The draw results came out in the early summer of the 2024 hunting season, and I was happy to see a successful archery tag waiting for me in my email. As I reached out to my friends and family to find out if they had tags as well, I found that my older brother had drawn a general archery tag. We immediately began discussing the fall hunt and what an adventure it would be.
During our time spotting, we found multiple 3 and small 4-points but nothing worth dedicating our hunt towards. We decided to begin our hunt where we had heard so many stories before. My father and grandfather would often share stories and pictures of their successful hunts in the past. One memory that carries a profound place in my mind is a picture of my grandfather, great grandfather, and great great grandfather with five large bucks taken in the exact area we would be hunting.
Opening morning finally arrived, and my dad, brother, and I parked our truck at the base of the trail that would take us to our hunting adventure. We unloaded our electric motorcycles, strapped our bows to our bags, and made our way up the canyon. As we came to a fork in the trail, we decided to split up in order to cover more ground. I rode across the ridge until the sky began to lighten up and shadows turned into distinct figures. I pulled over and began hiking on foot. At about 600 yards away, I saw a couple of bucks feeding. After almost an hour, they went out of sight three draws away. I returned down the ridge back to my bike in hopes of regaining sight of the bucks.
Around the same time, my brother and dad both set up their spotting scopes from different areas of the canyon and began glassing the ridges near and far. At first light, both spotted the same big-framed deer but were able to watch it only for a moment as it also fed up and over the ridge.
My brother joined me at my new lookout point, and we decided to hike down the canyon where the bucks I had seen vanished. I caught a glimpse of one of the bucks in the thick cedar trees and helped my brother stalk toward the bedded bucks. My brother cautiously made his way through the cedar trees, making it to 30 yards, but couldn’t get a clear shot due to the dense terrain. The deer eventually noticed his movement and bolted down the ridge.
My brother and I made the walk of shame back to our bikes and rode back to the fork in the road to meet my dad. We decided to go after the buck my dad and brother had seen early in the morning. As we rode towards our new trail, we noticed storm clouds coming our way. After hiking for quite some time, the sky turned dark and hail started coming down. We found the nearest burnt-up cedar tree and tried to take cover. After a good 30 to 45 minutes, the storm began to lighten up.
Once visibility returned, we hiked to a rock outcropping and set up to spot for deer. Suddenly, my dad said, “There he is. Near the top!” All that could be seen was the buck’s rack as it fed through the oak brush. The beautiful velvet had a gray glint as the sun reflected on it. We watched as the buck fed through the brush only 300 yards away. This was the largest deer I had seen since we had begun spotting months before.
We watched the deer for about 45 minutes before choosing landmarks on the ridge as reference points for our stalk. Before we began, we had to decide which one of us would put the stalk on and who would be the backup. My brother claimed that it was my turn to stalk a deer since he had blown his morning attempt. I offset this by saying this was his first archery deer hunt. He then brought up that I had never killed a deer in our family’s stomping grounds. I accepted the opportunity, and that’s when my nerves truly began.
Not long after we made our way down the ridge, the buck caught our movement. We stood as still as possible. Thankfully, the deer calmed down and continued to feed. We made it to the base of the canyon and entered a 40-yard open grass meadow. Once at the edge of the meadow, my brother turned to our right to work up the backside of the neighboring ridge to cover the escape route. I continued straight up the ridge, moving slowly towards the buck. The rain gifted us perfect conditions. The dirt was moist but firm while holding my weight as I crawled hand and knee up the ridge.
The key landmark on my stalk was a burnt pine tree around 15 yards from where the buck was feeding. I made it to a clearing and ranged to the burnt pine tree at 60 yards. I took my hat off and nocked an arrow in hopes of having an opportunity. I took four or five slow, calm steps before stopping to listen and calm my nerves. I repeated this until the tree got within 40 yards, then 30 yards, and eventually 20 yards. I shook as I realized the buck was getting closer and closer. I had to focus and breathe, calming myself by telling my mind I didn’t have a clear shot yet.
