Big Game Illustrated - Issue 23 by Big Game Illustrated

Winter 2018 issue CANADA/USA 6.99

COVER STORY

HUNTING FOR KING EDWARD & THE CHIEF Chad Gerard FEATURE ARTICLE

128 HOURS

Wes Speake

Publisher: Big Game Illustrated Media email: info@biggameillustrated.com www.biggameillustrated.com Senior Editors: & Circulation:

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Carol Wilkinson

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12 Feature Editorial HUNTING FOR KING EDWARD & THE CHIEF By Chad Gerard

I spent a few nights sitting from afar, watching and glassing in hopes of putting eyes on the mysterious buck.

128 HOURS

By Wes Speake

38 4

No matter how exhausting, frustrating, or disheartening your season is going, it can all turn around in about twenty seconds.

In This Issue THE MORNING MONARCH 06 By Kirkland David Bullee

HUNTING FOR KING EDWARD & THE CHIEF By Chad Gerard

THE VELVET MULE DEER

A 75-YARD BEDDED CENTERPUNCH 10 RING KILL SHOT!

128 HOURS

TRACKING THE WHITETAIL THAT HAUNTED MY DREAMS

THE GHOST OF HOLDERâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;S FARM

TUMBLER RIDGE GOAT, A DAY TO REMEMBER

2017 ALBERTA WOOD BISON

A MEMORY IN THE FIELD

By Ryan Hubert

By Parry Boyko

By Wes Speake

By Lane Bailey

By Michael Armstrong

By Clay Peck

By Josh Verbeek

By Riley Ottenbreit

64 5

THE MORNING MONARCH By Kirkland David Bullee

The fall of 2017 came around with a hot, dry September. The unseasonal heat kept the deer and elk movement to a minimum. The fall of 2017 came around with a hot, dry September. The unseasonal heat kept the deer and elk movement to a minimum. Despite this, I was seeing some good bucks on and off and hoping to get a quick start on the bow season. On September 4th, I was able to start the bow season off with me taking a beautiful full velvet 176-inch mule deer. After harvesting my first velvet mule deer with my bow, with it being so hot, I had no hope in the elk rut starting until a cold front would come around. So, I followed close at my brotherâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s side, hoping to help him on his quest of harvesting his first archery mule deer. Several weeks went by with decent action and we saw lots of great bucks. We were getting a little tired of jumping our target bucks, but not tagging anything, so we knew our hunting tactics had to change.

A refocus and some changes in strategy resulted in mid-September arriving with my brother filling his tag on an absolute stud of a mule buck scoring 187 inches! As the end of September drew closer, I started checking the weather to see if I could see some cold weather coming. Sure enough, coming soon would be two full weeks of cold mornings and evenings. My first night out would consist of me doing some scouting. Since I did not do any summer elk scouting due to work and family, I knew I had to make up for it quickly. About a half-hour before my first night of hunting came to-a-close, I decided to walk into a small coulee where I had thought an elk would be laying for the day.

“I gave out two hair standing bugles and listened ever so quietly. It was a bull elk, and unquestionably a shooter!” There was only one problem, the bull had seen my head move, and as quickly as I saw him, he darted into thick timber and out of sight. Fast forward a full week to the next Sunday. A buddy of mine and I were back out, trying to get on a screaming 300 inch plus bull. Seeing great bulls all week that were in the low 300 inch mark, I knew that if I just hunted hard enough my efforts would pay off. After throwing out a handful of bugles we finally heard a deep throaty bulge off in the distance. The terrain was tough and knowing the area, we thought that this bull was going to move into thick timber for the day. We quickly got set up on this beautiful, heavy 340 inch 6x6 bull. Right in front of our eyes, and a little too quickly, nine cows and one mature bull rumbled over the horizon, and in no time at all we found ourselves frozen. There were nine cows breathing down our necks, with the bull only 40 yards away. I didn’t think

we were going to get a shooting opportunity on the bull because the cows had us pegged down. Ten minutes had passed with us barely being able to blink an eye.

“In disbelief, the bull circled the cows without pushing them closer to us and started heading straight in my direction!” Quickly, coming to full draw as the bull went out of sight for just a split second, I noticed one big problem. I was crouched dead center of what looked to be a cattle trail. I realized in t hat moment that this was the herd’s trail they took back into the timber every day. I looked up to find myself staring at the bull, face to face, with no sure shot opportunity, so we waited, and waited. I knew I could not let my bow string down or the bull and all his cows would be gone for good. Finally the bull had enough, he turned and ran off. My buddy quickly cow chirped at the bull and at 60 yards the bull swung his massive body around and trotted to 40 yards and turned broad side. “Smack” the arrow made its mark. I know it was a perfect heart shot!

I couldn’t believe it. “I think I just made a perfectshot on a bull of a life time,” I dared to think. Twenty minutes went by and I finally got settled down enough to start looking for some blood and my arrow. I knew this bull shouldn’t be too far because of the crashing in the bush, which did not last long. It was silent again. Another half hour past with disbelief. “How have I not found this bull yet?” I wondered aloud, with doubts now creeping in. Coming to the other side of the bush, I saw nothing but rolling hills and tall grass. I brought up my vortex 12x50s and started glassing the open pasture. About 50 yards in the front of me I saw what every bow hunter wants to see after shooting such an animal. With a huge smile on my face, I walked up to my bull. I had not actually realized how big these mature bulls actually are, and the sight in front of me was amazing. The body was the size of our yearling cattle and the antlers looked nothing short of prehistoric. I can’t say thank you enough to the kind people who lent me a trailer to get him home and to the people that helped me load and skin him. Waking the rest of the family from their warm bed and watching them funnel out the front door to admire the bull as I did in the pasture, had me thinking a name for this once in a lifetime bull. It fit the experience perfect. He is the MORNING MONARCH.

Cover Story

HUNTING FOR KING EDWARD & THE CHIEF

Part 1: King Edward, the 240” Mule Deer By Chad Gerard

After some tough hunting in an area I’ve never been before, and having to leave a target buck behind, I headed back home to work.

Swimming that creek and reaching underwater to pull his head up and finally hold him in my hands with my childhood teacher by my side is something Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll never forget. As we were taking pictures it came to me that it was 16 years ago when I got drawn for a mule deer. It was my first and last-time rifle hunting these animals and I had taken my first mule deer with my Dad by my side, guiding me 50 yards from where I had just gone fishing for Edward. These were the only two mule deer he had ever witnessed me harvest and my most memorable!

Five days into the season, I had a house full of archery hunters from the other side of the province that I will be glassing and walking the hills with, trying to lend a hand to some seasoned and new archery hunters while trying to set eyes on a buck for myself. With word of a big framed typical with massive double drops in the area, I spent a few nights sitting from afar, watching and glassing in hopes of putting eyes on the mysterious buck. I want to see if he is going to be a target or get a pass in hopes he’ll make another season. After four nights and no sightings, I decide to move on and hunt alongside my guests, covering miles of rugged pasture land, helping a young man by the name of Hunter try to fill his tag. Crossing section after section, and fence line after fence line we hunt hard. We were

seeing handfuls of bucks that didn’t spike our interest, so we started making our way out of the dry hills in the crazy heat towards an old farm where we were going to get picked up by the other group. As we were cutting across a low flat, an absolute King buck stood up from a washout where he was hiding from the heat. He looked directly through us with his ears spread wide. I freeze, release in my pocket and arrows snapped in my quiver, with Hunter 20 yards behind me, there is nothing to do but take him in, all 240 inches! We watch him bounce over a couple hills as I am still stuck in my tracks, unable to move in disbelief! I look at Hunter and inform him that’s his buck. I ran to the top of the tallest hill in hopes of catching a general direction that the dark chocolate horned brute may be going but was not rewarded with even a glimpse. Hiking back over to Hunter and his father Ken, I throw

my pack on and we set trail in his direction. Eventually, we catch him setting up bed on the side of a hill with another buck. Hunter and I planned to sneak around and get upwind to try and figure out if Hunter can get set up for a stalk, but the two bucks didn’t stay long, and we never made it within 200 yards before they were spooked by the unknown and they were on the run again. I decided to take after him again in hopes he would bed in a more ideal spot for a stalk. Hunter was not sure if he wanted to turn around or keep trucking, and eventually decided that it might be less walking if he heads in the same direction as me. I could tell he was getting tired at this point, but he chugged along.

“To my surprise we came around a hill and there they are again, 150 yards and closing in on us! I signaled to Hunter to get down and get ready for a shot!” Three minutes felt like hours, ten minutes like days, and now I am wondering what happened. I peeked my head over the edge and there, feeding towards us at 50 yards, were the two bucks! Tossing Hunter some sign language to get ready, we wait! Five more minutes ticks by until I took another look to see them now bedded in some sage 120 yards away. We decided to wait them out and ten minutes into the wait my little buddy is sawing logs beside a bed of cactus. I chuckle, and then the next thing I know I wake up two hours later in a panic that we missed our chance and they moved on! I peek over again to see that the brute is still passed out with his head in the air, catching wind of any threats. With Hunter still asleep, I grab my bow and sneak off in another direction to see if we have a chance of a stalk. Sneaking up behind a bolder I glance over the top and become frozen again! There, walking my way,

