Sheep_chaser
FNG
- Joined
- Apr 6, 2022
- Messages
- 7
After seven years of applying as a non-resident for tags in the state of Nevada, I was finally able to pull a tag. It was the fourth choice on my application, and even then, it looked like there was still only about an 8–9% chance of drawing. I knew it was going to be a grind — with work, school, family, and all the things that go into daily life.
My oldest brother Cody and I were able to cut out from northern Utah to the desert around July 20th and do an overnighter to get familiar with some units I had been e-scouting. There was no shortage of bucks, but a lot of them were just “nice deer/almost shooters.”
I followed that up with two more trips down to the desert, looking over four units total. Overall during scouting, I probably saw 50 bucks, with maybe two that deserved a better look. We found the two better bucks on the third trip, which my brothers Cody and Dustin, and my son Hayes, tagged along for. At first glance, my buck didn’t really trip my trigger — but more on that later.
As they will, the days flew by, and it was finally the week of the hunt. As luck would have it, my “posse” was unable to join me. The Tuesday before the opener, I found myself solo and headed west.
I spent a day and a half in that country, including the opener, but was unable to dig anything up but young bucks. Once again, no shortage of deer or elk — just no shooters. I decided to cut over a couple of units to where I had found some bucks earlier during scouting, in hopes I could turn up a better deer.
I started out in the high country, roughly 7,000 to 8,000 feet. I was in love with the rocky, broken-up landscape. There were plenty of deer and bucks, but nothing new that stood out — most of the bucks I had already seen on prior trips. As the weekend rolled in, the high country got pretty busy, so I decided to go hit some of the lower, less sexy PJ (pinyon-juniper) country I had spent time in earlier.
On the fourth morning, I woke up after another terrible night of sleep in the truck and was behind the Swaro 15s as the sun started to come up. I found some deer moving on a high ridge in a small burn. I could tell there were a couple of bucks, but I needed to get closer for a better look.
After a 10-minute drive, I got into a better position — but not a damn deer in sight. Where the deer had been, I was almost certain they’d still be close, but they were gone without a trace.
I got back in the truck, slightly discouraged but ready to dig up some more deer. As I drove, I found myself pushing through PJ twice as tall as the truck. The sun was creeping up, and I figured the bucks would be feeding toward their bedding areas.
Right then, I caught sight of a solo deer just 250 yards up the hill, feeding. He was a solid 3-point, maybe 24” wide. He had some good looks, but as much as I was getting whipped on the hunt, I wasn’t ready for it to end. I put the truck in drive and continued on my way.
Not even three minutes later, I spotted four deer butts glowing in the sun. They were feeding uphill at about 500 yards in a little patch of sage surrounded by junis. Right off the bat, I could see one deer had a better frame than anything I had seen so far. I could just make him out from the backside, and his antlers were lighter in color than the others.
In a hurry, I grabbed my pack and a loaded smoke pole, ready for action. The deer were in a perfect spot — wind was good — and all I had to do was work up the opposite side of the seam, which was covered in PJ.
In a perfect world, that buck would’ve died right there. But as always, these deer have a way of figuring out when something’s wrong — even when you think you’ve got it in the bag. One of the smaller bucks caught my movement. After a couple-minute stare down, they blew out, trotted up the ridge, and out of my life.
I remember thinking to myself, “How did you blow that? You dumb a#.”*
Having bucks get away from me my entire life, I had an idea of what they might do. So, I continued climbing the ridge, making my way through the thicket. After mentally kicking my own a#*, I stumbled on an old, chalky 2-point antler laying tines-up. I thought, “That’s a nice mountain gift.”
For whatever reason, I looked at the U-shaped antler as a sign of luck — like a horseshoe catching all the luck. I picked it up and kept moving.
After 25 minutes of hiking up the juniper hill, I reached a point where it flattened out — a rim covered in PJ that ran along a spine of large boulders and sage. After a few steps, at about 100 yards, I spotted a buck head staring in my direction. It happened to be the same buck that had busted me 25 minutes earlier. He snorted and bounced off.
