Mule Deer Season 2020
“Deep in the guts of most men is buried the involuntary response to the hunter’s horn, a prickle of the nape hairs, an acceleration of the pulse, an atavistic memory of his fathers.” — Robert Ruark
The days leading up to September are some of the longest days in my life. A restlessness churns in my chest as I count down the days. Work becomes intolerable, sleep an annoyance, and conversations turn to dribble. This irksome feeling consumes me throughout the year. I try to distract myself with archery practice and broadhead tuning to no avail. I make the mistake of watching hunting shows and reading hunting books, which only serves to stoke my fire. Cabin fever saturates every cell.
The pressure expands in my chest as each day of the calendar is crossed off. A few nights before opening day, hunting gear is sorted, packed, and rechecked. The pack gets emptied over and over. During the course of the next few days, I check in with my hunting buddies. The best of us has already been in the field for a week, scouting out prime locations. We utilize an Instagram group chat to share pictures of bucks, discuss meeting locations, and our plans for opening day.
Finally, the day before opening has arrived. Bosses have received excuses, the wife has received her kisses. My anticipation explodes into the gas pedal in a mad dash for the sage hills of mule deer country.
This year is the first time I have been hunting in this location. In all honesty, this is the first time I have been bow hunting, outside of turkey, in over 15 years. One of the hardest parts of hunting is finding a location with animals. It takes an untold amount of time to scout out a location. Limited knowledge about the habitat of the animals and available time to conduct scouting in the off season has hurt me in past seasons. Every season, I would find a piece of public land and walk the land, hoping to get lucky. Connecting with a group of veteran hunters has led to a substantial increase in my success rate. Their shared hunting knowledge and experience has greatly contributed to my ability to hunt deer. I have accrued a lot of hours “Still Hunting” and “Ambush Hunting” deer through the rainforests of the PNW, but “Spot and Stalk Hunting” in open, rolling hills was not a tool in my quiver. I have watched a hours of YouTube videos, listened to countless podcasts, but those are poor substitutes for hard earned experience. When you lack experience, find a good hunting partner(s) and learn as much as you can. I had been searching for a hunting partner for a long time, but it wasn’t until Hipster Jesus walked into my corporate gig that I had found a group of guys that enjoys hunting as much as I do. (See my article Cubicle to Creation)
With a few hours until sunset, I pulled down a dusty road gravel road that wound down into the river base. My buddies had dropped a pin on the OnX Hunt app to meet up. The location was at a dead end dirt road. The guys popped cold ones as we waited for the rest of the dead end to fill with dusty trucks. With a couple hours before sunset, we had all gathered. The guys paired off and made plans to hit their separate locations. I was a little prideful and didn’t ask to join anyone. We made sure we were on the same frequencies on our radios, shared our locations with where we were going, and dispersed.
Following the coordinates on my OnX, I took my wife’s once white jeep down another dusty road. Finding good pullout, I strapped my pack on, grabbed my bow, and began the long uphill walk through thick sage brush and rim rock. On top of a plateau there is a 40-yard bowl that dips slightly out of the wind. Just above the bowl, there is a wind buffeted precipice looming over rolling hills, a winding creek, and sky lit on fire by the setting sun. Tucking myself into the hill I glassed the hillsides and the valley looking for a Mule deer walking out for its evening dinner. Focusing on a spot with bright neon grass, a nice 4-point deer suddenly appeared. I watched him as the sun dipped towards the horizon. He slowly fed into the dying dusk. With just enough daylight left, I snuck back into my bowl to setup camp. With the sleeping bag shoved into the bivy sack, I lit up my Jetboil to prep my Mountain House MRE. Breakfast for dinner is how I run when I hunt. After a full stomach, I snuggled up into my sleeping system and tried to close my eyes as I obsessed over the 4-point deer that I watched mere minutes ago. Just as my eyes began to close, a lone coyote howls in the distance.
