I can remember the moment like it was yesterday. I was hunting the cedar sprinkled mountains of North West Colorado in mid-October of 1993. I was 14 years old and standing over my first mule deer buck. It was a 3x3 that had an outside spread of 19 ¾”. I don’t have to re-measure the mount that hangs in my garage to verify that; I remember everything about that deer and that hunt. It was the first time I felt like a hunter after years of watching my Grandpa and Dad harvest their mule deer bucks. It was a validation in my eyes that I belonged. I was an equal to them in some way.
Fast forward to 2019 in western Idaho. This hunt was beginning to cause some of stress for myself and my dad. We are often together this time of year in western Idaho or another state searching for mule deer, however this year’s hunt held a little more significance than most. My 12 year old son Kaleb had his first mule deer buck tag in his pocket and Dad and Grandpa were struggling a bit in finding him a deer. Just before sunset on day 3 we finally found a couple bucks that were worth pursuing. We watched them feed until dark and hoped that in the early morning light of the following day, they would still be there.
As the first rays of sunlight trespassed on day 4, we were back in the same spot from the previous night. Just as we had hoped, the group of 8 deer were still in the area. We watched them feed for the next couple of hours and waited for them to bed down for the day. My dad and I formulated a plan on how to get close to them after they bedded. The plan was quite simple really, keep the wind in our face and hike over there. The not so simple part was that in Idaho “hiking over there” often proves challenging. The easiest way to describe Idaho terrain to people who haven’t hunted there is this. There is no flat ground in Idaho. We had to drop about 600’ of vertical elevation, gain another 700’ and that should put us about 300-400 yards from the deer.
We began our accent up the 700’ slope with the hopes that the deer had not moved on during our stalk. Kaleb dis great on the approach. No complaints, and no issues other than a couple conversations about walking quietly. (It’s funny to me now thinking how often my Dad and Grandpa used to tell me the same thing as a kid. My grandpa used to say that I sounded like a bull in a china shop). Anyhow, we reach our pre-designated rock pile and drop our packs. The deer had in fact moved, however they moved closer to us which made our current location perfect. It was time to get into position for a shot. I belly crawl through the low sage the 15 yards necessary to reach the end of the knoll for a clear shot. I use my rangefinder to get a distance on the 2 bucks that are now directly in from of me at 320 yards. There is no way to get any closer, so I signal for Kaleb to now do the same. He makes the same style of approach and ends up by my side. He gets in behind the scope and begins to try and locate his target.
“Buck fever; nervousness felt by novice hunters when they first sight game”. I’ve had it, and quite honestly, I still get it even after harvesting quite a few animals. It’s an affliction that for whatever reason gives you the ability to find every other living creature in your scope; except for the one you are looking for. Now Kaleb, like thousands of hunters before him, has caught a small portion of this disease. I talk to him quietly and calmly and he finally settles in on his target and gets his emotions under control. I tell him to wait for the bigger buck to turn broadside, wait for the doe’s behind him to clear and slowly squeeze the trigger. “Should I shoot now”? “Wait for that doe to take one more step, wait, wait, ok shoot him when…… BOOM. “did I hit him dad?” First shot is sent and immediately we know the buck is hit in the front leg/shoulder area. The 7 other deer scatter and the wounded buck gathers up with them. He’s at 360 yards now. Kaleb finds him again and sends round number 2. Clean miss just over his back. This time the deer move further away, and the wounded buck stops again at 500 yards. Kaleb is frustrated and upset over the miss; the deer is obviously hurt but he doesn’t feel comfortable shooting at this range. He tells me to shoot him and put him down. I get in behind the rifle, adjust my turret and send a round towards the wounded buck. No buck fever, no emotion, just a get the job done mentality. Bullet ends up closer to my house than the deer. (No idea where that shot went). Deer are now quickly moving out of the area, but we keep an eye on them.
