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MUZZLELOADER SHOOTOUT NOVEMBER 2016

C R A Z Y F OR

the rut 5 B U C K- OB S E S S E D H UN T E RS R E V E A L HOW TO Hunt a Farm-Country Mini-Tract

Find a Big-Woods Hotspot

Run a River-Bottom Squeeze Play

plus HeartWrenching, Dramatic, Hilarious Tales of

THE ONES THAT GOT AWAY

GOOD LOOKS: A 190-CLASS 15-POINTER CHECKS A WISCONSIN WEED FIELD FOR RECEPTIVE DOES DURING PEAK RUT.

OUTDOORLIFE.COM

november 2016

CONTENTS

vol. 223 • no. 9

DEPARTMENTS THE LIFE 7 8 10 13 14 16

Waypoint: A truckload of hides Leters Editor’s Journal Q&A with a record-breaking bowhunter From the Archives: Unusual hunts in unexpected places This Happened to Me: “An owl scared me out of my tree!”

GEAR 21

The real-world accuracy of four muzzleloaders, plus a roundup of the best muzzleloader optics

HUNTING 31

34 36 40

Utah’s Great Salt Lake is a waterfowler’s paradise How to kill a bedded mule deer So what’s a trophy big-game rack worth? It depends where you live Testing Bushnell’s CONX ballistics system on a Texas aoudad hunt

SHOOTING 71

74 77

Bolt rifle? Tricked-out AR? Precision gun? The deer rifle is in flux Gun test: Sauer’s affordable, accurate Model 100 The top late-season upland loads

Every Arterburn family hunt begins with hot chocolate

These hunters pull out all the stops to hunt the rut, p. 44.

FEATURES

CRAZY FOR THE RUT

THE ONES THAT GOT AWAY

Meet ﬁve buck-obsessed hunters willing to risk it all for the whitetail of their dreams. by mark kenyon 4 november 2016 outdoor life

Sometimes, the most memorable animals are the ones we didn’t kill. Stories of nearmisses and total whiﬀs.

62 THE COMEBACK KID

Two blackpowder seasons, two big bucks, and a bundle of nerves make for an uncertain hunt. by natalie krebs

COVER PHOTOGRAPH BY LANCE KRUEGER

ERIC HEINTZ (PHOTO ILLUSTRATION); LON LAUBER/WINDIGO IMAGES (DEER)

OFFHAND SHOTS

Ionia County, MI / Nov. 15 / 5:05 p.m. Deer season in Michigan is akin to a religious observance, as photographer Hollis Bennet puts it. He spent a season documenting the pre-holiday hype leading up to and culminating in opening day. While he was riding along with a game warden, this truck passed them going in the opposite direction. “I mentioned how cool it was,” Bennet says, “The warden ﬂipped his sirens and chased the commercial tanner down—they knew each other, and I took one of my last photos of the day.”

WAYPOINT

section edited by natalie krebs • photograph by hollis bennett

outdoor life november 2016 7

LE TT E RS A FAMILIAR FACE ▶ My dad was a good friend of Ralph Kohler’s [“Legend of the Fall,” Sept. 2016]. When I was 14, Dad would take me to Tekamah, Nebraska, on Saturday mornings to meet Ralph and other hunters for breakfast at the local café. Then we’d head to the river in a Jeep. This was in the mid-’50s, and as the youngest, I was always on the roof or the back of the car because it was crammed with some seven people total. We rode a boat across the Missouri to a sandbar with a great blind on it. I remember it like it was yesterday. Dad is gone now, and has been for 25 years, but he instilled a love of hunting in me. We took so much pleasure in it, sitting

next to Ralph as he called birds. I hunted with Ralph for several years, and I remember moving off the river and onto his flooded fields, and the two boxcars that made up the Tekamah Wildlife Association. At school, I built a tally board that went up in one of the cars. Then, in the 1960s, I moved to the East Coast. That was the end of my hunts with Ralph, but the memories are still strong. I want to say thanks to him for some wonderful memories. He was, and still is, an idol for me, even at the age of 75. Sandy McLaughlin Schaumburg, IL

DON’T GO LONG ▶ I’ve enjoyed your Deer of the Year feature [Sept. 2016] for years, but I take exception with the story “Buzzer Beater” in this year’s collection. Travis Christensen successfully completed an 850-yard shot that I believe no responsible hunter would normally take. The fact that it was the last day of the season is additionally disturbing. Have hunters become so trophy-hungry that they will attempt shots, no matter how far? Or was this a bout of “it’s the last day, I have to shoot something” fever? Congratulations

on the buck and the one-in-a-thousand shot, Travis. But I don’t believe we should be teaching young hunters to attempt long-distance shots like this. Mike Schaper Longwood, FL

MEATY ISSUE ▶ Many hunting magazines show a lone hunter packing out only antlers on his back. Those pictures are an example of hunters who are more interested in bragging rights than good meat to eat. But your Sept. 2016 issue shows some great photos: the hunter holding backstraps and wearing a “HNT2EAT” shirt [“Waypoint,” The Life], and more meat from his quartered deer [“Ghost of the Greyback”]. There were even ads of hunters packing meat and antlers. It would be good if more readers complained to publishers that damage the reputation of all hunters. Gary Currall Dayton, OH

“THE COMPETITION,” INSPIRED BY “GHOST OF THE GREYBACK” Somewhere on the forest trail Just as you round a bend

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THE LIFE LETTERS ↙

A tail goes up and dawn is shattered By a gust of wind. You don’t give it much notice Just a common horses’ thing Maybe chuckle to yourself If it keeps continuing. But as for me I like the slightest hint of competition So one day I surprised my mount With my own fair rendition. I forced one out and soon was met With an astonished gaze Blaze knew it wasn’t Preacher Who knew it wasn’t Blaze. Two geldings used to passing gas Alone, or with each other, Were quite surprised to hear my blast And so, I ripped another. They both looked up in disbelief Each showed a toothy grin It soon became apparent that They wouldn’t let me win. Their tails came up in union And methane filled the air A melody and harmony It didn’t quite seem fair. Now I’m not the best in the world But I can hold my own With most of the notorious

Gas passers I have known. So I raised up in the saddle And I gave it my best try But Preacher had a loud, immediate reply. I had to strain and sweat and push I almost popped a vein Then Blaze responded easily With hardly any strain. And so I let a few more go From elevated cheek Until I was exhausted Or pooped out, so to speak. Then those two painted ponies I thought were my good friends Continued up the trail With every hoofbeat breaking wind. And so, I just resigned myself To what I knew, of course, No matter how hard you may try You can’t outfart a horse. Chris Mortensen via email

CORRECTION ▶ In “Trail Camera Test 2016” [Gear, Sept.], we printed a photo of the Moultrie M888 in place of the Covert Night Stryker. The correct image is reflected online at outdoorlife.com/trailcams16

DEER OF THE YEAR

Kudos on the September cover by artist Ryan Kirby. Regarding that “Deer of the Year” feature: To me, any deer I bring home is my deer of the year, though it’s unlikely I will ever even see a buck as big as the ones in your magazine. Each successful hunt has its own story, and I won’t bore you with mine. But to remember them, I paint a vignette of most of my bucks. Here’s an example. Karen Pamment Marcellus, MI

THE LIFE

EDITOR’S JOURNƒL ↘

Andrew McKean Editor-in-Chief Sean Johnston Design Director EDITORIAL Managing Editor Jean McKenna Executive Editor Gerry Bethge Senior Deputy Editor John B. Snow Senior Editor Natalie Krebs Assistant Managing Editor Margaret M. Nussey Assistant Editor Tony Hansen Editorial Assistant Hilary Ribons

Family Ties

ART Art Director Brian Struble Associate Art Directors Russ Smith, James A. Walsh PHOTOGRAPHY Photography Director John Toolan Photo Editor Justin Appenzeller

WILL A HUNTING FATHER’S SON CONTINUE THE TRADITION?

PRODUCTION Production Manager Judith Weber DEPARTMENTS Fishing Editor Gerry Bethge Hunting Editor Andrew McKean Shooting Editor John B. Snow

was given the gift of identical twin boys. From an early age, they did everything together. They played catch with big, soft pillows that became red rubber balls and then hardballs, and suddenly Ellis was a nimble shortstop and Merlin a tenacious catcher. My baby twins now drive themselves to baseball practice after school. They’ve outgrown me in height and humor. But my boys, now high-schoolers, are both old-fashioned in a way—loyal, honest, hard working, disciplined. They grew up hunting with me—first doves and turkeys, then deer and elk. If there’s a problem with twins, it’s that they each get half the time they deserve from their father, and I noticed this attention deficit most acutely in the field. In those early years, when I asked them to tag along while I hunted, I don’t think I was as inviting as I was fretful, making sure each boy stayed warm and spotted game and was mindful of the wind’s direction. When they started carrying their own guns, I became a scold, harping about muzzle direction and shot selection. Looking back on it, I must have made hunting seem to the boys like a crappy job, working under a boss who snapped orders and was hard to please. Ellis responded by hunting by himself when he got the chance. He reminded me of myself, finding ways to get out from under my father’s gaze and learn about the outdoors and hunting on my own terms, usually alone. Merlin responded by finding other things to do. “You want to go out and look for a buck in the morning?” I’d ask hopefully. “I think I’ll hang out with friends,” Merlin would say. Okay. Maybe another time, both of us would think to ourselves. I felt helpless to stop Merlin’s drift.

WEB Digital Director Nate Matthews Online Content Editor Alex Robinson

Anthony Licata Editorial Director CONTRIBUTING WRITERS Joe Arterburn, Michael Bane, Bill Buckley, Tom Carpenter, Josh Dahlke, Brad Fitzpatrick, Tyler Freel, John Haughey, John Haviland, Todd Kuhn, Ben Long, Tim MacWelch, Colin Moore, Michael Pearce, Ron Spomer, John M. Taylor, Bryce Towsley EDITORS EMERITI Jim Carmichel (Shooting), Jerry Gibbs (Fishing), Patrick F. McManus (Editor-at-Large), Bill McRae (Optics), Vin T. Sparano (Senior Field Editor) CONTRIBUTING PHOTOGRAPHERS & ILLUSTRATORS Nick Ferrari, John Hafner, Kevin Hand, Donald M. Jones, Mitch Kezar, Joel Kimmel, Ryan Kirby, Lance Krueger, John Phillips, John Rice, Tony Shasteen, Vincent Soyez, Jeff Wilson

Gregory D. Gatto Vice President, Publishing Director Associate Publisher Jeff Timm

Maybe he’d be back someday as my hunting partner, I’d hope, or he would grow up to hunt with good friends or his own sons. I reflected on my children’s relationship with hunting—and with me—as I compiled the pieces in “The Ones That Got Away” (p. 54). These are stories of memorable animals that slipped out of the grasp of hunters. But it’s not just animals that can escape; so can prized deer leases and cherished guns. And hunting partners. The other night, Merlin had a request. Could I please buy him new boots that fit his fast-growing (and immense) feet? “I need good boots if we’re going to do all the hunting you have planned this fall.” I’ve never been so happy to help someone pick out footwear. Sometimes the one that appeared to get away was right in front of you all along.

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Tomas Franzén Chairman ANDREW M C KEAN, EDITOR-IN-CHIEF ANDREW.M C KEAN@OUTDOORLIFE.COM

Head of Business Area, Magazines Lars Dahmén Chief Executive Officer Eric Zinczenko Chief Financial Officer Joachim Jaginder Chief Operating Officer David Ritchie Chief Marketing Officer Elizabeth Burnham Murphy Chief Digital Revenue Officer Sean Holzman

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THE LIFE MY OUTDOOR LIFE ↙

SUPER WOMAN ANNA VORISEK OF FAIRBANKS, ALASKA, BECAME THE FIRST WOMAN TO TAG ALL 29 NORTH AMERICAN BIG-GAME ANIMALS WITH A BOW. HERE’S A LOOK AT HER JOURNEY, AND WHAT SHE HAS ON DECK BY NATALIE KREBS

Vorisek with a black bear boar she took this year.

OUTDOOR LIFE: You concluded your archery Super Slam with a grizzly this year, becoming the first woman and the 26th bowhunter ever to complete one. How did you come to set this goal? ANNA VORISEK: I tagged my first animal with a bow in 2003, a small paddle-horn moose. I didn’t start pursuing game for the slam until 2006. I was helping my husband with his own sheep slam when I decided I really wanted to do this—I needed to do it.

COURTESY OF ANNA VORISEK

OL: Of the 29 animals in the slam, which was the most challenging to tag? AV: Either the sheep or brown bear. I had to hunt many species again because I didn’t tag them the first time. Or the second, or the third. I hunted Dall sheep six times in five years, and finally succeeded on my sixth try. I wasn’t intimidated by grizzlies, but I was intimidated by brown bears. It also took me six years to tag one of those. OL: What was the most memorable? AV: There are a lot of hunts that stick in my mind. As far as traveling to a magical, surreal place goes, hunting polar bear and musk ox in Grise Fiord, Nunavut, is up there.

Hunting on the frozen sea and using dog sled teams—that was absolutely awesome. OL: How did it feel to complete the slam? AV: I said to my husband, “Well, what do we do next? It’s got to include hunting.” I’ve had my eye on a recurve for years but I’m pretty frugal and didn’t want to spend the money. I finally bought one, a takedown, for just $150. I’d like to take my next animal with it. OL: If you’re frugal, how did you afford the slam? Tags alone must have cost a fortune. AV: It helps that 10 of the 29 animals can be found in my home state. I’m retired now, but I was a realtor, and I put all my commission toward hunts. And I don’t spend much on taxidermy. I do my own skulls. For me, the trophy is the hunt, and the experience—it’s less about the horns or antlers. OL: What advice would you give hunters interested in taking on a Super Slam? AV: I love to be encouraging, but I’m also realistic. It’s going to take a lot of hard work and a lot of money. It’s a commitment. But once you decide to take it on? Go for it, all in, and see how far you can get.

DID YOU KNOW: Grizzlies (Ursus arctos horribilis) are an inland subspecies of brown bear, while Alaskan brown bears (U. a. middendorffi) live along the coast and are typically larger. For a list of the 29 species, go to outdoorlife.com/superslam

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THE LIFE FROM THE ƒRCHIVES ↘

THE MOST UNUSUAL GAME OL HAS OFTEN PRINTED STORIES BY HUNTERS WHO TRAVELED TO THE FARTHEST CORNERS OF THE EARTH TO CHASE THE ANIMALS THAT LIVE THERE. HERE ARE A FEW OF THOSE HUNTS, REVISITED BY NATALIE KREBS

DECEMBER 1962 We’ve heard plenty about feral hogs in the South in recent years, but they’ve been running around the country— including Hawaii—much longer. The ﬁrst mention of hunting the islands appeared in OL as early as 1921, when a reader wrote in to describe his experience. In 1962, a wildlife biologist detailed pursuing pigs in the jungle there. Today, you can still hunt pigs on ﬁve of the six major islands.

WALRUS/ALASKA OCTOBER 1938

ARGALI SHEEP/MONGOLIA/SEPTEMBER 1966 Author George H. Landreth claimed to be the first American to take a Mongolian ram. This opportunity came about when he visited the Mongolian embassy and pitched the idea of sheep hunting. Ater explaining the conservation benefits, he opened a copy of Outdoor Life to the “Where to Go” advertising pages. The promise of tourism dollars setled it. Half a dozen bureaucratic calls later, he had secured permission. “The big Siberian argali of Mongolia’s Altai Mountains is the heaviest by body weight of the world’s wild sheep—the full-grown rams weigh up to 400 or 450 pounds,” Landreth wrote. “I started glassing, and in half an hour I located 19 groups of argalis. I had come to a sheep hunter’s paradise.” The total tab for his hunt (transportation, guide, supplies, and license) was $2,622, which he deemed reasonable considering the scale of the hunt. Calculating for inflation, that works out to $20,031 today.

14 november 2016 outdoor life

While initially denied atendance on a walrus hunt due to her gender, a schoolteacher in Cape Prince of Wales was allowed to tag along on a hunt ater caring for a native boy who was wounded on a previous hunt. Today, only Alaska natives are permited to hunt walrus—it’s illegal for anyone who isn’t Indian, Aleut, or Eskimo to actively participate in a walrus hunt.

to read these stories and many more, sign up for a free trial of our digital archives at c2c.outdoorlife.com.

THE LIFE THIS HƒPPENED TO ME ↘

ONE FELL SWOOP DAVID W. GRABLE, OSHKOSH, WI

I secured myself with my safety harness, hung my fanny pack on a limb within easy reach, and settled in for a long hunt.

i climbed into my treestand, excited for an early-morning bowhunt.

as it was getting light enough to see, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. i turned to see A huge owl dive-bombing my treestand! Just before contact I yelled and jumped back...

...right out of my treestand! my safety harness jerked me out of free fall. after a moment i climbed back into the tree, shaken but still in one piece.

IF WE USE YOUR STORY, WE’LL SEND YOU THIS BOOK!

