Big Game Illustrated - Issue 13

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BIG GAME

24

ILLUSTRATED Volume 4 Issue 1 | Summer Edition 2016

06

In This Issue...

6

Big Boy by Mario Vani

12 Alberta Chocolate by Dayne Sorenson 18 Black Beast a memoir by Scott Smith 24 Limbhanger by Eric Top 18

30 Perfection 34

by Taylor Britton

Boone and Chocolate by Drew Dougherty

38 Splits by Randy Pletz 42 Any Given Saturday by Trevor Bergen 46 Ghost by Calvin Martin 30

50

Big Country by Wacey Arthur

54 Father & Son: Once in a Lifetime by Eric & Kyle Dew 58

High Hopes in the Lowlands by Jon Behuniak

66 Luck is Created by Hardwork & Preparation by Chris Fischvogt 72 72

JT Buck by Gordon Buckingham

80 Swamp Monster by Devon Ambrose

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Photo by Hamilton Greenwood

FEATURES...

17 Difference Makers

by Chad Wilkinson

64

by Kevin Wilson

There are dozens of different models when it comes to accessing land for hunting, but whichever model is in place, respect is always a key factor.

by Kaare Gunderson Some of the greatest parts of the hunt are associated with sharing, story telling and including others in your hunt.

The hunting community is represented by organizations full of hard working people and volunteers who need our support.

76 Everything Outdoors

Stumped

78

The Future of Hunting Dedicated to all the young hunters.

BIG Boy BY: MARIO VANI

Mario Vani of Devon, Alberta with a true Alberta dream buck. He anchored the big deer on November 5, 2015. The classy whitetail has it all with matching beams of 26 2/8”, a total of 14 points and an inside spread of 19 4/8”. The total inches of abnormals was 16 3/8” which helps produce a gross, green score of 192 3/8”, fitting for a buck named Big Boy!

A

few years ago my friend and I decided to get serious about patterning and hunting whitetails. We had hunted for years before, but never deer we knew existed, so we acquired a few trail cameras and spread them out where we thought deer would call home. It was a long and hard process but we learned more in the last two years then we did all the years before. We figured out patterns like where they slept, lived, and ate. As the years progressed, we would come to understand longer patterns. We were starting to get pictures of some pretty good bucks and the addiction grew stronger. Every week new permission was acquired; as a result we purchased more and more trail cameras with the intentions of finding the one.

Rewind to a few years back, on a heavily used game trail we got pictures of a very nice looking buck. Long skinny tines with the foundation needed to be the special one. As the weeks went by we analyzed the deer and although a “shooter” in most books we put him on the no fly list in hopes that he would survive. We had trail camera pictures of him up until late august then he disappeared. Although he was big, we didn’t concentrate to hard on him that fall, as there were bigger, more mature target bucks in the area that needed a closer look. However, we never caught a glimpse of him until late November, which was a huge relief. One picture of him breeding a doe early December was a welcome sight. Not only were the great genetics being passed on, but we knew that he had survived the hunting season. We monitored the area quite heavily but he was gone.

No sightings, no sheds, no trail camera pictures. It’s always a stressful time of year but all you can do is sit and wait.

The following year, we set out the cameras early summer, some in the same places where we had luck, and some new places in hopes of finding something new. As luck would have it, the same deer was the first to appear in early July! We have always come up with names for the bucks we follow like 747, Riggins and G3 buck but could never come up with one for him. He was always simply referred to as Big Boy. I remember I was fly fishing when I felt my phone vibrate and the text read, “Man, I got pictures of the big boy and he’s huge.” A picture to confirm that indeed he was huge followed the text. The thoughts of trout quickly left my mind and hunt mode was instantly turned on. We set up numerous cameras in the area trying to pattern him exactly with no luck. As he did the year before, come late August every local deer remained but him, with no explanation. One evening while scouting an alfalfa field, I noticed a few bucks eating. It was going to be just a passing glimpse, as my focus was set on another field, until a good deer caught my eye. I scrambled for my spotting scope. I noticed one deer immediately ran into the bush without confirmation of who it was while the other smaller bucks all kept grazing. “Smart, old buck,” I thought. I had mentioned to my buddy I spotted a nice deer but never got a good look so a few nights later we returned to the spot and sure enough at the same place I had seen them before were all the bucks except one, the bigger one. We sat and watched for about 30 seconds when we noticed a body behind all the smaller bucks that had never lifted his head but when he did our jaws dropped. Out in front of us, in the flesh, stood the Big Boy and his fellow bucks. The second he spotted us, he felt uneasy gave us a good look and took off. The next day I was in conversation with the landowner and he granted us permission to hunt, thankfully!

The field, which he now called home, was approximately 6 miles away from where we originally located him, probably why we couldn’t find him last year. So after walking into the newly acquired permission we set up three new trail cameras

in a mad scramble as the opener was a few days away. After confirming that he was patterned we set up a ground blind on a funnel leading to the field. As is usually the case when hunting, many days were spent sitting with no more sightings. The trail cameras confirmed that he had left the area. So we assumed he would’ve returned to his original location, only to find out he had vanished. Now came the worrying. “Did we hunt him to hard to early? Did we push him somewhere else? Did we spook him? Is he dead?” were all thoughts that raced through my mind. Weeks went by without a sighting and our hopes of him still being around were fading fast. Finally, during one of our routine checks, he reappeared. A poor quality picture of him blazing by but there was no doubt it was him. There is no better feeling! We decided to wait until the rut in hopes to catch him at his most vulnerable and prevent us from spooking him again.

A few summers previous, we decided to build a box blind at an intersection in between two fields. The blind overlooked a bush where they bedded and a creek bottom they used for traveling. It felt like a good spot and indeed it was when the Big Boy decided to call this place home. Every morning during the opening week of rifle I would find my way to the blind, only hunting the first couple of hours prior to going to work. Thursday, November 5th proved to be no different. I anxiously waited sunrise not expecting to see too much as we had surprisingly mild temperatures and the rut was not on yet. However, as the saying goes you can’t kill a buck from the couch so off I went.

8:30 came and having not seen a deer I decided to call it a day and head to my truck. As I was making my way back, and in sight of my truck, I walked around the last bend and out of habit glanced over my left shoulder as I always do. I spotted a buck walking away, a good

buck! I put my binos up and right away recognized the split G3 on his right side as he faced away from me. Panic mode soon followed as he disappeared into the swamp adjacent to the bush where he lived. I loaded my gun and started working my way over to him. I crested the bottom of a small hill in hopes that this would get me closer to him and also out of sight. When I arrived at the other side, I decided this was the spot I would wait. I had guessed as to where he would be due to the fact that he was walking and according to my observation had never seen me and therefore would have kept walking at a leisurely pace. I could feel my legs shaking with excitement and I kept telling myself “Calm down, you’ve done this before, calm down.” I found my entry point and charged up the hill fully expecting him to be on the other side having just entered the cattails. However a small buck and a few does greeted me with no sight of the Big Boy. I scanned the horizon in a mad panic looking for him and just like that, disappointment was starting to creep over.