Now we are both upset. Kaleb is at an all-time low. Feeling terrible about his first shot placement, and I may feel even worse. I have been hitting target’s consistently well past 500 yards but in this particular instance, I don’t get it done. We watch the deer travel across the canyon and head into a pile of brush. All 8 deer enter it in a single file line, and we know they cannot leave that spot without us seeing them. This is where experience comes into play. My Dad tells us that he is going to circumvent this huge basin, get the wind behind him and flush these deer out. Kaleb and I are going to drop some elevation and get into a position directly across the canyon from where these deer have now presumably bedded down. In my head it’s a long shot, but grandpa separates from us quickly without giving me much time to contemplate.
About 90 minutes later my dad has finally made his way completely around the basin and is now about to drop into the targeted brush pile below him. During that time 7 of the 8 deer have moved out. The wounded buck is still in there as far as we can tell. Kaleb is now laying prone behind the rifle and we have gone over all the escape routes as well as the respective yardages of several placemarks in the landscape. As my dad descends further down the canyon, the anticipation is building. Surely this buck will move soon, surely, he can smell that human above him, but in fact the answer is still no. My dad is now at the exact spot where the other 7 deer came out of. He has thrown rocks, raked the brush and even called me on the radio to discuss his positioning; still no buck. He takes a few mores steps and all we hear is “Here he comes” echoing across the canyon.
I have been telling Kaleb the entire time to stay focused while laying behind the rifle because If this happens, it will happen fast. He has been doing exactly that and is ready when the buck bounds out of his bed. There is no buck fever this time. He is calm and under control. He locates the buck in his scope immediately and gives him one warning shot just to make sure he knows we mean business this time. After the first shot goes wide, the buck picks up the pace a little bit, but is not running. The buck is paralleling across the canyon from us at 350 yards. I ask Kaleb if he is back on him and when he acknowledges, I tell him I’m going to make him stop. I put down my binoculars and whistle with my fingers as loud as I can. The buck stops; and I tell Kaleb “shoot him now”. The rifle erupts and the buck collapses in its tracks. I will never forget the look of raw emotion on my son’s face at that moment. The scream he let out in that un-named Idaho canyon after the buck fell will be something I remember forever. There are a lot of emotions you feel as a hunter in those first few moments. You feel accomplishment no doubt, but you also have a great deal of respect for the fact that you have taken another living creatures’ life. You truly can’t explain that feeling to someone who hasn’t been in that position. Kaleb could feel it, and it seemed fitting to me that he could only express it with an almost primal scream in those immediate seconds after he pulled the trigger for the final time.
We gave each other celebratory high fives and I give him a bear hug as those immediate emotions began to wear off. I get my dad on the radio and direct him over to where the buck has fallen. He makes his way across the hillside and points down to the brush about 10’ below him. He sits down and waits for us to make our way across the canyon and get to him. I haven’t talked to him about it, but I know that those 25 minutes he sat there waiting for us, are probably some of the proudest minutes of his hunting career. Watching his grandson approach his first mule deer; (an animal that he has spent the last 45 years pursuing) was a big deal. To be honest I can’t say I would have walked around that huge basin and did what he did. Not because of the effort, but more to lack of experience. He knew that buck would hold tight to cover. (The wounded buck waited until he was 15’ away before he busted out of his bed). He knew which direction that buck would run with the wind conditions and the terrain. He knew where we should set up across the canyon in order to be in a good position. He was right about everything that transpired, and he was right almost 90 minutes before it all happened.
We caped the buck out, boned out the meat and made up our packs for the hike out. Meat only in my pack and my dad’s, hide and horns for Kaleb in his. My dad led the way out, Kaleb was in the middle, and I brought up the rear. I wanted to have a full view and appreciation for the scene in front of me. I know how fortunate I have been having spent so many years hunting with my Grandpa and Dad. Watching, learning and experiencing the outdoors in a way that most people won’t. Now, my son was getting the opportunity to do the same. Seeing Kaleb hike out with the deer on his back, I couldn’t help but reminisce about a scene some 26 years prior. I was hiking out of a similar canyon in Colorado with my first buck; my Dad and Grandpa were right there with me as well. I stopped Kaleb about halfway up the mountain to take a picture of him, the look on his face and his posture told me something I already knew. He was experiencing that same sense of belonging and that same sense of validation that I had felt nearly two and a half decades before. We reached the top just before the sun disappeared behind the mountains. As we dropped our packs Kaleb finally says. “I can’t believe that just happened, I did it!”. My dad and I just looked at each other and smiled.
