Warning: This is ridiculously long and contains a ton of photos. It is probably not for the faint of heart. Hell, it's probably only for me. You've been warned.
Thursday-Friday – Anticipation
We actually jumped in the truck around 7pm on Wednesday evening to make the 10 hour drive to Golden where we’d be meeting our friend and crashing on his floor for a few hours before we headed up the mountain. All together there were 3 of us, 1 Colorado native – a rifle hunter, new to the archery game; and 2 Kansas whitetail hunters used to hunting from trees. After a ridiculously monstrous trip to the grocery store and a few odds and ends from Sportsman’s Warehouse we were ready to head up to altitude. I was paranoid about altitude sickness because of how bad my buddy had gotten it last time, but felt I was as prepared as I could be short of drugs. I lost 35 pounds from the beginning of the year, I’d been on an aspirin and ginkgo biloba regimen for a couple of weeks and I’d been drinking so much water that I had to pee three times a night.
On the way up the mountain we stopped in a steady rain to glass a couple of ridges and located 16 bucks on the edge of our Unit. Thankfully it was early in the season weather-wise because I was a little dismayed by some of the signage.
Then on the way up our mountain we had a close encounter with a young Shiras moose.
After arriving at our campsite (up a ridiculously narrow and rough road) we set about to making things “homey.” My Colorado buddy “Josh” had an outfitters tent and more gear than I’d ever know what to do with.
Multiple cots, tables, a propane cooktop, a wood burning stove… holy jeebus. After setting everything up we started gathering and chopping firewood and generally getting things squared away.
The camp robbers showed up almost immediately and wreaked havoc during the trip but caused no injuries that I am aware of (despite rumors to the contrary)
On Friday morning I awoke with a slight headache but nothing more. My Kansas buddy “Brian” once again had a massive case of altitude sickness. He was now 3-for-3 on that front with debilitating headaches, significant congestion, etc. He looked and seemed miserable. …so being the kind fellas that we are, we abandoned him and started scouting without him. The area we hunted is a big recreational area, so there are quite a few ATV/dirt bike trails over the major travel routes. So while we might be hunting 8-10 miles from camp, we were able to drive the 4-wheelers 6 or 7 of that, then walk 2-3 and get into position to glass various valleys, bowls, basins, etc. I got a bit of a crash course on what/where/how to glass for mountain mule deer and actually found a few on my own which made me proud and left me with a false belief that I could actually find mule deer.
Returning to camp we decided a small archery contest would determine our stalking order since there were 3 of us and we didn’t want to totally split up. We randomly tossed out a target and took 1 cold shot apiece. I shot first, ranged it at 54 yards, drew, punched the hell out of the trigger and barely even hit the block, way low right. Brian didn’t do much better and Josh, the least experienced archer, nearly hit the bullseye, earning the first stalk. After a few more arrows I realized something with my sight had been bumped and everything was shooting 6” low. A few quick tweaks and another dozen “confidence shots” and I was back in the game.
At this point we turned to fishing and I pulled out the fly rod. I had brought along a cheaper 5wt rod/reel, sort of my bang-around rod, and was a little worried it would be oversized for the small stream running down our valley. …and it probably was. But when I worked my way up a bit and found some bigger beaver ponds I was happy to have a little extra rod. As I approached the first pond I saw fish scatter in every direction and thought my day might be done. But to my surprise, despite being ridiculously spooky, the little brook trout in the pond were super aggressive. Voracious even, drawing 4-5 foot slashes for dry flies. The successful patterns were “anything with some white on it” as long as it was a size 14-18. Mosquitos, black ants, drab nymph patterns, etc. went virtually untouched while any dry with a speck of white on it would get obliterated on top, and still wailed underwater after it got water logged.
Once I figured out what they wanted, I slayed fish for a good hour, catching 40 or more. And they were massive. Okay, maybe not, but what they lacked in size, they made up for in nasty attitude.
Saturday – Opening Day
I barely slept at all Friday night, partially because I was sleeping in a tiny cot (when I usually sprawl in a king sized bed) but mostly due to the anticipation of my first velvet mule deer encounter. We hunted quite a ways from camp on opening day so got underway around 5am and by 6:15 we were on a knoll overlooking a lot of country across the valley from us. I quickly glassed and saw nothing. …I backed up to where my Colorado buddy was and asked if he’d seen anything and he said there were 11 bucks on the ridge across from us in 2 groups. I glassed again, and sure enough where I had seen nothing, there were 11 tiny little deer the size of fleas. But at least 4 of those “flea-sized” deer were shooters above 160”.
After my poor showing at the target the day before I was set up for the 3rd stalk of the trip, but lucky for me and unlucky for Brian, he was still dealing with his altitude issues so I jumped from 3rd to 2nd in the pecking order. As we were to learn over the next few days, the general routine was to get up early, find the deer, watch them like a hawk until they bedded down around 8:30 then formulate a plan to get to them without being detected. But on Day 1 we were glassing facing east and around 7:45 the sun peeked over the mountain and completely blinded us. Combine that with a low flying medi-vac helicopter and *poof* all of our deer were gone in a flash. We had no idea where they bedded and we lost them. Game over for the Opening Morning.
Chatting a bit, we decided that heading down the mountain to let Brian breathe at a lower elevation and maybe get some drugs was a good thing. After purchasing enough herbs and vitamins, as recommended by the pharmacist, to (and I quote) make his urine “a shade of neon green that I’ve never seen before” we lazed around by the local lake, eating a sandwich, taking a nap and making veiled threats about shooting some of the local goose population. Then around 2pm we headed back up the mountain to try to find the deer we lost that morning. After glassing for about an hour we caught a flash of a deer in the timber. He just stood up, stretched and plopped straight back down but it was enough for us to see where he was.
Josh, our unofficial guide, decided that it must be the group of 6 bucks from this morning so leaving Brian behind to suffer alone, Josh and I snatched up our bows and packs and headed across the valley to get above the deer.
It’s important to reiterate here that Josh is a rifle hunter, and this is where I realized that he still had the mentality of a rifle hunter. We got above the deer, began discussing our options for a stalk or ambush. We had a solid wind but not a lot of cover so we quickly agreed on more of an ambush, believing the deer would feed up out of the timber and willows and back up the slope where we had seen them in the morning. Josh wanted to sit in a small group of low pines because, “I can see for 300 yards in both directions.” A great choice for a rifle hunter, but it was 150 yards from the likely travel route for the deer with not a speck of cover to hide his movements. I opted for some low growing willows which he argued were “too close” to the deer. Ranging it, from where we thought the deer would be it turned out to be 80 yards. Not as close as I’d like in reality, but in range. After talking him into a closer hide, we set up and played the waiting game. About an hour in, I could see a deer filtering up the basin and felt I could get closer. After signaling that I was moving in I put on some stalking boots and headed downhill at a creep. 20 yards to that rock. 15 more to that pine shrub. 18 to that willow clump. 25 to the group of pines… at that point I peered around the corner and saw the deer we spotted earlier below me in the sun. I ranged him at 55 yards, let him feed up so I can get a better look. 47 yards and broadside and I realized I’d have to stand up to get a good look at his rack. I drew as I stood up, stepped out slightly and was ready to fly. …but when I saw his rack, while good, I knew it wasn’t what I’d come to Colorado to shoot. A nice solid 3x3. Tall, but narrow. In my mind I picture 30” wide muleys as the holy grail. This guy was maybe 18” wide. So I let down my bow, and in doing so I got busted. He never knew exactly what it was, but he didn’t like it and moved downhill.
Day 1 and I had passed on a deer. When I explained to Josh that I passed he seemed confused but excited saying, “there are a lot bigger deer out here.” …always the optimist.