46 yards broad side is the brute of a buck and Hunter has no chance. I nock an arrow, come to full draw, stand and let one fly, only to watch it soar feet over his back. He doesn’t move, so I snap on another arrow and this time I send it under his feet as his ears start turning into satellites, trying to pick up a signal! Three arrows later and an empty quiver, unbelievably, he was still standing there, and it seemed like he knew he was safe. Frustrated and defeated, I watched him walk off over the hills for the last time, never to see him again that season. I put my bow away and focused on Hunter for the next couple days with lots of opportunities but no luck. On the last day of the last hours for this group of hunters, I brought them to an area full of mule deer where I thought they would have a great chance of getting a good stalk. Ten minutes into entering the flats, I caught a glimpse of a narrow-framed mule deer bedded on the edge of the creek. He was narrow framed but there was so much more going on, so much that we couldn’t figure out exactly what was on his head! While trying to set a plan on how we could get young hunter Jessi in range for a shot on her first archery mule deer, he spooked and made his way to the top, giving us a clear view of a mess of antler and velvet. It was then that I realized this may be the same buck I spotted earlier in the season. We watched him till the sun went down and the flatland pursuit group headed back home. I knew what my schedule looked like and where I would be until my tag was cut on the buck I now dubbed ‘Edward’. Getting home that night, I put my bow to the target and into the press to find out I had equipment come loose over the past couple days causing me to miss those five shots earlier! Archery is a huge mind game, and knowing it was my equipment, and not me, gave me a huge confident boost going forward after this buck. The real hunt started now, and I couldn’t wait. Day 1: I woke up the next morning headed to work. Everyone could tell my mind was somewhere else all day as I couldn’t wait for 3:30 to roll around. Every minute counts on evening hunts! As soon as I got setup, I began glassing, trying to catch the tip of a tine or an ear so I could make a plan before the deer start moving for the evening. I pulled into the area, grabbed

15 15

my pack and headed to the top of the nearest hill overlooking the flats and creek bottom and I started panning back and forth, picking apart the portion of land in front of me. An hour before sunset, a small buck and doe that were with Edward the night before stood up from the exact spot as the previous night. As I’m questioning the thought of moving in on the creek bottom in hopes that Edwards in the same bed also, he rises out of the tall grass, like he can hear my thoughts and just walks straight out into the flats without hesitation. I was now too late, so back home I go to another sleepless night followed by a day of work that seems never ending. Day 2: I called up friends Craig, and Mike and my Dad and told them to meet at my place at 4pm. I wanted additional eyes on both ends of the creek about 1/4 mile away from where Edward had been choosing to lounge. Dad and Craig headed to the east side, while Mike followed me in on the west side and I set him up on a sidehill with my spotting scope and pointed out the area Edward had been bedding. I snuck down to the river bottom and across the creek. At this point, I am less than 150 yards from Mike and I can see him trying to get my attention, motioning deer! I determine that all he can see is there very tips of his points in the tall spear grass! I figured out where he was, and then all I had to do was get there. Off come the boots, if he’s there I’m in his court now and had to be cautious. I’m on one side of the creek and the bucks on the other, but I don’t know exactly where, I just know he’s in the same tight horse shoe bend in the creek. I got within 10 yards of the creek and find the same buck that was with Edward the night before bedded up on the edge across from me, with no chance of me getting any closer for a shot if Edward stands up. Thinking to myself, “This is probably the buck Mike sees and there is a very high chance Edward isn’t here tonight,” I continue to sit and wait, hoping I am wrong. All I can hope is that Edward is close, and that he gets up and allows a shot before I get winded along the river bottom. However, that never happened, and a snort and burst from the doe and up stood Edward out of his bed at 45 yards facing away, with his head turned, looking back at me. Hoping he would call her bluff or turn broadside, I hold my breath, but neither happened and I had no good shot. Watching him crest that same hill for

the third time felt like I was just reliving the same day, trying to fix my mistakes. I called Craig and Dad to give them the rundown and a direction he was going. Even though I had a good look at the buck, I still had no idea what he might score. While on the phone with Craig and Dad, as they are watching Edward make his escape, Craig admits he is also baffled, trying to figure out what is going on above his ears. It’s a mess of horn and bits of velvet and the closer you get, the more you watch him, the more he confuses you! The sun set with him feeding in the distance, knowing he was safe another day Day 3: I head out by myself after work. The wind is in my favor if he is bedded in the same area. As I rounded the corner, pulling into the flat, he is standing right there, 100 yards out, feeding in a hay flat and has no care in the world that I am there! I watch him for two hours, trying to put a mental tape to him, count points, figure out what’s velvet and what’s not. Even simple questions like does he have two beams or three does not have a simple answer. I still can’t make sense of him, all I can say is he has lots of extras, a palmated beam and he’s super narrow with great tine length! I sat there until the sun went down, watching him feed his way to the edge of the creek. I figured if he wanted to get comfortable with me being around, it could not hurt, and I didn’t mind Day 4: I had a doctor’s appointment at 10 and had to pick up a suit for my buddies wedding, so I got the day off work. Craig and I headed out to try to put eyes on the buck in the morning, then put him to bed and hopefully get a stalk and an arrow in him or at the very least get some eyes on him before I had to head for the city. I had already warned the bride of this wedding that I may not be there to stand up for one of my best friends if things worked out with this buck. She did not realize that I was 100% serious. As Craig sat back glassing the surrounding area, I decided to go poking around the river bottom for Edward. This was the first time I had been able to hunt him in the morning. “What’s his routine?” I wondered. All I knew is where he spends his afternoon, so I decided not to push into his usual spot and pulled out. I headed in to the city, knowing I would be back out for the evening. All day long, I was rushing between

appointments and when 3pm rolled around, I find myself just getting into the field. Bow in hand, wind in my face and I was sneaking along the river bank into his hood. This was the first evening I have had wind in my favor so that I could come at him from a direction that when he stands, I would have a shot. Even if I didn’t have a shot, he would have to walk past me, and within 30 yards no matter which way he went. Boots off, walking through standing canola I make my way slowly into position. After a successful sneak, I find myself his backyard, but there is no sign of anything. I kept slowly creeping forward towards the creek until I am in his living room, then his bedroom, and an hour later I’ am in his bed but still have had no sightings of him. I can’t help but think, “What I am doing in here this close?” I decide to slowly rise to my feet in hopes to spot some antler tips. Half crouched, arrow nocked, I start picking apart my surroundings. Suddenly, I see it and instantly I am locked up.

“What feels like an arm reach away are the hairs of a doe’s ear and the tips of a buck’s antlers! I’m so close I’m worried they can hear my heart pounding.” I can hear one of them grinding their teeth and I’m 95% sure Edward must be here. I hangout under the sheets with them long enough that I feel like I am going to wet my pants. Just when I don’t think I can wait a minute longer, the doe stands, jumps up the river bank and around me at five yards, followed right behind by a small buck. The two amigos fly by me, but there is no sign of Edward yet. I watched the two walk off into the flat and waited until dark but did not see anything else. I don’t know if he was in there, but I’m willing to bet that he found a new bed. I was very

worried that I had pushed him to his limits and he bailed out. Day 5: I am back at back at work, with that awful feeling of being stuck at work with everything from the past few hunts running through my mind. The simplest tasks had become troublesome, as my brain goes a mile a minute trying to figure out what to do next on my hunt for Edward. 3:30pm finally arrives and finds me making dust home. After a quick shower and change, I grab Dad and we head back off to the flats. The wind was strong and again out of the west. I decided I was going to take my chances, walk in like the night before and try to get right on top of him again. The one change is I am going to come in from the other side of the creek, as my expectation was that the strong wind will have him bedded up against the river bank across from me. I headed in, snuck up behind a four foot tall sage brush and looked over top to see his two amigos bedded on the river bank, out of the wind. They are comfortable there, dead asleep, so I rise a bit, looking over the sage, scanning the grass along the bank with my binoculars from left to right, hoping I catch a glimpse of him.

As I come across left to right, there he is, quartering away staring directly back at me! “He beat me to it!” I thought, all while slapping my release on, ranging him at 44 yards and drawing back. I get a rush of excitement, as I can finally draw back on this buck after so many close encounters! Everything is a blur after that, but I remember losing sight of the arrow and hearing the distinct SMACK of a heavy impact. He busts out of his bed and instantly I don’t feel good about the shot. I watched him until he was out of sight, then heading into the creek, swimming to the other side with bow in hand to find my arrow that I knew was

not inside him. All I find is hair, hair, hair and a little blood. “Not good,” I think. Immediately, I think that perhaps my arrow hit in no man’s land and missed all vitals. I made tracks over the ridge to watch him head out the same direction he always had. Me and Dad watched him all night walk around the pasture with his tongue out, making me wonder if I clipped a lung. Day 6: It is wedding day instead of a full day of hunting a buck I have now wounded. I asked Dad if he would head out and try to locate Edward before he comes to the wedding. I contact my cousin who is coming down for the weekend to hunt and ask him to stay out of that area. Anxiously waiting, my phone goes off and my Dad informs me while we’re getting our suits on and taking pictures that he has spotted him back in his normal area and he looked healthy. Day 7: Thanks to the wedding, I wake up with a bad hangover. However, it is a day with high winds and chance of rain, which I know are two things in my favor. I set up to walk the creek like I have the past with no luck other than the two amigos, so I was worried I had messed with his routine far too much, and he was gone for good. I headed back two miles south to where he headed when I wounded him. I had just arrived there, when Dad let me know that he had spotted him back in his bedding area! There he was, laid up on a side hill with the good chance of a stalk. Gear in hand, I set off to cover a lot of ground to get around him. Sneaking in to 30 yards, I am just preparing to come over an old berm, when four does come over the hill to my left, wind me, and run directly at Edward! He busts out of his bed and the group picks up every other deer along the way. All I can do is sit on a rise and watch them cross fields, creeks, fences and sloughs and finally coming to stop in some trees rows a full three miles away. I’m at a loss now. “Where will he be next?” I wonder, and based on recent events, I have no answer for my own question. Day 8: After a long day I work, I have headed home again. There are heavy rains coming in sideways with strong winds out in the west. Dad calls asking if I’m going to go out and try to locate Edward. He stresses that

now is my best chance of killing him, with the weather dealt to us, if I could spot him. I know he is right and I would be crazy not to head out. He’s going to be bedded tight and my only hope is that he found his way back to the creek. On the way out, Dad is quizzing me as to where I think he may have held up in this storm. I figure my best option is to head to the closest part of the creek, where I had last seen him the night before. It was an area in the tail end of a wide, long coulee with some irrigation dikes alongside the creek. We glass the area from the road and there is not even a duck in site. Everything is hunkered down in the weather. We pulled off the main road and started driving further in along the irrigation dike to get closer to the area that I am gambling Edward will be.