The does had had enough of me and the one snorted, the noise caused a white tail flicker and then the buck picked his head up to investigate the commotion. It was the one, the one we had been following for years, the one who had totally consumed our lives! I quickly shouldered my 7mm and just like that years of history, hours spent glassing and scouting, thousands of trail camera pictures and a handful of sleepless nights came crashing down. One shot and the one we call Big Boy was down. I must’ve looked like an idiot standing on top of that hill looking around gun in hand wondering what had just happened. I expected fireworks to go off given the battle I had just won but the morning fell silent again. I rushed over to him tripping on wet logs and completely submerging myself on my way over. I never realized all the well used game trails skirting the swamp until well after, but I didn’t care. I had my hands on a dream

of mine. It’s a bittersweet moment catching up to what seemed like an impossible goal. I am ecstatic that I was able to catch up to the Big Boy but a small feeling of sadness is felt every time I drive by the field now. I am not sad that he is dead, I am sad that the chase is over, but forever thankful.

On the second last day of the season my buddy who had been pursuing the same deer was able to close the final chapter on the buck that started it all for us. The buck we named 747,

an old geriatric deer. And he happened to kill him in the exact same field about 7 miles away from where he called home.

Thanks to everyone who helped out along the way. Thanks to my boss who was nice enough to take off to Mexico first week of November, my buddy for all the help from start to finish, my girlfriend Claire for making all those late night suppers while I was out scouting/hunting and to God for providing us with these animals that consume our lives.

ALBERTA

CHOCOLATE BY: DAYNE SORENSON

E

very year early AuDayne Sorenson of Camrose, gust is Alberta with the whitetail that when I really has exactly what is needed to start getting excited for the upscore high, and look very im- coming hunting pressive. Long G1s, 2s and 3s season. This year make it easy for the chocolate was no different.

My wife Stacey antlered buck to score high. The and I took our final net score on Dayne’s buck one year old daughter Blakeis 168 2/8”. ly on many late evening scouting trips, changed many trail camera cards, and sat on good vantage points throughout August. We saw some decent bucks in the early part of the month but could never seem to pattern the deer and when November came, we lost track of them. During hunting season, I would drive past my hunting spots on the way to and from work, hoping to get a glimpse of the bucks we had previously seen, but with no luck. I sat numerous mornings and nights to try and intercept a nice buck, but every time I ended up walking back to the truck with cold hands and not much action.

My buddy was drawn for mule deer bucks in a nearby zone where I had grown up in central Alberta, so I told him at some point in November I would check out a few spots to try and find him a nice deer. Being frustrated with not seeing any shooter whitetails, I headed to my home town on November 22nd. I decided to scout a spot I used to hunt when I was young, a spot that has produced some nice deer in the past but living too far away I hadn't hunted in many years. It was about an hour after sunrise and as I came up to my hunting spot a buck ran out in front of me towards the quarter of land I used to hunt on. I didn't get a great look at him but I quickly got to a good vantage point in case

he came through the first set of willows. For some reason, he took his time getting through the small willow patch, giving me a better look at him and a small opportunity to shoot. He was slowly quartering away from me and as he was about to get out of sight I pulled the trigger. I thought it was game over, I felt confident in the shot and although I didn't get a great look at his reaction I was confident I had hit him. As I made my way up to the next vantage point, I did not see any sign of him and knew he had to have made it to the next set of willows. I waited for about 15 minutes, which I felt like was plenty of time considering how confident I was, and then went walking up to the bush thinking I would find him in there. As I got closer, I heard a crash and saw a glimpse of a deer running out the opposite side. I quickly hurried to the nearest hill so I could get a glimpse of where he had went. I figured there was no way I would see where he ran as it took me awhile to get to the top of the hill and the bush he headed to was only about 100 yards away, but as I looked through my binos there he was, slowly, nonchalantly, walking into the next big bush.

At this point, I figured my shot wasn't as good as I thought, so I gave him some time to lie down. About two hours later, my dad came to give me a hand. I set up on a point where I could see all directions and he walked through the entire bush. I remember thinking to myself, “Ok, any second now he is going to yell at me that he found him.” But nothing.

No deer came out, no blood trails anywhere, no breaking of any branches. I was stumped, how could this deer have disappeared? We spent three hours looking for any sign that I had hit him and couldn't find anything.

I was now pretty disappointed knowing that most likely I had missed the deer and his nonchalant behavior could be chalked up to being in the peak rut. My Dad and I decided we would head back to town to grab lunch and then head out to find a mule buck for my buddy who had now joined us as well to try and find my deer.

“As I got closer, I heard a crash and saw a glimpse of a deer running out the opposite side. I quickly hurried to the nearest hill so I could get a glimpse of where he had went. I figured there was no way I would see where he ran as it took me awhile to get to the top of the hill and the bush he headed to was only about 100 yards away, but as I looked through my binos there he was, slowly, nonchalantly, walking into the next big bush.”

Dayne also took this 186” mule deer and 176” bull moose, what a year!

As my Dad drove off, I remember saying to myself, it just doesn't make sense, there is no way that I missed that deer and then he didn't come out of that bush when we walked it.

The only other option was that he crossed back to the spot he originally came from, which I thought was highly unlikely. I decided to take a quick walk down the fence line just to cover all options. As I neared the bush I heard a few twigs break, and within a few seconds a doe, a little buck, and the same buck came out about 100 yards in front of me! I steadied the cross

hairs on him, took my time, and the rest was history.

I knew he was a good buck but as I walked up to him, seeing the size of his g2 and g3, he just got bigger! Hunting in the prairies with limited cover, I didn't think deer got to be this big around my hunting areas. His green score comes in at a gross score of 173 6/8 and net of 168 6/8! This is my biggest whitetail to date and although there were some ups and downs in the attempt to harvest him, I feel very fortunate and lucky I was able to seal the deal with this beautiful whitetail.

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Difference Makers BY: CHAD WILKINSON

A

s the spring and summer finally arrives, it is easy to get caught up in the excitement of the oncoming season. Hopefully most of these feelings are positive ones.

“Which bucks have made it through the winter?”, “What kind of new animals are going to show up?”, “I can’t wait to get back to hunt camp and spend some quality time with friends and family”, are common themes that hopefully dominate whenever thinking and planning the upcoming season. However, too often it can be the negative thoughts that creep into our minds.

“I wonder how many bucks didn’t make the winter”, “I wonder if anyone will find ‘my’ spots this year”, and finally “I sure hope the rules don’t change to make it more difficult for me to hunt”.

That last one is the subject of hot debate among hunters every hunting season, or even earlier as soon as the hunting guide is released. Managing wildlife on very limited budgets is no easy task, and considering the minimum amount of money spent on it, those who set the rules have a very difficult task. Balancing the health of wildlife populations, the interests of hunters, landowners, unregulated hunters, politicians, and special interest groups is not a straightforward exercise.

As individuals what can we do? The most common action may be to complain among a small group of friends, or even among a larger audience on the internet or at social events.

This does nothing to effect change. A great option is to join your local hunting organization. Even just joining, and encouraging every hunter you know to go ahead and join is a powerful decision. These groups are tasked with representing hunting interests. They sit on numerous boards, committees, and have the ear of the people who make decisions that really effect the hunt every time we go out. Having large numbers of members helps all of these groups to have a stronger voice, and therefore hunters to have a stronger voice. Adding yourself to this number is a good first step.