Unbeknownst to me, Mr. Sickness had woken up from his daze, grabbed a spotting scope and watched the whole thing unfold from afar. He saw the deer leave and thought I got busted. Josh made it back first, and when Brian asked “what went wrong?” he answered, “Sean will have to tell you.” When I told him I had the deer at 47 yards, full broadside and passed I thought he was going to explode. This being his 3rd trip, and having never let loose an arrow, he was angry/confused/annoyed when he found out that I had let down on what he considered a shooter deer. Not mad at me, but more confused thinking that I didn’t understand just how hard this game would be. …but I knew, and if I forgot I was to be reminded, and soon.
Sunday – Deer Everywhere
Day 2 dawned nice and cold. I headed out to brush my teeth and nearly slipped on a little patch of ice just outside the tent. We had gotten down around 30, much cooler than we expected and it felt awesome. We were determined to get Brian on a stalk that day but he still wasn’t feeling well. Trying to get him motivated we loitered around camp a little longer than we should have so we hunted in the same valley that we were camping in. Right off the bat we spotted several little guys, then a nice 3x4 who became our target. Unfortunately he moved up the ridge, crested out and headed into the next valley so we lost him. Luckily not long after we found another 3x4 up the valley and lower down in the edge of the timber. We lost him for a bit but decided he “must have bedded right there.” First lesson of stalking mule deer: never assume they are where you last saw them. Watch them, watch them, watch them and NEVER let them out of your sight.
Assuming that he bedded down in the patch of willows where he disappeared, Josh & Brian jumped on the 4-wheelers and made the 30 minute drive to get above the deer. The entire time I just stared at the willows hoping to catch a glimpse of antler but to no avail. I was about to learn that sitting opposite and watching the whole thing unfold can be a roller coaster of emotions. Helpless to do anything, much like watching a horror film, you simply scream in your head, “NOOO! Don’t go outside!! The killer is outside!” or in this case, “there’s a little deer below you! He’s going to bust you! Nooo!!! Go back up! UP!” …and sure enough, the little guy busted them.
In this case it may not have mattered much because the big deer was NOT where we last saw him. But when little guy stood and snorted and stomped, big guy simply bolted and ran, then began stotting, bouncing along like a fool, over the hill and into the next basin. Game over.
Nonetheless, we were feeling pretty good. In 2 days we had gotten within bow range of two good, if not great, deer and were feeling like we could make this happen. We made the short trip back to camp and with a lot of time to kill decided to make a real lunch.
Following our gluttony it was off to catch a few more brook trout, give a couple of brief and ineffective fly fishing lessons and then catch a nap before the evening hunt. We woke up from our naps refreshed and decided to make a long trip to one of Josh’s favorite haunts. That’s both accurate and sarcastic because there are big deer, but it’s an ATV trail that they closed this past year because it’s too dangerous. In fact, Josh flipped a 4-wheeler there on opening weekend last year, breaking his leg and tearing his ACL, so we call it ACL Hill. It’s a great vantage point to glass from but a hellacious stalk because it’s down about 800 feet, then up almost 1200’ to the other side, all while covering several miles. …but before we have to worry about that we have to find deer. …and bingo, we did, right off the bat. 2 groups in fact, a trio of bucks and then a dynamic duo of the two biggest deer that we’d see all week.
(the trio is in the bowl to the left, and the duo on the sharp slope to the right)
Being early in the hunt, with no thought of how hard or fruitless the stalk might be, we were off like teenage boys chasing tail. Never mind the fact that we were likely to get brutally destroyed, we just wanted what we wanted.
At the base of the bowl we decided that I’d make the first stalk on the trio. I had to cover 1000 yards or so with little to no cover, using only a small rock-filled depression and crawling almost the entire way.
Before we parted ways to begin my stalk I asked Josh to grab a windicator bottle (powder in a little squeeze bottle) out of my backpack. He agreed and had to undo a buckle to get it out, handed it to me, and off I went. I hugged the right side of the bowl staying in the depression and working into the wind. After 200 yards I had to crest a little knoll, cover 20 yards of open ground and then drop back into a depression… I waited until all eyes were averted and made a quick dash but immediately felt a stabbing pain in my right thigh… I thought “that can’t be good” but covered the space, dropped back down in and saw that my deer hadn’t moved. It was at this point that I felt something warm & sticky running down my leg. I looked down, saw that my quiver had come loose and panicked. I had just stabbed myself in the inner thigh with a Rage broadhead!! Ripping down my pants I was relieved to see a superficial 3” cut up the inside of my thigh. The “buckle” that Josh had undone to get my powder bottle was holding my quiver to my pack. As I crawled, without realizing it, it had worked its way down and between my legs so when I made my dash it was pulled back up, into my thigh and the back edge of the broadhead cut through my pants and juuust slightly into my leg. Relief flooded through me when I realized that, with my system all jacked up on blood thinners, I wasn’t going to bleed out on a mountain at 12,000’. Satisfied that I wouldn’t die, I got the bleeding to slow down a bit and renewed the stalk. At 120 yards I felt the wind shift on my neck and barely even had time to think “Oh s***” before the deer spooked and bounded up the face of the bowl. Damn unpredictable mountain winds… As if to taunt me they stood skylined on the ridge and laughed at me.
(remember that big guy on the right because he gets "his" later).
A little dejected, but still happy that I covered 900 or so yards without being discovered I glanced up the slope to where our next stalk would be and lost my breath just thinking about it. We had to go straight up about 800 feet, walking while putting our hands straight out in front of us on the mountain just in case we slipped to keep us from tumbling backwards. After about 20 stops on the way up so I didn’t die we crested the hill and immediately got a cold wind on our backs. Bad News Bears and the stalk was over before it even began. We peeked over the top just in time to see almost 400” of antler bounding away along the bottom of the hill… To make things even more painful, Brian took some pictures from the far ridge through the scope so we could agonize over exactly what we failed at.
(note the big deer on the right is laying his head over on its side)
On the way back to camp we stopped at the Continental Divide, got a little cell phone service and sent a few texts/emails to let folks know we were still alive.
Josh had gotten a call from work and he found out that he had to bail, leaving the two Kansans to flounder around on their own for a week. Greeeat. Just what I wanted to hear. I slept lousy that night, nightmares of a week with us not being able to spot a single deer without our native alpine eagle eye running through my brain.
Monday - Wasted Day
It was driving rain on Monday morning and Brian still had an altitude hangover so aside from some more fishing, camp organization, wood chopping and a little evening glassing the day was pretty much a waste. But I did catch up on some sleep and relax which was nice. It’s so tough to be on “go” for 10 or 11 days in a row. In retrospect, frustrating as it was, it was a nice reprieve. Also, being a scent freak and with them starting fires every night I decided it was time for a bath, so mid-day I headed down to the beaver dam and found my bathtub for the trip. 43 degrees and refreshing.
Tuesday - Back on the Horse
Tuesday we ramped back up and, despite my apprehension, almost immediately located a bachelor group that we had found on Friday while we were scouting.
They were in another bowl, loaded with old mine tailings and ruins. After glassing and putting them to bed, making mental notes about their exact locations we searched for a way down.
The big snowfield was a no-go because it was essentially solid, slick ass ice. Everything was near vertical, so we decided a cliff was a better way down than a 85* grass slope which would likely lead to a rapid and uncontrolled descent as we slid 400 yards tumbling ass over tea kettle.
Three different times on the way down I found myself at vertical dead ends and had to climb a little, work my way across the face and then down into a better chute.