I used two large oak brushes for cover and very slowly pulled out my rangefinder to range the furthest point on the ridge. The burnt pine tree was directly to my left and the furthest point was 20 yards away, so I knew I would be using my top pin if I got a shot. I prayed, thanking God for this opportunity and asked for help to stay calm. I closed my prayer, put the release on my string, and slowly peeked around the bush. Horns immediately rose through the bushes, turning my way, and headed up the ridge. I drew my bow back as I saw the movement. The buck took two bounds before I raised my pin to a specific point and let my arrow fly. I heard a sharp “thwack!” The buck turned directly over the ridge and out of sight. Everything happened so quickly.
My brother, on the other side, was in position and ranged out the sidehill in preparation for the buck to come his way. As the buck busted through the oak brush into the region ranged at 70 yards, my brother drew back the trusty 20-year-old bow and let his arrow fly. Sadly, the buck outran his arrow.
Meanwhile, I made my way to where the deer had been when I shot. The dirt and rocks were torn up where the buck had turned and bolted. I looked through the brush, hoping to see where my arrow had passed through, but all I could find was a tiny spot of blood. I tried to contain my mixed emotions of excitement and worry when my dad hiked over to calm me down and help look for my arrow. We knew the buck ran off the ridge, so we followed the tracks. We found my arrow about 40 yards down the ridge. Upon initial inspection, the shaft had broken at about four inches deep with little blood on it beyond the break. Our worries continued to grow as we continued down the ridge, finding only small amounts of blood on the brush and grass.
We followed the faint blood trail through the oak brush and made it to where my brother had found his arrow. My brother told us after he had shot, the buck turned and ran full speed towards the bottom. When the buck reached the bottom, he slowed down, lowered his head, and hunched his back. He walked across the bottom field and about 30 yards up the original ridge we had been spotting from. He stopped and turned broadside where a large blood spot could be seen behind the shoulder. The buck suddenly tipped over and expired less than 100 yards from the rock outcropping on the ridge we had been spotting from.
We celebrated together as we made our way across the ridge to find this beautiful, miracle buck down. There were many things that came together to create this memorable hunt – my brother and dad spotting the buck at first light, the midday storm allowing my dad to find the buck in the thick brush, and the buck not running on the many times we could have spooked him. It was all a miracle and a gift to kill a buck in a place that has meant so much to my family and me.
During our time spotting, we found multiple 3 and small 4-points but nothing worth dedicating our hunt towards. We decided to begin our hunt where we had heard so many stories before. My father and grandfather would often share stories and pictures of their successful hunts in the past. One memory that carries a profound place in my mind is a picture of my grandfather, great grandfather, and great great grandfather with five large bucks taken in the exact area we would be hunting.
Opening morning finally arrived, and my dad, brother, and I parked our truck at the base of the trail that would take us to our hunting adventure. We unloaded our electric motorcycles, strapped our bows to our bags, and made our way up the canyon. As we came to a fork in the trail, we decided to split up in order to cover more ground. I rode across the ridge until the sky began to lighten up and shadows turned into distinct figures. I pulled over and began hiking on foot. At about 600 yards away, I saw a couple of bucks feeding. After almost an hour, they went out of sight three draws away. I returned down the ridge back to my bike in hopes of regaining sight of the bucks.
Around the same time, my brother and dad both set up their spotting scopes from different areas of the canyon and began glassing the ridges near and far. At first light, both spotted the same big-framed deer but were able to watch it only for a moment as it also fed up and over the ridge.
My brother joined me at my new lookout point, and we decided to hike down the canyon where the bucks I had seen vanished. I caught a glimpse of one of the bucks in the thick cedar trees and helped my brother stalk toward the bedded bucks. My brother cautiously made his way through the cedar trees, making it to 30 yards, but couldn’t get a clear shot due to the dense terrain. The deer eventually noticed his movement and bolted down the ridge.
My brother and I made the walk of shame back to our bikes and rode back to the fork in the road to meet my dad. We decided to go after the buck my dad and brother had seen early in the morning. As we rode towards our new trail, we noticed storm clouds coming our way. After hiking for quite some time, the sky turned dark and hail started coming down. We found the nearest burnt-up cedar tree and tried to take cover. After a good 30 to 45 minutes, the storm began to lighten up.