“Dad’s head nearly bounces off the dash as I spotted a buck bedded on the west side of the creek bed 300 yards off my bumper.” Dad says, “What do you see”. I think that I can see the outline of his antlers against the muddy bank, so I put the spotting scope out the window, knowing it is him and hoping his eyes are closed and not pinned on us already! “That’s him Dad, and he’s in a coma.” I analyzed the situation and planned to come around the back side of him and, as long as I come from the south along the river bank and spot him before I walk past, he shouldn’t wind me. Luckily, the grass was soaked so I knew he would never hear me. I head west to a road allowance a half mile on the other side of him. My nerves are starting to get to me now. Everything is perfect, I Grab my bow, throw my hood up, fist pound Dad, while saying, “Time to put him to rest, see you when it’s over” I started covering ground, running through the flat to get south of Edward. I hit the edge of the

creek and started creeping alongside, peeking over the edge every 50 feet, to make sure I didn’t get past him. The rain was coming in sideways and hard, so hard that it felt like hail. 100 yards down creek, I started thinking I may have gone too far. I take a breath and focus on trying to figure out which part of the bank he was bedded in. I look back at where I would have been parked when I spotted him, and then where I am standing now, and realized that he must have been 40 yards up on another small cliff. I took three more slow steps along the bank and start to second guess myself. I stopped and looked over the edge. In sudden shock, there he is. I’m am standing directly above him and, at three yards, a mess of horns I had yet to see so clearly, appears. If I had a pacemaker it would be working double time. I step back, drop to my knees and crawl forward five feet to the edge. I come to full draw, stand up and lean over a sage bush. His head is laying on the dirt with his white butt right under my feet. Next thing I knew I was on my knees holding my bow in the air. All I remember is the sound of an arrow striking

through the top of his ribs and exiting his chest, along with him letting out a burst of air as he busted out of his last bed, rounding the cliff out of sight. After a couple minutes of taking it all in, I stood up, called Dad and walked over to the next bend of the cliff, 40 yards away to see Edward floating in the creek. A high five, couple hugs and a hand shake were exchanged between my father and I as we stood on top of the creek with the feeling of accomplishment and personal achievement rushing through me. Swimming that creek and reaching underwater to pull his head up and finally hold him in my hands with my childhood teacher by my side is something I’ll never forget. As we were taking pictures it came to me that it was 16 years ago when I got drawn for a mule deer.

Cover Story Part 2

GOING AFTER THE CHIEF By Chad Gerard

With my mule deer hunt over, I switch gears and focus on working my dog and gunning pheasants. It is something that may be one of my greatest passions.

We ran into my younger brother, Curtis and my cousin and let them know about the deer and what happened. We told them to shoot straight if they see him! Curtis is shocked and stands in disbelief looking at the pictures of Chief. He could not believe there could be a deer like this the south, and he headed out, on a mission.

It is something I really enjoy and is a very relaxing hunt and entertaining and rewarding to watch the dogs work. I was not thinking about whitetails a whole lot until one night when I received a text from one of my best friends, Derek Moe, asking about a whitetail I had on trail camera couple years prior. He wanted to know if he had been back or if I had eyes on a deer in a certain area. I told him my brother has talked about one in that area he had seen prior to the season and my Dad had hunted one for two winters in the same area that I had never seen. Derek later sent me pictures and right away I knew I had never seen that deer in the flesh but thought perhaps it was the nice young six point that was on my camera from two years before. If that was the case he had really blown up, but I also knew there was a very good chance it was the deer Dad was after. Before the opener, Derek spent most of his time in the flats, keeping an eye on the giant whitetail, and just about every night the buck was in the exact same spot, following the same routines. The week before opening day, Derek called me and asked if I would help him out hunting his whitetail he had now named “Chief”. He wanted an extra set of eyes and he insisted that I bring my rifle. I told him I wouldn’t be able to pull the trigger on him anyway, because it wasn’t my deer. I was on board and couldn’t think of anything better to do than chase a 185” plus whitetail. Based on his demeanor, I am sure I got much more sleep then Derek did the night before I met up with him. It was the first real cold day we had all year and it was kind of questionable as to what Chief might do with the drop in temperature. Without a doubt, we were going to set up to glass into his bedroom at first light. As we were driving past the area, I caught a glimpse of a big framed whitetail heading south down a draw. “Derek there he is!” I said. Derek put his spotter in the window and confirmed that it was not him. “Well then you shoot Chief and when it’s over, I’m heading after that deer,” I said excitedly. We got situated as the sun was rising and we could see for miles around us. 1500 yards away from us was the

old farm yard that has been Chief’s home for many years. You could tell there was a big, mature buck that owned the rut out there. Everything was shredded, there was hardly a post or tree that wasn’t rubbed raw! I swear the barn wood collectors haven’t touched the buildings because Chief has scored them up so badly! Half hour after legal shooting time arrived, a buck finally showed up, walking along the top of a coulee heading towards the old yard. “That’s him Chad!” Derek says. We both take a deep breath to gather our nerves and then we come up with a plan. Derek headed out to walk the bottom of the coulee that the buck came out of staying low until he reaches a rock pile 200 yards from where Chief entered the trees. I stayed back on the spotter, watching Derek work his way out of sight.

Ten minutes after Derek left, a buck appeared out of nowhere, working his way towards Derek! The buck turned his head and looked my way, giving me a clear view of two perfect 4” browtines, not the massive bladed brows like I’ve seen in the pics and earlier headed into the coulee at first light! Now stressing out in hopes I don’t hear a gun shot, to my disbelief, I hear the distinct bark of the 28 Nosler I built for Derek that previous winter, followed up by a second shot 10 seconds later. Derek texts me to meet around the other side and, as I’m cresting the hill into the coulee, I see Derek laying on the side hill 20 feet from his buck, but it’s not HIS BUCK! Derek explains how he had seen Chief walking toward him and dropped out of sight in a low spot. He got set up for a shot waiting for him to come into sight and when he did, that was the end of him. However, Chief must have stayed in that low spot and pushed out this buck that I had seen prior. If I could have given Derek my tag I would have. I told him to get his wife, Jen and we

would get back on him but she was working. So now his deer has turned into my deer. With rifle season underway, hunters started roaming the roads and fields all around us as we were in search mode, glassing all the flats, farms yards and low spots. A couple guns shots were heard, and with each one we get more worried that maybe someone had found him, but we can’t give up. We ran into my younger brother, Curtis and my cousin and let them know about the deer and what happened. We told them to shoot straight if they see him! Curtis is shocked and stands in disbelief looking at the pictures of Chief. He could not believe there could be a deer like this the south, and he headed out, on a mission. Two hours later, while Derek and I are sitting on the edge of a coulee outside the fence of posted property

that we couldn’t get permission for, we spot my brother a couple miles away, walking up some draws when out busted a huge whitetail which we could only assume was Chief! We come to the fast decision that he is probably headed back to the old farm. Luckily, we are positioned right between him and the farm. Time crawls by, and ten minutes go by and he still hadn’t shown up. We continue glassing and picking apart every small detail we can. Suddenly, a huge body buck materializes, silhouetting himself on the hill 200 yards away. Somehow, he has made it around us and is heading to the farm! After that, my memory gets fuzzy and mind pretty much draws a blank as to what exactly happened. I remember a lot of handshakes and fist pumps! I’ve walked up to my fair share of ground shrinkage whitetails, but I’ve never had one gain 15” and that is exactly what happened with Chief.

Part 1:

THE VELVET MULE DEER By Ryan Hubert

My history with this deer started in December of 2016. I was headed out to call coyotes on the edge of a 40-acre alfalfa field along a lake which was well sheltered by trees and brush.

Holding this buck for the first time was something Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll never forget. Such a beautiful animal that I have so much respect for. I want to say a special thanks to Chris at RIPS taxidermy for bringing this memory back to life.

As I was entering the field, I had noticed a few deer on the far end. Only getting a quick glance at the buck before he exited the field, I could see he was sporting some extra junk on his rack. It was enough of a look to really make me determined to learn more about this deer. Despite my best efforts, I had no more sightings of him that winter. I was out of luck for 2017 as I was not drawn again for either sex mule deer, for the seventh consecutive year! Unfortunately, the over the counter archery mule deer season had also been shut down for that zone. A few sightings of the buck at the end of the year still gave me hope for 2018 but I really needed a change in luck and really hoped I could finally pull a coveted draw tag. On the afternoon of July 19, 2018, I received an email congratulating me of being drawn for mule deer in my chosen zone. “Finally!” I thought and I couldn’t have been more excited. That summer produced multiple sightings of him in a flowering canola crop. The anticipation built as I received permission to hunt the area and captured a couple low quality trail cam pictures of him passing by. My shift work had me off from August 25th until September second and I was determined to find this specific buck during those dates. The land owner had told me that while I had been gone the alfalfa had just been freshly cut and the deer were feeding down in the 40-acre piece down by the lake. Being careful on which nights I could scout the small field due to wind direction, it left me without a sighting of him again until August 31st. That evening there were does in the field early and a nice up and comer. As darkness crept closer, out walked a young forked buck entering the field at the northwest corner.

“He stepped into the field and looked back over his shoulder intently.” As I scanned the area, I could see my target buck walking down the trail bordered on both sides by thick brush. They fed towards the east and exited back up another trail heading back up the ridge after sunset. The rest of the evening was spent trying to come up with a plan on how I could put myself in position to get a shot at this buck opening day. I finally decided that if the wind was right, I would sit on the far west side of the field behind a round bale that would give me a close range shot if he entered from the same trail.

The next morning was overcast, with a steady 15 km/hr. wind out of the southeast. As long as it didn’t change to southwest I would be golden. At first light, two does and a fawn entered the field on the east end. Hunkered down beside the bale, lying on my stomach, I saw the young forked buck approaching the field edge. “It is a replay of the evening before,” I thought to myself, and then sure enough, moments after came my target buck, slowly making his way down the trail. The young buck entered the field and began feeding.

“The big boy held up about five yards back in the brush. I put the rangefinder on the young buck and had him at 56 yards, with “It is now or never,” I 61 yards to the tree line” thought. I drew my bow The big buck entered the field and took a few steps east in the kneeling position, and began feeding. Trying to regain some composure, put my 60-yard pin on I slowly crawled behind the bale. I knocked an arrow, took a few deep breaths and got ready. Peeking back the buck and let the around the bale, I saw the big buck feeding, quartering away and the small buck was looking back up the hill. arrow fly! “It is now or never,” I thought. I drew my bow in the kneeling position, put my 60-yard pin on the buck and let the arrow fly! The arrow passed right through him, but the shot placement looked a bit high. Watching him run east down the field, I counted out the distance at 50, 60, 70 yards and still running away. I was beginning to second guess my shot. Finally, at 150 yards the buck slowed down, almost to a stop. Then he turned in a circle and tipped over. What a rush! Holding this buck for the first time was something I’ll never forget. Such a beautiful animal that I have so much respect for.

I want to say a special thanks to Chris at RIPS taxidermy for bringing this memory back to life.

Part 2:

THE HARD HORNED KING WHITETAIL BUCK By Ryan Hubert

I received permission to hunt a piece of land that was completely new to me in the fall of 2017. It was heavily treed, surrounded by farmland and had very limited access. I was more than excited. 30

I did some pre-scouting using an App on my phone. I found a few areas that I thought were definitely worth checking out. I went in and set up cameras, and the waiting game began. Scrolling through my camera it wasn’t until October 10th that this buck caught my eye. He was a big, thick beamed 4x4 with some super nasty big brows. Rifle season came and I was sitting in the blind when out walked a buck I had never seen. He was a thick, dark horned 5x5. He had his head down and was walking 25 yards in front of me. Instantly, I knew he was a shooter, put the crosshairs on him and at the crack of the rifle, he folded up. I continued to get pictures of the big 4 for the remainder of the season and throughout the winter which gave me hope for the fall of 2018. Summer of 2018 arrived and I began getting pictures of the big 4, but this year he turned into a main frame 5x5 with a kicker. It was like Christmas morning every time I would go and pull my trail cam cards. He kept on growing and growing, looking so impressive late August in full velvet. I knew this was the deer I would hold out for. Setting up in the exact spot as the previous season, I had a great feeling about what was to come. The deer were comfortable with the area and I was getting regular pictures of him in daylight. Then he shed his velvet, and was fully hard horned by September 10. His patterns began to change. Instead of coming in regularly in daylight hours he was now coming in at last light and stay until well past dark. Reviewing trail cam pictures and watching which direction he was approaching to and from the camera, I knew I had to make a move. Taking a walk roughly 150 yards closer to his bedding area I found a nice little opening that would be easy to set up a blind in without disrupting the area too much and still be far enough away from the bedding area that I could sneak in without disturbing the deer. The evening of September 25, 2018, was when I got into my blind at 5:30pm and got all settled in. At 6 o’clock, a young 4x4 came in solo, but he was a buck

known to hang out with my target deer so I was happy to see him! He was being very cautious, not sticking around for long. Then, an hour later at 7 o’clock he was back, still looking cagey. Turning around, walking away from me he put on the brakes and went into a deadlock stare. I turned and saw movement. “Here comes the big boy!” I thought. It was quite a sight to see. He had his ears back, walking in like the king, he pushed that young buck out and headed towards my shooting lane. Being occupied with watching the young buck try and sneak in, he gave me a perfect opportunity to draw. My 23-yard shot penetrated through the front shoulder, then he took off and stopped about 30 yards away on the edge of the opening. Standing there, swaying side to side he tipped over! My heart was pounding through my chest! The hours and hours of preseason prep, studying the land and learning the behavior and habits of the deer had all finally paid off. 2018 was a season I will never forget.

A 75-YARD BEDDED CENTERPUNCH 10 RING KILL SHOT By Parry Boyko

This is the story of a non-typical mule deer buck that I nicknamed “Twister” for the peculiar habit he had of twisting his neck around instead of his entire body. 35

It all began in April, the year previous to me taking him, as I headed out with good buddy Brett to tour some of the local countryside to look for shed horns and discuss what we a ory flaws and all) had a few laughs and drank a beer or two discussing the future plans and ‘what ifs’ of the hunting life that most of us hunters in my home province talk about in the off season. Spring turned to summer and in mid-July I started looking through old trail cam pics of deer in the areas I wanted to try to hunt. As a general note, I strongly believe that this is my greatest asset in killing big deer. The ability to follow the history of multiple areas gives me great perspective on genetically figuring out where I want to start looking for Mr. Boone and Crockett contender of the year. On one rainy night, I noticed a pattern and set of horns that I hadn’t previously detected and out popped a really nice 180 class mulie buck following a fence line. He continued on that pattern every few days in October. This made my strategy easy the next year, as I would go there in the dark and park on top of a big hill at 330am in mid-July and wait for the summer sun to get up and reveal the preferred hangouts and feeding areas of these mule deer bucks. By 9am that morning, I had seen just shy of 70 mulies (67 bucks to be exact). It was a pretty amazing morning, and one of the best mornings in history of my pre-season scouting adventures. From then on every few days I was scouting and watching, gathering sightings and pictures, projecting antler scores and judging age and maturity of the bucks I saw in that general area. At the same time, I was working on gaining land permission, connecting with the local landowners and letting them get to know me and be comfortable with my intrusions into their livelihoods and for the most part I was happy to have gained their trust. As the start of September rolled around, I had amassed a great collection of photos and general intelligence of the wealth of meat and horns walking around. As the first few days of bowhunting went by, I noticed the harvesting of crops, and the shedding of the velvet were both starting to affect the buck sightings, as it always does in

mid-September. Contrary to popular belief, you can pattern mule deer and you absolutely can put in blinds to intercept their movements. I had to learn how to do this over many years with a pile of mistakes made and the trial and error monster beating the tar out me on a daily basis.

“My first encounter with Twister was the third day of the season when he walked by my blind before legal hunting time started” My first encounter with Twister was the third day of the season when he walked by my blind before legal hunting time started. It was pretty tough just to let him walk by at 24 yards, but it was an hour before sunrise. The next encounter was at 9:30 in the morning the fifth day of the season. I had seen him strolling by, along with his young protégé at 7 am heading back into the prickly cabbage that he and a lot of mulies love to bed down in. At 9 30am, I jumped in the truck and was going to get breakfast at home when I saw his horns sticking out of a freshly swathed canola field. The stalk was on and it was going well when at about 90 yards I was nose to nose with a very nervous young skunk in a swath and I did my best backward Spiderman impression a little too quickly and totally wrecked the stalk. On the evening of the 8th day, I had set up a new blind at 4 pm and decided to just stay and hunt the night. Big thanks to my Dad for being a great boss and not being too mad at me taking a night off unscheduled. Well, with all the harvesting going on it got Twister up and moving around early. He passed by me at 65 yards going into where I thought he should be coming out from, so at 630pm he came back out and did exactly what I thought he would do. I noticed a few piles of big fresh deer scat on a main trail out of a big coulee and

It was pretty tough just to let him walk by at 24 yards, but it was an hour before sunrise. The next encounter was at 9:30 in the morning the fifth day of the season. I had seen him strolling by, along with his young protégé at 7 am heading back into the prickly cabbage that he and a lot of mulies love to bed down in.

setup there, knowing it was well used. I let an arrow fly at 48 yards and he dropped and spun into the shot! At the time, it sounded like a great hit. I knew where my pins were and I thought I had made a great shot so I gave it 10 minutes and climbed to the top of a hill to take a look at where he was. I found him standing in the alfalfa field with what looked like only a small flesh wound to show for my attempt! I almost wanted to barf, I just slowly watched him walk away into the river bank foliage. At 6am, I back and exactly where he went in and went bushwhacking for three hours in the worst cabbage grown on a side hill that I ever have been in. There was no blood, no hair, no sign at all and after three days of no sightings. I was really getting down, but then I got a trail cam pic of him looking no worse for wear, and I was pretty happy, but sad at the wound I had given to him. I made the decision not to take another deer all season and to only hunt him to try and finish the job. A week went by with no sightings, then two weeks and I was wondering if I would ever

see his deer face again. And then, after a particularly hard day of work, on a whim, I rushed down late to sit in my ground blind. I settled in and had been seated for a grand total of about seven minutes when he walked out of the same trail where I had taken the previous shot on him and this time, at 55 yards, he didn’t jump the string and I hit him a bit high, just under the spine. I was worried I hit him in no man’s land, but he was obviously hurt, and slowly walked a hundred yards before bedding down. I quickly slipped into a coulee and stalked up to the edge of the canola field he was in and pulled off a 75-yard bedded centerpunch 10 ring kill shot! I need to say thank you for all the coaching from a certain mentor couple from Prince Albert for taking the time to teach me archery and putting up with my immature shenanigans. It started me down the path of a lifetime archer with humility and respect and old time values common to the province I live in!

128 HOURS By Wes Speake

Whatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s my favorite thing about deer hunting? The simple fact that no matter how exhausting, frustrating, or disheartening your season is going, it can all turn around in about twenty seconds.