.
Fast forward to 2019 in western Idaho. This hunt was beginning to cause some of stress for myself and my dad. We are often together this time of year in western Idaho or another state searching for mule deer, however this year’s hunt held a little more significance than most. My 12 year old son Kaleb had his first mule deer buck tag in his pocket and Dad and Grandpa were struggling a bit in finding him a deer. Just before sunset on day 3 we finally found a couple bucks that were worth pursuing. We watched them feed until dark and hoped that in the early morning light of the following day, they would still be there.
As the first rays of sunlight trespassed on day 4, we were back in the same spot from the previous night. Just as we had hoped, the group of 8 deer were still in the area. We watched them feed for the next couple of hours and waited for them to bed down for the day. My dad and I formulated a plan on how to get close to them after they bedded. The plan was quite simple really, keep the wind in our face and hike over there. The not so simple part was that in Idaho “hiking over there” often proves challenging. The easiest way to describe Idaho terrain to people who haven’t hunted there is this. There is no flat ground in Idaho. We had to drop about 600’ of vertical elevation, gain another 700’ and that should put us about 300-400 yards from the deer.
We began our accent up the 700’ slope with the hopes that the deer had not moved on during our stalk. Kaleb dis great on the approach. No complaints, and no issues other than a couple conversations about walking quietly. (It’s funny to me now thinking how often my Dad and Grandpa used to tell me the same thing as a kid. My grandpa used to say that I sounded like a bull in a china shop). Anyhow, we reach our pre-designated rock pile and drop our packs. The deer had in fact moved, however they moved closer to us which made our current location perfect. It was time to get into position for a shot. I belly crawl through the low sage the 15 yards necessary to reach the end of the knoll for a clear shot. I use my rangefinder to get a distance on the 2 bucks that are now directly in from of me at 320 yards. There is no way to get any closer, so I signal for Kaleb to now do the same. He makes the same style of approach and ends up by my side. He gets in behind the scope and begins to try and locate his target.
“Buck fever; nervousness felt by novice hunters when they first sight game”. I’ve had it, and quite honestly, I still get it even after harvesting quite a few animals. It’s an affliction that for whatever reason gives you the ability to find every other living creature in your scope; except for the one you are looking for. Now Kaleb, like thousands of hunters before him, has caught a small portion of this disease. I talk to him quietly and calmly and he finally settles in on his target and gets his emotions under control. I tell him to wait for the bigger buck to turn broadside, wait for the doe’s behind him to clear and slowly squeeze the trigger. “Should I shoot now”? “Wait for that doe to take one more step, wait, wait, ok shoot him when…… BOOM. “did I hit him dad?” First shot is sent and immediately we know the buck is hit in the front leg/shoulder area. The 7 other deer scatter and the wounded buck gathers up with them. He’s at 360 yards now. Kaleb finds him again and sends round number 2. Clean miss just over his back. This time the deer move further away, and the wounded buck stops again at 500 yards. Kaleb is frustrated and upset over the miss; the deer is obviously hurt but he doesn’t feel comfortable shooting at this range. He tells me to shoot him and put him down. I get in behind the rifle, adjust my turret and send a round towards the wounded buck. No buck fever, no emotion, just a get the job done mentality. Bullet ends up closer to my house than the deer. (No idea where that shot went). Deer are now quickly moving out of the area, but we keep an eye on them.
Now we are both upset. Kaleb is at an all-time low. Feeling terrible about his first shot placement, and I may feel even worse. I have been hitting target’s consistently well past 500 yards but in this particular instance, I don’t get it done. We watch the deer travel across the canyon and head into a pile of brush. All 8 deer enter it in a single file line, and we know they cannot leave that spot without us seeing them. This is where experience comes into play. My Dad tells us that he is going to circumvent this huge basin, get the wind behind him and flush these deer out. Kaleb and I are going to drop some elevation and get into a position directly across the canyon from where these deer have now presumably bedded down. In my head it’s a long shot, but grandpa separates from us quickly without giving me much time to contemplate.
