I finally hit the lottery with a general unit Colorado non-resident mule deer fourth season tag. After getting the email that I drew, the adrenaline started pumping. I spent all summer shooting and getting back in shape for this hunt. A few weeks prior to opening day, my dad, Mitch Simmons, went out with Brad Poulsen who was hunting the same unit but for the third season tag. He brought back valuable information, and it only got me more pumped.
The hunt opened on Wednesday, and we were on the road by Tuesday. Opening day was packed with decent-sized bucks and does. Nothing big enough yet. We spent the following evening and day scouting a new area, covering miles on road and foot. We passed up tons of good bucks, and on Friday night, the pressure of a four-day hunt started to close in. It snowed Friday night and continued into Saturday morning. I knew it was now or never.
We ventured back to the same area where we had been opening morning, and as the sun came up, I glassed “him” up across the canyon pushing a few does. This was the buck. We hopped in the Ranger and cruised as close as we could get. Within a matter of minutes, he had vanished. We put the hiking boots on and got the stalk going. We followed him for miles before an opportunity presented itself. It was a 50-yard shot through a three-foot opening in the cedar flat where only his head was visible. A shot and a miss. He took off running, and we continued the stalk. No blood or signs of a hit proved it was in fact a miss.
Discouraged and exhausted, we decided to set up a midday camp, enduring the storm and windy conditions of late season Colorado. As the evening approached, my dad and I decided to get up on the ridge that overlooked the cedar flat while Dennis kept an eye on the surrounding area not visible from up top. We had a grueling hike through big boulders and a steep hillside. When we reached the top, the wind was blowing so violently that we couldn’t hear each other from a foot away. We set up and started glassing over the cedar flat. While it was still thick, the height gave us a much-needed advantage. As dark started to approach, I began to lose hope. As I was looking through my spotter, there he was sniffing a doe. I hurried and got my dad on him as I grabbed my rifle. “350 yards,” he called out. I set up and took the first shot. Boom! It was a hit towards the middle of his body. He began to circle around, and I threaded a final shot on him to seal the deal.
We gave Dennis the call and got down to him just in time to get some pictures and cut the buck up before dark hit. Colorado proved to be just as good as they say. Its beautiful country was a gift of its own. However, hunting there isn’t for the weak with its thick oak brush in the east and wide-open flats in the west. It proved difficult but equally rewarding. I think it’s safe to say, Dennis, Mitch, and I wouldn’t have been able to dream up a better way to spend Thanksgiving.
The hunt opened on Wednesday, and we were on the road by Tuesday. Opening day was packed with decent-sized bucks and does. Nothing big enough yet. We spent the following evening and day scouting a new area, covering miles on road and foot. We passed up tons of good bucks, and on Friday night, the pressure of a four-day hunt started to close in. It snowed Friday night and continued into Saturday morning. I knew it was now or never.
We ventured back to the same area where we had been opening morning, and as the sun came up, I glassed “him” up across the canyon pushing a few does. This was the buck. We hopped in the Ranger and cruised as close as we could get. Within a matter of minutes, he had vanished. We put the hiking boots on and got the stalk going. We followed him for miles before an opportunity presented itself. It was a 50-yard shot through a three-foot opening in the cedar flat where only his head was visible. A shot and a miss. He took off running, and we continued the stalk. No blood or signs of a hit proved it was in fact a miss.
Discouraged and exhausted, we decided to set up a midday camp, enduring the storm and windy conditions of late season Colorado. As the evening approached, my dad and I decided to get up on the ridge that overlooked the cedar flat while Dennis kept an eye on the surrounding area not visible from up top. We had a grueling hike through big boulders and a steep hillside. When we reached the top, the wind was blowing so violently that we couldn’t hear each other from a foot away. We set up and started glassing over the cedar flat. While it was still thick, the height gave us a much-needed advantage. As dark started to approach, I began to lose hope. As I was looking through my spotter, there he was sniffing a doe. I hurried and got my dad on him as I grabbed my rifle. “350 yards,” he called out. I set up and took the first shot. Boom! It was a hit towards the middle of his body. He began to circle around, and I threaded a final shot on him to seal the deal.
We gave Dennis the call and got down to him just in time to get some pictures and cut the buck up before dark hit. Colorado proved to be just as good as they say. Its beautiful country was a gift of its own. However, hunting there isn’t for the weak with its thick oak brush in the east and wide-open flats in the west. It proved difficult but equally rewarding. I think it’s safe to say, Dennis, Mitch, and I wouldn’t have been able to dream up a better way to spend Thanksgiving.