The sunrise-to-sunset sits, bone chilling thirty mile-per-hour winds, and rainy/snowy days usually yield only cold extremities and a sore back. However, world-class bucks can sometimes be the reward and this season proved true to that maxim. Not able to hunt as often as I would like these days, I choose to spend the little time I do have hunting in Linn County, Kansas with Wicked Outfitters. The guides work tirelessly to put every hunter in front of the best deer they have to offer, and I have developed friendships with them and the other hunters I’ve met in the lodge over the years. It’s a trip I dream about all year long and I am anxious to get started every season. My first trip was scheduled from October 30th to November 3rd this year, in hopes of catching a mature deer seeking out the first hot doe of the fall. Unfortunately, the mature deer didn’t have the same plans as I did and they just weren’t moving during daylight. I saw lots of deer and several good bucks, but not the

mature animal I was after.I was invited back the week before Thanksgiving and because the mature bucks were beginning to chase I jumped at the opportunity. But, to my disappointment, I was met with more of the same. At one in the afternoon on my third day, I had a mature, five-and-a-half-year-old eight point cruising down the creek, but my rattling and grunts weren’t to enough to entice him to cross the creek and get into my comfortable bow range. My last morning, I had another borderline buck come through, but knowing I had time for one more Hail Mary trip in late December, I decided to roll the dice and let him walk. That decision not to settle proved wise on my part. On December 27th, I loaded the truck for one more trip, and it was going to be a quick one since the season closed New Year’s Eve. I was sent back to the same farm where I killed my buck last year. He was a giant six-and-a-half-year-old eight point, so I was excited to return to the area. I was looking for a buck called

White Lightning, named for the white strip down his right side from chewing at ticks. He carried about a 140” frame with a kicker at his base. The stand was on a hedgerow in a huge red oak, probably over 3 times as wide as my shoulders, with cut corn to the west (my right), a big wooded draw south (in front), and more cut corn to the east. The first morning was slow, but about forty-five minutes before dark I saw White Lightning coming through the trees at about sixty yards. He was WAY bigger than I expected, though. He never came in range, but I knew he was around. That evening I told my guides, JP and Clint, that I’d seen the buck, but that he looked 18” tall and really, REALLY heavy. After checking the trail cameras, we learned a new buck was lurking around. This was a deer that they had on camera at a nearby farm a mile away that had disappeared six weeks ago. And they estimated him at around 180”. I couldn’t wait to get back in that tree and knew I had three more days to

wait him out. This HAD to come together. The next morning was fifteen degrees Fahrenheit, no wind, and perfect! Perfect, other than the fact that the deer didn’t show up. I got down, had a quick lunch, and hit the woods around one-thirty that afternoon. The deer started passing through soon after, and I had visitors most of the afternoon. It was warmer, about 35 degrees, but still overcast with little to no wind from the south hitting me in the face. At 4:30 p.m., I had five bucks feeding around me and one was a young four point that was often seen with the buck I had seen the evening before. Expectations were high, and I could already feel the nerves building up inside. At 4:50 p.m., one of the young bucks lifted his head in alert, then another, then another, and I knew the opportunity I had waited for all season was working its way toward my tree. I grabbed my binoculars as I could see a deer’s feet under the tree limbs, and I made out the left G2, boasting a kicker that hooked

upward and downward, confirming it was the buck I was praying would come. He browsed his way in, slowly, as the younger bucks parted ways, allowing the mature the space required to keep them out of harm’s way. As he came into my first shooting lane, he was quartered to me, and then hit the next shooting lane quartered away. I got drawn, anchored, and somehow settled the pin about three ribs back, allowing for the exit at the point of the left shoulder. I touched off the release, watching the nock disappear right where my pin was. The buck spun in a jump and started back toward the draw south of me with his left shoulder dragging. Tail down, his pace slowed around forty yards, he stopped about sixty, and just like that my best buck by far was on the ground within eyesight. After several minutes of trying to type out a text to JP and Clint, telling them I just shot the buck of a lifetime and I watched him fall, with shaky fingers I finally settled on, “He’s down.” It was all my trembling fingers could articulate at that moment. They were scouting close by, so they showed up about five minutes later and I finally got my hands on my buck. I couldn’t get close to

stretching my hands around the massive bases, which had five and six kickers, respectively. This guy has it all: length, mass, trash, width. He’s just an absolute monarch with over 17” inside, both G2s over 13”, 168 4/8” eight point frame, with 35” of trash. The numbers came in at 203 4/8, the highest scoring buck Wicked Outfitters has ever taken and likely by far the best I’ll ever see in my life. He had rubbed off or broken both G4s, and a few kickers, but losing only that little by December 29th is nothing short of a miracle. And having the opportunity to take an animal of that caliber with a bow was the absolute pinnacle of my hunting career. 128 hours of waiting over 10 days of hunting in the elements of Kansas produced thirty mile-per-hour winds, rain, snow, and single-digit temperatures, but ended in the most exhilarating twenty seconds of my 35 years. Trust the process, trust the guides, and never give up. That buck of a lifetime can come walking through when you least expect, making every moment of grinding it out come together into memories that last a lifetime.

And having the opportunity to take an animal of that caliber with a bow was the absolute pinnacle of my hunting career. 128 hours of waiting over 10 days of hunting in the elements of Kansas produced thirty mile-per-hour winds, rain, snow, and single-digit temperatures, but ended in the most exhilarating twenty seconds of my 35 years. Trust the process, trust the guides, and never give up. That buck of a lifetime can come walking through when you least expect, making every moment of grinding it out come together into memories that last a lifetime.

TRACKING THE WHITETAIL THAT HAUNTED MY DREAMS By Lane Bailey

September 26, 2015 was just like any other Sunday in a small town. Diners were full, church was just let out with not much to do the rest of the evening. I started driving around and noticed a farmer on the side of the road. 45

I canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t even explain the feeling of victory as I put my hands on his rack for the first time. Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve got to give credit where credit is due, without my faith in Jesus Christ, the generous landowners and the rest of their family this all never would have been possible. I would like to say a special thanks to everyone involved and that helped me along the way.

His coveralls and John Deere hat with a down to earth personality made him a very easy guy to talk too. At this time, little did I know this Sunday drive would lead me to a lifelong friend with an amazing family that I claim as my own. After our talk, I got permission to hunt a small track of land in the area.

lighted in front of my stand. I would only get one more picture of him November 29th and was mostly home bound the rest of the year. The rest of the late season was a cat and mouse game that I could never get him to step out in front of me. Despite my best efforts, the season came to an uneventful close.

I quickly went home, got a couple stands and cameras to hang up on this new piece of ground. A few days later I went back to hunt one of the stands for the first time. There wasn’t anything on the camera but to my surprise I was able to harvest a nice mature buck my first hunt. The very next day is when the deer I came to call Neco showed up for the first time. He was a nice 12 point that I guessed from trail camera pictures to be in the 160s. Being tagged out already, all I could do was sit and wait until rifle season came around. Neco disappeared on October 25th and I didn’t lay eyes on him until January when I was on the way home from my girlfriend’s house. With the season being closed and shed season approaching, all I could do was wait for the opportunity to come across his sheds.

Shed season rolled around and I was going to wait until I got pictures of him without both sides of his antlers to start searching. On the first week of March, I was driving by the property when my friend Josh found the giant drop tine side laying in the ditch 10 feet from the gate of the property! Never being able to find the other side, I waited for the next spring to do it all over again.

On February 16th, the next year, I jumped Neco on my way to check cameras. He had already lost one side but still held onto the other, so I backed out with the hopes of him losing the other on my side of the fence. On February 19th, I snuck back in to check my camera once again and to my surprise there was the side he carried a few days’ prior lying right in front of my camera! I had a sequence of pictures of him standing in front of the camera with and then without the antler followed by myself holding it. That season I was never able to recover the other side. With the new season approaching, I began to build a bond with the land owners son that I now consider like my little brother. We put in food plots and established some mineral sites and started to wait as the pictures rolled in, crossing our fingers that Neco would show his face. He was on the property from the beginning of the growing season until fully developed. In the one summer, he added twenty plus inches with a giant club of a drop tine! He hung around until September 2nd and didn’t come back until October 8th when he day-

“Never being able to find the other side, I waited for the next spring to do it all over again” Spring rolled around as I began to put together a game plan on how I was going to harvest this deer. I was able to lay my eyes on him through the spring and summer five different times but once again he disappeared before season opened. Around the time of archery season opening, I got a call from a friend of mine to come work on his truck. While in his shop I noticed a deer shed sitting on top of his radio. I picked it up in disbelief, it was the other side off of him from the first season that I hunted him. We worked out a deal, and I was able to leave with that shed completing the first year set. About a week later I got a call from the guy’s son wanting to see the match set, because he thought he had a similar deer on camera. After getting together and talking deer, he showed me that he had new pictures of Neco, and just in the last few days. Once I learned that he now knew about this deer, my secret was up and I began to tell him about the last two years that I spent chasing this deer. With an unselfish act of kindness, he gave me permission to come hunt this deer with him on this new property. The next day

we went out and hung several different stands for different winds all over the farm. On our way back home we noticed a man outside of his house that had recently purchased a piece of property that backed up next to this property that I just acquired. We pulled into his drive way with the hopes of gaining permission on this jointing small track of land. Once again I lucked out and come across one of the nicest guys I have ever met. After a ten minute conversation, we headed back to grab another stand to hang before we ran out of light. Two days later, October 9th, 2017 was when I decided to hunt Neco for the first time. After reviewing all the stand locations that we had hung, my friend Tyler and I decided that the last stand was hung on that small track of land was perfect for a northeast wind. We felt that the deer would be able to travel out of his bed and right in front of the stand with the wind in his face but also I should be out of his line of travel so that he wouldn’t be able to wind me. It was 81 degrees, and the first night of the red moon as a storm blew in.