Of course, none of these organizations are perfect, and many of them have a diverse group of members with viewpoints and interests that vary wildly. In addition, in today’s day and age where everybody’s life is incredibly busy, these groups always struggle to gain meaningful input from their membership. The result is that sometimes their positions have to be crafted from a few individuals’ views and discussions with others. Luckily, there is a very easy solution to this. Get involved! This doesn’t mean that you have to go to a meeting every week and spend countless hours volunteering all the time, but it does mean setting aside some time to contribute. At the very least, go to the annual meeting of these groups, see how decisions are made

and make your views known in whatever way you can. It may be surprising at what a difference you can make in affecting change for the positive. It is the same as the old argument about voting in elections, if you don’t vote then you have no right to complain.

That being said, this should be a positive news story about all of the incredible people within these organizations who do their best to preserve the future of hunting. Even if there is disagreement about the specifics, the motivation is almost always the same as this magazine, to promote hunting in the interest of preserving the future of hunting. There are a few specific organizations that I would like to give props to, because I know they do good work and they have supported our magazine in one way or another. Those are the Alberta Fish and Game Association, the Alberta Archery Association, the Saskatchewan Wildlife Federation and the Saskatchewan Bowhunters Association, and Safari Club International. These are but a tiny subset of the countless organizations that do great work. If you are a hunter, or an archer, you should be a member of these organizations. If you are at a time in life where you have no time to give them, at least give them another member, and once you do have some time get on board with them to help.

The fact is regulators are working with incomplete data, very limited budgets and have an extremely difficult task of balancing many different pressures. As hunters, we are out in the field. To put it bluntly, we often know more about what is going on out there than those making the rules, but if we do not join these organizations and make our voices heard than there is little value in all of this information. Thanks again to all of our subscribers, contributors, and supporters and also to everyone who has reached out and asked that I include this topic as a column subject, you are all doing great work and as a hunter I thank you. Hopefully, BGI is contributing to the same goals you have, to ensure hunting has a strong place in the future world of all of our children.

I

remember standing in the pitch dark of night awaiting the arrival of my brother Mike. My oldest nephew Chase was at my side, I was thinking how we have waited so long to draw this tag. It had been so many years. I am not really even sure how long, 12, 13 or perhaps even 14 years. Well the day was now here and the excitement continued to build as we loaded up the truck and trailer with all the gear you can imagine for a moose hunt. We were hunting in a zone where my brother and I grew up and one we continue to hunt. The anticipation of this hunting adventure was so much more surreal as our confidence grew each and every minute, because when we approached our hunting grounds I knew this was a once in a life time hunt for us!

Over the years, hunting whitetail, and with the previous year having drawn an elk tag in this zone, we had seen some tremendous bull moose in the area and the stakes were high for this hunt. Every hunt is filled with challenges and every hunt is different, full of moments of bliss and sorrow. However, in the end, there is always a true feeling of contentment whether an animal is taken or not. Today, at that very moment, there was a feeling that the hunt was going to be special.

It was opening morning and the air was dense with fog, and it was also thick with excitement that lingered as the fog turned ever so slowly to a light drizzle and the clouds lifted, producing a few moose, but nothing quite of the caliber we were looking for. We moved from honey hole to honey hole, calling and

Black BEAST A Memoir by Scott Smith

Scott and Mike Smith from Moosomin, Saskatchewan hold the antlers of the beast of a bull they teamed up on in 2015. The brothers shared an incredible hunt and made memories that will last a lifetime. The monster bull ended up as the top moose in Saskatchewan from 2015 with a huge net score of 202 5/8�. The greatest spread came in at 59 3/8� with a total of 22 points.

glassing, hoping to produce an animal to even take a second look at but there were none. At 8:30, we spotted a bull that was just under 40 inches. Mike and I both passed without taking a second look but Chase was more than willing to take the bull. After a small discussion and a game plan at the ready, Chase was on his first moose stalk with rifle and shooting sticks in hand. Two shots shattered the morning air both ending in that hollow thud we all love to hear and the work began. We had our first moose down and loaded before 10:30 on opening day, leaving us buzzing with thoughts of what our next day would bring! Â Day two started out with the wind howling from the time we woke until sundown so the plan was to put the boot on the ground and get deep into the bush. Nothing was ready to get up and move in the wind and calling didn't seem to be much of an option. Although we still pushed up a few cows and small bulls, we just couldn't get on top of any good ones. It was just one of those days when I knew in my heart it was not going to happen but, I was there in a fantastic place doing what I love and memorable experiences were bound to unfold in front of our eyes. With the certainty of that I kept pressing forward.

Later that night, our friend Reed, who we refer to as Hoss, joined our hunting party. I have always found that when you surround yourself with great hunters and with great people, you become a better hunter and a better person. Everyone has ideas and visions that are different from the next guy, and in the sport of hunting there is no rule book on what an animal is going to do or where he is going to go. A hunter learns something new every time out in the field because every hunt has its own adventure and in the end each adventure is truly defined not only by the hunter, but by nature as well. Be it your willingness to push those extra steps, to ven-

ture a little deeper into the forest, or even to make it over that next ridge, the big picture is yours to illustrate and to interpret to others, gaining just a little more knowledge of the game that you're hunting with a chance to pass it on to the future generation of outdoorsmen and women in this ever-changing game.

Day three arrived as the sun broke over the horizon, casting a beautiful orange glow over the pothole filled prairies. Mike and I sat in silence, drinking coffee, glassing field edges and slough bottoms, our thoughts focused on the hopes of seeing the giant paddles of a bull moose wavering towards us like I have dreamed about for so many years. We watched the wildlife of Southern Saskatchewan come alive. I felt the early morning sun warming me as I spotted a herd of cow elk pass us by followed by a young bull. Soon the whitetails started to appear out of nowhere like the prairie ghosts they are. The howling winds of yesterday diminished, giving us hope that the conditions to find the bull moose we hoped were bedded in the area were perfect. I remembered times when we have found ourselves in this scenario before, having a couple of less than good days of weather, then all of a sudden the conditions are ideal and everything seems to be on the move.

As we walked back to the truck, my mind was filled with thoughts of the last ten years of seeing giants and the last three days of not seeing a moose of size. This feeling slowly brings you back to the reality that hunting is never easy. Though I was hunting in a place that I hold close to my heart, a place that I cherish, and although I know the land well, deep inside I was feeling a little lost. I didn't want to admit it to myself, but I knew if I didn't find him today, I would be back tomorrow and the next day, until I did. At that moment, everything changed! "MOOSE!" I yelled out. We both pulled up our binoculars. There was a large black body walking in some tall grass and brush piles that were well over a half section away. I saw a small flash of a paddle. He was headed in the same direction we were which is the top end of some large wildlife lands that we are about to get up high on and glass over. We continued on in the hopes that the bull would come to us so we could then get a better look at him. We walked a couple hundred yards to a higher vantage point and, as I looked to the west, it happened! The image that I saw will be burned deep within my mind for a life time, two tremendous paddles glistening a crimson red from the early morning sun. Without lifting my binos, I was certain that I was around six hundred yards away and I knew this is no ordinary moose. This is what dreams are made of!

After years of hunting with Mike, there wasn't much of a discussion. The two of us know where we want to be and what we need to happen for us to have a shot at putting a tag on this massive beast. I quietly loaded the magazine into my rifle.