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”THIS HAPPENED TO ME” HAS BEEN A FIXTURE OF OUTDOOR LIFE SINCE IT FIRST APPEARED IN 1940. WE’VE SINCE COMPILED SOME OF THE MOST HARROWING, HAIR-RAISING MISADVENTURES READERS HAVE EVER EXPERIENCED IN A SINGLE VOLUME. IF WE RUN YOUR STORY, YOU CAN PORE OVER THE 183 PAGES OF THIS AUTOGRAPHED, ACTION-PACKED BOOK KNOWING YOU’RE IN GOOD COMPANY. WANT TO BUY A COPY INSTEAD? THEY’RE AVAILABLE AT OUTDOORLIFE.COM/THTMBOOK 16 november 2016 outdoor life

We publish true adventures. Only those used will be acknowledged. Send to THTM@ OutdoorLife.com (preferred), or Outdoor Life, THTM, 2 Park Avenue, New York, NY 10016. Include a daytime phone number.

illustration by tony shasteen • colors by mike spicer

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MUZZLELOƒDERS ♦ OPTICS The test-ﬁre lineup (from let): Traditions Vortek Strikerﬁre, Remington Ultimate Muzzleloader, CVA Accura V2, and T/C Strike.

MUZZLELOƒDER TEST

REALITY CHECK HOW MUCH ACCURACY CAN YOU REALLY EXPECT FROM YOUR MUZZLELOADER? BY JOHN B. SNOW

section edited by john b. snow • photographs by bill buckley

outdoor life november 2016 21

GEAR MUZZLELOƒDERS ↘

traditions

VORTEK STRIKERFIRE

Shooting muzzleloaders can be frustrating, and I’m not talking about the extra steps and mess involved with loading and firing them. No, the frustration stems from the size of the groups most hunters get from their rifles, which rarely seem to match the performance they’ve read about on the internet or seen on television. The editors of Outdoor Life feel your pain. So we shot four regular muzzleloaders with readily available pelletized powders and bullets—just like the vast majority of hunters who use this type of gear do—and recorded the results. The data here is a good representation of what you can expect from your own off-the-shelf hunting setup.

this lever serves as both a safety and a cocking mechanism for the Vortek Strikerfire. By thumbing it forward, the shooter cocks the rifle’s internal striker, making the rifle ready to shoot. Pressing the small stud on the lever allows the shooter to de-cock the rifle, returning it to the safe setting.

in hindsight, it was an unlikely meeting between lead and meat. As the countdown clock ticked toward opening day of deer season, I accepted a gracious offer from the folks at Traditions to take a .50-caliber Vortek Strikerfire for a test spin. I hadn’t had nearly enough time to familiarize myself with the gun as I would have liked, and I couldn’t clear that nagging thought while loading the gun the night before the opener. Somehow I shot a dandy buck with it the next day. Yeah, I violated a bunch of hunting precepts, but it all worked out. I liked the gun the moment I first shouldered it. At 7.25 pounds with the scope, the Traditions felt well balanced and lighter than most of my other muzzleloaders. The hammerless, break-action design features a lock-release button in front of the trigger guard and an easy-toremove breech plug. Once I aired it out at 100 yards, the Strikerfire further impressed me but showed a preference for Traditions’ own 250-grain Smackdown bullets over the 300-grain Nosler Up Fronts.—Gerry Bethge

SPECS Caliber: .50 Action: Break-action, manual cock, striker-ﬁred Overall Length: 44 in. Trigger Pull: 2 lb. 8 oz. Weight (scoped): 7 lb. 3 oz.

THE TEST

Price: $583 Scope: Traditions 3–9x40

22 november 2016 outdoor life

Powder: Hodgdon Triple Seven Primer: Winchester 209 Contact: traditionsﬁrearms.com

ACCURACY 250-gr. Traditions Smackdown Average: 1.818 in. Smallest Group: 0.453 in. 300-gr. Nosler Up Front Average: 2.844 in. Smallest Group: 1.572 in.

CREDIT

Four staff editors each picked a muzzleloader and two types of bullets. We used 100-grain charges of pelletized powder and shot five 3-shot groups at 100 yards off sandbags with each bullet type. We calculated the average group size for both loads and noted the smallest groups as well. And we topped the rifles with hunting scopes, not target scopes.

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GEAR MUZZLELOƒDERS ↘

SPECS Caliber: .50 Action: Bolt-action Overall Length: 45 ½ in. Trigger Pull: 5 lb. 5 oz.

remington

ULTIMATE MUZZLELOADER i’ve spent quite a bit of time shooting this muzzleloader, and I really like both the way it looks and the quality of its construction. Remington touts it as a 300-yard rifle, which is a heck of a claim for a muzzleloader. As much as I like this rifle, I’m not quite ready to hunt with it at those distances. Yes, I’ve gotten some groups from the rifle that make the grade, but not with enough consistency for my liking. For this test, I shot Federal Bor Locks and Remington Accutips in front of 100 grains of Blue MZ pellets by Alliant Powder. The 240-grain Accutips shot very well, turning in sub-MOA 3-shot groups consistently. For such a nice rifle, I wish the trigger on it were lighter. The bulk of this rifle—nearly 10 ½ pounds with the Leupold VX-6—helps keep it on target, however, which should offer some comfort to anyone tough enough to haul it up a mountain for elk. —John B. Snow

Weight (scoped): 10 lb. 6 oz.

the remington uses modified .308 brass with rifle primers to ignite the powder. They are easy to deprime and reprime yourself, with either regular or magnum primers, depending on the size of your powder charge. The only issue I had was that the primer pockets were a bit loose after just one firing.

Price: $949 Contact: remington.com Scope: Leupold VX-6 3–18x44 Powder: Alliant Blue MZ Primer: Federal 210

ACCURACY 350-gr. Federal Bor Lock Average: 1.880 in. Smallest Group: 1.676 in. 240-gr. Remington Accutip Average: .872 in. Smallest Group: .728 in.

SPECS Action: Break-action, manual cock, hammer-ﬁred Overall Length: 42 ¼ in. Trigger Pull: 2 lb. 7 oz. Weight (scoped): 8 lb. 10 oz.

c va

Price: $574

ACCURA V2

Contact: cva.com

the accura v2 has a Bergara barrel that’s nitride-treated, which CVA guarantees makes it rustproof inside and out. The stock design did not fit me well, and I had to do some maneuvering to get a good cheek weld and a decent view through the scope, but that is nothing a good cheek pad wouldn’t fix. The V2 is available with either a standard or a thumbhole stock design. One really nice feature about the gun is that you can easily remove the breech plug with just your fingers even after firing the gun multiples times. This makes cleaning go a little quicker, and you don’t have to worry about losing a breech plug wrench. Fit and finish was pretty standard for the muzzleloader world, nothing fancy. But this gun was designed for durability and utility, not runway-model looks. —Alex Robinson

24 november 2016 outdoor life

Scope: Bushnell Trophy Muzzleloader 3–9x40 Powder: Hodgdon Triple Seven Primer: Remington 209 primers

the accura v2 features a breeching lever that’s built into the trigger guard. It’s one of the smoothest break-actions on the market. The entire gun can be disassembled by removing a single screw.

ACCURACY 350-gr. Federal Bor Lock Average: 2.19 in. Smallest Group: 1.75 in. 250-gr. Barnes Spit-Fire T-EZ Average: 1.75 in. Smallest Group: 1.12 in.

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GEAR MUZZLELOƒDERS ↘

MUZZLELOADER ACCURACY t/c

STRIKE hunting with the Strike is a fussfree affair. I’ve used this muzzleloader on several hunts (see p. 62) with good results. The rifle opens like a double-barrel shotgun with a top lever release. The ambidextrous cocking system is also similar to a shotgun’s tang safety: There’s no external hammer, and you don’t have to engage the trigger to decock it—instead, release the switch to return to safe. Field cleaning is simple, but accessing the bore proved frustrating. Removing the breech plug cap is easy enough (if you didn’t forget the multitool), but the primer adapter requires a 5/16 wrench (not included). Even so, pliers and vigorous tapping with the ramrod were needed to loosen it after just a few shots. Once clean, the breech system is easy to reassemble, but I foresee challenges afield in the event of wet powder or debris in the barrel. The trigger takeup was also slightly gritty. But these gripes don’t impair its utility. In a hunting scenario, the Strike is easy to operate, consistent, and reliable. —Natalie Krebs

SPECS Caliber: .50 Action: Break-action, manual cock, striker-ﬁred Overall Length: 40 ¾ in. Trigger Pull: 4 lb. 2 oz. Weight (scoped): 8 lb. 9 oz. Price: $499 Scope: Weaver Grand Slam 2–8x36 Powder: Hodgdon Triple Seven Primer: Winchester 209 Contact: tcarms.com

ACCURACY 250-gr. Hornady SST LNL Speed Sabot Average: 2.340 in. Smallest Group: 1.406 250-gr. Barnes Spit-Fire T-EZ Average: 1.212 in. Smallest Group: .924 in.

26 november 2016 outdoor life

The key to shooting any rifle accurately— and a muzzleloader is no exception—is consistency. There are a number of ways to achieve this with a muzzleloader, but I use a fairly simple method while in the field or shooting off the bench. If I’m starting with a clean rifle, I’ll start with one fouling shot before I begin shooting to establish a zero or to check for accuracy. After that first shot, this is what I do for each shot that follows. SPIT PATCH: After shooting, I place a patch in my mouth and get it damp with spit. Then I run that patch all the way down the barrel with a range rod and jag. To clean the chamber, I move the rod up and down four times, lifting it roughly 5 inches with every stroke to remove the fouling from that bottom portion of the barrel, then I pull the patch clear out.

the strike comes apart like a breakaction shotgun. After removing the forend, and opening the action with the top lever, you can detach the rifle’s barrel from the stock and action, making the Strike very compact for easy transport.

2 3

DRY PATCH: I repeat this sequence with a dry patch.

SNAP A PRIMER: You might not have the option to do this in the field, but at the range, I will fire the rifle with just a primer—no powder or projectile—in order to make sure the flash hole is clear. LOAD THE RIFLE: This is self-explanatory, but there are a couple of things you can do to make the accuracy gods smile more kindly on you. First, start the bullet so that it sits straight in the muzzle. Be careful not to cant it to one side or somehow deform the sabot. Second, while ramming the bullet home, make sure that it goes all the way down so that its base is in contact with your powder. That’s what the guide marks on the rod are for. Use them. Lastly, while you want the bullet seated firmly against the powder, don’t overdo it. If you shoot with pelletized powder and push down too hard, you might crush the pellets, which will lead to inconsistent ignition and degraded accuracy.

CLEAN IT: At some point you’re going to need to clean your muzzleloader. When it’s time, run a couple of solventsoaked patches down the barrel and let them sit for a minute or two. Run another two wet patches down the barrel, followed by a series of dry patches. Once the dry patches stop coming out wet, you’re ready to shoot again. Send a fouling shot downrange and then go about your business. If you’re done shooting for the day, run an oil-soaked patch down the barrel after cleaning to protect it from rust. —J.B.S.

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GEAR OPTICS ↘

KEY ACCESSORIES RANGE ROD A heavy range rod with a generously sized handle is a smart addition to a muzzleloader’s kit. It provides a lot of extra leverage when seating bullets, and saves time during the reloading and cleaning process. ($34; cva.com)

INLINE OPTICS SMART SIGHT CHOICES FOR MODERN MUZZLELOADERS BY ANDREW McKEAN

ou can mount a scope configured for centerfire rifle hunting on a muzzleloader and get along well enough. But if you want to maximize the capability of a modern blackpowder rifle, match it with a sight that is calibrated to the slower-moving, comparatively ballistically inefficient projectiles of a front-stuffer. Because the trajectory of blackpowder bullets and sabots more closely resembles the rainbow parabola of an arrow than the flat path of a centerfire bullet, a scope with holdover references is especially useful for muzzleloader hunting.

BULLET STARTER These come in various configurations and different materials. Basic plastic ones work fine, but you can get them with nice wooden handles and brass fittings too. This Thandled version from Traditions comes as part of the Load-It Kit, which includes holders for bullets, powder, and primers. ($26;

traditionsfirearms.com) FOAMING BORE CLEANER: The solvent attacks fouling from powder, plastic, copper, and brass. ($9; traditionsfirearms.com) —J.B.S.

TOOLS OF THE TEST

nikon

leupold

INLINE XR BDC 300 (3–9X40)

VX-1 MUZZLELOADER (2–7X33)

muzzleloader hunting makes good use of the circular aiming points in Nikon’s distinctive BDC reticle. Zero your muzzleloader at 100 yards, then use the lower circles and hashes as reference points for longer shots. When you add your bullet weight and muzzle velocity data to Nikon’s Spot On online ballistics program, you can fine-tune your reticle’s references to the specific trajectory of your rifle and load. ($300; nikonsportsoptics.com)

the low-magnification version of a classic riflescope, this 2–7x33 optic is configured for most muzzleloader hunting scenarios, in which shots are inside 200 yards. The hardwearing Leupold has good optical resolution and low-light brightness. And while some shooters might want a ballistic reticle, the heavy duplex crosshair in the VX-1 is useful for making quick shots in timber and other cluttered backgrounds. ($230; leupold.com)

POWDER PELLETS: You might not have known that muzzleloader pellets come in colors other than black, but they do. We used both Hodgdon Triple Seven and Alliant Powder Blue MZ pellets in this test. PROJECTILES: The majority of the groups in the test were shot with saboted bullets, like the Remington Accutips shown here. But we also used the innovative Federal Bor Lock bullets, which don’t have a sabot. They feature a fiber-wad that seals against the rifling as the powder ignites. 28 november 2016 outdoor life

vortex

m e o p ta

CROSSFIRE II (1X24)

MEOSIGHT III 30 (1X)

in the 1x configuration, this scope satisfies the no-magnification requirement imposed by some states on muzzleloading sights. Longer-distance shooters might want more than the simple crosshair of the V-Plex reticle, but with immense eye relief and a whopping 95-foot field of view at 100 yards, it’s a fast-target-acquiring scope. Unlike many muzzleloader scopes, its parallax is fixed at 100 yards. ($170; vortexoptics.com)

this is a solid alternative to a magnified optic. Weighing less than 2 ounces (at its retail price, that’s about $200 per ounce—more expensive than good caviar), the reflex sight is certainly pricey. But when you consider that it just as easily fits a handgun, slug gun, or personal defense shotgun, its versatility makes it a sound investment. Aiming with its 3 MOA red dot is as easy as putting the point on the target. ($400; meoptasportsoptics.com)

Swinging on GSL ducks from a layout boat.

WƒTERFOWL

TIP When hunting from a layout boat, use a jacket for a pillow. Propping your head up even slightly gives you a better ﬁeld of view.

DUCKING THE GREAT SALT LAKE

MIKE KEMP

Late-season Pacific Flyway ducks are funneling into Utah’s inland sea. Here are a couple of ways to get your limit. BY ANDREW McKEAN

section edited by andrew mckean • hunting@outdoorlife.com

outdoor life november 2016 31

he appeal of the 75-mile-long Great Salt Lake is almost as powerful for waterfowl hunters as it is for birds. The lake has good public access, habitat that enables a wide variety of hunting styles, and extensive marshland that atracts a diversity of waterfowl species unrivaled elsewhere in the ﬂyway—and probably the continent. I hunted the GSL last November in two very diﬀerent ways. I rode an airboat into the remote interior of the lake, spread out hundreds of decoys, and shot dabbling ducks in a wilderness of alkali bulrush. Then I hunted diving ducks from a simple layout boat anchored in the open middle of Farmington Bay, a popular public marsh close enough to downtown Salt Lake City that I could hear garbage trucks rumbling on the city’s streets.

32 november 2016 outdoor life

BEAR RIVER MIGRATORY BIRD REFUGE Nov. 10, 2015 We tow airboats in the dark down the main street of Brigham City, We’re headed for Willard Spur, a causeway that extends across the marshland of the Bear River Delta, where we’ll launch the boats. The Bear is the largest freshwater tributary to the lake, and the brackish water that extends map illustration by michael byers

HUNTING WƒTERFOWL ↙

ANDREW McKEAN (5)

from its mouth out into the lake is among the best waterfowl habitat on the Great Salt Lake. Nearly the entire delta is managed by the U.S. Fish & Wildlife Service for waterfowl production and public hunting. The 74,000-acre Bear River Migratory Bird Refuge is the airboat was invented back in the 1940s. Biologists needed shallowdrating boats to help them assess duck populations and habitat, and the flat-hulled crat, pushed by giant, rear-facing propellers, were the answer. They still are for waterfowl hunters who want to access the vast interior of the lake. Here’s the thing about the Great Salt Lake: Its water is only a few inches deep in many places, too shallow for V-hulled boats. But its alkali mud is so deep and bootsucking that walking across shallow bays is impossible. Airboats enable hunters to reach the thousands of acres of brine flats on the Bear River Refuge and westward, out toward the vast lake leading to Promontory Point. I’m hunting with Chad Yamane of Fried Feathers Outfiters (friedfeathers.com), who motors his boat for 20 minutes, navigating a maze of house-high phragmite reeds and acres of samelooking bulrush. Finally, he finds a spot to stake out hundreds of thin silhouete decoys, and we setle into our layout blinds in the tall reeds. Over the next hours, we dupe a few mallards, a pintail, and a mess of greenwing teal. We’re not quite limited out when we pull up stakes. Rough weather is headed in, and we return to Willard Spur.