“Just before dark I heard movement behind my stand, as I turned around there was a gray face heading my direction” Just before dark I heard movement behind my stand, as I turned around there was a gray face heading my direction. Not even looking at his rack, I knew exactly what deer it was! As my heart started to beat out of my chest, he stopped to make a scrape. He came in to twenty five yards and I let the arrow fly. Three years flashed before my eyes as the arrow whacked him in the shoulder. As he ran off, I finally got to look at his rack. The giant drop tine off his left side was something that only dreams are made of and that’s what grabbed all of my attention as he disappeared. Instantly, after the shot, the woods were silent. Realizing what I had

just done, I broke down in tears as I called everyone that had been with me through the last three years. Getting to speak with my Mom and Dad on the phone during this moment was like a dream come true. As I arrived back home, I was met by many friends and family members. We set out to track Neco about an hour after the shot, as rain started to roll in. With little luck and not much blood, we decided to back out until the next morning. With the arrow still being lodged in the deer, it didn’t allow him to bleed as much as I would have liked. That’s when I made the decision to call in Tracker John, one of the best trackers in the business. After a short track the next morning we recovered the deer that haunted my dreams and consumed my thoughts for the last three years. I can’t even explain the feeling of victory as I put my hands on his rack for the first time. I’ve got to give credit where credit is due, without my faith in Jesus Christ, the generous landowners and the rest of their family this all never would have been possible. I would like to say a special thanks to everyone involved and that helped me along the way.

THE GHOST OF HOLDERâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;S FARM

By Michael Armstrong

Hunting has always been a passion to me and I wouldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t pick anything to do over it. I got to know a local retired farmer over the summer and he saw my drive for hunting whitetail deer. 50

I always dreamed of shooting a monster whitetail and I’ve had lots of trail-cam photos of nice bucks, but it wasn’t until a recent summer that I had a buck on my camera that may me say, “Wow, I’m going to do whatever it takes, I want this buck more than any other.” . Mount photography by Jessica de Korte.

When I asked him about hunting on his property, I was excited when he said, “Go for it.” I picked a gully where I was sure that deer funneled down through and was in the middle of two feeding areas. I came across what looked like a well-used opening based on the number of deer tracks, so I hung a camera on a well-used trail to see what was in the area. When I returned a week later, all I saw on the camera was some does, but at least there were a lot of deer in the area so I was encouraged. When I came back two weeks later, I saw three bucks on camera! A 7 point, a 3 point, and a small 8 point. When I returned a third time, I had another buck on camera and it was a monster 12 point! I couldn’t believe my eyes. I enlisted a few friends that I trusted with knowledge of my hunting spot to help me set up a ground blind. My friend Albert and his father Rheal gave me all the best of what they knew when it comes to what it takes to shoot trophy whitetails in New Brunswick. I hunted hard for the 12 point that season, with a lot of day time pictures of him during bow season. I even passed up on

a nice 8 point first day of rifle season and 20 minutes later, a local girl shot that 8 point. The 12 point was nowhere to be seen. The next two years found me setting up new stands with the help of my niece Olivia.

“We based our setups on trail-cam photos of what I named “The 12 point Ghost of Holders Farm” By this time, I got smart and started bow hunting but had him on camera right up to the week before opening day and he vanished. I did have an up-close encounter with him and another small 8 point, eight days before bow season. I was almost to my stand when I looked up to see them both 50 yards in front of me running away. I knew I had likely just blew my season. Following that encounter, my three cameras out on the property did not have a buck on them so I didn’t bother to hunt this property much, as I figured the Ghost moved on to a new area. My friend Albert and I decided to visit this property the second week of deer season but we were on the further end of the property. Something told us this section had potential. Friday, November 18th was the second last day of the season. I had to work for a couple of hours in the morning then my plan was to go to Albert’s to hunt with him the last two days of the season. I was waiting on a game plan from Albert before I left, so I grabbed my bleat in heat doe call, my grunt tube and headed up to the ridge Albert and I visited. I said, “What do I have to lose. I won’t be hunting here again this season”. I was picking a vantage point to sit on and call when Albert called me to head up to his place, but I knew I wouldn’t get there in time to get an evening hunt in so I told him I was going to sit on the ridge until dark then head up. I just got off the phone with him and took out my bleat can and did a few flips of the can, then I saw a dead leaning tree so I stepped on it to make a loud crash then another flip of the can followed by another crash trying to imitate a deer

crashing on limbs we often hear. I followed that with a few fast tending grunts out of my grunt tube then I waited 15 minutes. I gave two snorts wheezes out if my Primos Buck Roar and waited. About an hour went by when I heard a noise to my right. I scanned the woods but didn’t see anything. Five minutes later, I heard another noise in the same spot. I couldn’t believe it when I looked and saw a huge left side of a deer’s antler parallel to me 50 yards away working his way up a deer trail to cross in front of me. The second I spotted him, I had him in my crosshairs. As he came around the back side of the tree and turned quartering towards me and looked right in my direction, as if to tell me, “Here I am”. I knew then that this was my shot. The crosshairs settled between his neck and his front shoulder, my 140 grain Berger LVD out of my new Kimber 6.5 Creedmoor struck him at 40 yards! I knew he was hit hard but there wouldn’t be a blood trail as it was a face-on brisket shot, but I

had confidence in the bullet I was using and knew he wouldn’t go far. I found him not 50 yards away. The chase was over. It was the Ghost of the Holder Farm! We figure this buck was between 8 and 9 years old. He was an 11-point starting out his season but broke off a point that made him an even 10. This buck had about 30 other people confused that were also after him; but he was elusive to everyone. Giving up was never an option for me and I could not be happier how it all played out. Thank you to Rheal and Albert for all the guidance and role in my success.

TUMBLER RIDGE GOAT HUNT, A DAY TO REMEMBER By Clay Peck

The alarm went off at four in the morning and I eagerly jumped out of bed. It was the morning of my long-awaited goat hunt. 55

I had drawn a Limited Entry Hunting (LEH) tag in a prime goat area and the season ended November 15 – only a few days away, and time was running out. The stars aligned and there came a day both my hunting partner Robin and I had free and were able to sneak away with the blessings of our wives. One of the lures of this particular goat area is that it is only 2.5 hours from my house and as far as access goes is fairly easy (it has a major road not too far from the trailhead leading into the mountains). I had drawn this tag a few years previous and had spent a few weekends hunting and getting the lay of the land. My wife and I made a stalk on a nice billy but got cliffed-out before we could get within shooting distance. We left that day without a goat, but the information gained about the topography left me with a firm game plan for next time. This year brought an unusually warm November, when Robin arrived at my house at 5:00 a.m., it was overcast and raining. I wasn’t sure what the weather conditions would be like up high in the mountains and if they would be a hindrance or helpful to our hunting expedition. Before we left the house I left an emergency response plan with my wife, telling her what our location would be and what time to expect a check in call. This time of year it’s dark out by 5:30 p.m., so I figured 8:00 would give us ample time to get off the mountain and back to an area with cell coverage to check in. We were only going for the day so I decided to leave my Inreach at home as I didn’t get around to taking it off standby mode and activating it, and anyway why would I need it? As we drove towards the mountains the steady drizzle continued and the temperature hovered just above freezing. We arrived at the end of the road just as daylight was breaking. My first glimpse of the mountains wasn’t very encouraging; visibility was poor and clouds hovered a couple hundred feet above tree line. Here and there the mountain poked out through the white mist.We unloaded the ATV and continued another few kilometers to the end of the logging road near the base

of the mountain. Without the clouds we should have been able to glass the entire basin, but in our situation we would be hiking up the mountain on blind faith alone. From previous mountain hunting experience, I knew a lot of sweat and energy can be lost hiking blind and I’d rather let my binoculars do the walking. But, we were running out of options so we decided to just go for it and hope for the best. We got our gear organized, shouldered our packs, and started up the mountain. On my previous hunt we got into cliff trouble when we tried to hike directly up the center of the basin and pick our way up the ridge in a straight line, quickly discovering that the shortest route wasn’t necessarily the easiest. This time we took the longer ridge line around the rim of the basin towards the geographic center. For the first hour we hiked straight up to the rim of the basin. It was steep enough we were using our hands as much as our feet and the rain wasn’t helping by making the ground slippery. I was thankful there wasn’t any underbrush, and I felt we were making good time. The rain was relentless and it seemed the clouds kept getting lower. When we got to the top of the rim after going straight up for more than an hour, we were pretty miserable, the rain hadn’t let up and it seemed like every two steps we took up we slid one back down. The clouds hadn’t lifted and visibility was poor so we decided to stop, take a break, and start a fire to regain our composure. After we warmed up and refueled, we continued along the ridge line. We were careful not to skyline ourselves as we made our way through the scattered spruce, stopping every few hundred yards to glass what we could see of the mountain. There was less snow than expected, and we were walking on exposed rock most of the time with the occasional pockets of white in the lee of a cliff or rocky outcropping. As we gained elevation the tree density got thinner and eventually petered out altogether. The elevation gain up the ridge line was rather enjoyable and made for decent hiking, at this point we were thankful we made the first push straight up and got most of the elevation gain out of the way. The clouds finally lifted and we could see the entire basin. We found a good place to take our packs

We hiked down the ridge line and had gotten to our lunch spot when I heard a whistle from behind me. I turned around and saw Robin laying on his side motioning down the mountain, and it didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t take me long to discern that he had spotted something. With my best rag doll impression I joined him in the prone position and frantically tried to figure out where he was looking at the same time trying to blend into the side of the mountain.