Watching closely, I saw two does appear above the juniper tree line and head up through the rocky, sage spine. Right behind them, one more deer followed. Immediately I knew — it was the buck.
He came to a stop, looking back in my direction. I don’t think he saw or smelled me, but he knew something was up and it was time to get outta town.
I kneeled down and ranged him at 220 yards, slightly quartering away to the right. I didn’t have time to dial my sight, but I felt good about where to hold. I laid prone and squeezed one off.
When the smoke cleared, I could tell he was hit — I just didn’t know where. He took a couple of steps back, regained his composure, and disappeared into the boulders.
I managed to reload the muzzy and slowly started sneaking my way through the junis, trying to locate the buck. He stepped out from behind a large boulder and locked eyes with me. I could see just a bit of his body, so I quickly laid down for another shot. When the smoke cleared, I knew I had missed.
In a panic, I dug through my pack and found what would be the last quick load I had on me. I quickly reloaded and thought I’d better try to get a little closer.
As the deer stood frozen, broadside, I snuck through the PJ for a closer shot. I closed some distance and reached a point where I could see his vitals much better.
With just one quick load left — this was it. My last shot to get this deer down, especially with the truck 25 minutes down the mountain. I ranged the buck at 175 yards. I lined up my peep, steadied my crosshairs, and let her rip.
When the smoke cleared, the buck ran about 20 yards and started to tumble before coming to a complete stop.
I remember sitting up on my knees, smiling BIG — I was very lucky to get this buck, especially on the second effort.
The first thing I noticed when I got to the deer was how huge his head and body were. There was no ground shrinkage — matter of fact, it went the other way for once. I quickly realized I had seen this buck in scouting and had a picture of him. I remember thinking he was a nice buck but, I underestimated how nice actually is. Maybe it was the Cadillac body and GIANT mule ears sticking out of his heads? When I first drew the tag, this was not the buck I had envisioned killing, but with all my efforts, this was the biggest deer I had seen.
I love the buck, and this definitely goes down as one of my favorite experiences.
My oldest brother Cody and I were able to cut out from northern Utah to the desert around July 20th and do an overnighter to get familiar with some units I had been e-scouting. There was no shortage of bucks, but a lot of them were just “nice deer/almost shooters.”
I followed that up with two more trips down to the desert, looking over four units total. Overall during scouting, I probably saw 50 bucks, with maybe two that deserved a better look. We found the two better bucks on the third trip, which my brothers Cody and Dustin, and my son Hayes, tagged along for. At first glance, my buck didn’t really trip my trigger — but more on that later.
As they will, the days flew by, and it was finally the week of the hunt. As luck would have it, my “posse” was unable to join me. The Tuesday before the opener, I found myself solo and headed west.
I spent a day and a half in that country, including the opener, but was unable to dig anything up but young bucks. Once again, no shortage of deer or elk — just no shooters. I decided to cut over a couple of units to where I had found some bucks earlier during scouting, in hopes I could turn up a better deer.
I started out in the high country, roughly 7,000 to 8,000 feet. I was in love with the rocky, broken-up landscape. There were plenty of deer and bucks, but nothing new that stood out — most of the bucks I had already seen on prior trips. As the weekend rolled in, the high country got pretty busy, so I decided to go hit some of the lower, less sexy PJ (pinyon-juniper) country I had spent time in earlier.
On the fourth morning, I woke up after another terrible night of sleep in the truck and was behind the Swaro 15s as the sun started to come up. I found some deer moving on a high ridge in a small burn. I could tell there were a couple of bucks, but I needed to get closer for a better look.
After a 10-minute drive, I got into a better position — but not a damn deer in sight. Where the deer had been, I was almost certain they’d still be close, but they were gone without a trace.