About 90 minutes later my dad has finally made his way completely around the basin and is now about to drop into the targeted brush pile below him. During that time 7 of the 8 deer have moved out. The wounded buck is still in there as far as we can tell. Kaleb is now laying prone behind the rifle and we have gone over all the escape routes as well as the respective yardages of several placemarks in the landscape. As my dad descends further down the canyon, the anticipation is building. Surely this buck will move soon, surely, he can smell that human above him, but in fact the answer is still no. My dad is now at the exact spot where the other 7 deer came out of. He has thrown rocks, raked the brush and even called me on the radio to discuss his positioning; still no buck. He takes a few mores steps and all we hear is “Here he comes” echoing across the canyon.
I have been telling Kaleb the entire time to stay focused while laying behind the rifle because If this happens, it will happen fast. He has been doing exactly that and is ready when the buck bounds out of his bed. There is no buck fever this time. He is calm and under control. He locates the buck in his scope immediately and gives him one warning shot just to make sure he knows we mean business this time. After the first shot goes wide, the buck picks up the pace a little bit, but is not running. The buck is paralleling across the canyon from us at 350 yards. I ask Kaleb if he is back on him and when he acknowledges, I tell him I’m going to make him stop. I put down my binoculars and whistle with my fingers as loud as I can. The buck stops; and I tell Kaleb “shoot him now”. The rifle erupts and the buck collapses in its tracks. I will never forget the look of raw emotion on my son’s face at that moment. The scream he let out in that un-named Idaho canyon after the buck fell will be something I remember forever. There are a lot of emotions you feel as a hunter in those first few moments. You feel accomplishment no doubt, but you also have a great deal of respect for the fact that you have taken another living creatures’ life. You truly can’t explain that feeling to someone who hasn’t been in that position. Kaleb could feel it, and it seemed fitting to me that he could only express it with an almost primal scream in those immediate seconds after he pulled the trigger for the final time.
We gave each other celebratory high fives and I give him a bear hug as those immediate emotions began to wear off. I get my dad on the radio and direct him over to where the buck has fallen. He makes his way across the hillside and points down to the brush about 10’ below him. He sits down and waits for us to make our way across the canyon and get to him. I haven’t talked to him about it, but I know that those 25 minutes he sat there waiting for us, are probably some of the proudest minutes of his hunting career. Watching his grandson approach his first mule deer; (an animal that he has spent the last 45 years pursuing) was a big deal. To be honest I can’t say I would have walked around that huge basin and did what he did. Not because of the effort, but more to lack of experience. He knew that buck would hold tight to cover. (The wounded buck waited until he was 15’ away before he busted out of his bed). He knew which direction that buck would run with the wind conditions and the terrain. He knew where we should set up across the canyon in order to be in a good position. He was right about everything that transpired, and he was right almost 90 minutes before it all happened.
We caped the buck out, boned out the meat and made up our packs for the hike out. Meat only in my pack and my dad’s, hide and horns for Kaleb in his. My dad led the way out, Kaleb was in the middle, and I brought up the rear. I wanted to have a full view and appreciation for the scene in front of me. I know how fortunate I have been having spent so many years hunting with my Grandpa and Dad. Watching, learning and experiencing the outdoors in a way that most people won’t. Now, my son was getting the opportunity to do the same. Seeing Kaleb hike out with the deer on his back, I couldn’t help but reminisce about a scene some 26 years prior. I was hiking out of a similar canyon in Colorado with my first buck; my Dad and Grandpa were right there with me as well. I stopped Kaleb about halfway up the mountain to take a picture of him, the look on his face and his posture told me something I already knew. He was experiencing that same sense of belonging and that same sense of validation that I had felt nearly two and a half decades before. We reached the top just before the sun disappeared behind the mountains. As we dropped our packs Kaleb finally says. “I can’t believe that just happened, I did it!”. My dad and I just looked at each other and smiled.
.
Last edited by a moderator:
