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Dec 9th The Gift of a Mule Deer

This story takes place in 2018 and was originally published in the July 2019 issue of “Alberta Outdoorsmen Magazine” the published version is much shorter.

6 weekends, each bracketed by a fifty-hour work week, in a machine shop, a job I was new to, in a new career field. Thousands of kilometers driven to my parents’ farm and back, all on the tail end of a very mentally stressing hike on the West Coast Trail. Every muscle in my legs hurt, I had, what felt like, a permanent dehydration headache compounded by exhaustion.

My usual routine was that I would drive straight from work on Friday to my parents’ farm and hunt until Sunday afternoon. I always wanted to stay for the Sunday evening hunt but I knew it would make me too tired to drive home safely. I was especially motivated this season because I was awarded a draw tag for an Antlered Mule Deer. I intended to fill that tag or die trying. By the time bow season ended and rifle season started it was starting to feel like it would be the latter.

On the first weekend of rifle season, I took a walk to a far corner of the property to see if there were mule deer where I had seen so many the previous hunting season. I had avoided the area during archery season, as it’s very open making a stalk or an ambush nearly impossible. If there were deer, they would likely be sunning themselves high on the hill and watching the field, I elected to take a long way around. This allowed me to stay hidden in the trees. As I broke out of the bush along a narrow game trail I spotted a small group of mule does, up on the side of a hill, where I hoped they would be. They spotted me immediately, to my camouflages disappointment, from nearly 400 yards out. They didn’t run, and I did not move. It was a silent stalemate, both parties quite interested in the other. Eventually, my mannequin training paid off and they lost interest. I took a few steps closer, my goal being to get behind cover and get comfortable. My theory was: if there are does here, there will eventually be bucks. The sound of my footsteps in the snow perked their ears, so I slowed. When I crouched, the water bottle in my pocket betrayed me. They got up and ran down the hill, somewhat parallel to my spot into a separate patch of bush. Seemed to me, their goal was to get around me and see what they could smell. As soon as they fell out of sight I laid flat on my back and watched for them. Sure enough, they stuck their heads out of the tree 20 yards away from me and searched around. Eventually they must have caught a sniff because they made that sound every hunter hates, they blew their noses and ran off.

I stood up and dusted the snow off. I congratulated myself on the small victory, now I knew where they spent their time. Mule deer tend to be pretty predictable. I decided my best bet was to make my way up the hill and hide in a small patch of shrubs up where there’s a better view. I slowly worked my way up and had a seat. After a few hours of sitting and watching an empty field, it was starting to get into the afternoon. I decided it would be best to head back to the house to have some lunch and prepare for an evening hunt. I had a good sitting spot in mind for whitetail, another tag I was hoping to fill. As soon as I stood up and turned around there was a mule doe 15 yards from me, and then, in a flash, it was gone. I quietly cussed and felt a little silly, I started walking home. Before the field behind me was hidden behind the hill, I turned for one last look. There it was… like a painting. It was a perfect mule deer scene. A doe delicately trotting across the thin snow on the rolling hills, with an amazing buck following close behind with his nose outstretched. He looked like you looked up “Mule Deer” in a textbook. His antlers made a nice tall rectangle, they seemed to have a lot of texture to them, they were thick and had 4 even points per side. My estimate was they were 250 yards out, I was standing and had an open sight lever gun, my great-grandfathers model 99 savage. It was not a shot I wanted to take, nor was it one I COULD take. Lesson learned, sit longer.

I got home and told my parents all about the excitement. I then headed out for a cold and unsuccessful sit for whitetail elsewhere. The next morning, Sunday, I was back on mule deer hill. By the time afternoon had arrived I had nothing to show for it and was starting to nod off. I decided I best get a move on and get home, it was still over a mile walk to the house and a 3 hour drive home. On, about, Tuesday I got a most upsetting text from my step-dad. It seems the neighbour had given someone permission to hunt on his property next to ours, this hunter had taken that deer. My step-dad had spotted it in the box of the truck pulling out of the neighbour’s field. It really threw my entire week off.

Big buck or not, I was back out hunting again the next Saturday. I thought, since nature supposedly abhors a vacuum, maybe those does would bring in other bucks. In the previous year I had seen three of four nice deer in that area so it also stands to reason one or two of them may still be there. I got high on the hill and made myself comfortable. This time I was ready, I brought a modern bolt action rifle, a Savage in 300 Winchester magnum with a Vortex scope. Since I had previously practice cold bore shots out to 500 yards, a 250-yard shot should be more than possible with this setup… Should the opportunity present itself. I sat and glassed, in classic hunting fashion, I sat long enough to doubt my plan. Just when I started to convince myself all the mule deer had run to Saskatchewan, I spotted a doe and a small spiker buck come over a hill. They then looped around to a patch of trees and started grazing. I watched them with my binoculars and noticed, there was a large set of antlers sticking out of the trees near them. Upon a closer look, a large buck was watching from just behind some shrubs, I could barely make out his silhouette. He was very comparable to the one I had seen the week before, but he seemed to have less character. They were smooth like they had been sanded and he had four points on one side and only three on the other. The antlers appeared longer and skinnier than the other deer I had seen. He just seemed to look older than the other deer. Like years had worn his antlers down. Which is a silly thing to say because they are new each year, but somehow these ones seemed more used. Maybe he was a fighter, or maybe he was getting old and starting to decline. I ranged him at 350 yards. A distance I am theoretically capable of, but those are far beyond perfect conditions, so I watched and waited. I hoped he would move closer to me. While the minutes dragged on, I took a moment to range a few of the nearby hills and patches of brush in case I needed to make a shot without time to range. I couldn’t help but ask myself, was this big buck using the smaller one as an early warning sign? I’ve heard of elk and satellite bulls but never anything with mule deer. Am I out of the loop or is this old buck on to something revolutionalry?

