Sheep_chaser
FNG
- Joined
- Apr 6, 2022
- Messages
- 12
Growing up in a hunting family, it was clear just how important hunting was to all of us. Dad always had us on the mountain, and Mom always did what she could to help us get there. I remember, over the years, wondering what life would be like when I grew up, got married, and maybe had kids. Would I have kids? Would they even like to hunt?
Fast forward to 2013—my wife (then girlfriend) and I were having a baby. I remember the reveal like it was yesterday: cutting into a chocolate cake and discovering the color pink. Like most guys, it wasn’t exactly what I had envisioned, but I was excited. I told myself, “That girl will be on the mountain.”
Today, that same little girl is a not-so-little 12-year-old. Ever since Kapree passed her Hunter’s Ed course, I’ve been applying her for a handful of western states—sometimes with her knowledge, sometimes without. As luck would have it, she struck gold in Idaho, picking up her first controlled tag for rifle season this summer.
I’ve spent a decent amount of time in that unit hunting archery in the past and have applied for the rifle hunt myself off and on. With tight schedules—mine and a 12-year-old girl who dances, tumbles, cheers, and does all the fun stuff—we were only able to make it down to scout one time. (Keep in mind, I also had a Nevada muzzy tag we were trying to maximize.) On that trip, we saw a handful of deer but nothing like the bucks that used to haunt me on that mountain.
We also spent time at the range, shooting a 6.5 Creedmoor. It didn’t take long to see that the gun was a shooter—and so was she. October 5th couldn’t come fast enough. If there was a big buck on the hill, he might be in trouble.
We arrived two days before the opener. We were joined by my wife, son, and mother. It made for an interesting night in our little camper with extreme rain, lightning strikes, and what sounded like a twister outside. Let’s just say my wife was scared to death—and I won’t be getting an award for “Husband of the Year.”
We spent the two days road hunting, scouting, and taking any little jab we could get to see the mountain through the low visibility. We found a handful of deer but nothing to get us fired up.
Opening morning came, and the skies were clear. We geared up and hit one of my old glassing knobs before daylight. They spent most of the time glassing from the truck, while I ran around like a headless chicken, glassing 360°—every basin, every draw—anywhere that might hold a deer. It was a slow morning, with only does and very small bucks. The hunters were out in full force, mostly on the roads.
Once things slowed down around 10:30 a.m., I decided to take the crew to some new scenery. They seemed slightly burned out from excessive truck snacks and glassing the same deer-less hill.
We headed to an old juniper burn where I’ve seen a lot of deer in the past. There are a lot of shallow drainages that parallel and run off the main mountain, and I’ve always found bucks bedded in the brushy bottoms. We were driving down a heavily traveled road when I stopped to glass a drainage that most people would fly past at high speed. It didn’t have the kind of look that would make a hunter stop to glass. But through my 10s, at a few hundred yards, I made out a dark U-shaped object sticking up from the brush in the bottom.
I killed the truck to stop the vibrations and had my wife hand me my Swaro 15s. To my surprise—a nice set of antlers, sticking up out of the brush. He was bedded, facing away, looking up the drainage, and all I could see were the tops of his ears and his chocolatey, large rack.
My wife asked if it was big.
I replied, “It’s a buck,” doing my best to remain calm and avoid getting anyone too wound up. I backed the truck up a hundred yards or so to get out of sight. I grabbed my pack and my daughter, and we made a short, quiet stalk to the left side of the drainage. The wind was perfect, and it began to rain a little.
We picked up the buck, still bedded at 150 yards, but from this position, we could only see his head and antlers. I sat there and asked myself, How can we kill this deer now? I didn’t like where he was—300 yards from the road, the weather rainy and cold, and a truck full of people waiting it out.
I decided we’d back out and drive across to the other side of the drainage to try the same play. I was pretty sure we’d be able to see his body from that angle. The only setback was that the hills leading to the drainage were pretty bald, with only two clumps of brush to break up our image.
We belly-crawled to one of the bushes to avoid skylining ourselves. We peeked over and found—not only the big buck—but another buck we didn’t originally know was there, bedded at 150 yards.
Just then, I heard the sound of a side-by-side making its way up the road. I quickly sat down and glassed in the other direction, hoping to avoid drawing attention. Once it disappeared, I carefully set up my tripod, which had a gun clamp mounted on top. I would’ve really liked her to shoot prone off my pack, but I needed another 10 feet or so, and I didn’t dare get closer.
I got the gun locked in, and my daughter slid into position. These movements and soft noises had me nervous. We carefully jacked a round in, and she could see the deer in the scope, still bedded. The scope was full of deer at that range. One problem: her torso was a little too short to execute the shot properly—so I carefully slid my pack under her butt to raise her just a hair.
Right at that moment, the buck shook his head and rose to his feet. I said, “He’s up. Kill him.”
He stood for about six seconds, then trotted 10 yards and stopped broadside. I backed the zoom off the scope so she could regain her field of view. Again, I said, “Shoot him.”
But the gun didn’t go off.
The bucks trotted up the hill and out of our lives.
There I was again—sitting on the hillside with my tail between my legs. Except this time, my little girl was right there beside me. I felt sick—like we’d just dropped the pass for the game-winner. She looked disappointed and flustered.
I knew I didn’t want this to be a bad experience, so I took a deep breath and said, “This is why we prepare. This is why we practice. Not just in hunting—but in anything we do in life. Because once we get our chance, we have to make it count. And when it comes to big bucks, they don’t give you a lot time—you gotta be ready.”
I hugged her, and we walked back to the truck empty-handed. She had her first big buck letdown, and as for me… I guess I’m just used to the pain. The play on this deer wasn’t terrible, but I’ve laid in bed just wishing I could’ve gotten her in a better position to be successful.