We began our walk across the quarter section of stubble field and the wind was perfect. Mike and I stayed close together as we crested a small rise to reduce the risk of being spotted on the open landscape. Through the dips and gullies we made our way across a full quarter section of land to a small tree covered pothole just over two hundred yards from the moose. We found ourselves tucked in the corner of some red willows, so we dropped our packs and set up the shooting sticks. I could feel the adrenaline flowing through me. I was out of breath and I knew I must calm down. I think this is a moment every hunter dreams of. It's what makes you come back to hunt year after year. I could feel my heart pounding throughout my entire body, and my breath was puffing out like a steam engine; it felt like everything is now playing out in slow motion. We were both set up. I looked at Mike and said, “On three we shoot.” I uttered the words from my mouth, "One, two, three." The two shots seemed to echo and resonate throughout the land. It is this echo that I will forever remember and we were hoping the moose was hit hard as he ran into the treed slough bottom.

We took a minute to gather our thoughts and process what just happened and we hoped to find an expired moose not far off. We made our way over to the spot where the moose

was first hit, and as we got on his tracks we couldn't find any blood. A flood of thoughts and emotions piled on us and the whole scene once again felt surreal because of what has just taken place. Fifteen yards further I found a large clump of hide and hair and a few drops of dark red blood. Five more yards, I found myself standing in ankle deep water hearing the sound of a cow moose calling. I raised my head from looking down for tracks only to find the eyes of a giant moose piercing through me. I want to say I was calm and cool but can’t and it was total

panic as I shoulder my rifle and take aim at the only part of the moose that I could see clearly, the hump on his back. One more shot rang out as I was hoping to see him drop. Instead, he turned into a bulldozer mowing over three and four inch round poplar trees. Once again in amazement we watched him disappear into the treed prairie swamp. Three more steps and I was standing in water almost to my knees. This was when we

decided to back out and call for some back up. We knew the guys weren’t far away so we called them and gave them our location.

It was a twenty minute wait that felt like hours. As Mike and I backed out, we surveyed the land around us trying to put a game plan together if needed. There was a heart-sinking feeling finding out how big the slough on the back side of this bush really was. It was filled with seven foot high bulrushes, cattails a few hundred yards long and just as wide, and my biggest fear was the bull reached the heart of it. Chase and Hoss showed up and we put the plan in motion. I followed the tracks of where we last saw him and Mike would skirt the outside edge to the back side and move in. Mike had the guys bring our rubber boots and dry socks; however, I soon would find out after a few steps they would not be needed because I was now in water up past my knees, standing in a beaver run, cursing to myself about the beaver, and water was creeping up to my waist as I made my way through the tangled mess of dead trees and willows. With so much water there were no tracks and when I approached dry land there are moose tracks everywhere. I just kept pushing on as I could hear something in the bush ahead of me and yet still hear the faint sound of cows calling. I had no idea what is ahead of me or if it is the guys starting to move in closer to me.

All of a sudden once again I see the large body of a moose moving parallel with me but the growth was too thick and I didn't really know where the rest of my hunting party has gone. The bull saw me and took off and we were now in a foot race to the bulrushes as he turned the corner around a beaver hut splashing through the water. I had him broad side in the middle of the open water and as I steadied myself on a fallen tree, I knew at last it's safe for me to shoot. I fired one last shot from my rifle as I watched him fall in the middle of the slough, lying motionless. The water ripples to the bank of the beaver hut where I was standing in disbelief at the size of his paddle sticking out of the water and I hollered out in joy to the others that he is down for good this time. With all of us gathered back together looking at him in awe it was time to get him out. The water was just deep enough that we easily float him closer to shore and the beaver runs I was cursing have now turn into a godsend as one of them leads us to within thirty yards of a clearing that we are able to drive a truck into. Finally with

a lot of rope and some elbow grease the bull is on dry land!

There is always a part of me that is saddened when a hunt is over and I have killed an animal.

Taking the life of something so majestic leaves me in a numbed state as the adrenaline starts to wear off, but I have no remorse for I am a hunter and make no mistake about it, I am there to kill. I kill for meat, for the experience and for the trophy. It’s an item that serves as a credit to the animal and everlasting reminder of the great times that I have had with my family and my friends.

Hunting exemplifies that conservation by hunters' works in preserving Canada's big game for our future generation of hunters, instilling a belief in me that one day, in that same area, someone else will have this great experience also!

LIMBHA

Eric Top with one of the most impressive whitetails taken anywhere in 2015. Eric calls Belleville, Ontario home and chased the incredible whitetail for seven long years before finally catching up with him. He and his wife Hailee had several close encounters over the years. The world class whitetail had an inside spread of 24 6/8”, beams of 29” and 28 6/8”, a gross green score of 193 4/8” and a net green score of 180” even!

ANGER BY: ERIC TOP

On the surface, a picture always looks good. A successful hunter in a perfect pose with a beautiful trophy. Pictures never really tell the story, never really show the hard times, the grit, or guts to keep moving forward. Sometimes the trophy in the picture is more than just a deer, more than just another hunt.

These are the things that bind the hunting fraternity, and keep us going back to the woods time and time again. Some pictures are often just the happy end to a long and troubled road.

Dating back as far as fall of 2009, trail camera pictures began to show images of a great looking 3 1/2 year old buck with a wide spread and sweeping main beams. He was short in the brows but had daggers for tines beyond that. The encouraging images, I'm sure, lit a fire in more hunters than just me where we hunt my home farm in Prince Edward County, Ontario. I would later come to find out that hunters from distant neighboring farms had been watching the same deer as well. Nevertheless, I began beating the woods to a froth. Unknowingly stumbling, making mistakes and educating an animal already much smarter than me on his home turf. Not yet to the point of personal experience where I would focus my hunting efforts on one particular buck, that season came and went with no encounters with the buck.

Starting to watch bucks much closer in 2010, I focused more on core area stands that would offer me better chances. Late October started to turn up pictures of a familiar looking wide buck with a split G2 on his right. I honed in on that particular area, but again he became a ghost. Mid November that year, I got an opportunity at another beautiful main frame 10 after grunting him in to bow range at 25 yards. I took the shot, but the arrow nicked a small tree on its way. It slammed into him and he whirled and was gone before I could fully tell where he was hit. A long tracking job turned up nothing. No arrow, no blood, no deer. It was like he was never even there and an arrow had just disappeared from my quiver. That particular deer was taken two weeks later in our controlled gun hunt, a broadhead firmly wedged between 2 vertebrae. Tough animals to say

the least and a lesson learned.

The rest of the season we continued to get mostly nighttime pictures of the wide buck with a split G2 on his right.

Picking myself up from the brutal low of a lost animal, I ran out the rest of the season with no encounters and no success. Some personal life issues kept me out of the woods for the most part in 2011, but I still spent time running cameras on the wide bucks stomping grounds, gazing and dreaming over the pictures. None of us ever get to spend as much time in the stand as we would like, but I know I let too much of that season slip thru my fingers.

2012 came with new opportunity and a new enthusiasm for the sport. Tournament archery and regular practice routines had become a big part of my life again, much the same as my early teenage years. This only fueled the fire to get back in the deer woods by fall. My girlfriend at the time, now my wife, Hailee had taken up archery and bowhunting, and it was exciting for both of us to spend some time in the woods together. Prior to the season, pictures turned up nothing from the wide buck, the dreaded thought in the back of my mind was that he had been taken by another hunter late last year. However, the deer began showing up regularly into late October.

