My rifle season has been a very odd one for me. Usually November means deer only for me, with going out after elk once mine and my family's deer tags are all filled. This year I drew a limited entry elk permit for the flat side, and my plan was that would be my priority until it was filled, with deer coming later.
The elk tag ended up being a lot different than I expected, and the amount of deer in the unit was way lower than I was thinking as well. Long story short, I was going into Thanksgiving week with both tags still in my pocket. Deer hunting is easily more enjoyable for me than elk hunting, it's my main passion that gets me in the woods. I strongly debated tearing up the hard to draw elk tag and just staying home to hunt deer. I couldn't talk myself in to it though, and made the compromise that I'd hunt Wednesday and Thanksgiving morning for deer, then bag it and head East for elk.
Wednesday I went out with my brother, and I think we covered more ground than I ever have this time of year without seeing a mature buck. Lots of little guys, but nothing I could talk myself into. It all came down to Thursday morning, and I picked an old favorite spot of mine that was on the way East to my elk hunting area.
I showed up an hour or so before light, making sure I was the first guy at the gate on the old logging road. It's about a mile and a half in to where the hunting gets good, so I started up the road in the two day old powdery snow. Not a single boot track, perfect.
I got right to where I wanted at first light, and started jumping does as soon as I could see. I figured the rut would be on the downward slide, but there should still be a mature buck or two in the area sniffing around. I had made it maybe 400 yards into the good hunting, when two does took off with a buck on their backtrail. They were at 250-300 and moving, so I didn't get a great look at how big he was, but decided quickly he was big enough.
I kind of rushed the first shot, sending it over his back while he was stopped, but luckily he stopped again ~50 yards later and my shot hit perfectly. He took off running across the steep slope and then started tumbling head over heels. I watched him disappear into the abyss of downfall and brush.
As soon as my nerves calmed, I knew I was going to have a hell of a time finding this downed deer. The steepness of this country is hard to believe from pictures, but it's as steep as the stuff I shot my mountain goat in this year. I was by myself, had nothing to use as bearings for where he died, and the brush was thick enough you'd almost have to step on him to find him. Sure enough, it was miserable and stressful trying to find him. After an hour of looking, I took a break to clear my head, and noticed him laying twenty feet from me.
It was one of the most overwhelming recoveries of an animal I've had. I wasn't worried about not finding him, but something about the roller coaster season I've had just made it an emotional day. I spent a good long chunk of the morning sitting next to the intact deer thinking about things. I was across drainage from the knob I killed my first bull on five years earlier, and sitting there with that deer on such a beautiful day made me really appreciate how lucky I am. I also realized I am one heck of a deer hunter, and very possibly the world's worst elk hunter. If fish and game let me put my elk tag on a deer I'd do it every year.
I was a little bummed out that it was such a young deer, I'm pretty sure he was only a 2.5 year old buck. He had a lot of growing to do and would've been a heck of a trophy in a couple years. Oh well, his rack will go on the wall and his meat will be enjoyed.
It ended up turning into a ridiculously warm, rainy and sunny day that made for a very enjoyable sled ride back to the pickup.
I made a final run to the breaks, never got within range of a bull, and ended up seeing more mule deer bucks than I had the rest of the season over there combined, it felt right.
The elk tag ended up being a lot different than I expected, and the amount of deer in the unit was way lower than I was thinking as well. Long story short, I was going into Thanksgiving week with both tags still in my pocket. Deer hunting is easily more enjoyable for me than elk hunting, it's my main passion that gets me in the woods. I strongly debated tearing up the hard to draw elk tag and just staying home to hunt deer. I couldn't talk myself in to it though, and made the compromise that I'd hunt Wednesday and Thanksgiving morning for deer, then bag it and head East for elk.
Wednesday I went out with my brother, and I think we covered more ground than I ever have this time of year without seeing a mature buck. Lots of little guys, but nothing I could talk myself into. It all came down to Thursday morning, and I picked an old favorite spot of mine that was on the way East to my elk hunting area.
I showed up an hour or so before light, making sure I was the first guy at the gate on the old logging road. It's about a mile and a half in to where the hunting gets good, so I started up the road in the two day old powdery snow. Not a single boot track, perfect.
I got right to where I wanted at first light, and started jumping does as soon as I could see. I figured the rut would be on the downward slide, but there should still be a mature buck or two in the area sniffing around. I had made it maybe 400 yards into the good hunting, when two does took off with a buck on their backtrail. They were at 250-300 and moving, so I didn't get a great look at how big he was, but decided quickly he was big enough.
I kind of rushed the first shot, sending it over his back while he was stopped, but luckily he stopped again ~50 yards later and my shot hit perfectly. He took off running across the steep slope and then started tumbling head over heels. I watched him disappear into the abyss of downfall and brush.
As soon as my nerves calmed, I knew I was going to have a hell of a time finding this downed deer. The steepness of this country is hard to believe from pictures, but it's as steep as the stuff I shot my mountain goat in this year. I was by myself, had nothing to use as bearings for where he died, and the brush was thick enough you'd almost have to step on him to find him. Sure enough, it was miserable and stressful trying to find him. After an hour of looking, I took a break to clear my head, and noticed him laying twenty feet from me.
It was one of the most overwhelming recoveries of an animal I've had. I wasn't worried about not finding him, but something about the roller coaster season I've had just made it an emotional day. I spent a good long chunk of the morning sitting next to the intact deer thinking about things. I was across drainage from the knob I killed my first bull on five years earlier, and sitting there with that deer on such a beautiful day made me really appreciate how lucky I am. I also realized I am one heck of a deer hunter, and very possibly the world's worst elk hunter. If fish and game let me put my elk tag on a deer I'd do it every year.
I was a little bummed out that it was such a young deer, I'm pretty sure he was only a 2.5 year old buck. He had a lot of growing to do and would've been a heck of a trophy in a couple years. Oh well, his rack will go on the wall and his meat will be enjoyed.
It ended up turning into a ridiculously warm, rainy and sunny day that made for a very enjoyable sled ride back to the pickup.
I made a final run to the breaks, never got within range of a bull, and ended up seeing more mule deer bucks than I had the rest of the season over there combined, it felt right.
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