Oh well, we’ll head back out to the mountain again soon. Hopefully next time, they won’t be so lucky.
Fast forward to 2013—my wife (then girlfriend) and I were having a baby. I remember the reveal like it was yesterday: cutting into a chocolate cake and discovering the color pink. Like most guys, it wasn’t exactly what I had envisioned, but I was excited. I told myself, “That girl will be on the mountain.”
Today, that same little girl is a not-so-little 12-year-old. Ever since Kapree passed her Hunter’s Ed course, I’ve been applying her for a handful of western states—sometimes with her knowledge, sometimes without. As luck would have it, she struck gold in Idaho, picking up her first controlled tag for rifle season this summer.
I’ve spent a decent amount of time in that unit hunting archery in the past and have applied for the rifle hunt myself off and on. With tight schedules—mine and a 12-year-old girl who dances, tumbles, cheers, and does all the fun stuff—we were only able to make it down to scout one time. (Keep in mind, I also had a Nevada muzzy tag we were trying to maximize.) On that trip, we saw a handful of deer but nothing like the bucks that used to haunt me on that mountain.
We also spent time at the range, shooting a 6.5 Creedmoor. It didn’t take long to see that the gun was a shooter—and so was she. October 5th couldn’t come fast enough. If there was a big buck on the hill, he might be in trouble.
We arrived two days before the opener. We were joined by my wife, son, and mother. It made for an interesting night in our little camper with extreme rain, lightning strikes, and what sounded like a twister outside. Let’s just say my wife was scared to death—and I won’t be getting an award for “Husband of the Year.”
We spent the two days road hunting, scouting, and taking any little jab we could get to see the mountain through the low visibility. We found a handful of deer but nothing to get us fired up.
Opening morning came, and the skies were clear. We geared up and hit one of my old glassing knobs before daylight. They spent most of the time glassing from the truck, while I ran around like a headless chicken, glassing 360°—every basin, every draw—anywhere that might hold a deer. It was a slow morning, with only does and very small bucks. The hunters were out in full force, mostly on the roads.
Once things slowed down around 10:30 a.m., I decided to take the crew to some new scenery. They seemed slightly burned out from excessive truck snacks and glassing the same deer-less hill.
We headed to an old juniper burn where I’ve seen a lot of deer in the past. There are a lot of shallow drainages that parallel and run off the main mountain, and I’ve always found bucks bedded in the brushy bottoms. We were driving down a heavily traveled road when I stopped to glass a drainage that most people would fly past at high speed. It didn’t have the kind of look that would make a hunter stop to glass. But through my 10s, at a few hundred yards, I made out a dark U-shaped object sticking up from the brush in the bottom.
I killed the truck to stop the vibrations and had my wife hand me my Swaro 15s. To my surprise—a nice set of antlers, sticking up out of the brush. He was bedded, facing away, looking up the drainage, and all I could see were the tops of his ears and his chocolatey, large rack.
My wife asked if it was big.
I replied, “It’s a buck,” doing my best to remain calm and avoid getting anyone too wound up. I backed the truck up a hundred yards or so to get out of sight. I grabbed my pack and my daughter, and we made a short, quiet stalk to the left side of the drainage. The wind was perfect, and it began to rain a little.
We picked up the buck, still bedded at 150 yards, but from this position, we could only see his head and antlers. I sat there and asked myself, How can we kill this deer now? I didn’t like where he was—300 yards from the road, the weather rainy and cold, and a truck full of people waiting it out.
I decided we’d back out and drive across to the other side of the drainage to try the same play. I was pretty sure we’d be able to see his body from that angle. The only setback was that the hills leading to the drainage were pretty bald, with only two clumps of brush to break up our image.
We belly-crawled to one of the bushes to avoid skylining ourselves. We peeked over and found—not only the big buck—but another buck we didn’t originally know was there, bedded at 150 yards.
Just then, I heard the sound of a side-by-side making its way up the road. I quickly sat down and glassed in the other direction, hoping to avoid drawing attention. Once it disappeared, I carefully set up my tripod, which had a gun clamp mounted on top. I would’ve really liked her to shoot prone off my pack, but I needed another 10 feet or so, and I didn’t dare get closer.
I got the gun locked in, and my daughter slid into position. These movements and soft noises had me nervous. We carefully jacked a round in, and she could see the deer in the scope, still bedded. The scope was full of deer at that range. One problem: her torso was a little too short to execute the shot properly—so I carefully slid my pack under her butt to raise her just a hair.
Right at that moment, the buck shook his head and rose to his feet. I said, “He’s up. Kill him.”
He stood for about six seconds, then trotted 10 yards and stopped broadside. I backed the zoom off the scope so she could regain her field of view. Again, I said, “Shoot him.”
But the gun didn’t go off.
The bucks trotted up the hill and out of our lives.
There I was again—sitting on the hillside with my tail between my legs. Except this time, my little girl was right there beside me. I felt sick—like we’d just dropped the pass for the game-winner. She looked disappointed and flustered.
I knew I didn’t want this to be a bad experience, so I took a deep breath and said, “This is why we prepare. This is why we practice. Not just in hunting—but in anything we do in life. Because once we get our chance, we have to make it count. And when it comes to big bucks, they don’t give you a lot time—you gotta be ready.”
I hugged her, and we walked back to the truck empty-handed. She had her first big buck letdown, and as for me… I guess I’m just used to the pain. The play on this deer wasn’t terrible, but I’ve laid in bed just wishing I could’ve gotten her in a better position to be successful.
Oh well, we’ll head back out to the mountain again soon. Hopefully next time, they won’t be so lucky.