For all their ability to access thousands of acres of unpressured habitat, airboats have their limitations. The spot we picked, based on the northwest wind of the morning, isn’t as good when the wind shits out of the south. But it would take so much time and work to reset our decoy spread that we setle for a few singles and doubles every hour or so. The next day, the group that rides airboats to this same spot limits on greenwing teal and mallards in about an hour. Yamane described the funnel of birds that dropped into their decoys as “cyclonic.” FARMINGTON BAY WATERFOWL MANAGEMENT AREA Nov. 11, 2015 If riding an airboat seems like NASCAR—the boats are fast and so loud you have to wear earmuffs—then hunting out of a layout boat feels like resting in a hammock. A cold, hard hammock, to be sure, but the rocking of the boat on the water is so peaceful, I nearly drit off to sleep. Then shooting light arrives, and the gunfire all around me snaps me alert. I’m on my back in a tiny boat in the very middle of Farmington Bay, one of the most popular waterfowl areas on the lake. I get buzzed by one, then a half dozen flocks of ducks. They’re easily within shotgun range, but it’s too dark to positively identify them. As the light rises, I can ID the birds—they’re a mix of redheads and ruddy ducks—but I miss so badly on my first volleys that I wonder if my barrel

is bent. I’m shooting several feet behind the streaking birds. The divers fly much faster than mallards do, but because of my position, I can’t get my gun up and swinging fast enough. That’s one of the challenges of layout boats. The boats, which were designed for hunting the open water off the Atlantic Coast, sit low in the water in the center of blocks of decoys. In order not to stick up and spook birds, hunters lie flat on their back, siting up and making quick shots when birds fly in range. Layout boat hunting has caught on here on the Great Salt Lake, where the shoreline is full of pass-shooters, but relatively few hunters access the open water. My boat, a 9 ½-foot molded-fiberglass model called the Reaper, is made right here in Utah by Backwater Performance Systems (backwater performancesystems.com). It takes me a few misses before I realize I have more time than I expected. As long as I can spot incoming birds and positively identify them, I can pick the one I want and make the shot. As long as I keep my barrel moving, that is. When my form falls apart and I neglect to follow-through, I miss. The trick to layout boat hunting is to have a tender ship. In this case, it’s piloted by my friends Mat Anderson and Jeff Bringhurst. The pair hangs out on shore, watching me through a spoting scope (and eating a hearty breakfast). When they see I have a few birds down, they motor out, scoop up ducks with a net, refill my coffee cup, and reposition the decoys.

Ater two hours, I am one bird short of a remarkable mixed bag: a fully plumed wigeon drake, a bull pintail, a hen gadwall, a drake ruddy duck, and a bufflehead. I’m holding out for a canvasback, the trophy duck of any layout gunner. But when a second drake pintail flies in range, I can’t resist. I’m done, and ready for breakfast myself. I’m a convert to layout boat hunting, at least in the right conditions. The waves can’t be too tall or they’ll swamp the boat. And there have to be enough birds to provide steady action. Lying on your back all day in a cold November lake with no shooting could easily turn a hunter off this style of waterfowling. As we drive out of the Farmington Bay WMA, I see what keeps the birds around. Nearly half the public marsh is set aside as a rest area, where hunting isn’t allowed. I see tens of thousands of birds, a mix of dabblers and divers, several hundred snow-white tundra swans, and dozens of rusty-headed canvasbacks—all feeding and chuckling, enjoying themselves on the Great Salt Lake before continuing their journey south.

Clockwise from let: Guy Perkins stakes out silhouette decoys; an airboat ready for departure from Willard Spur; the author with a mixed bag; duck loads. Above: Brigham City’s main street welcomes waterfowlers.

outdoor life november 2016 33

HUNTING MULE DEER ↘

BUCKS’ BEDROOMS ONCE YOU LEARN TO LOCATE BEDDING AREAS FOR MULE DEER BUCKS, KILLING THEM IS A CINCH BY ANDREW McKEAN

peeked over the gumbo bank of the prairie stream and counted 14 does and yearlings grazing in the dry creekbed about 250 yards upstream. It was early November, and because the peak of the rut was only a week away, I suspected a buck wouldn’t be far from this bunch of does. But despite glassing up and down the valley, I couldn’t spot antlers. Then I turned my binocular uphill, to the rimrocks on the ridge. There was the buck, bedded in the shade of a sandstone outcropping.

▶ RECOGNIZE BUCK BEDS To the uneducated, a mule deer buck’s bed looks like a nondescript, dished-out bowl in a dirt cutbank. Before the rut, bucks like to bed high on ridges—just downhill from the crest—so they can keep an eye on does grazing down the drainage and exit over the ridge if danger approaches from below. Post-rut bucks retreat to these day beds to recover from the physical rigors of the breeding season. Look for scalloped-out dishes in dirt or disturbed dirt in the shade of ridgeline rocks or juniper trees. Bucks oten bed in places that get midday shade, so look beneath overhanging rocks and limbs. ▶ USE YOUR OPTICS Ideally, you want to spot a buck in his bed

DEER SNEAKERS 34 november 2016 outdoor life

When Cabela’s introduced the original Silent Stalker boot a few years ago, I was skeptical. I prefer boots with stiff soles designed for holding on sidehills and rigid ankle support for hauling heavy loads. The Silent Stalkers were more like

from a distance. So spend time behind a spoting scope or a powerful binocular. I like a 10X binocular for open-country mule deer hunting, but a 15x56 is perfect for this bed-scanning operation. ▶ LOCATE LANDMARKS Once you find a buck, take note of any rock formations, unusual trees, or other landmarks near to him. You will probably need to find these waypoints from the opposite direction, so make sure they are distinctive enough to recognize. ▶ MIND THE WIND Make sure the wind won’t give you away if you approach from the ridgeline side of the buck. ▶ BACK OUT AND STALK IN Even if a ruting buck is alert to your presence, he probably won’t run if you are outside around 1,000 yards. He’s probably distracted by the does. But if you are closer, then you’re going to have to figure out an approach that won’t spook him. That oten means circling around and coming at him from over the ridge, as I did with my buck. This is why those landmarks are so important to your success. You need to know precisely where the deer is bedded so you don’t blunder into him when you come in on his blind side.

high-top basketball shoes. Then I hunted in them and found I could sneak quietly, thanks to the relatively thin sole, which allowed me to feel stones and sticks. The new iteration of the boot has a waterproof Gore-Tex membrane

and a finish that resists burrs and grass seeds. The sole is thicker, but it remains sensitive enough to enable a silent approach. They are as comfortable as running shoes, and as quiet as bedroom slippers. ($140; cabelas.com) —A.M.

JOHN HAFNER/WINDIGO IMAGES

Killing that deer—a wide but light-racked 4-point—was a mater of reversing my approach to the does, keeping my profile hidden in the sagebrush until I was out of sight around a bend in the creek. Then I made a long hike around the drainage and came in above the buck. It took me a couple of hours, but I was in place when he rose from his bed, and I made a 125-yard shot off my bipod. Here’s how you can find and kill pre-rut and post-rut bucks, who spend most of their daylight hours bedded.

A bedded mule deer buck on the lookout in western Utah.

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DID YOU KNOW In Montana, the minimum restitution penalty for poaching a bighorn sheep is $30,000.

↘

BOUNTIES FOR BUCKS WE ALL RECOGNIZE THE INTRINSIC VALUE OF AWESOME ANTLERS. BUT CAN WE PUT A PRICE ON THEM? AND SHOULD WE? BY BRAD FITZPATRICK o community is immune from thet, and that includes the remote hamlet of Bethel, Alaska. Over the last decade, thieves in Bethel have been targeting a very speciﬁc item—caribou antlers, which end up being sold for cash to licensed buyers who ship them to the Lower 48, where they are cut up and used for home décor. Thieves don’t make much money from their contraband—even trophy antlers sell on the black market for just a couple hundred bucks. But to the hunters whose trophies were swiped, hacked up, and sold as a commodity, the replacement value is much greater. Between tags and guide fees, equipment, taxidermy, lodging, and time oﬀ from work, most of those racks represent an investment of thousands of dollars. For many hunters, the racks are priceless, the only physical evidence of a singular animal and hunting experience. “The value placed on the stolen antlers is based on what they are sold for in pieces, not the trophy value to the hunter,” says

Bethel resident Louisa Mae Russell, whose family has had three caribou racks swiped, including one that qualiﬁed for the Boone and Crocket record book. For Russell and other victims, the insult ater the injury of thet is the paltry compensation paid by insurance companies. Insurance pays on the market value of the stolen antlers, not the replacement value, or the intrinsic value to the hunter who bagged the animal.

Assessing the Value of Game ▶ Because the value of wildlife parts is oten situational (and personal), many state ﬁsh and game departments assess it in a diﬀerent way, by calculating the market value of trophy animals. Why do states care? Because in order to deter poaching of trophy-class animals, penalties are based on a restitution model, forcing offenders to repay the state’s sportsmen for the loss of a valuable public resource. The bigger the rack, the more valuable it is, and the more restitution it requires for criminals who poach it. The restitution penalties that some states impose on big-game poachers are designed to repay sportsmen for lost trophies.

In 2008, Ohio passed legislation to require remuneration from poachers for the full value of an illegally harvested animal. The law establishes a dollar amount for the replacement value of animals ranging from a bluegill ($20) to a trumpeter swan ($2,500). But because the bulk of Ohio’s hunting revenue centers around whitetail deer, the Ohio Revised Code contains specific language that spells out just how much a buck is worth based on antler size. Ohio establishes the minimum replacement value of a whitetail at $500. For antlered deer, the formula is the buck’s gross antler score, minus 100, and then squared, multiplied by 1.65, and then added to the 500 base. Here’s how it looks in a formula: (gross score–100)2 x 1.65 + 500. So a poached 160-inch deer will cost a violator $6,440 in restitution fees. The Buckeye State law made national news in 2010, when James Alspaugh was caught with a poached buck that scored 218 ⁷⁄₈. According to Ohio’s formula, that buck was worth $23,816.95 in restitution. Alspaugh was ordered to pay up. The disparity between the values of Alaska caribou and Ohio deer points to the inherent complexities of assigning value to wildlife. Ohio sets the minimum replacement value of an antlerless deer at $500. At that valuation, the state’s whitetail herd, which is estimated at 750,000 head, would be worth more than $400 million. Adjusting for the value of bucks, the actual figure is in the billions, making wildlife one of Ohio’s most valuable resources, at least on paper. The problem with assigning a valuation to deer on the hoof (besides promoting the commercialization of a public resource) is that it’s arbitrary, changing when the animal jumps across a state line. The same 160-class buck that is valued at $6,440 in Ohio would cost poachers between $10,000 and $20,000 in Iowa, but if the offenders agree to perform 80 hours of community service, the restitution penalty is cut in half. Montana says that anyone poaching a whitetail deer that scores greater than 140 inches must pay an $8,000 penalty. Oregon slaps a flat fee of $7,500 for poachers of trophy deer. States such as Alabama don’t require that restitution be paid for poached deer, though criminal fines are applicable.

OHIO ESTABLISHES THE MINIMUM VALUE OF A WHITETAIL AT $500. 36 november 2016 outdoor life

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HUNTING GƒME MƒNƒGEMENT ↘

Commercial Value of Antlers the variable value of a buck The restitution value of a 160-class whitetail: ▶ Ohio $6,440 ▶ Iowa $10,000 or $20,000* ▶ Montana $8,000 ▶ Oregon $7,500 *Iowa halves penalties for some poachers if they perform community service.

asking prices, not sale prices, which may be lower and don’t reflect the actual figures that sellers were paid for their mounts. Bret Wingfield, whose job at Cabela’s includes finding and buying big-game mounts for its stores, says there is no standard value for animals of a certain size. Wingfield says that “regionally relevant” mounts, such as state records, may be worth more than a larger rack from an

area that routinely produces trophies. But, he says, the value of a mount is simply a mater of what an individual purchaser is willing to pay. “We do not discuss value of antlers or animals with anyone until all of our due diligence is complete and we are ready to purchase,” Wingﬁeld says. “We would not want to leave the public feeling like we have an established bounty for game animals.”

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HUNTING

DID YOU KNOW Kestrel’s advanced systems allow shooters to load custom dope. Holdover values incorporate environmental conditions.

TECHNOLOGY ↘

GOING LONG WEST TEXAS’ AOUDAD USE RUGGED TERRAIN AND KEEN EYESIGHT TO SURVIVE. TECHNOLOGY CAN HELP SHRINK THE DISTANCE BY SAMMY REESE

ost hunters have a bucket list of sorts. Some set their sights on a certain species, a grand-slam collection of trophy animals, or their own “white whale”— whether a drop-tine buck or a color-phase bear. My list includes the elusive aoudad, a wild sheep native to North Africa that has been transplanted to areas of the American West.

And nowhere has the species taken hold beter than in western Texas. Aoudad hunting presents many challenges, starting with the rugged, boot-wrecking mountains where these exotic sheep thrive. Hunting them in this hostile country requires back-breaking, leg-searing, and sometimes spirit-crushing stalks. You can do everything perfectly in terms of your

approach, only to be compromised by the aoudads’ phenomenal eyesight. For my hunt with Offgrid Outdoors (offgridoutdoors. com), I chose a rifle-cartridge combo capable of handling the tough conditions and the distances aoudad hunting sometimes requires. My rig was a GA Precision chambered in 6.5 SAUM loaded with Hornady’s new 143-grain Long Range ELDX bullet. What made my hardware even more suited to its task were the eyes and the brains of the setup. I topped the rifle with a Bushnell Elite Long Range Hunter Scope (LRHS). The drop I dialed into the scope came from the new Bushnell CONX rangefinder and Kestrel ballistics calculator, which work together via a wireless Bluetooth connection to pro-

vide a firing solution at the push of a buton. This is the most intriguing combination of technology I’ve used in the field, and aoudad country was the perfect place to test it. I was a bit nervous about entering all the information that the system requires, and then applying the results. But ater spending about 30 minutes with Bushnell Pro Staffer Tommy Fuller—an accomplished Army sniper and hardcore hunter—I was confident I could use the system to get a firing solution and quickly put it to use. Within a few shots, I was making hits out to 800 yards, but I kept my fingers crossed that I’d be able to get significantly closer to a trophy ram. Ater geting comfortable with the CONX system, I quizzed my guides, Rusty, Lesa, and Kade Hall. I wanted to learn

SAMMY REESE

The author with a mature West Texas aoudad, also known as a Barbary sheep.

40 november 2016 outdoor life

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HUNTING TECHNOLOGY ↘ their expectations of the hunt, but mainly I wanted to ﬁgure out a way to clearly communicate animal identiﬁcation. I’ve hunted herd animals in the past and wanted to ensure that if we encountered a group of tightly packed aoudads, that I would know how to ID the animal they wanted me to shoot.

THE HILLS HAVE EYES I quickly learned that aoudads are extremely hard to ﬁnd in the rocks, and that they can spot you long before you see them. It took a few hours to get my aoudad eyes working. Rusty and Lesa could pick out the animals with their naked eyes and talk me to them, but I still needed my binocular. By midday I was geting prety good at ﬁnding them hiding in the rocks. While Rusty used the spoting scope to look for big rams, I practiced with the CONX system by ranging ani-

mals and coming up with firing solutions. Toward the end of the day, Rusty found a big ram moving up a canyon. We had about two hours of light let and decided to ruck up and go ater him. Ater a fast hike in some awful terrain, we got into position across the deep canyon from the ram. I setled myself prone on the rocks and ranged it: 297 yards. Bushnell’s John Vaca verified my dope correction and called the wind at 5 mph. When the ram turned broadside, I pressed the trigger and watched through my scope as he fell. While 297 yards isn’t a distance some would call long range, it felt plenty far to me as we set up on the ram. Ater my practice at distances two and three times as far, the CONX system made it seem like a chip shot. I’m not advocating hunting at longer ranges, but the CONX system gave me the confidence to make a killing shot if geting closer hadn’t been an option.

CONX SYSTEM Following my aoudad hunt, I spent more time with the CONX system, learning its capabilities as well as its limitations. The system is made up of rifle, scope, CONX rangefinder, and Kestrel ballistics computer, and users must take time to get all the pieces working in concert. I mounted a 4.5–18x44mm Bushnell Tactical Hunter Scope on a Robar QR-2 in .308. The rangefinder and Kestrel were pretty easy to set up, though I highly encourage new users to spend plenty of time with the comprehensive directions. The Bluetooth connection between the CONX and Kestrel worked as advertised. Getting the data input into the Kestrel took me a while, mainly because

the interface is not especially user-friendly. My range has visible steel targets out to 300 yards. But in order to really test the long-distance application of the CONX system, I got ﬁring solutions on rocks out to 900 yards. As in most longrange shooting, the wind call is the variable that is the hardest to assess but has the most potential to cause a miss. The Kestrel’s wind-reading component gave me a benchmark for what the wind was doing at my location. But deciphering the wind downrange is the real science of longrange shooting, and that’s something this system doesn’t do. Every shooter has to know his own limitations, and the limitations of his equipment. The CONX system takes the voodoo out of longer shots.

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42 november 2016 outdoor life

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44 november 2016 outdoor life

Every deer hunter loves the rut. But some throw themselves into this magic season. They are willing to risk jobs, relationships, and even their lives for that one chance at a buck of a lifetime BY MARK KENYON • PHOTO ILLUSTRATIONS BY ERIC HEINTZ

46 november 2016 outdoor life

ally paid of. “I don’t think I’m necessarily a great hunter,” says 47-year-old Mead, who grew up on the southeastern edge of Adirondack Park. “But I’m just willing to do more than most. If you put yourself in good positions, you’ll get lucky now and then.” Mead was raised hunting the big woods of the Adirondack Mountains—a place where big bucks are hard to come by, and even harder to kill.

taken dozens of mature bucks during the rut, with both bow and gun. Every year he packs 3 miles into the wilderness of the Adirondacks, sets up camp, and uses that as his headquarters for what he knows will be a long stay. “If you want to kill a good deer here,” he says, “you need a minimum of a week in November. If you have to walk 7 miles a day until you ﬁnd an area where you can kill a big buck,

do it.” What Mead is on the lookout for is very speciﬁc—small sections, a quarter mile square or less, that hold disproportionately high amounts of sign such as big rubs and scrapes. He typically ﬁnds this type of rutting sign near swamps, beaver ponds, or other lowlands that have multiple ridges dropping down into them. He is on the lookout for does as well, and will key in on doe bedding areas when-

PREVIOUS SPREAD: CHARLES ALSHEIMER (DEER)

top during the rut. Maybe a little strange.” New York hunter Todd Mead admits to devising some questionable rut excursions. He’s carried a 16-foot aluminum canoe 3 miles into the woods to access a prime spot and then slept in it, back in the mountains, to make sure he’d be on stand in time the next morning. He’s hunted three weeks straight out of a tent and with no shower, just to be in big-buck

TOP LEFT: ALAMY (DEER)

CRAZY FOR THE RUT

also runs 17 cameras throughout the mountains to help him zero in on any areas of high daylight movement once the rut arrives. “Finding does during the rut is essential if a hunter wants to be successful in the big woods,” he says. “Bucks go where does are, and without does there won’t be bucks. If you continue jumping does in the same area, there’s no better place to set up. As long as the does are there, the bucks will

IF YOU NEED TO WALK 7 MILES A DAY UNTIL YOU FIND AN AREA WHERE YOU CAN KILL A BIG BUCK, WELL, THEN YOU NEED TO DO IT.

one of them in heat. If you remember to hunt the does, you will surely shoot some bucks.” But even if all goes according to plan and Mead ﬁlls a tag on one of these rut hunts, the work really has only just begun, as the pack out can sometimes be more diicult than everything leading up to it. He’s wheeled deer out on carts, carried them out on his back, and ﬂoated them out in canoes. His longest recovery lasted two days. “No matter where I’m hunting that day, I can’t

pen. I could sit there all day and see nothing, and then the next thing you know there’s a world-class whitetail buck underneath me.” Though not knowing how a hunt in a sixmillion-acre wilderness might turn out may seem foreboding to many, it’s what keeps Mead engaged. “Where I’m hunting, there are no logging trails and there’s a lot of woods,” he says. “I just love the unpredictability of all of it.”

outdoor life november 2016 47

CRAZY FOR THE RUT

real hunch that something was going on when we weren’t there,” he says. Not long after setting up, a gnarly old buck came walking by, and seconds later he was piled up 25 yards away from the game pole. “Everything is an option for me. If I see something that’s good, but that’s hard to get to, I’ll go there. If there’s something that looks stupid but seems right, I’ll still go there and try it,” explains Pysar. It’s that willingness to go wherever it takes for a rutting buck, whether it’s right behind the cabin or 1,500 miles from home, that seems to set Pysar apart from most other rut hunters. As he says himself, “I guess I’m just an obsessive deer freak. “I don’t have any secret or do anything revolutionary,” says Pysar. “It’s just hard work, lots of time, picking a good location, studying deer and other people, and never relying on just one technique.”

THE

ome people might think I’m a little obsessed,” says Steven Winters, a 40-year-old corrections oicer from Onekama, Michigan. “But my passion for rut hunting is really my only vice. It could be worse, right?” Last October 30, it did get a bit worse for the 28-year hunting veteran, when what was supposed to be a quick recon trip to his river-bottom whitetail hotspot turned into a calamity. Winters had just returned from taking his boat downriver for a quick check of his trail cameras when, while trying to take his rig out, his truck’s emergency brake failed, sending boat, trailer, and truck to the bottom. It was the rut, though, and nothing

was going to keep him out of the woods. After buying a new truck and getting his boat and trailer pulled out, he was back downriver and up a tree just two days later. Minutes after getting settled in, he turned to see one of the three bucks he was after close the distance to his stand. At 25 yards, he got a shot at the mature Northern Michigan 8-pointer and watched as it toppled over only 25 yards farther away. “Oh, it was all worth it,” says Winters. “It was all awesome.” And simply the price he’s willing to pay each season from October 1 until the mid-November ﬁrearm opener. Every single one of those days sees Winters traveling the river by boat—sometimes as far as 10 miles—in order

50 november 2016 outdoor life

to access the interiors of Michigan’s public lands. For the past 10 years, he’s taken at least one mature 90- to 110-inch buck. As challenging as the river bottom is to access, it’s even more diicult to hunt. Satellite imagery has been his key. A neophyte might not discern it from the ground, but what Winters recognized from aerial photos was a maze of high ground weaving through the low-lying swamp. These narrow strips of dry land create pinch points—and great stand locations—to wait out rutting bucks that are cruising about in their search for estrous does. All 15 of his treestands and ground blinds are set near these funnels and then hunted according to wind,

weather, and trail camera sightings. The second week of November is when hunting is normally best. That’s when the rut reaches its peak and increased hunting pressure pushes more deer back into swamp country. Over the years, he’s killed three bucks on November 14, his last day of rut hunting before gun season starts. And though accessing the deep swamps is tough, getting those bucks home is even tougher. Typically, Winters quarters his deer on the spot and then packs it back out to the boat. The long trip to the launch, often after dark, follows—a navigational thrill ride past partially submerged trees and rocks. It’s all just part of hunting the rut—hard.

LON LAUBER/WINDIGO IMAGES (DEER)

RAT

CRAZY FOR THE RUT

4THE

DREAMER

t was the spring of 2015 when Cameron Coble’s buddy picked up a 98-inch shed that set all the wheels in motion. But unlike most people trying to hunt Iowa, Coble didn’t decide to just take a weeklong rut-hunting trip there. He decided to move, packing up his belongings and heading to a piece of public land in southern Iowa near where the giant shed was found. He set up camp and got to work ﬁnding a temp job to pay the bills. For the next three months, Coble lived out of the back of his Ford Explorer. During

scouting, or hunting. “Essentially I guess I was homeless—except I was chasing deer,” he says. There certainly were big deer around, and that made the tough living conditions—and peanut butter-andjelly sandwiches—much easier to swallow. Coble eventually did capture trail cam pictures of the buck that had dropped the shed—along with another buck over 200 inches and 15 other bucks more than 135 inches. Those pictures and the dream of killing one of those bucks was enough to keep Coble fueled without creature comforts for more than 80 days straight. He was up with the sun and

ties were so rare, he once resorted to taking

would pull down the In the end, he did

Iowa rut, since he couldn’t even obtain residency and a hunting license until the

saw high quantities of

big mature deer, but the thought of the 200-inch ghost monster kept his finger of the trigger. All along the way, he followed one hard and fast rule: “I learned from a great Illinois bowhunter that you always want to be in or near thick brush,” says Coble. “I wasn’t always right in it, but I was always in the vicinity of the thick cover that deer feel safe in.” He hunted ceaselessly every possible day that he could last November, spending all day with portable stands and climbing sticks, adjusting locations based on observation and trail camera photos. In addition to any semi-permanent stands he hung, he always kept at least two floater-stand options. Coble never did kill his Iowa giant, but similar dedication has paid of for him on past rut hunts, resulting in numerous bucks killed in the 130- to 150-inch class. In 2015, though, he shot for the stars and sacrificed almost everything to hunt the rut and get a chance at a oncein-a-lifetime buck. “I tried gambling and passed on a few I probably shouldn’t have,” he says. “But I’d do it all again—maybe, though, next time I’d bring a better sleeping bag. I did get cold at times.”

outdoor life november 2016 51

52 november 2016 outdoor life

THE

ONES THAT GOT AWAY WE ALL HAVE ONE OR TWO —OR A DOZEN— STORIES OF THE

SURE-THING TROPHIES THAT

SOMEHOW ELUDED US. SOME OF THESE

GHOSTS ARE EVEN MORE MEMORABLE THAN THE ANIMALS WE BAGGED

OUTDOOR LIFE NOVEMBER 2016

I L L U S T R AT I O N S B Y

LEVENTE SZABO

OUTDOOR LIFE NOVEMBER 2016

IF YOU HUNT LONG ENOUGH, YOU WILL ENCOUNTER AN ANIMAL THAT IS DIFFERENT FROM ALL OTHER ANIMALS. MAYBE IT’S THE SIZE OF HIS RACK, OR THE WAY HE BEHAVES, OR HIS SUDDEN, SURPRISING APPEARANCE. SOMETIMES EVERYTHING COMES TO GETHER AND YOU KILL THAT REMARKABLE ANIMAL, AND THEN CELEBRATE YOUR SUCCESS WITH PHOTOGRAPHS AND TAXIDERMY. BUT SOMETIMES, THAT SINGULAR ANIMAL GETS AWAY BECAUSE WE MISS A SHOT, OR WE BECOME SO RATTLED WE NEVER TAKE A SHOT, OR SOME OTHER COMBINATION OF DETAILS CONSPIRE TO ALLOW HIM TO ESCAPE. THE STORIES HERE ARE ABOUT THOSE ANIMALS, THE ONES THAT BURN BRIGHT IN OUR MEMORY PRECISELY BECAUSE WE HAVE NO PHYSICAL EVIDENCE THEY EVER EXISTED.

DAD’S DEER TIM ZICK SNELLMAN, MINN. MY DAD DIED in October 2012, on our family farm in northern Minnesota. In the weeks before his death, he had been preparing for me to come home for November’s deer season. He had done all of the preseason work for me. He fixed up all the deer stands, he sighted-in my rifle. He even bought my tag. A few weeks after his funeral, I went back home for deer season as planned, even though nothing was the same. I remember an empty feeling inside me as I sifted through my dad’s things, finally locating the hunting license he’d purchased for me. There wasn’t much I could do except move forward and try my damnedest to fill that tag. The hunting was terrible that season. The weather was cold, the air was still, and the leaves were crunchy. Nothing seemed to be moving, especially the deer. On the second-to-last day of the season, I tried a different approach. There was a stand that my dad and I had put up several years earlier. Located on a hillside of oak trees, it was extremely close to a bedding area, but it was also very difficult to get to quietly. Because of that, we seldom hunted it. But that day, I decided to try it. I left for the evening hunt two

The Zick family—Sue, Jerry, and Tim—on the final day of the 2009 deer season. Above, Jerry and Tim with a 13-point buck.

hours earlier than normal, buying myself time to sneak in to the stand. But as I sat in it, I could think about only one thing: I hated the direction it faced for evening hunts. I remembered my dad and I politely disagreeing on the subject when we put that stand up. As it started to get dark, I saw movement down the hillside. It was a doe, followed closely by a large-bodied buck. I raised my gun and tried to find the buck through my scope, but he kept weaving through trees. It was impossible for me to get a good hold on him. Meanwhile, the doe kept moving closer. If she followed the trail she was on, she’d walk past me at about 40 yards, bringing the buck with her. Instead, she went between the trail and my stand. She stopped 15 yards away, sniffed the air, then sniffed again. She looked me dead in the eyes, snorted loudly, and took off running. My buck went with her. I was so close to filling that tag—the last tag my dad would ever buy me—and in an instant, the opportunity was gone. Was I disappointed? Sure. But that moment is burned into my memory, along with all the memories of my dad and me building stands and hunting together.

OUTDOOR LIFE NOVEMBER 2016

OPENINGDAY DUD i was 12 years old and tiny. Barely big enough to hold my Savage 110 steady when I shouldered it. With my dad and our neighbor Bill Miller at my side, I’d headed out for my first deer on Maryland’s youth hunt. Bill and my old man had tested me on the floor of our garage a few weeks earlier. Could I hold the rifle? Did I understand what it truly means to pull the trigger when it is pointed toward a living target? After I passed that test, Bill took me to the range and I demonstrated adequate accuracy using his patented handloads in .243 Win. With approval from the men, and shooting sticks to ensure I was steady on the crosshairs, we headed out. All morning, I fought jangled nerves, the impossibly heavy rifle, and the expecta○ tions of my mentors. ben No one was suro’brien prised when I missed ○ a doe at 75 yards. It hagerstown, was decided that we would find a situation md. better designed for a nervous 12-year-old. That afternoon we happened on a large downed oak tree positioned conveniently on a steep hillside that acted as a pinch point for a bunch of deer trails. As the afternoon sun soaked the timber, I grew more confident. The tree gave me a perfect rest, and my dad, posted at my hip, gave me periodic pep talks. Bill fell asleep behind us, in the huge root hole of the fallen tree. Out of nowhere, a 4-point buck appeared, oblivious to us. I slid the rifle across the crumbling bark. The crosshairs found the buck’s front shoulder. My dad’s voice leveled me off, keeping me calm. I squeezed the trigger. Click. Nothing. Cursing. The deer ran. Bill roused from his hole. “There goes a buck!” he yelled. Turns out, Bill’s patented handloads weren’t so reliable after all. My first buck was lost to a dud cartridge. And my first day as a hunter became memorable for all the wrong reasons.

SNOW WHITE RYAN KIRBY HAMILTON, ILL. AS A TEENAGER I was obsessed

with bowhunting. A cold front had blown in the night before and dropped a couple of inches of wet, sticky snow on our Illinois farm. But I had a plan, and a place—a huge oak tree that forked 11 feet in the air. With two massive limbs for cover, it was an unconventional gem of a spot. Plus, my dad was teaching his sons the family tradition of being cheap; because it wouldn’t require a store-bought stand, we simply hammered in a few steps to the fork and dealt with the leg cramps of standing as long as we could. I had the wind in my face as I climbed into the giant oak. My plan was to rattle. But my ace in the hole was my wardrobe. My brother and I shared a set of white painter’s coveralls that would make me invisible in all that fresh snow. As I locked my knees and prepared for a long stand, a steady drip, drip, drip announced my mistake. The cold front was shortlived, and the snow was melting. By 9 a.m., the colors around me had changed from snowscape to the dark hues of rain-soaked hardwoods. And here I was, 11 feet off the ground, in a white jumpsuit. Undeterred, I rattled for a couple of minutes. My legs were already uncomfortable, and I shifted my weight in the tree fork. As I did, I

heard a foot stomp. I snapped my head around and locked eyes with the biggest buck I’d ever seen, staring at me from 60 yards. He’d emerged from a ravine just high enough to survey the source of the rattling. No telling how long he’d been there watching. Our eyes met and he came unglued, turned, and flashed a profile view of his rack that I’ll never forget. I didn’t know what a Booner was at the time, but I do now, and he was one. A clean 12-point, he had long, sweeping beams and tall, heavy tines. At 100 yards, he stopped to look back and I admired him through my binocular. I’ll never forget the heartache that comes with screwing up a hunt mixed with the elation of actually seeing an animal like that on the hoof. That buck is long gone by now. So is the oak tree, struck by lightning a decade ago. A honeysuckle thicket has grown up in its place. Every time I walk around it, I recall the giant that got away. And that gleaming white snow camo.

DOUBLE DROPS

○ gerry bethge ○ fairfield, conn.

“double drops, man! And I’ll tell you where to sit to kill him on opening day.” Tommy Cormier could have been full of crap, but there was something about his tone that had me sitting precisely where he told me to sit on opening day. After hours of inaction, I decided to walk up a doe. A couple of steps in, I saw the buck. Wide. Thick. Gnarly. Double drop tines. And totally oblivious to me as he chased a doe not 40 yards away. The final shot—my 7th (yeah, I reloaded)—from my slug gun finally got his attention, but he ran off, unscathed. Then I remembered: I had forgotten to replace the turkey choke in my Mossberg.

OUTDOOR LIFE NOVEMBER 2016

Ryan Busse glasses prime-looking elk country. Below: The empty eyes of an unsuccessful elk hunter.

○

BUSTED jarrett babincsak ○ “stay in your stand.” crown point, “Stop getting down ind. early.” “You won’t kill anything walking around with a bow.” Those were just a few of my dad’s regular admonitions during my early days of hunting Indiana deer. Sitting still was not a skill I possessed, and on this rainy November day, my 13-yearold self thought it best to abandon my post to pick my way through the woods and brushy beds. What did my old man know? It was a steady rain and strong wind, perfect stalking weather. My dad was sleeping in the truck. He had no desire to sit out in this, yet here I was, braving the weather. So emboldened and seven minutes short of my father’s 9 a.m. minimum-sit requirement, I lowered my bow to the ground and began my slow descent. Three steps down, I heard brush cracking from the direction I’d been fruitlessly watching all morning. An ivory-antlered 8-point was headed my way, nose down, oblivious to my presence. He was moving at a good clip. All I could do was cling to the tree, watching between my leather boots as he trotted right under me. The symmetry of his rack and the dark fur running the length of his spine will be forever chiseled into my thick head. I could’ve cried, but instead I kicked the tree a few times and then climbed the rest of the way down. All the way to the truck, I considered alternatives to my story, but when I saw my dad, I told him everything. He just smiled and said, “I bet you’ll stay in your stand from now on.”

CURSE OF THE BULL RYAN BUSSE KALISPELL, MONT. I DREAMED FOR YEARS of moving to Montana. Flyfishing for wild trout. Hunting birds in vast prairies. Chasing deer, antelope, and, of course, elk. I assumed big bulls would be so thick I’d have my pick of the herd. I moved to Montana, and on opening morning of my first elk season in my adopted state, I found myself on a ridgeline above the timber near the Idaho border. Minutes later, a string of elk emerged from below and crossed the ridge 50 yards from my perch. In the group was a nice 5x6 bull. I studied him for a few seconds, held my crosshairs on him, practiced my shot. And let him walk. “This is my first hunt in Montana. I’ll have an opportunity at a 350 by the afternoon,” I said to myself with a smug chuckle. “The season is five weeks long, I am a fine figure of a man and a great hunter. No problem.” Fourteen years and three weeks

later, I finally killed a bull elk in Montana. Over the intervening years, the fine figure and great hunter was often reduced to a nonfunctioning, blubbering failure of an elk hunter. It wasn’t from a lack of trying. Every year I devoted at least 15 days to elk. I hunted as hard as anyone in the state. Three thousand vertical feet a day was nothing. Hearing of a hunter who stumbled into a big bull just off a road would almost send me into a rage. I blew stalks. I missed at least two shots. I spooked bulls in timber. I was surprised by other bulls. I hiked mountains endlessly, rejoicing if I saw so much as a track. Most days I fell into my truck in the dark, deflated, having seen nothing at all. Passing on that bull the first morning was a curse and I knew it. Whatever elk-god controlled the movements of elk and hunters had set out to prove to me that publicland hunting for elk is among the hardest things on the earth. It got so bad that at family dinners, we could not discuss elk hunting or my lack of prowess. It was like everyone knew I was a marked man. Finally, after more than 150 elk-hunting days since that first Montana morning, I scored on a bull on the edge of the Bob Marshall Wilderness. I’ve since taken many elk, but I will never forget the bull I let walk—or all the lessons it taught me over the next 14 years.

SWEET GRASS i was a 15-year-old freshman skipping school to hunt elk with Cope, my dad, in the Sweet Grass Hills of northern Montana. We had hunted nearly all day on Sterling Wardell’s ranch. The light was fading as Dad and I headed back to the pickup after an unsuccessful day. I remember the ache in my legs when Cope suggested that we look into a little hidden basin, just in case. As we eased to the edge of a clearing, my life was transformed. Just 150 yards in stood the biggest mule deer buck I have ever seen. I had thrown my gun to my shoulder and clicked off the safety when my dad whispered. “We aren’t hunting deer, son. We didn’t ask for permission for deer.” My heart sank. I knew Dad was right, but before me stood the buck of a lifetime. My mind’s eye remembers him as being more than 30 inches wide, with pitchblack antlers, deep forks, heavy mass, and a drop tine on his right ○ side. If I were going to mark assign it a score, I’d guess copenhaver the old warrior’s rack ○ would exceed 240 inches. rudyard, But all I could do was mont. stand and admire him. The buck and I watched each other for a few minutes, and I seared every characteristic of that deer into my mind. I swore that someday I’d see him again. Then he simply turned and slowly disappeared. We finished the walk back to our pickup in the dark, lights glittering below us from all the little towns that dot Montana’s Hi-Line. When we got to the truck, my dad told me he was proud of me for not shooting that deer without permission. He had grown up in the shadow of the Sweet Grass Hills, and he told me it was the biggest buck he’d ever seen. We stopped at the Wardells’ ranch house to check out and thank them for the opportunity to hunt. I told Sterling about the giant buck I’d seen. “I know that buck,” he said. “I’ve seen him a few times this fall. He is a giant. You should have shot him. I don’t care if you hunt deer.” Somewhere in this story are lessons of honesty and integrity, but the real memory is of that remarkable deer. Every fall, I dream about that buck and think that maybe, just maybe, this will be the season I encounter another like him.

Let: Jack Ellis prepares to unleash Boogie Man in the West Virginia hardwoods. Above: Glassing the beech limbs.

THE BEECH HOLLOW CHRIS ELLIS FAYETTEVILLE, W. VA. IN THE HILLS OF my West Virginia home, there are patches of woods that are simply different. They look different. They smell different. The way you feel when you walk underneath their canopy is different. Pine thickets, laurel bogs, mixed hardwood forests—they all have their unique qualities. But to me, a beech hollow that is shady and dark with moss-covered rocks protruding from the pungent earth is a magical place. There is generally a spring bubbling up from under a rock and flowing through a patch of wood ferns to add to the mystique. Oftentimes, you will walk up on an old giant beech that shows its scars of previous human encounters— an old rusty piece of fence wire sticking from its silver-gray bark, or the initials of someone’s loved one from a time long ago. A beech hollow is an old place filled with old trees and memories lingering in the air from long ago. On rare occasions, when the oak mast fails and the hickory is played out, the beech hollow can become very alive with animals. As a father of a young hunter, Jack, and a keeper of a young mountain feist squirrel dog, finding a hollow full of beech trees

loaded with nuts is like drawing a royal flush in poker. It’s tough not to let my excitement show until the hand is over. This is the setting of my story. With my expectation boiling, I released the snap on Boogie Man’s lead. He entered the hollow high and rounded the hill out of sight. Jack and I readied our gear and walked the woods road above the hollow. Boogie let out a yip, the kind of sound a young dog makes when the smell of game fills his nose and he just can’t resist talking about it. I smiled at Jack when Boogie started chop-barking loud and hard. We rushed to the tree and started our game of squirrel-spotting. Jack stayed on the bank and I went low in the hollow to lie on the ground and scan the branches through my binocular. Sure enough, in the top of the tree

was a ball of reddish fur—a fox squirrel. He was big—a trophy to anyone who pursues bushytails. The squirrel was high, and with the steep slope of the gully, it was in a tricky spot to kill. The report of Jack’s 20-gauge caused Boogie to bark louder. The squirrel darted down the limb toward the tree’s bole and scurried to the other side, unharmed by the highbrass 6s. Boogie and I, thinking alike, dashed to the other side of the beech. The squirrel caught our movement and rounded the trunk back toward Jack, who slapped the trigger again. The shot again missed its mark. It was getting lively in the beech holler. Boogie looked at me—whether in disgust or pity, I’m not sure—so I shouldered my scoped .22 and squinted the crosshairs between the fox squirrel’s ears. In the time it took me to settle in my wobble and flip the safety lever, the squirrel made for an elbow in the branch of the tree and I pressed the trigger. The crack of the .22 rang out across the hollow, followed by silence. No thump of the squirrel hitting the ground dead, no dog barking, and no young hunter screaming, “I got him, Dad!” The old squirrel had found a hole in the beech tree. He was home. In the sudden silence of the deep hollow, we gathered ourselves and our dog and headed back up the hill toward the truck. It was time we went home too.

“A BEECH HOLLOW THAT IS SHADY AND DARK WITH MOSS-COVERED ROCKS IS A MAGICAL PLACE.”

OUTDOOR LIFE NOVEMBER 2016

BROKE DOWN the whitetail was big for our area of southern Oklahoma. When I first saw him, I guess he would have scored around 150 inches, and every year he added about 10 inches to his perfect 10-point rack. For three years I hunted him during archery season, then muzzleloader and rifle seasons. My wife threatened divorce if I didn’t start spending as much time with her as I did hunting that deer. But although I had a number of encounters with him, I just could never get close enough to that buck to kill him. For three full seasons, I nursed a controlled but consuming obsession, passing up plenty of nice bucks to keep my tag intact for the 10-point. Then one day, it happened. Near the end of the bow season, on a blustery January day, the buck appeared at 20 yards. Broadside. An easy shot. But there

○ gary giudice ○ norman, okla.

was something different about him. He had been in some fierce battles. He had a bad gash on his hindquarter and other cuts around his neck and shoulders. Even more noticeable, his perfectly symmetrical antlers resembled a red cedar that had barely survived an Oklahoma tornado. His long tines were broken off. All that remained was his main beam and several jagged daggers where points had been. What to do? For several minutes, we watched each other. Then I lowered my bow. There’s always next year, I told myself. And him. Maybe he’d be even bigger. That was decades ago. I never saw that perfect 10-point again, but every season, I pass up other bucks, waiting in vain for another like him to reappear.

HOOK TOE RACHEL VANDEVOORT WHITEFISH, MONT. I WAS LUCKY ENOUGH—or unlucky

enough, I still can’t decide—that my first hunting season was the season my dad caught a glimpse of the monster buck that would obsess him. It was during the first snowfall of November in the big woods of northwestern Montana, and while the buck was gone in a flash, he left behind his track in the snow, a distinctive hookshaped print caused by one left toe overlapping the other. From that day forward, my father scoured the snow, mud, and soft earth for any sign of the hook-toed deer. Each encounter with the track or fleeting glimpse of the buck logged another waypoint in his mental GPS. On the days I joined him, he would recount the precise location of each sighting and each track with such detail, it was as if it became my story, and my buck to find. Each year, sightings of Hook Toe

The author, on her 11th birthday, with her father and a northwest Montana whitetail.

became fewer. The spot where we last saw his track became a sort of hallowed place. Twenty-five years later, we still visit that spot, my dad and me, and now we take my kids and tell them the story of the one that got away.

BIG DADDY nobody ever really got a good look at “Big Daddy.” All we knew was that he was a big buck, and so we gave him a name. Every time we hiked away from camp with our guns and lunches to hunt the mountain, we’d tell one another to shoot straight when Big Daddy came along. Only nobody ever saw Big Daddy after that first time. One fall, I was in my stand when a single shot rang out. Ten minutes later, Mike, the most successful and reliable deer hunter in our gang, showed up at the bottom of my tree. “Aaron, I’d like to introduce you to Big Daddy.” I leapt from the tree and followed Mike to his stand. Mike walked 10 yards from the base of the tree to a spot in the woods. I saw him look around, then take off his hat and scratch his head before looking around again. There was no deer. No blood. No tracks. Here was the most reliable guy in camp, with a detailed story of a giant, heavyhorned buck finally making a fatal mistake, and there was absolutely no physical evidence that it had happened. Near as we could tell, Mike had shot right over his back. Since then, ○ we’ve shot decent aaron bucks off the hitchins mountain, but none will ever ○ rival the legend ottawa of the elusive Big valley, ont. Daddy.

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COMEBACK A ROOKIE GETS A SHOT—OR TWO— AT R E D E M P T I O N I N T H E H E A R T O F O K L A H O M A’ S R O U G H A N D S C R U B B Y W H I T E TA I L C O U N T R Y

CREDIT

B y N a t a l i e K r e b s | | P h o t o g r a p h s b y To m F o w l k s

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CREDIT

The author takes a minute to collect herself ater a frenzied 48 hours.

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he way I was shaking, you’d have thought I’d seen a ghost. He materialized in the brush on Halloween night. I was hunting hills, picking sand burrs out of my bootlaces and watching the river-bottom bluffs turn pumpkin orange, when the biggest deer I had ever seen on the hoof appeared 100 yards out. It took a moment to dispel the disbelief. My body, however, continued to shudder as if I were possessed. I fought to hold steady, but I knew I had missed even before the smoke cleared to reveal the flagging deer. I reloaded and waited. Dusk didn’t, and neither did the buck, who soon returned to his meal of corn kernels. With more composure now, I squeezed the trigger again. Click. I'd forgotten to replace the spent primer. I swore, a stream of filth filling the blind as I scrambled for a fresh cap. By the time I got off the shot, my adrenaline spiked and I missed a second time. He did not return again, and I left with an empty tag in my pocket.

C O M E DY O F E R R O R S My only comfort was that this horror story ranked relatively low on the long list of mishaps my buddies and I were responsible for that trip. As near as I can tell, the guides at Chain Ranch later pretended that week of blackpowder season never happened. They put us on mature deer and we whiffed—most more than once. Our group of six still managed to tag a pair of bucks, but even those successes were jinxed. One handsome deer was left afield overnight after the hunter erroneously reported the direction in which the buck had run; coyotes claimed him. The other took a .50-cal. cleanly through the forehead instead of the intended target (his vitals). He was destined to become one hell of a European mount. Before my own blunders, I passed on a younger buck—a shooter back home, but too young by the Chain’s standards. I couldn’t believe my apparent good luck: Thompson/Center had organized a handful of

64 november 2016 outdoor life

Chain Ranch guide and native Oklahoman Lincoln Mulherin scans the horizon for deer.

writers to test a new muzzleloader (that year, the Pro Hunter), and this included me, a new Outdoor Life hire who had previously only chased deer in a small corner of southern Indiana. But I was optimistic, eager to hunt well and hard. I was a 23-year-old junior editor working out of the magazine’s New York City office, and proving myself with a recordbook buck wasn’t exactly on the agenda. I just wanted to make a clean, legal kill. And after all, my very first deer had fallen to a T/C

muzzleloader—my grandfather’s. I wasn’t superstitious, but I supposed that had to count for something. As it turns out, it counted about as much as a bullet over a buck’s back. Yet for all its shortcomings, that first “business” trip left me in high spirits. I had stumbled into a fine deer camp: a crowded common room with beers and wild-hog barbecue for dinner, and conversation to go with it. I’d never met my companions before, but together we laughed

harder than I had in a long time. So I returned to the city, sheepish about my failure but wiser for it. Consolation came in the form of a fat winter doe, tagged on the family farm after Christmas. Months passed and another deer season approached. Incredibly, an invitation arrived nearly identical to the previous year’s: Did I want to attend another blackpowder hunt at the Chain? I accepted. It would be a new season, and a clean start. Or so I thought. By the time I arrived at LaGuardia Airport to catch the flight to Oklahoma City, my plane had already been in the air for nearly an hour. I had misread my itinerary and showed up to a canceled reservation. The self-sabotage had already begun, and I wasn’t even in the blind yet.

RETURN TO CHAIN × Jeff Puckett rolled down his window as he rolled up to the curb at Will Rogers World Airport.

A hunter heads aﬁeld ater lunch (above); the author glasses for deer.

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T H E A N T L E R S W E R E DA R K A N D H E AV Y, Y E T T H E Y S E E M E D TO F LOAT A B OV E H I M I N T H E T W I L I G H T.

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“Well, hello, hello,” he said, grinning from behind the wheel. “Glad you could make it.” I dropped my bags in the truck bed and climbed into the cab, braced for a ribbing that didn’t come. He spared me the jokes and instead we got to catching up. I had met Puckett one year earlier at this same terminal. On that occasion he greeted me at baggage claim and carried my duffle to the truck. Such niceties had lapsed now that we were buddies, both veterans of last year’s ordeal, and I was grateful he was around to bail me out with a ride to Canton. The small farm town sits 90 miles northwest of Oklahoma City, Chain Ranch just outside it. The Chain was born on a 160-acre patch in 1893, and six generations later it has exploded into a 60,000-acre farm, cattle operation, and hunting outfit. A row of Red Angus busied themselves at their troughs, eyeing us as we parked in front of the wooden bunkhouse. Apart from the cattle, camp was deserted. Everyone had already left for an afternoon sit. Just inside the porch screen door was a gun rack. I lifted one of the remaining .50-cal. T/C Strikes from it and headed to the range, trying not to think about how I had squandered an evening hunt.

WA I T I N G G A M E Lincoln Mulherin flipped down his sun visor as we sped along State Route 51 early the next morning, blocking the full moon from shining in his eyes. My guide rubbed the whiskers that didn’t quite conceal his boyish face before outlining the day’s plan: Sit as long as possible. Deer had been feeding hard all night, thanks to the moonlight, and wouldn’t move until late morning. This analysis was accurate, although plenty of action unfolded before first light. It may have been bright outside, but the blind’s interior remained as black as on any moonless night. Coyotes howled incessantly, trotting past my hide on their own hunts. One ripped into a rabbit a dozen yards off, the high-pitched screams snapping my head to attention. As the sun gradually replaced

the moon, I could see the box was situated on the point of a slope, an oil field station at its back and a wheat plot high and to the right. A meadow spread beneath; dry ridges and hills rose beyond. There was plenty to keep my binocular busy, but a morning of glassing didn’t reveal so much as a tail flick. A lunch break was scheduled for 11 a.m., but I remembered the moon and asked Mulherin for another 30 minutes via text, which he granted. Even so, he appeared sooner than expected. Not long after we exchanged messages he came running from the oil station, doubled over. He dove inside the blind and jammed his binocular to his face, whispering excitedly. “Did you see him?” Mulherin had already been en route when my text came through, so he parked 500 yards out and started glassing to pass the time. Minutes later a 150-class buck trotted into view along a ridge, doe in tow. “I couldn’t say if she was hot or not yet,” he said, eyes fixed on the ridge. “But the buck was leading, so I don’t think so. They were headed this way. He was big. Really big.” Mulherin rattled several times, but it was only late October and nothing moved on the horizon. Even with the promise of lunch, I was reluctant to leave the stand— there was a trophy buck in the neighborhood. But I was also supposed to meet my week’s hunting

buddy on our break, and I decided I had better go collect him.

ANOTHER ROOKIE × “Deer have really good noses, don’t they?” I kept my binocular trained on the same ridge Mulherin had glassed two hours before. “Yeah, smell is their best sense.” “So…this is a non-smoking blind, I take it?” This time I lowered the eyecups and looked at my partner. Tom Fowlks had just arrived from a job in Texas and was now sitting beside me, adjusting his camera settings. The expression behind his rectangular glasses was part hopeful, part mischievous. I laughed, but hesitated at this new wrinkle in the week. I thought it over for a moment, watching the photographer’s knee jiggle. “Smoke as much as you want now. But come prime time, yes, this is a non-smoking blind.” Then, in apology, I unzipped my pack. “Don’t worry—I brought gum.” I was determined to control the rest of my hunt as best I could. Instead of napping through the afternoon heat, I glassed while Fowlks and I passed the time getting to know each other. He lives in Los Angeles and, though he had done his share of extreme outdoor assignments, this would be his first deer hunt. The volume at which he relayed this information confirmed it.

Ater the author dressed out the buck and they hung it to cool, Mulherin taped its antlers at an unoﬃcial 169 inches.

a d v e n t u r e

For once, then, I had more experience than my hunting partner. This was refreshing, but it also meant I had suddenly become the teacher. I felt an imposter, but found I could answer his questions about deer behavior—and our subsequent behavior as hunters—reasonably well. A trio of does finally appeared at day’s end, their yearlings trailing behind. The party picked its way down a draw at 700 yards, and I struggled to keep track of them in the glaring sun. I was thrilled to finally spot deer and watched intently. Eventually I remembered the corn feeder down the hill from us and glanced that way—just in time to see a big-bodied deer leave the shelter of the tree line. The antlers were dark and heavy, yet they seemed to float above him in the twilight. All hell broke loose inside the blind.

AFTERSHOCK He came back, I texted Mulherin. I took a shot. Not sure about it. Ran into thick cedars to right of feeder. Tail wasn’t up. Reloading. Awesome!!! Was he standing still when u shot? Yes. But I was shaky. Did he kick when u shot? I didn’t see. Smoke. It was maybe 55 yards. I bet he’s dead. Proud of ya! Don’t get ahead of yourself! I put down my phone as the last bit of light trickled out of the blind, replaying the preceding minutes in my head. There was no question about it: The huge deer that had stepped out was the buck from this morning. When he appeared, Fowlks was between me and the window with the best line of sight. I crossed the box in a single lunge. “Switch with me!” I hissed at Fowlks, swatting him out of his chair. He took my own newly vacant seat without protest. I poked my barrel through the window, searching for movement as the rattle of the metal folding chairs quieted. The deer had come from the bottom and disappeared behind a woodlot in the

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From let: Mulherin (let) and Clemons confer; the backup Buck 110; the skinning shed.

middle of the clearing. I guessed he would circle and, moments later, was relieved to see a deer where I expected, nose pointed at the blind and cruising in an arc. “Watch him,” I told Fowlks. “See what he does when I shoot.” “Okay.” The buck paused, head down in the grass, quartering ever so slightly toward me, and as close as I had any right to hope. Instead of taking a moment to calm my nerves—or check with Fowlks—I pressed the trigger. Smoke hung in front of the window. The deer tore out from behind the cloud, beelining for the cedars 60 yards in front of him like a racehorse headed for the finish line. I waited before reloading, listening for a crash that never came. “What did he do?” I asked Fowlks, a little desperately. “How did he react?” “I wasn’t watching,” he said, snapping a photo of my 68 november 2016 outdoor life

expression. My moment had passed, and now it was his task to capture what I’d set in motion. “I couldn’t see, so I was switching to the other window when you shot.” I picked up my phone and texted Mulherin.

B O OT S A N D B LO O D He arrived 20 minutes later, Alan Clemons in tow. I was relieved to see them both. Clemons is a lifelong Alabama hunter and managing editor of Deer & Deer Hunting. There was no dead deer anywhere I could see. No dead deer meant tracking. And for tracking, I wanted experts. The four of us walked to where I figured the buck had stood at the shot. The hope that had risen in my chest soon vanished as quickly as the deer had: No one could find a drop of blood. We expanded the search, then regrouped to review the exact sequence of events. Mulherin and I had joked together for much of the day but now he was all business, questioning me as a cop

might: Where was the deer exactly when I shot? Well, was it on this side of the bush or that side? Was I sure? Maybe I should go back to the blind—perhaps that would jog my memory. I trudged up the hill, discouraged. Not a single speck of blood? But the deer had sprinted so fast—I was sure I had connected. I considered the view before clicking on the heavy flashlight and aiming it in the same spot where we had started. The men shielded their eyes, squinting up at me before turning to examine the brush again. I held the light and used the moment alone to wring my brain. The most vivid memory was also the most useless: tall mahogany tines, symmetric, with beams that stretched out to his nose. I rejoined the guys and we turned to the cedars. After much searching, Mulherin pinched a leaf from its stalk and raised it to his nose. I winced. Gut shot.

He called Clemons over but told me to stay where I was. The two men had a hushed conversation. Fowlks snapped photos with gusto, lighting up the grass every few seconds with his flash. This must be what it was like to stand outside an operating room, I decided. The outcome was known to a select skilled few while the emotionally invested fretted in the waiting area, safely out of the way. I suspected they were deciding how much to tell me. At last they turned and beckoned. Mulherin broke the news: He had found a few drops of blood, but also a bit of clear slime that smelled, ever so faintly, of guts. “I bet he’s dead,” Mulherin said again, without a smile. “But I don’t want to risk pushing him. We’re going to back out and come back first thing tomorrow.” I remembered the squealing rabbit and felt sick. Clemons clapped me on the shoulder. “You’re in for a long night, my dear.”

A CURSE BROKEN I slumped into the backseat of the truck, reminded of a similar drive on Halloween the year before. That one had also been embarrassing, but at least the case was closed when we pulled away. Clean misses—I had been sure, and a thorough search of the area had confirmed it. This time, though, the weight of my actions dropped into the cab with me. My own guts writhed, and I found I had no appetite for dinner. A snore startled me out of my self-pity, and I looked across at Fowlks, whose head had tipped against the window. He was at ease after a night of hard work, and I envied him. Everyone in camp did their best to raise my spirits. They were just being kind in their assurances that we would find my deer tomorrow—no one knew for sure. But their encouragement had its intended effect. Finally I filled a small bowl with stew, ate, and turned in. My eyes ×

ached from glassing, and the highs and lows of the evening had left me spent. Not even my queasiness or Fowlks’ ear-splitting snores from the next bunk could prevent sleep. By the time I woke in the morning, the other hunters were gone. My anxiety remained, along with a side of guilt for sleeping so soundly. Day broke just as we reached the blind. Mulherin took the lead, picking up the trail where he’d left it and disappearing into the cedars. I looked around a moment. Things didn’t seem so grim in the light of day. I ducked into the cedars and

only made it a dozen yards before I heard the shout. “Dead deer!” I emerged to find Mulherin, a broad smile back on his face, pointing at his feet. My buck lay 100 yards from where the bullet passed through him, just on the other side of the cedars and mercifully untouched by coyotes. Curiously, the bedrock underneath him was free of blood. His body was arranged as I had last seen it: neck stretched forward, antlers reaching high, legs bent as if running. Dark velvet still coated the tip of the left main beam. Shredded tree bark was lodged between the beads of his

I S U S P E CT E D T H E Y W E R E D E C I D I N G H O W M U C H TO T E L L M E . AT L AST T H E Y T U R N E D A N D B E C KO N E D .

bases. I brushed the entry wound with a finger: farther back than I had intended, but still deadly. I spent the morning stunned at my good fortune, thoroughly relieved the buck had been recovered. After a night on the ground his belly had bloated slightly, but when I sliced into it at the skinning shed we found the meat unspoiled. All the blood that might have left a trail now pooled onto the concrete and we could see what had happened. The .50-cal. had pierced one lung, pulverized the liver, and exited in a bit of gut. Never before had I needed to mind the cape while dressing a deer. I used Mulherin’s Buck 110 to make my cuts, a spare he had fished from his pickup console when I mentioned I had forgotten to pack my own blade. A rookie mistake, I admitted. “You can keep it,” he said, dropping it into my hand. I had cause to use the folder again sooner than expected. I dropped a doe in her tracks the next night, punching through her ribs exactly where I intended. outdoor life november 2016 69

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MULE DEER ♦ HƒNDGUNS ♦ WHITETƒILS ♦ WƒTERFOWL ♦ FƒLL TURKEYS

TIP Late in the season, pressured elk don’t respond to aggressive calling. Instead, try lost, assembly, and long mews. It’s best to call only sparingly.

A Colorado hunter glasses for lateseason elk.

7 WAYS TO TAKE TOUGH ELK

JOHN HAFNER/WINDIGO IMAGES

HOW TO STEP UP YOUR GAME PLAN FOR RIFLESEASON BULLS BY TOM CARPENTER

EVERY BULL AND cow has become crazy-tough to kill. Bowhunters harassed the animals for weeks. Muzzleloaders had their special shot. And now an army of orange-clads is messing up any remaining semblance of order on the mountain.

section edited by gerry bethge

outdoor life november 2016 H1

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ELK ↙

SLEEP OVER

FIND A BENCH

If you’ve got the weather, the chops, and the gear, bivouac it and stay up on the mountain overnight. There’s a big difference between participating in the scramble and being there at absolute first shooting light as elk move up to avoid pressure.

Elk can go almost anywhere on any kind of slope. Sometimes they traverse places that seem more like bighorn sheep or goat country. But that’s by necessity, not choice. Given their druthers, elk prefer rolling country, and they especially like to bed on a bench or flat. Study topographic maps of your hunt area, and locate such places. Basins or bowls are prime.

4 A riﬂe-season bull taken in its bedding area on an aspen bench.

T WAYNE VAN ZWOLL/WINDIGO IMAGES

THERE ARE PLENTY of

platitudes meant to help you increase your chances of shooting an elk. Get in shape. Rise early. Avoid roads. Hike to the hinterlands. Find the black timber. Hunt hard. Don’t give up. And following that advice alone might get you just that: no bull.

Don’t get the wrong idea. Effort matters. But so do specific strategies that take advantage of both elk and hunter behavior when the pressure is on. To put an elk on the ground (and any elk is a trophy in a general season), add these seven rifle-season hunting approaches to your plan.

SLEEP IN

Should you compete with a fleet of pickup trucks, an armada of ATVs, and battalions of hunters afoot, all infiltrating the countryside and working to

get up high before first light? It might pay to participate in that circus on opening day, before the elk are fully educated. But after that, a better plan is to sleep in, get to a high-country meadow or clear-cut by early- to midafternoon, settle in, and wait for elk to come back out at daylight’s other cusp—when earlyrise hunters have long since tuckered out and headed home or back to camp. Few hunters want to be high up a mountain at dusk, and the elk can seem to sense it.

PARK YOURSELF IN A SADDLE

One of the best approaches for generalseason elk is to let the elk come to you. Or rather, let other hunters push them to you. Few guys can stay put all day, but even fewer can actually sneak up on an elk; conquer the former to take advantage of the latter. One of the best places to wait and watch for elk is a saddle between drainages. These are easy to spot on any topographic map: Look for the coming together of contour lines that bisect ridgelines, or that cut between hills (which are seen as complete-circle contours).

EXPLORE THE WIDE OPEN

Instead of hunting the big timber, the black timber, the firs,

the spruces, and the quakies, head for country with open southern and western exposures, or sage-covered foothills and benchlands. Vegetative cover may be shallow here, but seclusion is deep. That’s precisely why elk gather there under the cover of gullies, washes, dips, folds, and other terrain. Hunt below the crests of the ridges, with the wind coming crossways so you can peek over into upwind drainages as you work along. It’s more like pronghorn hunting than elk hunting.

BUGLE OR BARK

The peak rut may be long over, but that doesn’t mean the bulls have given up on the idea of pecking order or breeding action. A bugle from you might elicit a response from an elk. You probably won’t be able to lure a bull closer, but as with a shockgobbling turkey, you’ll know where to take the chase. Similarly, if you have a tag good for antlerless elk, you can use cow barks and mews to soothe a herd that might be getting nervous, or to coax a cow into a lane for a shot.

FIND THE CALM

Elk respond to a big blow by heading to the lee side of mountains, hills, and canyons. Draws, coulees, gullies, bowls, and basins attract elk that are trying to avoid a gale and put all their senses back to work. Sneak into the area and once there, set up quickly but quietly and be prepared to wait them out. outdoor life november 2016 H3

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MULE DEER ↙ The author with a Montana public-land mule deer.

MULEYS ON YOUR OWN DON’T PANIC. THE SKILLS YOU’VE HONED WHILE HUNTING WHITETAILS BACK EAST WILL COME IN HANDY ON YOUR MULEY HUNT OUT WEST BY TOBY WALRATH

astern hunters dream of hunting the open landscape of the West. Ater years of pushing through briar patches and peering through branch-ﬁlled windows of opportunity on breezy autumn days, hunters just want some elbow room. But can the hunting skills practiced in thick Eastern forests be applied on a do-it-yourself mule deer hunt? You bet they can. But you’ll need to make a few tweaks, because let’s face it: If you’re on a mule deer hunt, you’re not in the East anymore.

arrive in mule deer country. A good vista overlooking prime mule deer habitat won’t be hard to ﬁnd and you don’t have to stay in one place for hours, but make sure you spend at least one hour per location before moving on. And when you see that shooter buck meandering away at 1,200 yards, avoid the mistake of packing up and running ater him. Instead, watch carefully for several minutes to get answers to questions like, Is he geting ready to bed down soon? Or, Do I really have enough time to get within shooting range before dark?

GET ON THE GLASS First-time mule deer hunters are easily overwhelmed by the sheer openness of the landscape. Eastern forests aren’t known for providing stellar glassing opportunities, but hunters who have learned to pick game out of hardwood forests and goldenrod have an advantage when they

NEW-WORLD STALKING Once you answer those questions honestly, take a few minutes to pick key features in relation to the deer’s location. Losing sight of deer and coming up empty on stalkable mule deer is more oten due to failure to

remember than failure to try. All the things you’ve learned about keeping quiet and puting the wind in your face and the sun at your back are as important here as they were on that 200-acre farm you hunted in the Catskills a few years back. But you’ll likely have more room to move around while geting into position. If you’re inclined to mark everything with a GPS, go ahead. But then put it away and pay atention to the land features. That pine tree and rock pile with the buck of your dreams standing behind it aren’t on your screen, and relying on anything but the gray mater between your ears to put the ﬁnal touches on your approach won’t help. Pay atention to the deer, not your gear.

TAKING YOUR SHOT Eight years ago, a friend who was accustomed to the farmlands and forests of New York traveled

to Idaho for a mountain mule deer hunt. Instead of bringing his worn .30/06 that he had used to put a dozen deer in the freezer, he bought a new long-range rifle with optics to match. The first deer he pulled up on was at 100 yards, and he missed. When the buck stopped and stood broadside at 200 yards, he was so busy trying to get his bipod setled and making adjustments that he missed his window to shoot again. The lesson here is to bring a rifle that you’re used to and practice with it before you get to your destination. Then shoot it again before you hunt. Missing bucks is frustrating and it doesn’t have to happen. It really is that simple. The best rifle and top optics won’t help you punch your tag if you don’t know how to use them. And just because long-distance shooting opportunities might be available on a mule deer hunt, you’re not suddenly a long-distance shooter—300 yards is out of reach for most Eastern hunters. Accept it. A hunt for mule deer is one of the most atainable DIY hunts you can plan. The deer numbers are generally good wherever permits are available, and unless you’re hunting along lodgepolechoked mountaintops, public lands provide more wide-open spaces than you could ever hunt. Keep in mind, though, that overthe-counter permit areas aren’t likely to produce trophy-quality bucks. If you’re looking for a mule deer with antlers north of 150 inches, study the permit draw areas for the state(s) you wish to hunt. Otherwise you might be disappointed. When you get to mule deer country, things look a lot different from the parts of the world where mule deer don’t exist. But don’t be overwhelmed—you’re ready already. outdoor life november 2016 H5

HƒNDGUNS ↙

CAN YOU CARRY?

▪ “Yes” states ▪ “No” states Where legal, consider carrying a sidearm for personal protection.