With the rut winding up, we knew that deer would frequent a large hardwood block where we had a large two person ladder stand. Armed with a camera and Hailee with her crossbow, we snuck in early and settled in. A calm, crisp morning brought us a fun encounter with a young fawn and later the doe, who moved through fairly quickly. As the morning pushed closer to 10 o’clock, and action having been slow we started to discuss getting down, when I heard a large CRACK and thrash in front and to the right of us. I held up my hand for quiet. A little more thrashing and some noise in the leaves and I said to her, still looking in the direction of the noise, "There's a buck over there." There was a minute pause before I saw horn flash among the prickly ash. "Here he comes, it’s a good buck get your bow up!" I whispered sharply as I fumbled with the camera to get him on screen. A hundred thoughts went through my mind at once; I knew which deer this was! Apparently not one of those thoughts included keeping up with the camera footage. Later we watched the deer come on screen for a few seconds and then disappear off screen as I realized what trail he was on and what he was doing. I knew he was following a

doe and if I didn't stop him on this first shooting lane we wouldn’t get the shot! "When he stops you take him" I said.

"BRRR" I mouth grunted. Nothing..."BRRR"...nothing "BRRR!" he halted broadside. On the footage you can hear her whisper "Now?" followed by a "YES!". WHACK THRASHHH. She made the shot by all rights and I watched a glowing nock sail right at his rib cage then abruptly change course and burry in the dirt under his feet. I’d made another mistake and did not see the small branch in the trajectory path to the deer from her side of the stand. He bounded away unharmed, stopping once to look back and rub it in. "That was our buck," was the last words on my neglected footage. That's how we coined him with the name 'LimbHanger'.

Feeling like he was too educated and smart for us now, 2012 went down with the same result as 2013. I had endless pictures after mid October, mostly late at night with the odd one in the light at spots I had recently hunted, almost taunting me.

I'm sure a lot of the other hunters pursuing Limbhanger from around the county would feel the same. Through that year I kept up targeting Limbhanger specifically. I had so many frustrated sits in the stand, passing up good opportunities at lesser deer, and lost sleep during the night asking all the questions.

“What am I doing so wrong? Why is he never there when I am? What more can I do to get around in front of him?” and on and on. There comes a time when you feel like you've failed over and over again, you begin to try and explain why to yourself, trying to justify it I guess. I came up with theories that by this point Limbhanger was so old and majestic that the first thing on his mind in the fall was survival and survival only. He wouldn't risk hurting himself in a fight with another buck. His rack is so wide a younger buck might get right on the inside and put him on the ground. I even began to think maybe this deer doesn't think about breeding anymore when the usual rut

tactics didn't work.

In the face of the adversity I had created those scenarios out of the situation, I firmly believed all that nonsense. My attention started to wander away from him and, with the onset of a brutally cold late season, I sealed my tag on a mature doe and closed that one out to the books.

On route to one of the largest 3D archery tournaments of 2014, early on the morning of August 2nd, 2014, a would-be 160 class buck, thick in velvet, darted out of one of our corn fields and across the road in front of our car. He easily cleared the ditch and sauntered off into an alfalfa field in the light fog. I looked at my wife and said "That's a new face for here, that's the buck I'm going to kill this fall!" This deer was special, he taught me how to really specifically target one buck. I started following him from that day forward. Other cameras brought me very ghost like images of what Limbhanger had become as well. An overwhelming main frame 12 with bladed main beams and some flyers off a lot of his dagger like tines, but images at 2 am were again disheartening, and further made me believe my theories about him. People close to me would recall hearing me say more than once, "Old age is gonna get that deer long before any human will." So my attention went to the new face I'd coined "Pincher".

We played the chess match back and forth a lot that season. I even got so close to closing the deal, with him broadside at 30 yards just seconds after climbing into my stand with my bow still on the ground on the end of my pull up rope. That deer would end up another victim of our county controlled shotgun hunt before I could get back on his heels again.

Disappointed in myself, I started questioning what, if any, ability I had to even keep trying. Outsmarted by one old buck for what seemed like ages, a wounded trophy taken by the shotgun hunt years earlier, and now Pincher gone to the same fate.

It was a low a lot of people probably don't understand, some I hope never have to. But Limbhanger was still out

there, and after some time to think I knew the only thing to do no matter the odds was get back out there and try. The curtain dropped on 2014 and another brutal winter set in.

Pictures of Limbhanger had dropped away and with the unrelenting snow and cold I thought no way would he, in his old age, make it through this one.

I cant even begin to explain the excitement from the spring of 2015 after finding BOTH of Limbhangers sheds in one of our frequented fields! I was on the tractor heading to a field at the back of our home property. The substantial snowfall had finally subsided from the cool grounds beneath the thick cedars and ditch waters were high. But there, scuzzed nearly solid in green algae were two of the biggest horns I’d ever seen! And five feet apart no less! I flew out of the cab and down into the water grabbing a horn in either hand. I said out loud to ears that weren't there "HE'S ALIVE!" I knew these belonged to Limbhanger and I knew we'd have at least one more round in the ring come fall.

As summer started to close down the work in the woods started to wind up again, trimming and hanging new stands and setting up new strategies. All the camera work and food plot work. The table was set, I just needed him to show up.

Opener came and went, two and a half weeks into the season came and went. Limbhanger should have turned up by now. I had setup a new camera that would send pictures directly to my email inbox, and had gotten a few pictures of a nice 155 class buck with a heavy, heavy body. Easy enough, we labeled him "Email". This buck was working an area not 200 yards south of where I had found Limbhanger’s sheds in the spring.

A worthy opponent, and with no sign of Limbhanger, I planned my opportunity at him. But as was his way, Limbhanger showed himself on camera October 18, 7:49am, well into daylight and in the hardwood block where my wife had sent an arrow toward him in 2012. The day I read that picture off the SD card, my wife held a women’s only goose calling seminar at our home. With 45 women in my front yard all in camo, and the time pushing 2:30 I jumped up out of my computer chair and raced to get my gear together. "Hail! Its Limbhanger! He's back and he was in the hardwoods this morning! IN DAYLIGHT!" Painted face, bow in one hand and scent -free tote full of clothing in the other I jumped in the truck and took off. I sat that stand that night with so much renewed energy it was as if the woods could feel it itself. Every squirrel in the leaves was him walking; every flickering leaf was his ear twitching in the background. The sit turned up empty but the fire was stoked.

That was a Sunday afternoon, and I was back to work that week. My email camera sent over some nightime pics through

the week that shocked me. Limbhanger, in "Email's" territory.