Only minutes later another one yips closer to my camp. Soon it is followed by 12 other coyotes slowly moving towards my safety bowl. This is the first time I have ever camped by myself, and a cold chill is now running my spine. Hours go by with coyotes surrounding my bowl. Slowly reaching into my pack, I pulled out my pistol. All night I lay awake, waiting for the mangy mutts to attack. With an hour before first light, the dogs moved off. After a nerve racking night, it was a relief to get up and begin my vigil on the precipice. After hours of watching the neon grass, I concluded that the deer was not making a reappearance. I decide to move locations. As I walked around the hilltop, 100 yards away from where I was camped, a couple of 3-point deer jumped out of their beds. I quickly dropped my pack, loaded an arrow, and snuck up to the hillside where they walked off. About 60 yards away, they had stopped and were looking back at me. I slowly raised my bow, drew back, and let my pins settle on the bigger buck’s vitals. I pulled the trigger on my release, and the arrow went sailing over its back. They quickly bounded away. I forgot to cut the distance due to the steep angle of the hill. I should have aimed for the deer at 30 yards. The deer started circling, and I could see their intended path. I quickly grabbed my gear and sprinted across the hilltop to cut them off.
Setting up in a rock outcropping, I patiently waited for them to come by. On their meandering path, they had picked up a couple of does. The does walked up a draw, 10 yards away from my location. My heart was beating out of my chest as I anticipated the bucks following. The minutes ticked by. Just as those bucks were due, a road hunter drove by. They stopped and glassed the area where the deer were at. They then proceeded to park next to my vehicle and slam their doors as they quickly moved to intercept the deer. They walked up and across the ridgeline, sky lining themselves. The deer changed their course and bounded away. I was furious with the hunters. Their inconsiderate and lazy hunting had caused my opportunity to vanish. No deer for me the first day, but it was an amazing adventure. After texting my hunting partners, “Carbon in the air” I hiked out to meet them. We all decided to head back to the same location the next night to see if we could turn those deer up again. Our trip back was doomed from the beginning.
One of the guys in the group had been drinking heavily and on the hike in, he passed out. He fell down, pulled his burlap sack out of his pack and covered himself for a nap. While the rest of our group carried on hiking to the bowl, one of my buddies ran him back into town. By the time we got camp setup, dark had already settled, and we tucked in for a good night of sleep with a lot less harassment from coyotes. The next day we didn’t see any legal bucks despite covering lots of ground. After a slow day of hunting, we regrouped in town and came up with a new plan.
First, we all made a trip down to a river to take a bath, there is nothing like a group a grown men in their underwear laughing, splashing, and lathering up with soap. (No wives/girl friends were betrayed in the making of this hunting trip)
Over the course of the next few days, we saw a few bucks but only one of us sealed the deal. As one of my buddies was driving out to his hunting spot, a nice 4-point buck stepped out with mere minutes before dark. Randomly, he called a buddy and asked what he should do. “Shoot It”, the guy on the phone shouted. He killed the deer with an excellent shot.
The next day I was able to partner up with my friend Arye, and we sat on a hillside glassing for deer. Early into the morning I spotted a nice buck. We glassed him for a while but lost him in the sage and the rolling hills. We relocated positions and found him again. Hiding in an outcropping of rocks, we waited for him and his dink buddy to bed for their second time. It was about 11 am, and sun was already beating down at 85 degrees. We had to move quickly because other hunters were moving in on our location. We found a shrub tree, 200 yards away, took our packs and boots off, and began stalking in. I mimicked every move my buddy was making. After crawling, bending, and kneeling over 150 yards, we setup behind a nob where we thought the deer were bedded. Looking under the tree they were supposed to be bedded under, we saw empty beds. 500 yards away the other hunters were casually walking across the open. Again, I was furious. As I was raving to Arye about how inconsiderate they were, he quietly pointed out that we had snuck into the wrong location and the deer were sitting under a tree 75 yards away.