▪ Restrictions apply LOCAL CONCEALED- AND OPEN-CARRY LAWS APPLY IN ALL STATES

A BACKUP PLAN HUNTING TRIPS AREN’T SUPPOSED TO BE LIFETHREATENING. BUT ARE YOU PREPARED IF ONE TAKES A TURN THAT WAY? BY KAT AINSWORTH

N NOVEMBER 21, 2004, in the woods of northern Wisconsin, a Hmong man by the name of Chai Vang trespassed onto private property, using the property owner’s treestand to hunt whitetails. Alerted to Vang’s presence, the owner approached the stand to warn the man off his land. Concerned, seven friends followed close behind riding on ATVs. Vang behaved as though he intended to leave, turning to walk away. But as he went,

he removed the optic from his Saiga—an SKS platform rifle chambered in 7.62x39mm—then did a 180. Minutes later, six people lay dead, one of whom was a young woman, and two were wounded. Vang ran off on foot, reversing his blaze-orange vest to gray to avoid notice, but was subsequently arrested. He was unhurt. Aside from a single shot fired in self-defense from a rifle by a wounded man the rest of the group of eight was unarmed. Surprisingly, few outdoorsmen

carry a handgun for backup while hunting, and if they do it’s typically as a dispatch firearm rather than for self-defense. And while it may be a sad statement of the times, it’s a reality that you don’t know who’s in the woods. Whether male or female, young or old, alone or in a group, you must be aware of your surroundings. Furthermore, you must be prepared. Relying on your rifle or shotgun is fine for the hunt itself, but long guns are difficult to use in close-quarters situations, whether that potential lifethreatening attack comes in human or animal form. Here’s a reality check: Even a Navy SEAL armed with a semiautomatic rifle has a pistol mounted in a chest holster (he also has a knife). Statistics show the average gunfight takes place

at under 7 yards, and the “21-foot rule” exists for a reason: It takes 1.5 seconds for an assailant to cover 21 feet. A charging bear is even quicker. In many states it’s legal for hunters to carry handguns while hunting. Of course, the hunters are required to adhere to the state’s existing handgun laws regarding open-carry, concealed-carry, and related permits. Some states have restrictions regarding carrying during bow or muzzleloader season. The map above is meant only as a general guideline. It’s critical to check the laws in your state to be sure you’re compliant. As with any type of carry for self-defense, remember the importance of training, carry the largest caliber you are comfortable and capable with, and follow the golden rules of safety.

MITCH KEZAR/WINDIGO IMAGES

A LINE OF DEFENSE

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outdoor life november 2016 H7

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A rut-spent buck beds in a staging area before resuming his hunt for estrous does.

WHITETƒILS ↙ not so clear, you’ll need to go it alone. IF YOU BUILD IT,..

SET THE STAGE CATCH A NIGHT-ROAMING BUCK IN BROAD DAYLIGHT NEAR A DIY STAGING AREA BY TRAVIS FAULKNER

Mid- and late-season bucks in areas that receive even moderate hunting pressure are notoriously difficult to hunt. They are trip-wire skittish and conditioned by hunting pressure into becoming nocturnal. I found myself faced with one of those nocturnal nightmares a couple of seasons ago. After weeks of playing a onesided game of cat and mouse—one which I continually lost—I realized that the only way to get close to the big 10-pointer I was after was to go for broke. Somehow I’d need to catch him in a staging area before dark. However, when I couldn’t pinpoint the precise location he was using, the time came to get creative and construct one with the hope that he’d be attracted to it. I hatched a plan. First, I cleared a series of narrow trails that connected an established bedding area to a primary food source. Next, I added a fresh mock scrape and a variety of attractants. Finally, with the right wind and hunting conditions, I eased into the edge of the newly established staging area—and caught the buck completely off guard just before dark. This particular setup and strategy created a false sense of security for that deer. The buck felt just safe enough to sneak off his bed a few minutes earlier than usual, and that was all I needed.

BILL KINNEY/WINDIGO IMAGES

WHOPPER STOPPERS

To whitetail hunters, staging areas are the points between bedding and feeding zones that deer use to momentarily hang out in before going to feed or returning to bed. Big bucks will often use these staging areas to stop and monitor open feeding zones such as agricultural fields or food plots. Some staging points may also serve as secondary feeding areas for whitetails, where they grab a quick snack before moving into a primary food source. These areas are usually made up of thick cover and enable deer to scent-check and monitor primary feeding areas for potential danger— or estrous does—from a safe distance. Your first move should be to use a topo or aerial map to locate and choose a setup location on a natural staging area. Next, scout this area on foot and look for large droppings, tracks, rubs, scrapes, trails, or secondary food sources. When the evidence is

The proactive approach takes a bit more work, but it’s relatively simple to pull off—even if it’s a mid-season course correction. In states where it’s legal, sweeten the deal by adding commercially produced powdered attractants like Sweet Rack 18, C’Mere Deer, or Acorn Rage. Throwing out some apples, pears, or scattering corn across the staging area will help condition bucks to use the site. If these are not legal options, make several mock scrapes by collecting large deer droppings from nearby feeding areas and distributing these throughout the staging area in small piles. Next, randomly spray fresh buck urine across the staging area and along primary entry and exit routes. This vital step will add realism to your staging area and draw immediate attention, which will ultimately lead to a much quicker reaction from resident bucks. BIGGER PLANS

Once you’ve put a bandage on this season, give some thought to making improvements to your hunting parcel down the road. Here are a couple of strategies to try: •DIG A WATERING HOLE: A small watering hole within a staging area is a great high-impact option that can draw and attract cautious bucks, especially during hot and dry periods. •CUT A PATH: With a weed trimmer, rake, and hand saw, clear out entry and exit routes that connect your mock staging area to known feeding and bedding sites. Directing traffic with these handmade narrow deer paths enables you to run killer routes through prime ambush points without bumping deer in the process. Monitor these key areas with trail cameras to pinpoint shooters, monitor movement, and establish daily patterns. outdoor life november 2016 H9

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WƒTERFOWL ↙

THE RED ZONE SILENCE IS SOMETIMES GOLDEN WHEN IT COMES TO CALLING WATERFOWL. KNOWING WHEN TO CALL—AND WHEN TO SHUT UP—WILL HELP YOU DOWN MORE BIRDS BY BRAD FITZPATRICK

W Waterfowl hunters know there’s a moment of truth with every approaching flock of birds, a time when the ducks will either commit to your spread or flare off. It’s very tempting in that moment to do everything you can to persuade the ducks to land. You want to relay the message to them that it’s safe and there’s nothing out of the ordinary. Maybe just a few light calls can seal the deal.“ Calling ducks is similar to leash training a dog,” says Kelly Haydel of Haydel Game Calls. “You only pull the leash when you need a dog to heel. The same goes for ducks. When you need the birds to come, ‘tug on the leash’ [in other words, call]. If the ducks are coming, resist the urge and don’t call. Simple quacks and feeding calls are okay, but there’s no need to hammer them.”

Knowing when to call and when to just shut up is critical to successful waterfowling.

Haydel says there are times when you should not call—and, in fact, these “red zones” are responsible for many missed opportunities. The key is recognizing these quiet times and having the patience to wait on the birds. “If the ducks happen to pass directly overhead and are pushing the limits of gun range, don’t call at that moment,” Haydel says. “Put your head down and freeze! This is when the blind and hunters are most vulnerable to being busted. Simply wait for the ducks to get to the edge of where you expect them to turn and then call. Most of the time, when the ducks are within the outer limits of my decoy spread (roughly 35 yards), I drop my calls and take control of my gun.” Haydel says that in many

instances, less calling is more effective. When he’s trying to coax ducks into shotgun range, it’s more about finesse and less about filling the air with reedspliting quacks. “I call very sparingly compared to a lot of hunters,” says Haydel. “Why? Because what I do works. I watch the ducks and how they respond to the call. If those duck are commited, then I lightly coax them. When needed I hit them hard, but I get off of the call once I’ve goten their atention.” Like many hunters, Haydel uses a jerkline on his decoys, but even this needs to be done with some level of subtlety. Movement is a great atractant at a distance, but when the birds are closing in, Haydel drops the jerkline so that the motion and unnatural splashing

don’t foul up the final approach. Ultimately, Haydel says, to be a great waterfowl hunter, you must consider yourself an air traffic controller. When the birds are circling, you give them the command to turn with calls, and when the ducks are lined up, you use sot calls to gently act as “runway lights” and bring the birds to rest. The most valuable instruction, Haydel says, is time spent experimenting in the field. “More time in the blind will result in beter skills, knowing when to call and when not to call. Watch the ducks and their reactions. Make changes to timing, volume, and how oten you call, and you will come up with the right recipe. In a way, it’s not much different from cooking—every duck gumbo is a litle different!” outdoor life november 2016 H11

WHITETƒILS ↘

BOMBS AWAY BUCKS HOW ONE HUNTER’S BUZZER-BEATER STRATEGY JUST MIGHT HELP YOU TAG YOUR BUCK THIS SEASON BY GERRY BETHGE

Research, Conquest, Top Secret, Wildgame Innovations—I’d use every damn drop of deer scent I had. To heck with dabbing a few dribbles on a coton ball and hanging it in a tree. My scheme was to completely saturate my hunting area with a variety of scent bombs and drippers. I’d either atract every buck in the county or else run them oﬀ into the next.

The plan worked to perfection—almost. SD cards from game cameras that had gone dark from inactivity suddenly lit up. I had dozens of photos to sort through each day. Although virtually all of the trail cam images were taken at night, there were bucks in all of them, including one that I estimated to be in the high-140-inch class. It was late December, yet I had photos of bucks squaring off, chasing each other off, sniffing and licking scent drippers, and otherwise displaying late-rut behavior. It was both fascinating and rejuvenating. I felt certain that if only a sharp cold front or snowstorm would come through, I’d get an opportunity at a good buck during daylight hours. It was, however, not to be. I simply couldn’t shake up their nocturnal routine. The season closed with a whimper—and that 140 sniffing at a scent bomb in the moonlit dusk ater legal shooting hours. I continued with my mad experiment even ater puting up my gun. In an effort to increase the bucks’ daytime movement, I pulled all 10 scent bombs each evening and redeployed them each morning. It didn’t work. I tried freshening the scent dispensers at various times of the day as well, but nothing managed to alter their predictability—until, that is, an overdue snowstorm hit in mid-January. For two days in a row, my trail cams snapped awesome images of bucks—none of which still had antlers on their head. Anecdotal as it may be, here are a few real-world lessons that I learned about using deer scents—all of which will be exploited this season. A young buck leaves pre-orbital scent on evergreen brush.

LOCATION MATTERS MOST If you want deer to check out your scent bomb, locate it near a travel corridor. A buck may come troting in on a string from a mile away to check out a scent dispenser, but it’s more likely— certainly during the post-rut period—that he’ll be sucked toward it while he’s on a regular route. Location seemed more relevant to visitation than brand (e.g., Tink’s vs. HS) or type (doe urine vs. doe-in-heat urine). NEW LOCATIONS ROCK All deer are curious criters. My observations indicate that bucks are apt to check new sources of scent over established ones. Each time I added a location to my routinely refreshed scent posts, the new scent source was visited ﬁrst. SCENT LINGERS And deer check it for as long as six months. A hanging bag of Wildgame Innovations Wild Estrus Squirt was targeted by several deer—all young bucks—through summer, even though the liquid had long since been deployed. SOME SCENT SYSTEMS LAST LONGER Perhaps not a great surprise, but whether through simple evaporation or strength level, some scent posts proved more potent than others. The Buck Bomb Detonator, for example, seemed to be checked out by deer far more than an equally refreshed coton ball. To me, the riddle of deer scents remains just that. My simple observations haven’t solved it for me. But continued research will sure be fun. ALAMY

t was a hunting strategy born of uter desperation. Deer season had grown old, and with just a week remaining to hunt, I didn’t have much let in my well-worn bag of tricks. There was only one stop let to pull out, and I found it while rummaging through an assortment of cardboard boxes in my garage. Eureka! Tinks, HS, Code Blue, Wildlife

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FƒLL TURKEYS ↘

DIRTY BIRDS DASTARDLY AND DOWNRIGHT UNDERHANDED STRATEGIES FOR FALL TURKEYS BY GERRY BETHGE

O Once the pull of fall turkey hunting seeps into your hunter’s soul, it doesn’t really ever leave—even after your vet tells you that the time has come to put down the secret to your success— your turkey dog. You see, I’ll always be a fall turkey dogger. But when a Fed Ex courier handed me a nondescript box containing Jake the Turkey Dog’s remains on November 5, 2011, it hit home for the first time. Without a dog, I’d either have hope that I would happen upon a bird while chasing other game or else devise a game plan rich with deceit, treachery, and deception. In short, my fall turkey hunting efforts were back at square one. H14 november 2016 outdoor life

The author snuck up on this fall jake feeding in an Oklahoma wheat ﬁeld.

PINPOINT PROTEIN

Wild turkeys love acorns and beechnuts, but the primary reason turkey poults grow so quickly is due to a summertime diet rich in protein. And that means grasshoppers. Like a whitetail looking for that last vestige of summer in the corner of a browning clover field, turkeys will hunt down hoppers until they are all gone. Incorporate this knowledge into your hunting plan. BEST TIME TO HUNT IT Late fall HOW IT WORKS Watch the weather. When a warm fall day leads to a clear hard-frost night, you’re in business. At first light the following morning, turkeys

will instinctually scour field edges to scarf up bugs that have been slowed down by the temperature. The first couple of hours of daylight are prime—the colder, the better. By midmorning, the birds will have dispersed to the timber as temperatures rise and the frost dissipates. HOW TO HUNT IT Grab a mixed bag of decoys, deploy them along a field edge before dawn, and find yourself a comfortable place to sit. Whether you hear birds roost-calling or not, start your calling program with tree yelps and slide into kee-kees and hard yelps after flydown time. Don’t be afraid to call—fall birds call a lot, so you won’t hurt a thing by going to town with your very best contest-calling program.

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TIME TUBERS

The acorns can wait. Turkeys and, indeed, most wild game instinctually know when favored food sources are dying off. Wild tubers and root crops are highly sought protein-rich rhizomes that are high in starch. Turkeys love them and will hit them hard until severe cold kills them off until spring. BEST TIME TO HUNT IT Mid to late fall HOW IT WORKS Scouting is your key to finding the last growing tubers of the season. Locate heavily scratched-up leaves in wet, low country and you’ll be on fall turkeys. Make careful note of where you’ve located tubers, because that stretch of woods will be a hotspot for many seasons to come. HOW TO HUNT IT This sort of feeding area can pay off all day, every day. Once you find where birds are scratching and picking tubers, set up a couple of decoys and wait them out. The birds will show up. Days when it’s raining lightly seem to be the best times to hunt.

“

IMITATE THEM EXACTLY—IT WILL LIKELY BE THE DOMINANT HEN TRYING TO RECALL HER FLOCK. CALL HER CLOSE AND THE FLOCK WILL FOLLOW.

SCARE THE HECK OUT OF THEM

If you don’t have a solid handle on where your fall birds are, go bowhunting for deer (seasons often run simultaneously) until you do. Watch and listen carefully from your treestand for turkeys to fly up to roost in the evening. Once you’ve heard or seen several birds fly up, climb out of your roost and do your best to disturb theirs. Make whatever noise is necessary to scatter them. BEST TIME TO HUNT IT All fall HOW IT WORKS Fall flocks of hens and poults desperately want to stay together—especially as late fall turns to winter. If you’re successful in breaking up the roosted flock, the following morning’s hunt can be, well, a turkey shoot. HOW TO HUNT IT Most important here is to set up, in the dark, as close to the central break-up site as possible. Set out several decoys and wait until you hear the first tree yelps of the morning. Once you do, imitate them exactly—it will likely be the dominant hen recalling her flock. Call her close and the flock will follow.

GUN TEST ♦ UPLƒND LOƒDS

TRENDS

STATE OF THE DEER RIFLE JOHN HAFNER/WINDIGO IMAGES

More than any other passion, the pursuit

hunting. Taking that one layer deeper, the

symbol of the sport. BY JOHN B. SNOW

section edited by john b. snow • shooting@outdoorlife.com

A Mossberg leveraction .30/30 at work in the deer woods.

outdoor life november 2016 71

SHOOTING TRENDS ↘

Guess Who’s Coming to Deer Camp? A gun rack in this fall’s camp might still contain those classics, but it might also include a scoped AR, a bolt-action with a chassis stock, or a heavy-barreled long-range rifle that looks like it was built for precision shooting, not hunting. These rifles will have stocks that fold down or adjust, oversize scopes with target turrets, detachable box magazines, and possibly even sound suppressors. And for good measure, add to this mix one of the new class of ultra-cheap hunting rifles that cost about as much as—or even less than—two boxes of premium safari ammo. Depending on your perspective, these changes can reflect an exciting new direction in technology and innovation, or they may mean the demise of traditional hunting values and skills, or they might elicit an indifferent shrug. Those in the first two categories have come to eye each other with suspicion, their deeply held convictions erupting at times into outright hostility and disdain. While this provides good fodder for internet trolling, it doesn’t bode well for hunters and shooters, who have plenty of foes in common who are happy to capitalize on this strife. So...how did we get here?