A little nerve wracking but we ultimately made it to flat(ter) ground and could resume our stalk. As anyone that has ever stalked much can tell you, things look a helluva lot different once you get on the ground and this was no different. Terrain features, open spots and creeks that we could see in the willows from on top of the ridge disappeared once we got down into the 5’ tall willow thickets. The wind was a little goofy, but being stupid we split up and headed down either edge in spite of the wind. When we got to where the deer were they had simply vanished. Despite the fact that we couldn’t watch the deer while we were descending the rocky face we were certain they couldn’t see us and idiotically thought they would simply stay put in their beds. I looked over at Brian, saw him throw his hands up in frustration and begin crashing through the willows. In a flash I saw fur and horns dash out from 30 yards further down. Standing on a small hummock the deer saw me, bounded away and then stupidly turn back and stare at me. I glanced at Brian and he was at full draw. I saw the release, the big deer spun, ran, stumbled and fell and then ran on. I scrambled higher to watch and see where he went. After I lost sight I looked back and Brian expecting to see him dancing but he was not. He had forgotten to range the deer and took an offhand 60 yard shot. …that was actually about 48 yards. He had just sailed it over the back of the deer and in the mad scramble the deer had literally tripped and fallen down only to recover and sail away out of our lives (and out of our deer unit). It was the last we would see of him.
Staring up from the bottom of the bowl it was clear we would need a new way out as climbing the rock face wasn’t high on my wish list. So we worked our way up a big scree, skirting the edge of the snowfield (it was like air conditioning to my sweaty fatness)
and up and over the top. When we got to the rim we felt like we were home … only then realizing we still had to walk 2 miles back to the 4-wheelers. That afternoons nap was good and well deserved.
Unfortunately, as we would several times this week we awoke to thunder, lightning, rain and small hail. The afternoons hunt was a wash but it did make for a couple of cool pictures with the clouds rolling in.
Wednesday – Hump Day
Having had success locating deer without our native spotter we felt pretty good Wednesday morning and headed back to where we spent opening day feeling certain that we could find a deer where there were double digit bucks just a few days ago. But after 3 hours of glassing, seeing golden eagles, a red fox and two snowshoe hares we saw nary a deer.
Honestly we were getting tired and it was a little depressing. We gave it up, decided to head to town and proceeded to stuff ourselves full of pancakes, biscuits and gravy and pie. It was nice to eat something that I didn’t make myself and cook over a smoky ass fire. A quick trip to replenish my supply of dry flies (more than a few were eaten by rogue willow bushes) and we were back up the mountain. We made a quick stop, checked a drainage near camp but only found 2 does and a dozen mountain goats. Further up we again found the rain and this time some sleet mixed in with it. A nap to wait out the rain and digest the pie and around 3pm we headed back out into the storm.
With the dreams of the big deer from ACL Hill still in our mind we headed back to that general location to check some nearby drainages hoping that we could relocate those deer. Sure enough, in our second spot we were just about to give up when out of the blue a deer stood up from the willows. Bingo, it was the big deer from ACL Hill. With a good location and good light (and good glass thanks to Sunchaser!) we could see that he was a big 4x5. …or an 11 point to us non-mountain folks. Struggling to find his buddy so that we didn’t ruin the stalk we saw nothing. And then out of the blue he stood up too. There they were, both deer within 10 yards of each other!
When they both bedded back down I grabbed my pack and raced the mile around the ridge to get above them.
Then I began my slow (ultimately too slow) stalk down the mountain. Halfway down I encountered three does. I managed to get myself between them and the bucks hoping that if I busted them they’d go up and west instead of down the basin to the east, alerting the bucks on their way out. Lucky for me I did just that and when they grew agitated they worked their way back up the face of the basin and away from the bucks. Unfortunately for me “my” bucks had gotten up and begun feeding down towards the valley floor without me knowing it.
So I’m working suuuper slow and quiet down to where I think they’re bedding when the entire time I should have been flying down the mountain to cut them off. When I got to where they were bedded I found fresh scat, warm matted down grass and not much else. Then I peered over the top and saw them 125 yards below me on the valley floor. With a storm moving in over the top of the mountains I felt a cool breeze on my neck and for the second time in 3 days the Dynamic Duo was gone.
Over a cold supper that night we talked and decided to change our tactics a little. We both felt that we were wasting too much time waiting for the deer to bed and then making our move. By the time we were getting on the deer they were already restless, getting up feeding, stretching, moving a little and laying back down with us moving in on the wrong location.
Thursday - Lets get aggressive
Thursday morning while taking my morning leak I saw 3 deer directly across the valley from camp in the pre dawn light. Running back to the tent I grabbed my glasses and realized it was the nice 3x4 that crossed out of the valley on Sunday. I grabbed Brian, virtually threw him on his ATV and told him to get his ass over there. It was a 45 minute ride/run to where he needed to be. Watching from the edge of camp I agonized as time passed waiting for him to pop up on the skyline. After what seemed like forever I finally saw him, gave him a few hand signals to where they were located and then fretted over why he didn’t move in on them. Unbeknownst to me, the wind on his side of the valley was awful and he was worried about the wind. And he should have been. Just a few minutes later I watched the youngest of the bucks throw his head up, take a long sniff and begin to walk dead away. A few minutes later the other two did the same and I knew the game was probably over.
But as they moved they seemed to settle on a distinct goat trail that would take them about 2 miles from camp, directly above a treeline. I decided if I ran I could beat them to that spot. Frantically I ran to my ATV, snatched my bow and quiver and of the case and began to sprint along the creek bottoms trying to get south of the deer. Thank God it was Thursday and I had acclimated because the dash I made would have killed me a week earlier.
I crossed the creek, busted through some willows, made my way up through timber absolutely littered with elk sign and then popped out on top. I could see the deer about 200 yards away still on the trail and smiled. I had them dead to rights. The trail split, but the furthest shot would be 50 yards. I pulled an arrow from the quiver, nocked it and went to attach my release… F)*%$#g Mother*&%$@%!! S@#$! S(&%! S@#$! In my haste to bail from camp I left my release in my pack.
…in a moment I’m not super proud of I split the distance between the two trails hunkered down and waited. I would shoot with my fingers. Hell, I did it as a kid, how hard can it be? The deer practically skidded into the clearing above me, I ranged at 38 yards, grabbed the string in 3 fingers and pulled. It came back effortlessly. …but I couldn’t find my anchor. It was awkward. Not routine. The young buck was doing circles around the 3x4 and once he cleared I let go as cleanly as I could. It sounded like a 3 year old trying to play the guitar. Pling, pling, clang… An awful release. I watched the arrow sail over his back. The broadhead never touched him but one fletch did and then sent the arrow careening off down the mountain. Bye-bye $20, hello failure.
I caught up with Brian who had watched the whole thing from above. I already wanted to throw myself down the mountain but when I told him that I’d forgotten my release I thought he’d do it for me and save me the trouble of leaping. We now each had a miss… For a few moments I was ready to quit. My legs were hating me, I had stabbed myself and I was seriously second guessing my decision to pass the 3 year old on opening day. To make matters worse, we tried to brave the afternoon weather but a massive lightning storm set in and we got trapped in a little knot of pine trees trying to ride out the worst of it. We saw nothing that afternoon, but again some awesome views.
Friday – Once in a Blue Moon
Waking early on Friday I walked outside without my flashlight because the moon was so ridiculously bright. I had forgotten that August 31 was the 2nd full moon of the month, a blue moon. Despite the fact that I essentially poached his stalk on Thursday, Brian decided that it was my turn again. Mostly I think due to the fact that he was still dealing with altitude headaches in the morning. Both of us were in a pretty bad mood by this point. Tired of sleeping in little beds, tired of having chipmunks and robber jays steal our food while we were out, tired of ridiculously inconsistent winds busting us at the last moment after we’d covered 2-3 miles in a stalk… just tired. We played a little game of “where do you want to go? I don’t care. I don’t care either” before we finally decided that if we were going to stalk a deer it had better be a big one. We went over to the Divide to see if we could find the deer that Brian missed on Tuesday. No dice. We glassed the area where I blew the stalk on the Dynamic Duo on Wednesday. Empty.