off and have lunch and do some glassing. I put on my down layer to get comfortable and began to scan the mountain for any signs of goat. Robin and I spent a good deal of time glassing the basin but found no sign of goats. I did pull the spotting scope out a few times just to prove that a far-off white rock was indeed a white rock and not a big Billy. I was beginning to wonder if there were actually any goats in the basin. All we were going on was the fact there were goats here two years ago in August, and the doubts definitely began to creep through my mind. From our vantage point we concluded there were no goats, but because of a slight fold in the basin we couldn’t quite see the entirety of the bowl. We needed to hike up another couple hundred meters to look at the last section of the basin. If there weren’t any goats hiding behind that fold in the mountain, with our limited time frame we were certain we would be heading home empty handed. We hiked up as far as we needed to go and with the ridge line rounding off we were running out of places to hide and stay out of the brunt of the wind, which really picked up the higher up we went. The rain/snow/sleet was still there, only now it was coming in sideways and we had to look straight down at the ground to protect our eyes. We arrived at our final glassing point and by this time we were pretty miserable. We spent a few minutes just to say we glassed the entire basin while we tried our best to stay firmly attached to the mountain and find shelter f rom the wind as best as we could. The only good thing about the wind was it was

hitting us directly in the face as we were looking out into the basin, so anything out there would have a hard time catching our wind or hearing us. At this point morale was pretty low and I told Robin, “Let’s get the hell off this mountain.” I was in full ‘hike for the truck’ mode. It was getting late in the afternoon and I figured we’d had our chance and it just wasn’t going to be a successful day. With my rifle strapped onto my pack in anticipation of needing my hands to successfully navigate the steep terrain down the mounting we set off back down the ridge line. I was hiking with my head down going straight ahead, my hood pulled over my face to protect against the biting wind. Looking down at my feet I was concentrated on making miles and seeking the shelter of the tree line. We hiked down the ridge line and had gotten to our lunch spot when I heard a whistle from behind me. I turned around and saw Robin laying on his side motioning down the mountain, and it didn’t take me long to discern that he had spotted something. With my best rag doll impression I joined him in the prone position and frantically tried to figure out where he was looking at the same time trying to blend into the side of the mountain. To say we were out in the open would be putting it lightly. I wormed my way back to Robin and in turn we snuck back to a little pile of rocks where we had actually sheltered from the wind while we had lunch a few

hours before. I struggled out of my backpack and retrieved my rifle and spotting scope while Robin filled me in on what happened. He, paying slightly more attention than I was, noticed a patch of white down in the rocks that was off-white to the snow surrounding it. Throwing up his binos he looked into the face of a goat looking directly at us from his bed 300 yards below in the rocks.

the corner. I don’t know if I got nerved up, jerked, shot over him, under him, or what – but the way the goat acted after the shot, he was not hit. But after what we had been through today, I wasn’t going to give up on this goat now, so we grabbed all of our stuff and back up the ridge line we went to see if we could catch him on the other side of the little knob he disappeared around.

After getting settled and half organized I peeked up over my hiding spot and the goat was looking directly at me but still bedded. He did not have our wind. I was able to set up the spotting scope though a small defile in the rock and could tell that it was a billy, and a pretty decent one at that. He was all alone in the cliffs below us and the spot he was laying in I was certain I glassed a few hours before. He must have moved in after we had left. Here was our chance – we had billy goat spotted, a decent size. For my first goat I wasn’t going to turn this down. He had us pegged and we were out of cover so when I ranged him at 275 yards I knew that this was as close as we were going to get.

We popped up over the knob and scanned the rocks below us, I found him almost immediately as he was picking his way across the rocks on a little goat trail about 250 yards below us. I threw down my pack and got comfortable again, found him in my scope and waited for an opportunity to present itself for another shot. The goat came to the last section of the trail that we could see, turned broadside and looked back at us. “Take him,” whispered Robin. I touched the trigger and another crack echoed off the mountainside. This time he dropped in his tracks and I heard a loud smack that told me I had made solid contact. But then the goat stood back up.

“I was comfortable at this distance and was confident that I could make a good clean ethical shot”

I knew goats were tough – I’ve been told many accounts of billies absorbing shots that would dispatch larger animals – and now I can attest that this is true. I was shooting hand loaded 180 grain Nosler Partions out of my .30-06 so I wasn’t worried about bullet performance from this distance. I let the goat have it a second time and it was another solid hit as the goat dropped. But just like before, he regained his feet and disappeared around the bend. I scanned the mountain ahead and the rocks below looking for a sign of the billy. With two solid kill shots in the animal, I was expecting to hear falling rocks or see a tumbling trophy. As we were contemplating our options the goat came back around the corner in the exact spot he had left, so I let him have another one. The goat again dropped and I thought this time for good. I couldn’t believe when he got up again, albeit more slowly, rounded the same corner and disappeared. We waited a few minutes and then decided to make our way down to the last place we saw him. The rocks were slippery and quite steep so it took us a little time to pick our way down to where the goat had disappeared. When

I settled into position as the goat continued to watch us from his bed. Because he was laying down quartering away I would wait for the goat to stand and present a decent shot. It was only a few hours before dark so I knew it wouldn’t be long before he rose from his bed. We didn’t have to wait long before my suspicions were correct as he stood and turned broadside. I heard Robin whisper “Take him” and my .30-06 barked and broke the silence of the cold November afternoon. It was a clean miss. Robin did not see the bullet impact and the goat decided that this may not be the best situation to be in and turned and disappeared around

03*(*/"-

we got to the little bench I was in the lead by a hundred feet or so and there was a good blood trail on the ground which made me feel hopeful about the chance of retrieving this fine animal. How far could he go with three vital hits? The trail at this point was only just wide enough for one person as it curved around the rocky outcropping. I traveled at a “one step – look, one step – look” pace as I made my way around the corner with my rifle at the ready. I had made almost the entire transverse when there he was piled up in the rocks at the same elevation as me, only 20 feet ahead perched on the edge of cliff. I let out a whoop and gave a successful cheer! With Robin a little behind me the sounds of triumph reached him and told him what I saw around the corner. When he arrived, we high fived and both excitedly talked at once of our different viewpoints from the last 10 minutes. We threw down our backpacks and were about ready to get down to business of figuring out how to process this goat on the side of the mountain amongst the steep cliffs when I heard a few loose rocks tumble and go bouncing down the mountain. I looked over my shoulder just in time to see the goat give one last death spasm to spite us, and go over the edge and disappear. I rushed over to the edge and watched in agony as the goat bounced, slid and fell into the basin below. I couldn’t believe it, I had literally touched the goat and now he was 1,000 feet below us. Judging by the terrain we had one option to get this goat off the mountain – to go directly down, retrieve the goat, and then hike out the middle of the basin. Of course, what took the goat six seconds took Robin and I about an hour to navigate a safe path down. Solid rocky ledges were intermixed with loose shale and they all looked the same. Each foot placement had to be selected with care and tested before taking the full weight as you never knew what you were going to get. And if the incline wasn’t enough, the rain made the wet rocks slippery and treacherous. We finally made it down to where the goat had come to a rest. I estimated the slope to be at least 60 degrees, by far from an ideal place to field dress an animal but this was as good as we were going to get. It was still

another couple hundred feet down to a relative flat spot so we made due with what we had. It had taken us about an hour to pick our way down the mountain and the daylight hours were fading fast. The time was roughly 4:00 p.m. when we got to the goat which gave us four hours to field dress the goat, pack it off the mountain, get back to the truck, find some service and check in with our wives. I gave my wife an 8:00 p.m. check in time, and I meant to keep to it. At the time it seemed like a good idea. With the pictures taken and the grip and grin out of the way Robin literally had to hold onto the goat as I field processed the carcass. We divided the goat between us and got ready to make the hike out. We really only had one option to hike out. Head out through the middle of the basin back to the bike. We looked back up the cliffs where we had come down and in the dwindling light this route didn’t make much sense. To hike out we just had a straight shot down through the bottom of the basin. Departing the processing site at five o’clock, it seemed like we were going to be able to pull this hunt off and get out in time to check in back home. We started out through the basin and very quickly realized that this would not be the leisurely hike out we were hoping for. Before we had gone five steps it was nearly pitch black. We tried to maintain a constant elevation as we made our way out for a couple reasons. Remember those cliffs I mentioned we ran into a few years ago? Now they were above us, so as we side hilled we couldn’t get out of the willows and the trees which would have made the hike bearable. Below us, in the basin bottom were several very deep water runs overgrown with huge deadfall and underbrush that just got deeper and more choked the more water they picked up. We were stuck side hilling through the thick spruce and over the deadfall and mountain alder that choked our path. That’s when we came to the first ravine. Bisecting our side hill route was a little creek coming off the hillside above us, we were trying to cross this perpendicular to the creek and maintain our forward progression. The creek banks were 20-30 feet straight down and choked with large spruce trees and even more deadfall. It was a scramble down and

crawl up on your hands and knees kind of ravine. Did I mention it was still raining? It was not easy, and it was only the first ravine. As we trudged on I lost track of the number we crossed as the minutes then hours and kilometers ticked by. We later went back on Google earth and counted a total of 12. Our 8:00 p.m. check in time still found us somewhere between where we had killed the goat and where we had left the bike. It was all we could do to put one foot in front of the other. It was the hardest pack out I had ever done, with any animal. Well having missed our check in time, I knew that we would be in the hot seat when we got home. By 9:00 p.m. we staggered out onto the logging block where we had left the ATV and we looked like a couple of lightweights stumbling and falling over the stumps and our own feet in the dark. We left the goat kill spot at 5:00 and got back to the bike at 9:00 – I wasn’t paying all that much attention to the distance on my GPS but I had it figured at around 4 km. So 1,000m an hour was pretty slow by my standards but that’s how difficult the terrain was

for us to navigate. There was so much underbrush and deadfall that when I got back to the bike, the hinge plate on my rifle was open and my clip was gone. I hadn’t even noticed. When we got back to civilization and plotted the course on Google earth, the 4 km I had estimated shrank down to 2 km. That’s 500 m an hour in a straight line. I have never been more tired or exhausted in my life. Its 9:00 p.m., and we still haven’t checked in nor made it back to the truck. We threw everything into the back of the bike and made our way down the old logging block and made it to the truck without incident. Then, we loaded the bike and made our way out of the mountains and towards cell reception. My wife later told me that she and Robin’s wife had made a plan that if 10:00 p.m. had come and gone, they were going to start making phone calls about overdue hunters. Her phone rang at 9:58 p.m. I’m still living this down. By the time we had it home is was past 2:00 a.m., 21 hours after we had originally left. We were a little tired, to say the least. But, was it worth it? Hell yes.