I got back in the truck, slightly discouraged but ready to dig up some more deer. As I drove, I found myself pushing through PJ twice as tall as the truck. The sun was creeping up, and I figured the bucks would be feeding toward their bedding areas.
Right then, I caught sight of a solo deer just 250 yards up the hill, feeding. He was a solid 3-point, maybe 24” wide. He had some good looks, but as much as I was getting whipped on the hunt, I wasn’t ready for it to end. I put the truck in drive and continued on my way.
Not even three minutes later, I spotted four deer butts glowing in the sun. They were feeding uphill at about 500 yards in a little patch of sage surrounded by junis. Right off the bat, I could see one deer had a better frame than anything I had seen so far. I could just make him out from the backside, and his antlers were lighter in color than the others.
In a hurry, I grabbed my pack and a loaded smoke pole, ready for action. The deer were in a perfect spot — wind was good — and all I had to do was work up the opposite side of the seam, which was covered in PJ.
In a perfect world, that buck would’ve died right there. But as always, these deer have a way of figuring out when something’s wrong — even when you think you’ve got it in the bag. One of the smaller bucks caught my movement. After a couple-minute stare down, they blew out, trotted up the ridge, and out of my life.
I remember thinking to myself, “How did you blow that? You dumb a#.”*
Having bucks get away from me my entire life, I had an idea of what they might do. So, I continued climbing the ridge, making my way through the thicket. After mentally kicking my own a#*, I stumbled on an old, chalky 2-point antler laying tines-up. I thought, “That’s a nice mountain gift.”
For whatever reason, I looked at the U-shaped antler as a sign of luck — like a horseshoe catching all the luck. I picked it up and kept moving.
After 25 minutes of hiking up the juniper hill, I reached a point where it flattened out — a rim covered in PJ that ran along a spine of large boulders and sage. After a few steps, at about 100 yards, I spotted a buck head staring in my direction. It happened to be the same buck that had busted me 25 minutes earlier. He snorted and bounced off.
Watching closely, I saw two does appear above the juniper tree line and head up through the rocky, sage spine. Right behind them, one more deer followed. Immediately I knew — it was the buck.
He came to a stop, looking back in my direction. I don’t think he saw or smelled me, but he knew something was up and it was time to get outta town.
I kneeled down and ranged him at 220 yards, slightly quartering away to the right. I didn’t have time to dial my sight, but I felt good about where to hold. I laid prone and squeezed one off.
When the smoke cleared, I could tell he was hit — I just didn’t know where. He took a couple of steps back, regained his composure, and disappeared into the boulders.
I managed to reload the muzzy and slowly started sneaking my way through the junis, trying to locate the buck. He stepped out from behind a large boulder and locked eyes with me. I could see just a bit of his body, so I quickly laid down for another shot. When the smoke cleared, I knew I had missed.
In a panic, I dug through my pack and found what would be the last quick load I had on me. I quickly reloaded and thought I’d better try to get a little closer.
As the deer stood frozen, broadside, I snuck through the PJ for a closer shot. I closed some distance and reached a point where I could see his vitals much better.
With just one quick load left — this was it. My last shot to get this deer down, especially with the truck 25 minutes down the mountain. I ranged the buck at 175 yards. I lined up my peep, steadied my crosshairs, and let her rip.
When the smoke cleared, the buck ran about 20 yards and started to tumble before coming to a complete stop.
I remember sitting up on my knees, smiling BIG — I was very lucky to get this buck, especially on the second effort.
The first thing I noticed when I got to the deer was how huge his head and body were. There was no ground shrinkage — matter of fact, it went the other way for once. I quickly realized I had seen this buck in scouting and had a picture of him. I remember thinking he was a nice buck but, I underestimated how nice actually is. Maybe it was the Cadillac body and GIANT mule ears sticking out of his heads? When I first drew the tag, this was not the buck I had envisioned killing, but with all my efforts, this was the biggest deer I had seen.
I love the buck, and this definitely goes down as one of my favorite experiences.