Then, hoping that they had run back to their old haunts we glassed ACL Hill. After an hour we had seen nothing and were about to give up. I literally think we might have packed up and left. But at the last second Brian saw a flash in the bottoms along the timber. He pointed at the deer and then I saw three more in the willows, then he picked out the fifth and final deer. It was the Dynamic Duo and the Trio that I busted out of the bowl on Sunday all grouped up together. We watched them for just a few minutes and named them by the order they were standing. #1 was the lowest down.
Numbers 2 & 3 were the studs that pushed 200” that we had already busted twice. Number 4 was a deer I had no business shooting, about 135”, but one that I was going to shoot given the chance and the last deer was so little we refused to give him a number instead calling him “dink-dink.” Once we had named the baby I bailed off the side of the hill and began working my way down. #4 was the closest to me, he was bedded and by-God he was my target.
The wind was in my face and everything was great. I watched the Big Boys (2 & 3) head waaaay up the mountain and over the top where I couldn’t see them. They were out of play. I could still see #1 and an occasional glimpse at dink-dink but they were another 150 yards down the valley.
(Uno and Dinker)
No chance of getting by #4 and to them.
I eased up the edge of the bowl and prepared to go around a big granite outcropping when I realized the wind on that side of the outcropping was 180* different from my wind. And I realized it just as #4 did. He stood, stared, stared, stared and then turned and walked away. I lost him into the willows and thought I was done. I realized that I’d blown him out but with the new wind I figured I might have a shot at #1 if things worked right. …plus I wasn’t really looking forward to the climb back up to the top just yet.
I dropped all the way back down, into the valley along the defunct ATV trail and then headed west trying to stay in the timber as much as possible while still glassing for landmarks from time to time. I had a 20 foot tall quartz wall that was perfect to show me where I needed to be. There were at least a dozen little willow thickets and he was standing in the 5th one from the right. No problem. If I get to the 3rd one, I can shoot him right there.
I went behind the trees and when I came back out, he was gone!! Crap!! I began to panic and frantically glass each of the nearby willows. After what seemed like 10 minutes was probably only 30 seconds I found antler tips in the bottom of the willows. No problem, I can get to him it’s just going to take time and some caution. I continued to swing way down through the timber until I was about a half-mile west of the deer. Then up through the timber. I now know why they say on the hunting shows “it just smells like elk here” because they stink. Trails everywhere.
Rubs, scat, and just about that time I see movement to my east. I’m in such an awful frame of mind at this point that I just assume I’m screwed. I’m about to run a bunch of elk directly at my deer. I drop to a knee, try to find the movement again and then instead of seeing an elk, I see a beard… a big one. It’s another moose and a big male this time. Easily over 30” of antler. I squeeze myself up against a tree hoping not to spook him and he wanders downhill and back towards the creek. I sigh relief and begin to move again.
I get up to treeline and drop my bow sling. I check to ensure I have my release for about the 10th time on the day. Then I realize that somewhere along the stalk my stabilizer has come unscrewed and has fallen off. My wrist sling is now just flopping up and down my bow at will. Oh well, I didn’t like that stabilizer anyway. I take an extra wrap in the wrist sling to hold it in place and begin to move east. At this point I realize I can’t see any of the landmarks that I picked so carefully on the way up. I’m going blind again and I can’t find my deer. He’s moved yet again. I pick my way through each of the first 3 willow patches with no sign of antlers and no deer sighted. I get to 4th patch, a very small one, glass it and dismiss it. I decide to go below it to give myself a good angle to the 5th.
As I swing below it I happen to glance up and I see antler tips. CRAP! 2 more steps and my wind would be blowing directly at him. I freeze in my tracks and try to think. Whatever happens I have to back up. Slowly and painstakingly I backtrack and work my way back up the opposite side of the 4th willows. I glass and I’ve lost him again. Looking up, in order to go over the top and down onto him I’d have to cross a big loose scree. Not possible. My only other option is to go through 40 yards of 4’ tall willows. There’s a rock outcropping on the east side of the willows. If I can get there I think I have a shot…
I step in about 2 feet and I’m making so much noise I reconsider. I back out, wrack my brain and realize there is no other way. I’m certain of failure at this point and I’ve basically given up. I sit there for a minute or two catching my breath and then begin to listen. …between the chipmunks, pika, marmots and birds I realize they are making a TON of noise in the willows. So I wade back in, trying to keep my balance and trying to go as quiet as possible. And it’s not all that quiet. It takes me about 10 minutes to cross the 40 yards of willows. As I crest the hill I immediately see my deer, lower than where I thought he was but laying in his bed and facing directly away from me. He is hard quartering away and I grab my rangefinder.
I’m squatted down and I squeeze the rangefinder. 14 yards! WHAT!?? That cannot be right. I must have hit a willow near me. I stand up a little more and get a range of 44 yards. That seems right but I don’t trust anything at this point so I range it two more times. 44 and 44. Release on the string, draw, stand up, center him between my 35 and 45 yard pins way back behind his ribs due to the sharp angle and squuuuueeeeze. I watch the arrow bury behind his ribs angling sharply forward. I see dink-dink (who I never saw) dart from his bed and crash downhill at a full run. #1 jumps to his feet, takes about 4 leaps down the hill and all I can see are his antler tips. Then he calmly turns around, walks back into view and returns to his bed. I know I saw the arrow bury and I can’t believe it. I slip another arrow on the string and return to full draw. It’s almost the exact same shot and as I aim I can just see the fletching of my first arrow. I aim slightly forward of that and trigger it again. He spun, ran my direction, below me and then buckled. I watched in awe/horror as he tumbled over and over and over again down the hill ending up in a pile at the bottom of a small scree.
I let out a scream that I’m sure you could have heard in Denver.
…honestly I don’t remember a heckuva lot after that. I remember caping and gutting but I was basically floating from that point forward. After several photos
(He has some symmetry)
caping and quartering it took two long painful trips to get him up out of the valley. As you can see his velvet got a little busted on his rough ride down the mountain but I’ve got my fingers crossed that it can be saved. We busted out asap and got him to the taxi in Denver and he seemed hopeful. The deer is a classic, symmetrical 4x4 with 2 kickers off the front of his left eye guard. I would've guessed him in the 160-165" range, the taxi guessed low 170s. Honestly I don't give two-sh**s and I am proud as hell of him.
After a big dinner and a few beers we returned to camp around 1 am. An early rise and we had one final shot for my buddy. We spotted a deer directly above camp and the chase was on. He circled way around, had a crappy wind, waited for the thermals to get going and then made a stalk. The last 100 yards was a slow slide down on his butt down a loose scree. 2 feet. Pause. 2 feet. Pause. Agonizing from across the valley I finally saw him get into position. He tried to stand… too steep. He sat back down. Ranged the deer, drew, fired. The deer leaped to his feet. The two younger deer sprinted away but the big deer stayed. Was he hit? I saw another arrow come out of the quiver and he drew again. Triggered the release and watch the deer bolt out of the canyon. He had missed. Not once, but twice. The range was 48 yards but at a super steep angle it shot more like 30-35 and he had shot over his back both times, ,first at 48 yards, then 55 yards. A frustrating ending to a long week for my buddy.
We headed back to camp, started packing up, making the multiple trips down the mountain to where we had to drop our trailers. The end of a trip is always a hard thing to take. Tired, drained, a lot of work to do and a lot of driving ahead. Even more, with a deer in the cooler and my buddy with an empty quiver it was a tough trip because I wanted to talk about my deer (and did) and I’m sure he wanted to stab me for it (as I would have). So I tried to keep it toned down, but probably unsuccessfully.
It’s a trip that we’re talking about trying to make every 2-3 years and honestly while I want to go back again tomorrow (I left the 55 degree Colorado mountains to return to a 104 degree sticky Kansas summer) I don’t know that I have the energy to do it every year. ...and the plains can provide some pretty spectacular endings as well.
But I am sooo happy that I made my initial Colorado trip and I’ll never forget it.