The forecast predicted temperatures hovering around 0 degrees for our trip, we couldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t have asked for more spectacular weather and with snow in the forecast as well this would help with the tracking of these ghostly beasts. We were off to a promising start.

2017 ALBERTA WOOD BISON By Josh Verbeek

It was a bitterly cold winter up until the time came to head north from Drumheller Alberta to Zama City a short twelve-hour drive away.

Zama City is far from a “city” and also the last stop on the way to the far northwest corner of Alberta, British Columbia and the Northwest Territories. Having never travelled this far north in the past I had no idea what really to expect. The forecast predicted temperatures hovering around 0 degrees for our trip, we couldn’t have asked for more spectacular weather and with snow in the forecast as well this would help with the tracking of these ghostly beasts. We were off to a promising start. I never applied for this hunt in past years as I did not have the know-how or means to make it happen. This lottery draw is extremely rare and was actually the only draw I was successful on pulling in 2016/2017. September and October proved to be one of the most challenging years I had for bow hunting mule deer and whitetails. November proved to be a blessing managing to seal the deal on a mature whitetail buck within the first few hours into rifle season. Coyotes in this area are thicker than flies and unfortunately I was unable to recover him until the following morning fully engorged by coyotes. No meat was salvageable which was a bit of concern to me as venison is a staple in our family. Luckily, I still had the Bison tag in my pocket. The Bison hunt is open beginning of December until the end of February giving plenty of time to make plans, get sleds ready and figure out a way up to the north country. I headed up to Manning to stay at my buddy Byron’s house who was going to help me fill my tag the following day. He’s been on a successful a bison hunt in the past and runs a wolf hunting outfit. Needless to say, he was easy to convince to get on board! We got the sleds loaded up with our chainsaw, knives, calf sleds and everything else we anticipated needing for the following day. Alarms went of at 0500 and we were on the road by 0530. We parked the truck on a dead-end and hopped onto the sleds all bundled up. Travelling down a winding frozen river about 5kms reaching some willows on the edge of the frozen lake. We continued another 10kms from there onto the lake until the fog rolled in… and it was THICK. With not much choice

it was a clear decision to stop and wait for the sun to burn it off. About a half hour later the fog lifted enough that our rangefinder was now working. It wasn’t more than a few minutes later we saw what looked like a long black cloud in the middle of the lake against some willows. Up came the binos and there they were! It wasn’t more than a couple hours from unloading the sleds and we were on a herd of Wood Bison of at least 100 head! Hearts pumping and adrenaline flowing a game plan was made. We drove closer and hiked in to what we thought was about 1000yards. Knowing that if we got within 500yards we’d have ourselves a good shot. There was very little brush between us and the herd that it was very deceiving and we hiked somewhere around 2kms through cattails, long grass and waist deep snow until we got within range. One monster Bull was at 440 yards all by himself on the edge of the herd but by the time we got our Caldwell rest setup the bull sat down and fell asleep chewing his cud. So, we waited, and waited until we started to get cold somewhere close to two hours. The herd eventually stood up and surrounded him blocking any shot opportunity we would have had if he stood up. He was lost into mix of bison pawing through the snow to feed on the grass which is normally inaccessible until the lake freezes up. The wind was swirling and eventually our scent made its way to the herd and they were off! Panicking I lined up the 300RUM and set it on the herd waiting for one to separate itself from the rest. They stopped around 600 yards, luckily there were a few stragglers who didn’t seem to understand why everyone was running off. I settled the Huskemaw 8x20 on the largest one at the back of the herd all by herself. “That big one to the far left is 475.” I dialed up the turret to 475 and… WHACK! The herd turned to look at the big cow that was hit hard. “Hit her again.” I sent another one downrange at around 500 yards this time and WHACK… she was hit hard. They all vanished into willows and we lost our cow into the mix. Our sleds were still parked a few kilometers back so I ran as much as I could to get to the sleds quickly. We jumped on the sled fired it up and headed out towards

where she got hit. We got to the willows and saw the main herd a long way into the middle of the lake but saw a black haze through some brush a hundred yards away. It was my cow and she was still standing with about 10 head with her! Man, those things are tough! Knowing that my shot was well placed and that you should shoot the lower third on these animals to hit any sort of vitals, I thought I might have only taken out one lung but not the other. She sat down beside some willows and I let her have some more lead. And now the fun begins! I never realized how monumental these mammoths were until walking up behind her I realized that she was just as wide as she was long!

“I’ve definitely grown a new respect for the immensity of these beautiful creatures and will definitely be one for the books” We got the hide off quickly using ratchet straps and all the muscle we could possibly produce, took every piece of meat from this trophy of mine. A short 6 hours later we were headed back. Fully loaded was an understatement! I’m glad the 500lbs capacity the sled supposedly had held up with the 1000lbs+ of meat and gear we had. And the rest was history! I’ve definitely grown a new respect for the immensity of these beautiful creatures and will definitely be one for the books. Big thanks to my buddy Byron for helping me and all the support from my wife Ashton for always supporting me in my obsession!

The wind was swirling and eventually our scent made its way to the herd and they were off! Panicking I lined up the 300RUM and set it on the herd waiting for one to separate itself from the rest. They stopped around 600 yards, luckily there were a few stragglers who didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t seem to understand why everyone was running off.

Finding a way to set up so that I can see him without him spotting me. The feeling of my heart pounding through my chest when I am hit by the uncontrollable buck fever. Most of all, the feeling of sharing all of this with someone with whom I love spending time with and making memories in the field with.

A MEMORY IN THE FIELD By Riley Ottenbreit

For me, deer hunting is so much more then squeezing the trigger. It is more about the pursuit, and about finding that majestic trophy whitetail that I know would make a great hunting memory.

Over the years, I have been fortunate enough to shoot some great whitetails, and for that I am very thankful. After every great deer harvested, and memory made, some things always remain the same. The challenge of finding that brute of a buck, whether it be out scouting in the field, finding its sheds, or finding a picture on my game camera. Finding a way to set up so that I can see him without him spotting me. The feeling of my heart pounding through my chest when I am hit by the uncontrollable buck fever. Most of all, the feeling of sharing all of this with someone with whom I love spending time with and making memories in the field with. The 2018 muzzle loader season proved to be a very action packed one for me and some of my hunting partners. My wife got things started for us when she harvested her first ever mule deer. This particular hunt tested us to the max mentally and physically. After mile upon mile of walking rugged terrain and passing on dozens of young bucks we finally found luck on our last day. With our energy lacking and hope fading, finally a bachelor group of mature bucks changed everything. After looking them over closely, the tall tined, chocolate racked buck was the deer she wanted to take home. After hitting her spot on a great 200 yard shot, the big muley buck did not go far. For me, this was a very proud moment and a hunt I will always remember because it to all came together with the two of us sitting on the same hill looking over some gorgeous terrain and a fantastic deer. It felt really good. I returned home with hopes of my trail cameras holding pictures of a trophy whitetail to hunt for the final weekend of muzzleloader. Unfortunately, this had not been the case, but I had to give something a shot. With cold temperatures and crazy snow storms upon us, the deer were out feeding whenever they had a chance. My Dad and I had made the decision to sit on a field where deer had been pouring out of thick timber to come and feed. We used the strong, cold, wind in our face and split up along the feeding area in hopes of finding a particular deer we had history with

The 2018 muzzle loader season proved to be a very action packed one for me and some of my hunting partners. My wife got things started for us when she harvested her first ever mule deer. This particular hunt tested us to the max mentally and physically.

in the area, a buck that we had let go the year before, in hopes of it packing on just a few more inches. This hunt turned brutally cold and windy and left me feeling under dressed and freezing to the ground. After some young deer surfaced in the field very early, I then looked up to see a mature doe come down a trail I was watching very closely. This trail was a buck trail with numerous trees beat up from buck rubs and the field edge was scattered with scrapes. Only seconds later, my shivers turned up a notch as I saw black horns coming through the timber. Raising my binoculars in time to see him beating up on a poplar tree, he then entered the field with his head held high. Even with my shaky hands I recognized this deer right away.

“Walking up to this deer with my Dad, the guy who walked me into the great sport of hunting, was something special” He was in his prime and was sporting a body more sizeable to an elk then a deer. I quickly ranged the big, dark horned buck at 140 yards and looked him over for a few minutes. With shorter tines, I questioned him for very closely. This trail was a buck trail with numerous trees beat up from buck rubs and the field edge was scattered with scrapes. Only seconds later, my shivers turned up a notch as I saw black horns coming through the timber. Raising my binoculars in time to see him beating up on a poplar tree, he then entered the field with his head held high. Even with my shaky hands I recognized this deer right away. He was in his prime and was sporting a body more sizeable to an elk then a

deer. I quickly ranged the big, dark horned buck at 140 yards and looked him over for a few minutes. With shorter tines, I questioned him for a bit, making sure this was the deer for me. He then started to feed slowly, away from me, and I re-ranged him at 172 yards. This was where he turned and looked back my way and I knew it was now or never. Lying down with my TC encore, I took steady aim off my bipod. My frozen finger touched the trigger off lightly and a heavy wind cleared all smoke, allowing me to watch the old brute drop in my sights. After reloading and making sure this deer was down, I called my Dad to tell him the news. Being only 400 yards away from me, on the other side of a slough bottom, he was glad to hear me say it was the buck we were after. Walking up to this deer with my Dad, the guy who walked me into the great sport of hunting, was something special. It made me realize that we only usually get to sit and hunt together a few times a year but he sure is my good luck charm. As he dug the heavy black horns out of the tall grass for me, allowing my hands to come back to life, he said, “Boy, you got yourself a great deer here”. All I could think was what a great memory we had made together, once again, and how lucky we are to do what we do together. This deer really was the definition of a big Saskatchewan whitetail with body size, antler size and antler color that only comes from very few areas. Without good health, understanding families and landowners granting permission, none of this would be possible. I cannot wait to see what the next memory in the field will bring. Whitetail scored 175 6/8 inches.

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