder my rifle.

This pattern continued for weeks. I spooked deer by stepping on twigs, sneezing at the worst moments, and once by getting my pants caught on a barbed-wire fence. Every day, I was more desperate, and every day, something new went wrong.

Finally, nearing the end of the season, I spotted a buck. He wasn’t anything like the monsters I’d been chasing. This guy was a puny, forked-horn buck with a dull, scraggly coat. I looked at him, sighed, and decided I wasn’t going home empty-handed. I steadied my rifle, took a deep breath, and made the shot. He went down, and I walked up to him, staring at my so-called "trophy."

To say I was disappointed would be an understatement. After all the effort, the scrapes, the bruises, and the embarrassment, this was the buck I ended up with? I couldn’t even bear the thought of taking it home. Instead, I loaded the little guy into my truck, drove straight to the Poverello Center in Missoula, and dropped him off. I figured the unhoused could roast him over their illegal campfires, even if there was a good chance he had CWD. At least someone would get something out of it, even if it wasn’t me.
Click to expand...
I call AI on that chit 😂
 
Awesome hunt! Congratulations on the experience of a lifetime and on giving the less fortunate some premium neck roasts…😀

There’s been a few chain jerkers of hunting stories this week. I’m going to have to invest in some internet salt shakers.
 
Gerald Martin said:
Awesome hunt! Congratulations on the experience of a lifetime and on giving the less fortunate some premium neck roasts…😀

There’s been a few chain jerkers of hunting stories this week. I’m going to have to invest in some internet salt shakers.
Click to expand...
This guy gets it. Others not so much
 
I hope everyone got a little laugh from the story. If it wasn’t obvious enough, it’s fictional. It took about 5 minutes of AI and some creativity to produce lol

Anyways @atlas is a good friend of mine and was just messing with me so I thought I’d go along with it.

Since we are all here now here is my actual buck! More pictures to come! About halfway through with the nonfictional write up.

And oh that big test I had yesterday was the NREMT Paramedic exam and I passed! So nobody injury themselves in Ravalli county or your liable to have me show up to rescue you lol
 

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You jackass!!! 😂
I’m way too cynical (and gullible). I thought you were for real. Got my texting thumb all twitchy and pissed.
cmartynn said:
I hope everyone got a little laugh from the story. If it wasn’t obvious enough, it’s fictional. It took about 5 minutes of AI and some creativity to produce lol

Anyways @atlas is a good friend of mine and was just messing with me so I thought I’d go along with it.

Since we are all here now here is my actual buck! More pictures to come! About halfway through with the nonfictional write up.

And oh that big test I had yesterday was the NREMT Paramedic exam and I passed! So nobody injury themselves in Ravalli county or your liable to have me show up to rescue you lol
Click to expand...
You jackass!!! 😂
I’m way too cynical (and gullible). I thought you were for real. Got my texting thumb all twitchy and pissed.
 
It was obviously a spoof when the fork horn had 3 points...that only works on the giant fork horn thread.
 
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