[This message has been edited by Sean98 (edited 9/4/2012 9:21p).]
Thursday-Friday – Anticipation
We actually jumped in the truck around 7pm on Wednesday evening to make the 10 hour drive to Golden where we’d be meeting our friend and crashing on his floor for a few hours before we headed up the mountain. All together there were 3 of us, 1 Colorado native – a rifle hunter, new to the archery game; and 2 Kansas whitetail hunters used to hunting from trees. After a ridiculously monstrous trip to the grocery store and a few odds and ends from Sportsman’s Warehouse we were ready to head up to altitude. I was paranoid about altitude sickness because of how bad my buddy had gotten it last time, but felt I was as prepared as I could be short of drugs. I lost 35 pounds from the beginning of the year, I’d been on an aspirin and ginkgo biloba regimen for a couple of weeks and I’d been drinking so much water that I had to pee three times a night.
On the way up the mountain we stopped in a steady rain to glass a couple of ridges and located 16 bucks on the edge of our Unit. Thankfully it was early in the season weather-wise because I was a little dismayed by some of the signage.
Then on the way up our mountain we had a close encounter with a young Shiras moose.
After arriving at our campsite (up a ridiculously narrow and rough road) we set about to making things “homey.” My Colorado buddy “Josh” had an outfitters tent and more gear than I’d ever know what to do with.
Multiple cots, tables, a propane cooktop, a wood burning stove… holy jeebus. After setting everything up we started gathering and chopping firewood and generally getting things squared away.
The camp robbers showed up almost immediately and wreaked havoc during the trip but caused no injuries that I am aware of (despite rumors to the contrary)
On Friday morning I awoke with a slight headache but nothing more. My Kansas buddy “Brian” once again had a massive case of altitude sickness. He was now 3-for-3 on that front with debilitating headaches, significant congestion, etc. He looked and seemed miserable. …so being the kind fellas that we are, we abandoned him and started scouting without him. The area we hunted is a big recreational area, so there are quite a few ATV/dirt bike trails over the major travel routes. So while we might be hunting 8-10 miles from camp, we were able to drive the 4-wheelers 6 or 7 of that, then walk 2-3 and get into position to glass various valleys, bowls, basins, etc. I got a bit of a crash course on what/where/how to glass for mountain mule deer and actually found a few on my own which made me proud and left me with a false belief that I could actually find mule deer.
Returning to camp we decided a small archery contest would determine our stalking order since there were 3 of us and we didn’t want to totally split up. We randomly tossed out a target and took 1 cold shot apiece. I shot first, ranged it at 54 yards, drew, punched the hell out of the trigger and barely even hit the block, way low right. Brian didn’t do much better and Josh, the least experienced archer, nearly hit the bullseye, earning the first stalk. After a few more arrows I realized something with my sight had been bumped and everything was shooting 6” low. A few quick tweaks and another dozen “confidence shots” and I was back in the game.
At this point we turned to fishing and I pulled out the fly rod. I had brought along a cheaper 5wt rod/reel, sort of my bang-around rod, and was a little worried it would be oversized for the small stream running down our valley. …and it probably was. But when I worked my way up a bit and found some bigger beaver ponds I was happy to have a little extra rod. As I approached the first pond I saw fish scatter in every direction and thought my day might be done. But to my surprise, despite being ridiculously spooky, the little brook trout in the pond were super aggressive. Voracious even, drawing 4-5 foot slashes for dry flies. The successful patterns were “anything with some white on it” as long as it was a size 14-18. Mosquitos, black ants, drab nymph patterns, etc. went virtually untouched while any dry with a speck of white on it would get obliterated on top, and still wailed underwater after it got water logged.
Once I figured out what they wanted, I slayed fish for a good hour, catching 40 or more. And they were massive. Okay, maybe not, but what they lacked in size, they made up for in nasty attitude.
Saturday – Opening Day
I barely slept at all Friday night, partially because I was sleeping in a tiny cot (when I usually sprawl in a king sized bed) but mostly due to the anticipation of my first velvet mule deer encounter. We hunted quite a ways from camp on opening day so got underway around 5am and by 6:15 we were on a knoll overlooking a lot of country across the valley from us. I quickly glassed and saw nothing. …I backed up to where my Colorado buddy was and asked if he’d seen anything and he said there were 11 bucks on the ridge across from us in 2 groups. I glassed again, and sure enough where I had seen nothing, there were 11 tiny little deer the size of fleas. But at least 4 of those “flea-sized” deer were shooters above 160”.
After my poor showing at the target the day before I was set up for the 3rd stalk of the trip, but lucky for me and unlucky for Brian, he was still dealing with his altitude issues so I jumped from 3rd to 2nd in the pecking order. As we were to learn over the next few days, the general routine was to get up early, find the deer, watch them like a hawk until they bedded down around 8:30 then formulate a plan to get to them without being detected. But on Day 1 we were glassing facing east and around 7:45 the sun peeked over the mountain and completely blinded us. Combine that with a low flying medi-vac helicopter and *poof* all of our deer were gone in a flash. We had no idea where they bedded and we lost them. Game over for the Opening Morning.
Chatting a bit, we decided that heading down the mountain to let Brian breathe at a lower elevation and maybe get some drugs was a good thing. After purchasing enough herbs and vitamins, as recommended by the pharmacist, to (and I quote) make his urine “a shade of neon green that I’ve never seen before” we lazed around by the local lake, eating a sandwich, taking a nap and making veiled threats about shooting some of the local goose population. Then around 2pm we headed back up the mountain to try to find the deer we lost that morning. After glassing for about an hour we caught a flash of a deer in the timber. He just stood up, stretched and plopped straight back down but it was enough for us to see where he was.
Josh, our unofficial guide, decided that it must be the group of 6 bucks from this morning so leaving Brian behind to suffer alone, Josh and I snatched up our bows and packs and headed across the valley to get above the deer.
It’s important to reiterate here that Josh is a rifle hunter, and this is where I realized that he still had the mentality of a rifle hunter. We got above the deer, began discussing our options for a stalk or ambush. We had a solid wind but not a lot of cover so we quickly agreed on more of an ambush, believing the deer would feed up out of the timber and willows and back up the slope where we had seen them in the morning. Josh wanted to sit in a small group of low pines because, “I can see for 300 yards in both directions.” A great choice for a rifle hunter, but it was 150 yards from the likely travel route for the deer with not a speck of cover to hide his movements. I opted for some low growing willows which he argued were “too close” to the deer. Ranging it, from where we thought the deer would be it turned out to be 80 yards. Not as close as I’d like in reality, but in range. After talking him into a closer hide, we set up and played the waiting game. About an hour in, I could see a deer filtering up the basin and felt I could get closer. After signaling that I was moving in I put on some stalking boots and headed downhill at a creep. 20 yards to that rock. 15 more to that pine shrub. 18 to that willow clump. 25 to the group of pines… at that point I peered around the corner and saw the deer we spotted earlier below me in the sun. I ranged him at 55 yards, let him feed up so I can get a better look. 47 yards and broadside and I realized I’d have to stand up to get a good look at his rack. I drew as I stood up, stepped out slightly and was ready to fly. …but when I saw his rack, while good, I knew it wasn’t what I’d come to Colorado to shoot. A nice solid 3x3. Tall, but narrow. In my mind I picture 30” wide muleys as the holy grail. This guy was maybe 18” wide. So I let down my bow, and in doing so I got busted. He never knew exactly what it was, but he didn’t like it and moved downhill.
Day 1 and I had passed on a deer. When I explained to Josh that I passed he seemed confused but excited saying, “there are a lot bigger deer out here.” …always the optimist.