AR Revolution Firearms based on the AR platform and their cosmetic cousins are 72 november 2016 outdoor life

Fast-pointing, quick-cycling, and accurate, the AR is a solid deer riﬂe.

the most popular centerfires in the United States. For prety much any type of shooting, there’s an AR configured for the task. Deer hunting is no exception. This doesn’t sit well with the AR’s detractors. The argument against ARs boils down to looks. Objecting to them because they are semi-autos doesn’t hold up. We have plenty of semis in the deer-hunting pantheon, including the Model 8 that I mentioned earlier. The “you don’t need a 30-round clip to hunt deer” argument is also a nonstarter, as state game agencies limit the number of rounds a hunting magazine can hold, negating that supposed advantage. What about its overtly military DNA? Well, most of our beloved deer rifles (or the rifles that gave birth to them) served on fields of batle at some point. The surplus of wartime bolt-actions from the two World Wars created an entire industry dedicated to repurposing them for hunting. It doesn’t take a detective to see the similarities here. Even a cursory comparison between a military M4 and a deer hunter’s AR reveals that they function differently (the M4s having a full-auto seting). And the vast majority of hunting ARs have been sporterized just like the Mausers and Springfields of days gone by, with different-style handguards, stocks, barrels, chamberings, and sighting systems to improve their performance in the deer woods. This ability to customize the AR is one of its major appeals. ARs also have superb ergonomics and are easy to shoot well. And because it is so simple to adjust an AR’s stock dimensions, they are a great option for young people, women, and others who have a hard time finding deer rifles that fit their body. But these arguments so far haven’t swayed the haters. It’s all about the silhouete. Squint hard enough and the wonderfully versatile AR looks too much like the rifles carried by our troops in Afghanistan and Iraq, and that alone is what dooms it to pariah status in their eyes. What a pity.

RUSSELL GRAVES

his symbol, which once unified deer hunters, now sits on a fault line of technology, politics, and generational differences. The guns that graced racks in deer camp in decades past all had a similar look and feel. There could be a Model 70 Winchester, a Savage 99, a sporterized Mauser, a Model 8 Remington, and a Weatherby Mark V lined up at the end of a day’s hunt, and no one would bat an eye—though there might have been some good-natured ribbing directed toward the owner of the Weatherby, with its skip-line checkering and flashy inlaid diamond decorations. And it goes without saying that the owners of those guns wouldn’t have goten into a finger-pointing shouting match about what their rifles “represented.” Contained within the subtle but significant differences among those rifles, however, were seeds of discord that have blossomed into a thorny tangle of issues that has created a wedge between many hunters today.

SHOOTING TRENDS ↙

JOHN HAFNER/WINDIGO IMAGES

Going Long

Majority Rules

Long-range hunting: It’s the latest fetish among a subset of outdoorsmen. They speak of their kills first in terms of yardage and not antler points or B&C score, let alone in the language of the shared experience and camaraderie of hunting camp. The tools they use are the newest A Pennsylvania generation of bolt-action rifles, high-tech deer hunter scopes, and sophisticated electronics that takes aim with a bolt-action provide them with the data to calculate centerfire. their bullet’s drit and drop. There is a widespread impression, fueled largely by outdoors television hosts, that killing a deer at 1,000 yards is somehow easy and something to celebrate. That couldn’t be more wrong on both counts. But what’s to blame here? The equipment? No. Accurate rifles, good scopes, and bullets that fly flat and true are not at fault. Highperformance gear was certainly Ed Weatherby’s goal when he set up his shop in Southern California in the 1940s and started building custom rifles in the cartridges that bore his name. The atitude of the person behind the gun is what makes the difference. While this class of gear can provide a false sense of confidence and skill, the truth is that any hunter, with any type of gear, can misjudge his abilities and take shots he shouldn’t. As we did with respect to other leaps in technology that were controversial at the time—telescopic scopes and laser rangefinders, for example—we need to keep focused on the tenets of ethical hunting and use them as our guide, no mater what type of gun is slung over our shoulder.

Old-school deer rifles are a dying breed. They can still be found in used-gun racks, but new rifles with fine walnut stocks, blued steel, and atractive checkering are as elusive as a unicorn. The majority of new deer rifles sport synthetic stocks of fiberglass or plastic and have the visual appeal of a skin rash. But, as they say, looks aren’t everything. These new deer rifles, including some that are extraordinarily budgetfriendly, deliver a level of consistency and performance that would stupefy 20thcentury gunmakers. True sub-MOA accuracy, once the exclusive domain of custom rifles, has become the norm, and we have technology to thank for it. With today’s CNC equipment, rifle parts are machined to tight tolerances. High-end optical technology has trickled down to lowpriced scopes. Factory ammo has become so accurate that handloaders have a tough time keeping up. These rifles have traded aesthetic appeal for deer-dropping functionality. So what is the state of the modern deer rifle? I’d argue it has never been stronger—but with a caveat. Deer hunters live in an age of unmatched versatility, options, performance, technology, and economy. We just need to make sure that we don’t get so caught up in our gear that we lose sight of why we hunt and diminish the respect we feel toward the animals we pursue, as well as our comrades in the hunting community.

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SHOOTING GUN TEST ↘

SAUER 100 CLASSIC XT AN EMINENTLY SHOOTABLE, AND SURPRISINGLY AFFORDABLE, GERMAN RIFLE BY JOHN B. SNOW

ffordability” isn’t a word typically associated with the rifles plenty of clearance under the amply sized bolt handle for the trigger made by the German firm J.P. Sauer & Sohn. First, they finger, so you never have to contort your shooting hand when you get have to pay the salaries of all those highly skilled European into position to take a shot. This seemingly obvious design element is workers. Then there’s the fact that the Germans don’t like one that many rifle makers overlook. to skimp on features and performance when it comes to their fireThe front end of the stock has a Schnabel forend. Again, it fit nicely arms. The result is that not only do you get a wonderful gun when you in my hand and contributed to the rifle’s fine balance and handling throw down for one, but your bank account will take a hit—and you characteristics. If I could change anything about the stock, it would be can consider yourself fortunate if the four-figure price you paid starts the position of the forward swivel stud so that it projects straight out with the numeral 1. from the tip of the forend. As is, it sits right where the shooter’s lead So when Sauer announced they were making a bolt gun with the un- hand wants to go. Teutonic price of $699, I couldn’t help but wonder what corners they The checkering on the rifle consists of a series of what appear to would need to cut to pull that off. Ater spending a few months with be upside-down Nike swooshes. Unconventional, but they give both the .308 they sent me to evaluate, I’m still unsure of hands really good purchase. what wizardry they resorted to in making such a fine STATS rifle for that price. What corner cuting I could find Three-Lug Action Caliber: .308 Win was minimal. The action is a three-lug design with a large-diameter bolt body. The rifle cocks easily, and the bolt runs back Capacity: 5+1 Great Stock and forth in the receiver briskly and with no hitches Weight: 6 lb. 12 oz. For instance, the rifle doesn’t come stocked with or hang-ups. This made the 100 speedy to cycle and Trigger Pull: 1 lb. 12 oz. high-grade wood and ornate checkering, so they shoot. It breezed through my rapid-fire drills like a saved some money there. But the Classic XT’s black champ. It’s easy to picture it taking down running boar Smallest Group: 1.064 synthetic stock is by far the best I’ve seen on a rifle in the Black Forest. Barrel Length: 22 in. in this price range. Sauer based the geometry of The profile of the receiver is a Remington 700 Overall Length: 41 ⁷⁄₈ in. the stock on that of their higher-end rifles: the S101 clone, so there are plenty of options when it comes to and S404. It has a slight palm swell that fit my hand shopping for bases. Price: $699 beautifully and is shaped in such a way that my finger The flush-mounted detachable box magazine holds Contact: sauer.de aligned perfectly with the trigger. Even beter, there is five rounds of ammo in small and mid-size calibers,

PERFORMANCE

DESIGN

VALUE

TOTAL

Handling Reliability Shootability Meets Purpose Versatility Cratsmanship Ergonomics Durability Aesthetics 9

74 november 2016 outdoor life

photographs by bill buckley

J.P. Sauer & Sohn’s new Model 100 Classic XT is balanced, accurate, and aﬀordable.

and four rounds in magnum chamberings. Like everything else on this rifle, the magazine works flawlessly and with minimal effort. Sauer has rolled out the 100 in a host of calibers, from .223 Rem. up to 7mm Rem. Mag. I was happy to see that they’ve included both the 6.5 Creedmoor and the 6.5x55 Swede in the mix. Both are great calibers that would work well in this rifle.

NOTABLE FEATURES

Outstanding Accuracy Not that I had any issues with it chambered in .308. The accuracy of the rifle is excellent, though it was a bit picky regarding the ammo it liked best. With match-grade ammo, it had no issue printing 5-shot groups just around an inch. If I were to take it hunting, I’d opt for the Black Hills 168-grain Tipped Sierra Matchkings. Groups with this load averaged 1.081 inches. The rifle achieved this accuracy thanks to a light trigger, a beefy bedding system joining the action and stock, and a well-made barrel. At 1 pound 12 ounces, the trigger on my sample was a pleasure to shoot, but I would use its adjustment feature to set it to at least 2 ½ pounds for hunting. The risk of prematurely cranking off a shot when your hands are numb and fatigue has set in is just too high with a trigger that light. The rifle has a large block of metal for a recoil lug and a pillar system for the guard screws, so the stock and receiver join up solidly. For added contact and stiffness, Sauer used a big glob of bedding compound to take up space between the lug and the recess in the stock. This is a good thing when it’s done right, but Sauer did a sloppy job with mine. There was so much compound that I had to apply an unholy amount of force to separate the action and stock, cracking and breaking the bedding compound as the pieces came free. Perhaps this was another cut corner. Extra quality control here would go a long way. I had no such complaints about the cold-hammer-forged barrel, which was outstanding. The ripple-free exterior and the minimal tooling marks on the inside were both indications of the quality of its construction. At $699, this rifle is one of the best values I’ve come across in a long time. Its excellent performance is enhanced by its aesthetic and ergonomic refinements, which few other rifles can match.

The three-position safety has a middle setting that allows the shooter to work the bolt and empty the chamber while the rifle is still on safe. The rifle has a small, red-tipped indicator that protrudes from the rear of the bolt shroud when the rifle is cocked.

The three-lug bolt head comes with dual spring ejectors that perform their work enthusiastically, kicking brass clear of the oval port in the receiver with gusto. The Sako-style claw extractor yanked the empties out of the barrel without any issues at all. outdoor life november 2016 75

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SHOOTING UPLƒND LOƒDS ↙

TOP SHOTS HOW TO PICK THE MOST EFFECTIVE GAUGES, LOADS, AND CHOKES FOR UPLAND BIRDS BY JOHN TAYLOR

othing says autumn like that first step into bobwhite cover or an endless Midwest cornfield or the dappled leaves of a ruffed grouse covert. That first step is followed by another, and then many, many more. One of the behaviors that defines upland hunters is that they typically carry their shotguns long distances while shooting them very litle.So

when you do take a shot, you want to have the confidence that your payload is capable of bringing down the game you are hunting. Ater all, you might not get a second shot or another flush. Though the 12-gauge, with its wide selection of loads, is king, for many a lightweight 20- or 28-gauge is a beter pick. And the ot-forgoten 16 is perfect for the uplands. Here is a guide for upland loads that fit most situations.

EARLY-SEASON PHEASANTS

GAUGE

CHOKE

RANGE IN YD.

LOAD

SHOTSHELL

EARLY-SEASON PHEASANTS

I.C./MOD.

20–40

NO. 6

KENT 12-GAUGE K122UFL 36, 1 ¼ OZ. DIAMOND SHOT, 1,350 FPS

LATE-SEASON PHEASANTS

MOD/I.MOD

30–50

NO. 4

FEDERAL PREMIUM 12-GAUGE PRAIRIE STORM PF154FS, 1 ¼ OZ., 1,500 FPS

RUFFED GROUSE

SKEET/I.C.

15–30

NO. 7 ½

REMINGTON 16-GAUGE GL167, 1 OZ. , 1,200 FPS

SPRUCE GROUSE (FOOL HEN)

SKEET/I.C.

10–25

NO. 7 ½

20-GAUGE POLYWAD SR 207 SPRED-R, ⁷⁄₈ OZ., 1,200 FPS

HUNGARIAN PARTRIDGE

I.C./MOD.

25–40

NO. 6

20-GAUGE REMINGTON NP20, 1 OZ. , 1,300 FPS

CHUKAR

I.C/MOD

25–40

NO. 7 ½

20-GAUGE WINCHESTER X207, 1 OZ. , 1,220 FPS

PRESERVE QUAIL

CYL/SKEET

10–30

NO. 8

28-GAUGE WINCHESTER AA288, ¾ OZ. , 1,200 FPS

WILD QUAIL

SKEET/I.C.

15–35

NO. 7 ½

28-GAUGE FEDERAL P283, ¾ OZ. , 1,295 FPS

Kansas pheasant hunters put up a November rooster.

photograph by bill buckley

outdoor life november 2016 77

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HOT CHOCOLATE BY JOE ARTERBURN

like getting up at 3 a.m. as much as the next guy. ¶ But we need to be in place well before 30 minutes before sunrise, legal shooting time for Nebraska’s deer opener, so I hop out of bed fumbling for the alarm I barely needed. I have been awake for what seems hours with opening-day jitters. I barefoot it to the kitchen, and by the light of the open refrigerator pour milk into a big Pyrex measuring bowl, put it in the microwave, and push start.

We need a lot of hot chocolate, enough to fill the old quart Stanley Thermos— the one with the worn green finish—plus four pint Thermoses to get everyone through a cold, cold day of hunting. It’s my fault, this hot chocolate tradition. When the boys were litle, I’d take them goose hunting, driving to the pit in the dark while they slept. And as the sun came up, we’d sit in the blind and watch for geese, drinking hot chocolate and eating Momprepared snacks from the camo bag. The kitchen opens to the living room, except the living room looks like a bunkhouse. This isn’t our house in town; it’s our one-bedroom cabin by the lake. The boys are slung out on couches in the living room: Hunter on the pullout bed, Jack and Sam on couches too short for them to stretch out comfortably. As cellphone alarms go off, I

switch on the kitchen light. The boys roll out, digging through duﬀel bags and the clothes that have exploded across the ﬂoor. Lots to do before the 60-mile drive to the farm, the home place where I grew up and where the boys have learned hunting and tradition. Someone needs to walk Quigley and load his kennel; double-check dog food and water (Quigley is a yellow Lab, not a deer-hunting dog, but it would break his heart to be let behind); load gear not preloaded last night; load coolers and food, including the 2-gallon plastic tote with Halloween-treat-size candy bars, Ritz crackers, venison summer sausage, cheese, a cuting board, a slicing knife. And cinnamon bears. Cathy, in multiple layers of hunting garb, makes ham sandwiches, bags each one. The boys inhale a quick breakfast of

cereal, then go out to scrape windshields and fire up the pickups. It takes two pickups to haul us and our gear, and allows us to split in teams to execute our hunt plan—and adds reassurance in case someone gets stuck. The boys have their own pickups now; Cathy and I will drive mine and whoever wins the argument between them will drive his. I preheat the Thermoses as the milk heats. I measure scoop ater scoop (with extra scoops for richer, more chocolaty taste) of hot chocolate mix into the steaming milk, whisking to break up maverick chunks. Thermoses full, we hit the road. I drink tea and listen to Outlaw Country and snores coming from the back seat. Two miles from where we’ll start hunting, we pull over on the gravel road, at the T intersection where the Arterburn mailbox used to be. We let Quigley out to run and pee. We pull on outer layers, binocular harnesses, and orange vests. In the headlights, we toss weed chaff to confirm wind strength and direction. Northnorthwest, just like the forecast said. Faint light in the east. All set? Remember, you have a bonus doe tag, but it’s opening day, so if you’re on a doe, well, it’s up to you. Got everything? Know where everyone’s going? Once the sun’s up, we’ll see what happens. Got your hot chocolate? Good. Good luck. Let’s roll. Come to think of it, maybe I like geting up at 3 a.m. more than the next guy.

Vol. 223, No. 9. OUTDOOR LIFE magazine (ISSN 0030-7076, USPS 577-230) is published monthly, except combined December/January, February/March, and June/July issues, by Bonnier Corporation, 2 Park Avenue, New York, NY 10016. Copyright © 2016 by Bonnier Corporation. All rights reserved. Reprinting in whole or part is forbidden except by permission of Bonnier Corporation. We make a portion of our mailing list available to reputable firms. If you would prefer that we don’t include your name, please write us at the Harlan, IA, address below. POSTMASTER: Send all UAA to CFS. Non-postal and military facilities: Send address changes to Outdoor Life, PO Box 6364, Harlan, IA 51593-1864. Periodicals postage paid at New York, NY, and additional mailing offices. Subscription rates: $19.97 for 1 year. Please add $8 per year for Canadian addresses and $16 per year for all other international addresses. Canada Post Publications agreement number #40612608. Canada Post Returns: IMEX Global Solutions, PO Box 25542, London, ON N6C 6B2 Canada. Printed in the USA.

86 november 2016 outdoor life

illustration by joel kimmel

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