Not only that but no pics of Email for a day or two. Two nights in a row, Limbhanger in his familiar white glow as nighttime pictures are. Friday of that week, we started to harvest the standing corn adjacent to the camera and stand that I had got email and Limbhanger on recently. That Friday night while running a grain buggy I briefly spoke with the neighbor, running a truck, who spoke of seeing a large buck on the lane. I showed him pictures of Limbhanger and in his words "Nah he wasn't as well hung as that one." Email, I thought. “Email is still here alright.” The plan for the morning was simple, get in early and get in very quiet. Try some antler tickling on the rattle bag and some non-aggressive grunting just after first light. My hope was the freshly harvested corn field would make the area hot and primed for new deer to enter the area right away. A little antler tickling might just coax that big bodied brute up for a look. So it went, I snuck in early, the ground was soft and quiet. Skirting the edge of the field toward the stand I heard the unmistakable sound of a deer leaving the other side of the narrow field in a hurry. My theory in that situation has always been the same, keep making unchanged, deliberate movements like that didn't happen. There's nothing that can be done about it now, just hopefully make it think you have no interest in it. That deer didn't snort or blow my setup. it was a relief there in the stressful darkness, as I crept closer to the stand. I made it up the tree as quiet as could be and started to setup, my equipment still on the pull up rope. Bow hanger in the tree ready for legal light, Ozonics mounted into the tree. As I mounted the unit I noticed a deer move out of the bush line across the field, 50 yards off. It didn't seem huge in the body but I did make out a small bit of horn in the low light. It didn't seem concerned with me so I carried on slowly getting everything into place. Thinking to myself, “I was right, this area is hot, this could work.” That deer steadily moved down the middle of the field and out of sight as legal light approached. I glanced at my phone, one minute past legal for today. I gave it about 10 minutes before I was sure I had very comfortable shooting light, reached into my pocket and retrieved my grunt

call. Leaving the tube short, I let go three very quiet, unaggressive grunts and put it away. Breathing a sigh of relaxation I leaned back against the tree and enjoyed the woods waking up, my favorite time in the stand. It was short lived. Like a ghost out of thin air a buck appeared at 18 yards in front and slightly to the right of me. No sound, no warning just wham he was there. He turned his head and every fiber of my being silently screamed, "LIMBHANGER!". With steady, deliberate movement I went for my bow on the hanger and said to myself as my hand found the grip, "If you go into this field, its game on, if you turn and go into the woods I have one narrow chance.” He looked out into the field and started to walk, the slow swagger of a king. In one motion I stood and lifted the bow from the hanger turning myself into position for the shot. My right hand went to my pocket and found my tru ball HBC hinge release, the cool brass felt good on my sweating palm. It locked into my hand the way it had done 100,000 times before in practice. I reached up to the sight and scrolled from 25 to 20 yards on my sight tape. I don't remember telling myself to draw, my front hand settled on that grip the way it was trained to do. I remember the peep lining up with the sight housing, and the feeling of the string on my nose as the pin dropped onto his ribs. He was quartered away at just the right angle. I laid that pin right up his opposite side leg as my thumb came off the safety peg on the hinge and I felt my hand relax, just like it was trained to do. "CLICK" in my ear as the release told me everything was primed and ready to go. "Brr...brr," very quietly I mouth grunted. He's heard my voice before but he stopped, looking straight in the direction he was pointed. Everything slowed down as I began to activate the shot, watching my pin sitting there on his rib cage. "PTHUNG!" my follow through came away from the string as the shot cut loose. Staring a hole down the arrows path, I watched my white veins bury right where they were intended.

That split second of flight and sound when the arrow contacted seem so fresh in my mind, even now. He was hit so hard, the arrow penetrating both lungs, clipping the top of the heart and exiting the opposite side shoulder blade, and he nearly went down right there after a classic double back leg heart kick. He stumbled, but old as he was, still tougher than most, his legs went back under him and carried him out of the field and out of sight, with the pace of a mortally stricken animal. There was no question, I had done it! As I waived the release in circles above my shoulder in victory, turkeys cut loose from the tree behind me, only adding to the major adrenaline high. I went immediately to the phone in my pocket. Over and over again I dialed and called my wife, who was at home sound asleep with our two children. By the 12th try I had to get someone on the line, I sent a text out to my buddy Dan, an accomplished bow hunter and archer in his own right that simply read, "You have to come to Belleville today". He answered right away and kept me calm enough to stay firmly in that stand once I'd told him what I'd just done. Eventually getting a hold of my wife I said in a broken voice, "It's Limbhanger, I got him". When she made it to the stand to help me track I had just climbed down and was inspecting the arrow, it looked good for sure. We followed drops of blood across the field to the brush line, picking our

way along a well-used trail spotting droplets of blood here and there. I remember her saying, "Eric, there's not a lot of blood" and my response, "I'm telling you, I smoked this deer!" Bending down on one knee to inspect a small drop of blood on the trail I looked up through the grass. Unmistakably, there he was dead in mid stride on an old four wheeler path now grown over, massive rack laid up sideways. I said nothing, just raised my hands to the sky before falling completely to the ground as the raw emotion took over and let loose. I'm not ashamed to say I cried, as I believe anyone in my shoes would have. My wife, right behind me, snapped pictures all the while on her phone and I'm glad she did. She actually approached the deer before I could gather myself to close the last 10 yards. Emotion still flowing, I finally put my hands on his head and lifted those horns in a final victory. It was over. A now 6 year chess match of ups and downs, back and fourths with different deer, all the lessons and all the hard times come to a head.

I examined him closely and found numerous scars and fresh scrapes and gouges around his neck from fighting, smashing down my old theories and justifications why I couldn't get in front of him. My plan had worked perfectly, only the deer I had anticipated to be the boss was Limbhanger, not the younger bigger bodied 'Email'. He was just a very wise old deer, a warrior and a true legend. One can’t help but respect him for what he was. This deer was much more than just horns, or a trophy on the wall for me. He taught me about life, and real respect in the woods. But most importantly, he taught me the most important thing a bowhunter can learn. Persistence, and the willingness to keep going, keep trying and keep moving forward. The pictures are just the happy end to a long, long road.

A happy hunter in a perfect pose. But you won’t get the whole story in a picture.

Perfection BY: TAYLOR BRITTON

Taylor Britton with the ‘Perfect’ buck she took on the opening day of the Missouri rifle season on November 14, 2015. The buck has incredibly long tines that seem to go on forever. Those long tines helped Taylor’s big deer on it’s way to a big unofficial gross score of 183”!

O

pening day of rifle season landed on November 14, 2015 in my home state of Missouri. Little did I know that I was about to harvest the buck of a lifetime. My Father and I hunt in a club in Oregon County that is a free range 4500 acre cattle ranch. My hunting career began when I was 12 years old but I have never had an adrenaline filled hunt like I did on that November day in 2015! It had already been a successful season as I managed to harvest my first ever deer with archery tackle in September.

We had a blind setup in that pasture that overlooked a funnel with heavy woods on either side. The cleared area was about 30 yards wide meaning I had to be ready because I would only have a short window to make the shot, if it happened. I knew early on that it was going to be a good day as deer began filtering through my shooting lane right at sun up.

It was about 7am when a good buck came through. It was a solid nine point, about a 130 class I guessed and he gave me numerous opportunities to take him. As I watched, a million thoughts raced through my mind and in the end I decided to let him walk since it seemed like there was a lot of activity and I really wanted to see what

thing odd caught my attention. I could hear a crashing sound every once in a while but couldn’t pin point exactly what it was or where it was coming from. As we got closer we got our answer and it was two bucks fighting, just inside the wood line, about 35 yards from us. They seemed to sense our presence and stopped fighting and looked over at us. They paused for a moment and then took off. Thankfully, neither one of them matched the vision I had in my mind of the buck I had shot.

We continued our way and I thought, “He should be right here somewhere.” I looked over and immediately saw him, lying just a few yards from where I had shot him! When I shot, I knew he was an awesome buck, but I never imagined just how incredible he actually was. Not only was he gigantic in size, but the perfect symmetry and tine length were also spectacular. I could not believe the growth of his antlers. It was far and away the most beautiful buck I had ever witnessed in person and I could not believe he was mine. He ended up scoring 183”, but even that score doesn’t do justice to the beauty of the buck, he is perfect!

We continued our way and I thought, “He should be right here somewhere.”