Unbeknownst to me, Mr. Sickness had woken up from his daze, grabbed a spotting scope and watched the whole thing unfold from afar. He saw the deer leave and thought I got busted. Josh made it back first, and when Brian asked “what went wrong?” he answered, “Sean will have to tell you.” When I told him I had the deer at 47 yards, full broadside and passed I thought he was going to explode. This being his 3rd trip, and having never let loose an arrow, he was angry/confused/annoyed when he found out that I had let down on what he considered a shooter deer. Not mad at me, but more confused thinking that I didn’t understand just how hard this game would be. …but I knew, and if I forgot I was to be reminded, and soon.
Sunday – Deer Everywhere
Day 2 dawned nice and cold. I headed out to brush my teeth and nearly slipped on a little patch of ice just outside the tent. We had gotten down around 30, much cooler than we expected and it felt awesome. We were determined to get Brian on a stalk that day but he still wasn’t feeling well. Trying to get him motivated we loitered around camp a little longer than we should have so we hunted in the same valley that we were camping in. Right off the bat we spotted several little guys, then a nice 3x4 who became our target. Unfortunately he moved up the ridge, crested out and headed into the next valley so we lost him. Luckily not long after we found another 3x4 up the valley and lower down in the edge of the timber. We lost him for a bit but decided he “must have bedded right there.” First lesson of stalking mule deer: never assume they are where you last saw them. Watch them, watch them, watch them and NEVER let them out of your sight.
Assuming that he bedded down in the patch of willows where he disappeared, Josh & Brian jumped on the 4-wheelers and made the 30 minute drive to get above the deer. The entire time I just stared at the willows hoping to catch a glimpse of antler but to no avail. I was about to learn that sitting opposite and watching the whole thing unfold can be a roller coaster of emotions. Helpless to do anything, much like watching a horror film, you simply scream in your head, “NOOO! Don’t go outside!! The killer is outside!” or in this case, “there’s a little deer below you! He’s going to bust you! Nooo!!! Go back up! UP!” …and sure enough, the little guy busted them.
In this case it may not have mattered much because the big deer was NOT where we last saw him. But when little guy stood and snorted and stomped, big guy simply bolted and ran, then began stotting, bouncing along like a fool, over the hill and into the next basin. Game over.
Nonetheless, we were feeling pretty good. In 2 days we had gotten within bow range of two good, if not great, deer and were feeling like we could make this happen. We made the short trip back to camp and with a lot of time to kill decided to make a real lunch.
Following our gluttony it was off to catch a few more brook trout, give a couple of brief and ineffective fly fishing lessons and then catch a nap before the evening hunt. We woke up from our naps refreshed and decided to make a long trip to one of Josh’s favorite haunts. That’s both accurate and sarcastic because there are big deer, but it’s an ATV trail that they closed this past year because it’s too dangerous. In fact, Josh flipped a 4-wheeler there on opening weekend last year, breaking his leg and tearing his ACL, so we call it ACL Hill. It’s a great vantage point to glass from but a hellacious stalk because it’s down about 800 feet, then up almost 1200’ to the other side, all while covering several miles. …but before we have to worry about that we have to find deer. …and bingo, we did, right off the bat. 2 groups in fact, a trio of bucks and then a dynamic duo of the two biggest deer that we’d see all week.
(the trio is in the bowl to the left, and the duo on the sharp slope to the right)
Being early in the hunt, with no thought of how hard or fruitless the stalk might be, we were off like teenage boys chasing tail. Never mind the fact that we were likely to get brutally destroyed, we just wanted what we wanted.
At the base of the bowl we decided that I’d make the first stalk on the trio. I had to cover 1000 yards or so with little to no cover, using only a small rock-filled depression and crawling almost the entire way.
Before we parted ways to begin my stalk I asked Josh to grab a windicator bottle (powder in a little squeeze bottle) out of my backpack. He agreed and had to undo a buckle to get it out, handed it to me, and off I went. I hugged the right side of the bowl staying in the depression and working into the wind. After 200 yards I had to crest a little knoll, cover 20 yards of open ground and then drop back into a depression… I waited until all eyes were averted and made a quick dash but immediately felt a stabbing pain in my right thigh… I thought “that can’t be good” but covered the space, dropped back down in and saw that my deer hadn’t moved. It was at this point that I felt something warm & sticky running down my leg. I looked down, saw that my quiver had come loose and panicked. I had just stabbed myself in the inner thigh with a Rage broadhead!! Ripping down my pants I was relieved to see a superficial 3” cut up the inside of my thigh. The “buckle” that Josh had undone to get my powder bottle was holding my quiver to my pack. As I crawled, without realizing it, it had worked its way down and between my legs so when I made my dash it was pulled back up, into my thigh and the back edge of the broadhead cut through my pants and juuust slightly into my leg. Relief flooded through me when I realized that, with my system all jacked up on blood thinners, I wasn’t going to bleed out on a mountain at 12,000’. Satisfied that I wouldn’t die, I got the bleeding to slow down a bit and renewed the stalk. At 120 yards I felt the wind shift on my neck and barely even had time to think “Oh s***” before the deer spooked and bounded up the face of the bowl. Damn unpredictable mountain winds… As if to taunt me they stood skylined on the ridge and laughed at me.
(remember that big guy on the right because he gets "his" later).
A little dejected, but still happy that I covered 900 or so yards without being discovered I glanced up the slope to where our next stalk would be and lost my breath just thinking about it. We had to go straight up about 800 feet, walking while putting our hands straight out in front of us on the mountain just in case we slipped to keep us from tumbling backwards. After about 20 stops on the way up so I didn’t die we crested the hill and immediately got a cold wind on our backs. Bad News Bears and the stalk was over before it even began. We peeked over the top just in time to see almost 400” of antler bounding away along the bottom of the hill… To make things even more painful, Brian took some pictures from the far ridge through the scope so we could agonize over exactly what we failed at.
(note the big deer on the right is laying his head over on its side)
On the way back to camp we stopped at the Continental Divide, got a little cell phone service and sent a few texts/emails to let folks know we were still alive.
Josh had gotten a call from work and he found out that he had to bail, leaving the two Kansans to flounder around on their own for a week. Greeeat. Just what I wanted to hear. I slept lousy that night, nightmares of a week with us not being able to spot a single deer without our native alpine eagle eye running through my brain.
Monday - Wasted Day
It was driving rain on Monday morning and Brian still had an altitude hangover so aside from some more fishing, camp organization, wood chopping and a little evening glassing the day was pretty much a waste. But I did catch up on some sleep and relax which was nice. It’s so tough to be on “go” for 10 or 11 days in a row. In retrospect, frustrating as it was, it was a nice reprieve. Also, being a scent freak and with them starting fires every night I decided it was time for a bath, so mid-day I headed down to the beaver dam and found my bathtub for the trip. 43 degrees and refreshing.
Tuesday - Back on the Horse
Tuesday we ramped back up and, despite my apprehension, almost immediately located a bachelor group that we had found on Friday while we were scouting.
They were in another bowl, loaded with old mine tailings and ruins. After glassing and putting them to bed, making mental notes about their exact locations we searched for a way down.
The big snowfield was a no-go because it was essentially solid, slick ass ice. Everything was near vertical, so we decided a cliff was a better way down than a 85* grass slope which would likely lead to a rapid and uncontrolled descent as we slid 400 yards tumbling ass over tea kettle.
Three different times on the way down I found myself at vertical dead ends and had to climb a little, work my way across the face and then down into a better chute.