After sitting and watching long enough for my backside to go numb in the snow. It started to become obvious the big old boy just wasn’t going to come out. I guess it takes a dose of caution for a deer to get that big. Suddenly, like lightning, a deer ran out on my left, over a hill and into the middle of the field below. He stopped and turned broadside to me. His antlers were nice, but he wasn’t in the same league as the deer I was watching. He stood there, broadside, for a moment and it gave me time to think. I realized, I had my entire life to chase a monster mule, but this, this was my chance to get my first mule deer, on my first antlered draw. If ever there was a gift from above, or from the earth… this was it. A respectable mule deer standing perfectly broadside. I figured he was 200 yards out, based on my previous ranging. I made the decision to shoot. As soon as that mental switch in my head flipped, the circuits in my brain went wild. Immediately my heart rate increased. It’s hard for anyone to describe this sense of excitement, finality and yet uncertainty rolled into one. All of which desperately being stifled in an attempt to keep your hands from shaking. For every hunter, I am sure this is different, for me, it feels like my chest is imploding and building up for an explosion like a train is about to fly off the rails and its boiler is glowing red and starting to rattle. Yet in my mind, I have perfect clarity, like a runner’s high. I took aim, I lined up the 200 yard mark on my scope and brought it down a bit, knowing my rifle shoots a touch high of that. I did my best to steady my elbows on my knees. I took careful aim and drew a deep breath. As I exhaled I could see he was starting to step so I touched off on the trigger. He went down.

I checked my watch and made a mental note of the the minute hand. I like to wait 10 or so minutes before approaching an animal to ensure it is bled out. If I run up and scare it into the woods, its now a game of hide and seek and I risk losing the animal all together. After I checked the time, I noticed I was shaking really hard. I had officially been hit with buck fever. I pulled my phone out and took a video of it. I thought maybe it would be funny to share with my friends, but watching it I dont see the humour. I just see myself very happy, very tired, and very relieved.

After about 5 minutes, I pulled out my range finder and checked the actual distance, it read 160 yards. Immediately I questioned the integrity of my shot. I pulled off my binocular harness and toque and I started down toward the deer. It put its head up and looked around, I loaded another round into my rifle and shot it in the chest. A rookie mistake. I had never wounded a deer before, I didn’t want to damage the neck meat, but it seems the neck is the appropriate shot placement on a down and wounded deer. I walked a large loop around it to approach from behind. As I came up, it let up a big heave, like a powerful hiccup and flopped its head down. I debated yet another shot, but it seemed to be done. I walked closer, and again it welled up and released. My heart was in my throat, do I shoot again? Is THIS the end of it? I waited another moment and thought “enough is enough, one more heave and he gets another shot, wasted meat or not, I do not let animals suffer”. Luckily, that was the last of it, the deer had passed. I phoned the house and my step-dad came with the truck. We loaded the deer up after I asked him to grab a picture of me with it. Sadly, in the excitement, I only got the one picture of me with it. It seems I am still somewhat apprehensive of stopping to take pictures while hunting. They are important for the story and my blog, but it always seems to pull me out of the moment and I am just not willing to sacrifice that experience for a few likes on social media.

We got the deer home, skinned it and hung it up. To my everlasting shame, my initial shot had hit far back and high. I have no excuse for the poor shooting, on a normal day I can hit a “kill zone” sized target at 500 yards no question. All I can say is, buck fever.

The following day I fried the tenderloin in a cast iron pan with onions, garlic and morel mushrooms. It was delicious, but the thought of that pulled shot made it feel half earned… Like the greed and desperation that wrecked the shot had gotten into the meat, and only I could taste it. The following weekend I went back to my parents to butcher and pack the meat. I also turned the head in for CWD testing, after removing the antlers. The results, luckily, came back negative.

I am glad to have gotten my first mule deer and I am glad it is such a great example of one. But I am quite saddened that things didn’t go as smoothly as I would have liked. Everyone who has hunted for any length of time talks about how eventually you wound one, or lose one outright. I guess it was just my time, but that doesn’t make it any easier to swallow.

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