I looked over and immediately saw him, lying just a few yards from where I had shot him! When I shot, I knew he was an awesome buck, but I never imagined just how incredible he actually was. Not only was he gigantic in size, but the perfect symmetry and tine length were also spectacular. I could not believe the growth of his antlers. It was far and away the most beautiful buck I had ever witnessed in person and I could not believe he was mine. else the morning would bring. There was a few other does that came through but no other bucks. I was beginning to question my decision to let the big nine point walk.

About an hour and a half after I had passed the nine point, something caught my eye. Immediately, I could see a sizeable rack, and as soon as I framed him in my scope I could make out very long tines! I had to make a decision immediately and also had to shoot very quickly as the buck would be across the opening and into the woods on the other side in mere moments. He was about 200 yards out, so it was not easy to get locked onto him and just as I was beginning to wonder if I could get a clear shot, he stopped perfectly broadside! It seemed like it was meant to be and I did not waste a single moment of the opportunity. At the crack of the shot he was gone, bolted into the thick cover as quickly as he had appeared. The thirty minute wait seemed like hours as we wanted to ensure we gave him time just in case the shot was not perfect.

Finally, we climbed out of the blind and headed towards the area where he had been standing when I shot. Some-

The entire experience was an opportunity that I will be forever grateful for and it is a memory that I will treasure forever.

Hopefully one day I will be able to tell my children about that fateful day when I shot the buck that will be up on the wall

for the rest of my life. The response from my fellow hunters, as well as many non-hunters, has been overwhelmingly supportive and the best part of all is that I have made many new friends as a result.

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CHOCOLATE BY: DREW DOUGHERTY

Drew Dougherty travelled from his home in Regina, Saskatchewan to the northern forests in that province in hopes of filling his black bear tag. Little did he know that he would tag an amazing chocolate colored specimen. The big ‘crease-head’ goes into the record book with a score of 21” even and had a live weight of 400 lbs.

H

ave you ever had the satisfaction of watching a razor sharp broadhead disappear into the thick coat of a Saskatchewan black bear? This feeling is unbelievable.

It is so incredible and rewarding, that I can guarantee you will experience bear fever every spring there after. Whether the purpose of your hunt is for food, for trophies, for the enjoyment of those beautiful spring campfire evenings, or just to get away from the city after a long cold winter, you can count on having a great and memorable time.

As the 2015 black bear season began, I found myself running behind schedule, scrambling to gather enough bait in time for the hunt, soon to be surrounded by whiskey jacks and mosquitoes - I know, sounds peaceful doesn’t it? I had no realization of what was actually in store for me this season. I had never shot a big bear before, in fact, this was only the third bear hunt of my entire life. But I had a feeling, a feeling that this time I’d be in for a good one. The first bear hunt in 2008 served as an excellent learning experience, with little bear activity and over a foot of snowfall! The second hunt presented me with a beautiful, small cinnamon bear that was later used to create a stunning throw, by Jarrad Wells Taxidermy. I was unaware that in less than two weeks, I would be giving this taxidermist another call. With the hard winters as of late, and the deer numbers in my area drastically reduced, hunting had been rough. I had an unsuccessful fall prior, having sat over forty days with archery gear, and striking out on whitetail, mule deer, and elk. Needless to say, I was determined to replenish my confidence.

One week before this bear hunt, friends and I loaded up the baits, quads, tree stands, barrels, cameras and the whole nine yards. We didn’t realize until 10 PM that our load was too heavy

for the trailer! After countless hours of loading and unloading, and trying to find a trailer with a stronger axle, we were finally loaded up and ready to hit the road in the morning. The first day was long and exhausting, however, by nightfall we had set most of our baits and hung the majority of our stands. Unfortunately, when baiting, we found that not one, not two, but three of our trail cameras were broken, dead or just unusable.

We carefully set up our ONLY working camera and returned home to begin a long week of anticipation of what animals were gorging themselves at our bait sites. Before we knew it, we were back at camp, and headed north into the forest with the quads to check the camera and re-bait. Our first priority had been to build a quad bridge, which gained us deeper access into the forest, where this bait site was located. This was a location where bears are plentiful, and experienced less pressure.

It happened to be the same bait site where I arrowed my first bear in the spring of 2010. When I approached the site, a grey blur appeared in front of me, my heart nearly exploded as I found my self unarmed within the stare of a BIG, grey wolf, not twenty yards away. The stare down felt like an eternity as I brainstormed stories, pictures, and movies of wolves as well as a plan of action had he decided to lunge forward to take me as his prey. Eventually he vanished off into a dark corridor. I victoriously smiled at having the chance to see such a weary creature at such a distance. I moved forward, only to find the barrel completely EMPTY. I anxiously checked my camera and my jaw nearly hit the forest floor – What I saw was perfect trail cam photos a great, big, fat, thick-coated chocolate-colored boar of a bear. All I could think about was how thankful I was to have a good working camera in my favorite spot!

Three hours and a bucket full of sweat later, I was walking back to the bait where I knew this massive male had been visiting. Immediately approaching my stand I came face to face with an 18 ½” black at twelve yards. I slowly walked backwards, climbed up my tree to settle in. As I did this, his eyes watched me climb upwards, until I reached the top, then he looked away and continued to have himself a free meal.

Eventually he wandered off. That was okay with me, this was not the bear I was waiting for. As the evening set in, and the temperature started to drop, I caught a glimpse of an animal wandering in from deep in the timber. A big animal.

Suddenly, my hands started to tremble and my stomach filled with butterflies – It was the one I had been waiting for! I couldn’t believe it. He had moved a painfully long thirty-five yards before I was able to spot him.

The bear was old, cautious, and knew something was going on.

He silently ambled within 18 yards, and my heart was pounding, drowning out all the sounds of the forest around me. I drew, he looked, and as I touched my release in preparation for the shot, the giant boar whipped around and tore off into the thick Saskatchewan forest, snorting and grunting almost as though he was angry of my presence at tonight’s scrumptious buffet. At that moment, all I could comprehend was that I had blown my one and only chance at my target bear. Did I move at the wrong time? Did he wind me? Or was my set-up just not good enough? It felt as though my heart shattered - I was convinced a bear of that size and cleverness would never show his face again in the light of day. For the entire hour that followed that moment, I sat silently, as the darkness quickly moved in, and my disappointment consumed me.

My heart skipped a beat when he came back into sight. I realized that he was, slowly, making his way back to the bait. Turning around with my video camera in hand, I anticipated a shot at complete redemption. I watched him as he slipped in behind the barrel, and told myself that this time I was not going to make a mistake. I drew back my Hoyt Vector 32 and threaded the needle between two trees, and watched as my lighted nock and rage broadhead disappeared into the chocolate abyss behind his slightly quartered shoulder. The magnificent bear bolted towards his exit and out of my sight. I tried to calm myself as I heard him pile up seventy yards from my tree. I could not believe that I had just arrowed the biggest bear I had ever encountered. I could not wait to return to camp with the exciting news and a story to tell. I waited an extra ten minutes before I began the recovery, just to be sure. A quick, and easy track-job to the animal detailed the work of a swift and ethical kill that I couldn’t have been more proud of! The bear was everything I imagined and more. I tagged the bear and retreated to camp to begin a much-anticipated evening of stories, celebrations, and smiles with Les and Chris Bonkowski, two great friends and hunters. I want to thank these two so much for the

opportunities they’ve blessed me with over the many years we have shared together in the outdoors.