Once visibility returned, we hiked to a rock outcropping and set up to spot for deer. Suddenly, my dad said, “There he is. Near the top!” All that could be seen was the buck’s rack as it fed through the oak brush. The beautiful velvet had a gray glint as the sun reflected on it. We watched as the buck fed through the brush only 300 yards away. This was the largest deer I had seen since we had begun spotting months before.
We watched the deer for about 45 minutes before choosing landmarks on the ridge as reference points for our stalk. Before we began, we had to decide which one of us would put the stalk on and who would be the backup. My brother claimed that it was my turn to stalk a deer since he had blown his morning attempt. I offset this by saying this was his first archery deer hunt. He then brought up that I had never killed a deer in our family’s stomping grounds. I accepted the opportunity, and that’s when my nerves truly began.
Not long after we made our way down the ridge, the buck caught our movement. We stood as still as possible. Thankfully, the deer calmed down and continued to feed. We made it to the base of the canyon and entered a 40-yard open grass meadow. Once at the edge of the meadow, my brother turned to our right to work up the backside of the neighboring ridge to cover the escape route. I continued straight up the ridge, moving slowly towards the buck. The rain gifted us perfect conditions. The dirt was moist but firm while holding my weight as I crawled hand and knee up the ridge.
The key landmark on my stalk was a burnt pine tree around 15 yards from where the buck was feeding. I made it to a clearing and ranged to the burnt pine tree at 60 yards. I took my hat off and nocked an arrow in hopes of having an opportunity. I took four or five slow, calm steps before stopping to listen and calm my nerves. I repeated this until the tree got within 40 yards, then 30 yards, and eventually 20 yards. I shook as I realized the buck was getting closer and closer. I had to focus and breathe, calming myself by telling my mind I didn’t have a clear shot yet.
I used two large oak brushes for cover and very slowly pulled out my rangefinder to range the furthest point on the ridge. The burnt pine tree was directly to my left and the furthest point was 20 yards away, so I knew I would be using my top pin if I got a shot. I prayed, thanking God for this opportunity and asked for help to stay calm. I closed my prayer, put the release on my string, and slowly peeked around the bush. Horns immediately rose through the bushes, turning my way, and headed up the ridge. I drew my bow back as I saw the movement. The buck took two bounds before I raised my pin to a specific point and let my arrow fly. I heard a sharp “thwack!” The buck turned directly over the ridge and out of sight. Everything happened so quickly.
My brother, on the other side, was in position and ranged out the sidehill in preparation for the buck to come his way. As the buck busted through the oak brush into the region ranged at 70 yards, my brother drew back the trusty 20-year-old bow and let his arrow fly. Sadly, the buck outran his arrow.
Meanwhile, I made my way to where the deer had been when I shot. The dirt and rocks were torn up where the buck had turned and bolted. I looked through the brush, hoping to see where my arrow had passed through, but all I could find was a tiny spot of blood. I tried to contain my mixed emotions of excitement and worry when my dad hiked over to calm me down and help look for my arrow. We knew the buck ran off the ridge, so we followed the tracks. We found my arrow about 40 yards down the ridge. Upon initial inspection, the shaft had broken at about four inches deep with little blood on it beyond the break. Our worries continued to grow as we continued down the ridge, finding only small amounts of blood on the brush and grass.
We followed the faint blood trail through the oak brush and made it to where my brother had found his arrow. My brother told us after he had shot, the buck turned and ran full speed towards the bottom. When the buck reached the bottom, he slowed down, lowered his head, and hunched his back. He walked across the bottom field and about 30 yards up the original ridge we had been spotting from. He stopped and turned broadside where a large blood spot could be seen behind the shoulder. The buck suddenly tipped over and expired less than 100 yards from the rock outcropping on the ridge we had been spotting from.
We celebrated together as we made our way across the ridge to find this beautiful, miracle buck down. There were many things that came together to create this memorable hunt – my brother and dad spotting the buck at first light, the midday storm allowing my dad to find the buck in the thick brush, and the buck not running on the many times we could have spooked him. It was all a miracle and a gift to kill a buck in a place that has meant so much to my family and me.