More photos from this gallery: <<PREVIOUS PHOTO | NEXT PHOTO>>

I got lucky this year and drew a Montana deer tag for the second year in a row. After finishing up the ND season with seeing nothing bigger in 4B than a 160" muley I jumped the border to finish hunting in MT before heading to Arizona on my elk hunt.

Since my dad had majorly thrown his back out a week before I had to go it alone on my second trip to this area this season. After a day of walking in some real rough country the over burden of clothing and sweat were starting to get to me once the temps had started to climb. I was slowly hunting a ridgeline of clay knobs and was getting ready to make the hike back to the truck when I did something utterly stupid. I looked back...

Through the binos I saw a buck and I could easily see his rack from about 1/2 mile away through my 8.5X binos. I hurriedly figured a way down the steep and trecherous clay and paced quicly across the grass flat using another smaller clay ridge to conceal my approach. At the base of the clay I decided my best angle would come from above where I could easily spot and ambush my prey. After slinging my rifle across my back and clumsily crawling up the steep clay surface I made it to the saddle. The buck should have been below me but by the time I climbed down, crossed the flat and climbed back up and easy half hour had passed and a hot doe had pulled him about 400-500 yards into the next grass flat and he was steadily keeping pace with her, heading the wrong direction. As I watched him disappear into a draw I sat and devised a plan how I was going to make another attempt despite the doe and small buck in my path.

About 2 minutes later as I lay on the face of the clay sidehill mustering a second wind I caught some movement in the finger draw to my right. Another buck had made an appearance and I could quickly tell he was the one to focus my attention on. He was hot on a couple does and was spinning circles not knowing which way to go. I quickly retreated down the clay knob and circled down wind using the contour and the tall grass of the flat to conceal my movement. As I approached on hands and knees I suddenly buried my knee into a cactus. After a small curse session I slowly raised to see that the buck was bedded on the other side of the draw between the two does. I quickly removed the prickly spines from my knee as best as I could and pulled my range finder. The numbers came back at 224 yards and that was close enough. By this time the buck stood up and I knew the move had to be made. I rose from the grass, took aim and squeezed. The buck lurched foward then stood still, hunched up. The does stood by confused but not completely aware of the danger. My second shot was a miss but I quickly reloaded and sent my third round on it's way. The buck ran straight down hill into the ravine as the dull whap of the bullet report touched my ears. As I approached I dug for more shells not able to spot the buck and where he had gone, all the while loading my gun while keeping a vigilant eye on the hillside. Stillness set in and all deer vanished. I made my way across the ravine and quickly spotted the buck laying in a wash-out. He was done.

As fast as I could I marked the spot with my orange vest and headed for the pickup. I knew that without a GPS on me it could be tough finding the buck once dark set in. After a fast mile and a half I drank what water I had left, found a trail and made it to within a half mile of the buck. I strapped on my pack with my butcher tools and made it back to the buck in the last inch of twilight. My orange was barely visible but it was a great mark and saved me from walking past the buck. After I deboned him and loaded him into my pack I decided to take it all in one shot. After two ravines I had to cross a fence and could not get the pack back onto my shoulders. After carrying 70 lbs up a mountain last year this pack easily could have been 90 lbs with the meat, cape and horns. I sat on the ground, mustered the strength and stood up with the pack already fastened to my back. One more ravine and I would be back to the truck.

On my drive out I felt completely satisfied with a wonderful hunting season and the outcome of a great hunt. I was out of water and probably shouldn't have celebrated with a libation when I got back to the hotel but moments like these deserve positive retribution. The next morning I woke up sicker than a dog and i've since learned that water is the best cure for dehydration and exhaustion. Three days later I finally felt somewhat normal but looking back and reflecting over the hunt, I wouldn't change one single moment of that experience.

Posted By: pigsticker
Posted On: 12/09/2011 3:10 PM