I was slightly exposed, while Arye was hidden perfectly behind tall grass. He crawled into 40 yards. Making hand gestures, I told him that I was going to backtrack and come up behind the deer, using the curve of the hill to hide my approach. I snuck into 60 yards but couldn’t get an angle. I crept into 40 yards, then 30 yards, yet still couldn’t shoot them in their bed. Finally, I crept into 20 yards and sat on a rock to wait for them to stand. The sun was scorching, and my buddy was over in the grass sipping on his water. I forgot to bring my water, and my tongue was clinging to the roof of my mouth. My head was beginning to swim and knew I had to make something happen. I signaled that I was going to stand the deer up. Loudly, I bleated at the deer. The dink immediately stood up and bolted. The legal buck stood and looked in my location. I was already drawn and as soon as his head turned, I took the opportunity. The shot broke perfect. As the deer ran off, I glassed him up and saw my arrow sticking out the other side of him through his vitals. At 90 yards his hind legs dropped then he jumped up and ran off into gnarled trees. We decided to hike out, grab the game cart, and come back to get him. We followed his blood trail for hours in the sun. We could not find him. We spent hours looking for him in the sun, causing me a heat stroke. It was not meant to be.
Dejected and heart broken, we plodded back to the truck. To this day, I am convinced that those other hunters took the deer, but my friend doesn’t agree. Recapping later that night with Arye, he pointed out that I should have waited for the buck to stand up naturally. He said that if we had waited, the buck would have stood up broadside to him, giving him a perfect shot. I not only lost a deer, but I had ruined an opportunity for my friend. To this day I feel horrible about that stalk.
After taking a day or two off, I went back to the field with my buddy Dallas who had already notched his tag. After recounting the loss of the deer, he told me that next time I can’t pressure the deer to stand. I must sit and “Sizzle like bacon” waiting for the deer to naturally stand. With his words in my head, we headed back into the field. We found a few legal bucks but no opportunity to approach them. At one point we spooked a herd of deer, and I sprinted to cut off the herd from running onto private land. We watched them for hours as they grazed. After dropping into a very deep gully and cresting on the other side, we lost them. We spent an hour trying to turn them up. Dallas circled behind a group of trees to push deer towards me, and I waited quietly for something to move.
After what felt like an eternity, Dallas popped out of the trees with his hands over his head, mouthing, “BIG BUCK.” I snuck into his location in a group of trees and saw the buck bedded at the edge of a tree line. Taking my boots off, I made a big circle to approach the bedded buck. The stalk was long and a couple times I was dropped by cactus stabbing through my socks. Thinking the buck was bedded 20 yards into the tree line, I snuck into 5 yards of trees. Looking up, I could see the deer right at the edge, 5 yards away. I froze and waited for the deer to go back to sleep. Inch by inch I snuck behind a brush, re-approached the deer to get an angle broadside. At 15 yards, I sat behind tall grass and began to sizzle like bacon. After 30 minutes of waiting and does walking by at 3 yards, the buck stood up and began feeding. With a 4-foot window through the brush, I drew back and released the arrow, a perfect shot. The woods exploded with deer running everywhere. The wounded deer, with head hanging, walked out of the trees at 50 yards. I put another shot in him. He jumped and disappeared into a small grouping of trees. I walked over to where he was bedded to find my first arrow. Looking up through the trees, I could see Dallas lift his hands, asking what happened. I looked down and saw my arrow covered in blood. After giving a solid Tiger Woods’ fist pump, my buddy came over. I relayed to him the stalk and after waiting for a small period, we began the search for the buck. Within 60 yards, we found the deer piled up. I DID IT! My first deer with a bow was down. After a few soul crushing days, I was now riding an incredible high. From that moment, I have been hooked with Mule Deer hunting.
With this adventure cemented permanently in my memories, my passion for hunting has grown into a full-blown addiction. Each and every year, I look forward to the day I can get back out in the field to chase these majestic animals. The older I get, the more I value each of these experiences and realize that one day my body will not be able to keep up with passion burning in my chest. I dread the day my body quits before my obsession does.
By Travis Tweet
The American Bowman Chronicles 