A little nerve wracking but we ultimately made it to flat(ter) ground and could resume our stalk. As anyone that has ever stalked much can tell you, things look a helluva lot different once you get on the ground and this was no different. Terrain features, open spots and creeks that we could see in the willows from on top of the ridge disappeared once we got down into the 5’ tall willow thickets. The wind was a little goofy, but being stupid we split up and headed down either edge in spite of the wind. When we got to where the deer were they had simply vanished. Despite the fact that we couldn’t watch the deer while we were descending the rocky face we were certain they couldn’t see us and idiotically thought they would simply stay put in their beds. I looked over at Brian, saw him throw his hands up in frustration and begin crashing through the willows. In a flash I saw fur and horns dash out from 30 yards further down. Standing on a small hummock the deer saw me, bounded away and then stupidly turn back and stare at me. I glanced at Brian and he was at full draw. I saw the release, the big deer spun, ran, stumbled and fell and then ran on. I scrambled higher to watch and see where he went. After I lost sight I looked back and Brian expecting to see him dancing but he was not. He had forgotten to range the deer and took an offhand 60 yard shot. …that was actually about 48 yards. He had just sailed it over the back of the deer and in the mad scramble the deer had literally tripped and fallen down only to recover and sail away out of our lives (and out of our deer unit). It was the last we would see of him.
Staring up from the bottom of the bowl it was clear we would need a new way out as climbing the rock face wasn’t high on my wish list. So we worked our way up a big scree, skirting the edge of the snowfield (it was like air conditioning to my sweaty fatness)
and up and over the top. When we got to the rim we felt like we were home … only then realizing we still had to walk 2 miles back to the 4-wheelers. That afternoons nap was good and well deserved.
Unfortunately, as we would several times this week we awoke to thunder, lightning, rain and small hail. The afternoons hunt was a wash but it did make for a couple of cool pictures with the clouds rolling in.
Wednesday – Hump Day
Having had success locating deer without our native spotter we felt pretty good Wednesday morning and headed back to where we spent opening day feeling certain that we could find a deer where there were double digit bucks just a few days ago. But after 3 hours of glassing, seeing golden eagles, a red fox and two snowshoe hares we saw nary a deer.
Honestly we were getting tired and it was a little depressing. We gave it up, decided to head to town and proceeded to stuff ourselves full of pancakes, biscuits and gravy and pie. It was nice to eat something that I didn’t make myself and cook over a smoky ass fire. A quick trip to replenish my supply of dry flies (more than a few were eaten by rogue willow bushes) and we were back up the mountain. We made a quick stop, checked a drainage near camp but only found 2 does and a dozen mountain goats. Further up we again found the rain and this time some sleet mixed in with it. A nap to wait out the rain and digest the pie and around 3pm we headed back out into the storm.
With the dreams of the big deer from ACL Hill still in our mind we headed back to that general location to check some nearby drainages hoping that we could relocate those deer. Sure enough, in our second spot we were just about to give up when out of the blue a deer stood up from the willows. Bingo, it was the big deer from ACL Hill. With a good location and good light (and good glass thanks to Sunchaser!) we could see that he was a big 4x5. …or an 11 point to us non-mountain folks. Struggling to find his buddy so that we didn’t ruin the stalk we saw nothing. And then out of the blue he stood up too. There they were, both deer within 10 yards of each other!
When they both bedded back down I grabbed my pack and raced the mile around the ridge to get above them.
Then I began my slow (ultimately too slow) stalk down the mountain. Halfway down I encountered three does. I managed to get myself between them and the bucks hoping that if I busted them they’d go up and west instead of down the basin to the east, alerting the bucks on their way out. Lucky for me I did just that and when they grew agitated they worked their way back up the face of the basin and away from the bucks. Unfortunately for me “my” bucks had gotten up and begun feeding down towards the valley floor without me knowing it.
So I’m working suuuper slow and quiet down to where I think they’re bedding when the entire time I should have been flying down the mountain to cut them off. When I got to where they were bedded I found fresh scat, warm matted down grass and not much else. Then I peered over the top and saw them 125 yards below me on the valley floor. With a storm moving in over the top of the mountains I felt a cool breeze on my neck and for the second time in 3 days the Dynamic Duo was gone.
Over a cold supper that night we talked and decided to change our tactics a little. We both felt that we were wasting too much time waiting for the deer to bed and then making our move. By the time we were getting on the deer they were already restless, getting up feeding, stretching, moving a little and laying back down with us moving in on the wrong location.
Thursday - Lets get aggressive
Thursday morning while taking my morning leak I saw 3 deer directly across the valley from camp in the pre dawn light. Running back to the tent I grabbed my glasses and realized it was the nice 3x4 that crossed out of the valley on Sunday. I grabbed Brian, virtually threw him on his ATV and told him to get his ass over there. It was a 45 minute ride/run to where he needed to be. Watching from the edge of camp I agonized as time passed waiting for him to pop up on the skyline. After what seemed like forever I finally saw him, gave him a few hand signals to where they were located and then fretted over why he didn’t move in on them. Unbeknownst to me, the wind on his side of the valley was awful and he was worried about the wind. And he should have been. Just a few minutes later I watched the youngest of the bucks throw his head up, take a long sniff and begin to walk dead away. A few minutes later the other two did the same and I knew the game was probably over.
But as they moved they seemed to settle on a distinct goat trail that would take them about 2 miles from camp, directly above a treeline. I decided if I ran I could beat them to that spot. Frantically I ran to my ATV, snatched my bow and quiver and of the case and began to sprint along the creek bottoms trying to get south of the deer. Thank God it was Thursday and I had acclimated because the dash I made would have killed me a week earlier.
I crossed the creek, busted through some willows, made my way up through timber absolutely littered with elk sign and then popped out on top. I could see the deer about 200 yards away still on the trail and smiled. I had them dead to rights. The trail split, but the furthest shot would be 50 yards. I pulled an arrow from the quiver, nocked it and went to attach my release… F)*%$#g Mother*&%$@%!! S@#$! S(&%! S@#$! In my haste to bail from camp I left my release in my pack.
…in a moment I’m not super proud of I split the distance between the two trails hunkered down and waited. I would shoot with my fingers. Hell, I did it as a kid, how hard can it be? The deer practically skidded into the clearing above me, I ranged at 38 yards, grabbed the string in 3 fingers and pulled. It came back effortlessly. …but I couldn’t find my anchor. It was awkward. Not routine. The young buck was doing circles around the 3x4 and once he cleared I let go as cleanly as I could. It sounded like a 3 year old trying to play the guitar. Pling, pling, clang… An awful release. I watched the arrow sail over his back. The broadhead never touched him but one fletch did and then sent the arrow careening off down the mountain. Bye-bye $20, hello failure.
I caught up with Brian who had watched the whole thing from above. I already wanted to throw myself down the mountain but when I told him that I’d forgotten my release I thought he’d do it for me and save me the trouble of leaping. We now each had a miss… For a few moments I was ready to quit. My legs were hating me, I had stabbed myself and I was seriously second guessing my decision to pass the 3 year old on opening day. To make matters worse, we tried to brave the afternoon weather but a massive lightning storm set in and we got trapped in a little knot of pine trees trying to ride out the worst of it. We saw nothing that afternoon, but again some awesome views.
Friday – Once in a Blue Moon
Waking early on Friday I walked outside without my flashlight because the moon was so ridiculously bright. I had forgotten that August 31 was the 2nd full moon of the month, a blue moon. Despite the fact that I essentially poached his stalk on Thursday, Brian decided that it was my turn again. Mostly I think due to the fact that he was still dealing with altitude headaches in the morning. Both of us were in a pretty bad mood by this point. Tired of sleeping in little beds, tired of having chipmunks and robber jays steal our food while we were out, tired of ridiculously inconsistent winds busting us at the last moment after we’d covered 2-3 miles in a stalk… just tired. We played a little game of “where do you want to go? I don’t care. I don’t care either” before we finally decided that if we were going to stalk a deer it had better be a big one. We went over to the Divide to see if we could find the deer that Brian missed on Tuesday. No dice. We glassed the area where I blew the stalk on the Dynamic Duo on Wednesday. Empty.
Then, hoping that they had run back to their old haunts we glassed ACL Hill. After an hour we had seen nothing and were about to give up. I literally think we might have packed up and left. But at the last second Brian saw a flash in the bottoms along the timber. He pointed at the deer and then I saw three more in the willows, then he picked out the fifth and final deer. It was the Dynamic Duo and the Trio that I busted out of the bowl on Sunday all grouped up together. We watched them for just a few minutes and named them by the order they were standing. #1 was the lowest down.
Numbers 2 & 3 were the studs that pushed 200” that we had already busted twice. Number 4 was a deer I had no business shooting, about 135”, but one that I was going to shoot given the chance and the last deer was so little we refused to give him a number instead calling him “dink-dink.” Once we had named the baby I bailed off the side of the hill and began working my way down. #4 was the closest to me, he was bedded and by-God he was my target.
The wind was in my face and everything was great. I watched the Big Boys (2 & 3) head waaaay up the mountain and over the top where I couldn’t see them. They were out of play. I could still see #1 and an occasional glimpse at dink-dink but they were another 150 yards down the valley.
(Uno and Dinker)
No chance of getting by #4 and to them.
I eased up the edge of the bowl and prepared to go around a big granite outcropping when I realized the wind on that side of the outcropping was 180* different from my wind. And I realized it just as #4 did. He stood, stared, stared, stared and then turned and walked away. I lost him into the willows and thought I was done. I realized that I’d blown him out but with the new wind I figured I might have a shot at #1 if things worked right. …plus I wasn’t really looking forward to the climb back up to the top just yet.
I dropped all the way back down, into the valley along the defunct ATV trail and then headed west trying to stay in the timber as much as possible while still glassing for landmarks from time to time. I had a 20 foot tall quartz wall that was perfect to show me where I needed to be. There were at least a dozen little willow thickets and he was standing in the 5th one from the right. No problem. If I get to the 3rd one, I can shoot him right there.
I went behind the trees and when I came back out, he was gone!! Crap!! I began to panic and frantically glass each of the nearby willows. After what seemed like 10 minutes was probably only 30 seconds I found antler tips in the bottom of the willows. No problem, I can get to him it’s just going to take time and some caution. I continued to swing way down through the timber until I was about a half-mile west of the deer. Then up through the timber. I now know why they say on the hunting shows “it just smells like elk here” because they stink. Trails everywhere.
Rubs, scat, and just about that time I see movement to my east. I’m in such an awful frame of mind at this point that I just assume I’m screwed. I’m about to run a bunch of elk directly at my deer. I drop to a knee, try to find the movement again and then instead of seeing an elk, I see a beard… a big one. It’s another moose and a big male this time. Easily over 30” of antler. I squeeze myself up against a tree hoping not to spook him and he wanders downhill and back towards the creek. I sigh relief and begin to move again.
I get up to treeline and drop my bow sling. I check to ensure I have my release for about the 10th time on the day. Then I realize that somewhere along the stalk my stabilizer has come unscrewed and has fallen off. My wrist sling is now just flopping up and down my bow at will. Oh well, I didn’t like that stabilizer anyway. I take an extra wrap in the wrist sling to hold it in place and begin to move east. At this point I realize I can’t see any of the landmarks that I picked so carefully on the way up. I’m going blind again and I can’t find my deer. He’s moved yet again. I pick my way through each of the first 3 willow patches with no sign of antlers and no deer sighted. I get to 4th patch, a very small one, glass it and dismiss it. I decide to go below it to give myself a good angle to the 5th.
As I swing below it I happen to glance up and I see antler tips. CRAP! 2 more steps and my wind would be blowing directly at him. I freeze in my tracks and try to think. Whatever happens I have to back up. Slowly and painstakingly I backtrack and work my way back up the opposite side of the 4th willows. I glass and I’ve lost him again. Looking up, in order to go over the top and down onto him I’d have to cross a big loose scree. Not possible. My only other option is to go through 40 yards of 4’ tall willows. There’s a rock outcropping on the east side of the willows. If I can get there I think I have a shot…
I step in about 2 feet and I’m making so much noise I reconsider. I back out, wrack my brain and realize there is no other way. I’m certain of failure at this point and I’ve basically given up. I sit there for a minute or two catching my breath and then begin to listen. …between the chipmunks, pika, marmots and birds I realize they are making a TON of noise in the willows. So I wade back in, trying to keep my balance and trying to go as quiet as possible. And it’s not all that quiet. It takes me about 10 minutes to cross the 40 yards of willows. As I crest the hill I immediately see my deer, lower than where I thought he was but laying in his bed and facing directly away from me. He is hard quartering away and I grab my rangefinder.
I’m squatted down and I squeeze the rangefinder. 14 yards! WHAT!?? That cannot be right. I must have hit a willow near me. I stand up a little more and get a range of 44 yards. That seems right but I don’t trust anything at this point so I range it two more times. 44 and 44. Release on the string, draw, stand up, center him between my 35 and 45 yard pins way back behind his ribs due to the sharp angle and squuuuueeeeze. I watch the arrow bury behind his ribs angling sharply forward. I see dink-dink (who I never saw) dart from his bed and crash downhill at a full run. #1 jumps to his feet, takes about 4 leaps down the hill and all I can see are his antler tips. Then he calmly turns around, walks back into view and returns to his bed. I know I saw the arrow bury and I can’t believe it. I slip another arrow on the string and return to full draw. It’s almost the exact same shot and as I aim I can just see the fletching of my first arrow. I aim slightly forward of that and trigger it again. He spun, ran my direction, below me and then buckled. I watched in awe/horror as he tumbled over and over and over again down the hill ending up in a pile at the bottom of a small scree.
I let out a scream that I’m sure you could have heard in Denver.
…honestly I don’t remember a heckuva lot after that. I remember caping and gutting but I was basically floating from that point forward. After several photos
(He has some symmetry)
caping and quartering it took two long painful trips to get him up out of the valley. As you can see his velvet got a little busted on his rough ride down the mountain but I’ve got my fingers crossed that it can be saved. We busted out asap and got him to the taxi in Denver and he seemed hopeful. The deer is a classic, symmetrical 4x4 with 2 kickers off the front of his left eye guard. I would've guessed him in the 160-165" range, the taxi guessed low 170s. Honestly I don't give two-sh**s and I am proud as hell of him.
After a big dinner and a few beers we returned to camp around 1 am. An early rise and we had one final shot for my buddy. We spotted a deer directly above camp and the chase was on. He circled way around, had a crappy wind, waited for the thermals to get going and then made a stalk. The last 100 yards was a slow slide down on his butt down a loose scree. 2 feet. Pause. 2 feet. Pause. Agonizing from across the valley I finally saw him get into position. He tried to stand… too steep. He sat back down. Ranged the deer, drew, fired. The deer leaped to his feet. The two younger deer sprinted away but the big deer stayed. Was he hit? I saw another arrow come out of the quiver and he drew again. Triggered the release and watch the deer bolt out of the canyon. He had missed. Not once, but twice. The range was 48 yards but at a super steep angle it shot more like 30-35 and he had shot over his back both times, ,first at 48 yards, then 55 yards. A frustrating ending to a long week for my buddy.
We headed back to camp, started packing up, making the multiple trips down the mountain to where we had to drop our trailers. The end of a trip is always a hard thing to take. Tired, drained, a lot of work to do and a lot of driving ahead. Even more, with a deer in the cooler and my buddy with an empty quiver it was a tough trip because I wanted to talk about my deer (and did) and I’m sure he wanted to stab me for it (as I would have). So I tried to keep it toned down, but probably unsuccessfully.
It’s a trip that we’re talking about trying to make every 2-3 years and honestly while I want to go back again tomorrow (I left the 55 degree Colorado mountains to return to a 104 degree sticky Kansas summer) I don’t know that I have the energy to do it every year. ...and the plains can provide some pretty spectacular endings as well.
But I am sooo happy that I made my initial Colorado trip and I’ll never forget it.
[This message has been edited by Sean98 (edited 9/4/2012 9:21p).]