The following morning the three of us returned to skin the bear in twenty-six-degree weather (something I hope no hunter ever has to go through that early in the morning). Later I learned that with a skull size of 20 1/16”, this bear would be above the minimum standard for Boone and Crockett, an achievement I dreamed of since first picking up a bow at the young age of thirteen. I truly believe hunts like these make people appreciate and respect the hard work involved in putting a mature animal on the ground.

From my own experiences, it certainly provides an adrenaline rush strong enough to make a man tremble for hours!

My time spent in the outdoors with great friends and family is something I cherish, and always look forward to - and harvesting a good animal is a nice bonus! I cannot wait to enjoy the beautiful outdoors with the Bonkowski boys this fall and go after some big Saskatchewan mule deer. I’m optimistic we will have another successful season, and I can’t wait to experience the familiar trembling in my knees as my quarry steps out in front of my drawn back bowstring.

s

plit S BY: RANDY PLETZ

Randy Pletz of Rimbey, Alberta had years of history with a buck he called Splits. Then in 2015 something happened, the buck blew up in an amazing once in a lifetime animal. Randy was ecstatic when he anchored the 176 3/8” buck with the unique ‘caribou like’ antlers.

T

o start this story off, we have to go back to December of 2012 when I first started getting pictures of a young deer. You could tell he was a good potential up and comer, having a nice 5X5 frame with both G2’s split, likely scoring around 125”. At a young age there was hope for this deer to become something good in years to come. I only found one side of him in shed season but this was a great start to a history I was about to have with him. The season of 2013 came and he didn’t show up until late October. He put on a lot of body size and a decent amount of bone but with only one G2 split. Not seeing him once in season, I waited for shed season again and found the match set, roughly scoring mid 150’s!

Knowing he survived another season, the anticipation of what he would become in the next season was high.

2014 archery season came and a different buck I had also been watching for a few years, in a different area had become a deer I couldn’t stop thinking of. He wasn’t a big scoring deer but with a spread of 25”, it was so cool to watch him skyline at sunset out in the hay field in pre-season. I never did see the “Wide Ten” in archery season and was still waiting to see if “Splits” would show up again. Just into November, I checked my camera and saw that Splits had showed up like clockwork, within a few days of his arrival in past years. He didn’t put on what I had hoped for but still was a great deer. Being so wrapped up in trying to find the Wide Ten, I didn’t pay much attention to Splits. It was still early in rifle season and I had no sightings of the Wide Ten, so I went to a field I hadn’t hunted or even scouted that season and was only a mile from where I thought he was. I found a spot to set up where I could see most of the rolling grain field in hopes to maybe get a glimpse of him. Just before last light a few does popped over the top of one of the bigger hills with the Wide Ten not far behind, with light fading fast with him still skylined, I didn’t have a shot until after legal light. The walk back to my truck was filled with both excitement and sorrow finally getting to see this deer but not being able to put him down because of a skyline was tough but it was just too unsafe to pull the trigger. Knowing where to hunt him the following evening, I set up close to the same area with high hopes he would show once again. At prime time a wide framed deer stepped out, and I thought for sure it was the Wide Ten, so I let fly and down he went. Walking up to him, I soon knew I just shot the wrong deer. It was a wider eight but nothing in comparison to what I was after. He was an old mature deer with no good genetics, so I wasn’t as upset knowing I took out a mature cull buck. After the season ended I went to pull my cameras and saw Splits had made it once again!

Pre-season of 2015 kicked off with the Wide Ten once again on camera. Archery season came and went with only one busted encounter, and I never saw him again. With the past few years of poor deer numbers and quality, this year I was putting all my eggs into one basket with hopes

that Splits would show up. Late October came, and I got one blurry picture of what I thought was Splits on my camera.

The following weekend I went back to check the camera on the quarter south of where I had the blurry picture. Scrolling through my short video clips I wasn’t expecting to see Splits the way he was. I couldn’t believe what I had on my camera, a complete and absolute freak! After watching the video over and over you could see that he was limping on his right front shoulder, which I assumed caused him to grow so much junk on his left side. He seemed to be living more on that quarter than anywhere else, which was fine by me being I was the only hunter allowed in there, but bow access only. The next day I went in and set up on the east end of the field. After being in stand for 20 minutes, I looked across to the west end of the little field surrounded by mature spruce, and there he was at 250 yards nose to the ground and on a mission, but in the wrong direction! I tried everything to get his attention to come in my direction, but he didn’t want anything to do with what I was doing. He slipped into the spruce and didn’t return until almost dark in the same spot he went in. I still considered it a successful hunt, as it was the first time I laid eyes on Splits in four seasons. With winter days getting too short to bow hunt the spot after work, I sat on the quarter north, where I could use my rifle. The week was slow so the weekend found me back into my bow spot. Checking my cameras once again, I was happy to see him there lots during daylight.

Now knowing he liked that thick spruce and didn’t venture to far from it, I was in for a very big challenge of getting this deer in bow range. That weekend and another work week of no sightings had me starting to think that I may never get a shot at Splits. Saturday, November 21 came and my wife had to work so I was on Daddy duty watching our three year old daughter. My Mom said she could come watch my daughter so I could get an evening hunt in at least! On the walk in, I used an estrus drag line along the field edge that I figured he travelled a lot judging by my cameras. I checked my

cameras before getting into my stand to see that I had missed Splits by 30 minutes! I was frustrated that I may have missed probably the only chance I had on this deer. The only good news was that at least he was still alive and couldn’t be too far from my stand. I had to sit in my west end stand for the wind and it seemed to be his more travelled route anyway. Once I got into my stand I let out a few doe bleats and settled in for the next few hours. With light fading, I figured I should stand up and get ready for any possibility he would come out in the same spot he did the first time I encountered him. Looking to the east when I stood up, I saw a deer standing on the field edge at about 100 yards. Once I put my binoculars on him I could see it was Splits! I grabbed my bow and got ready. He had his head to the ground and was headed my way. It seemed to be the longest 100 yards I have ever had to wait for a deer to travel. He was coming in on a string, I still couldn’t believe he was almost in range! At this time he only had another five or so yards to go for a good broadside shot at ten yards. Just as I came to full draw, an unseen buck in the spruce grunted, stopping Splits at about fifteen yards and still slightly quartering to me. The wind was going to bust me at any moment so I settled my pin and waited for him to turn or take a few more steps, but nothing. He just stood there frozen looking away from me in the direction of that other buck. I decided at that range, and him concentrated on the other deer, I would slip my arrow in front of his shoulder to get into his vitals. With the wind toying on disaster, I settled my pin once again and let fly watching my green nocturnal bury into his chest. He ran out into the field fifty to sixty yards and tipped over. In just moments it was all over. After he tipped over in the field, I knew I just accomplished a long time goal. I had an uncontrollable amount of emotions that I hadn’t felt in years.

After calming down enough to be able to use my phone I tried calling my brother Tyler but there was no answer. So down the list I went and called my good buddy Adrian. He didn’t even say hello, just a, “Are you frickin kidding me?” I still could hardly speak a word. Adrian just got a bunch of blubbering rambling mess.

He was out of his tree stand and in route before I could tell him to finish his hunt. With a missed call from Tyler, I called him back and was able to talk to him this time. Leaving the in-laws family gathering, he too was in route.

Those boys will drop anything they are doing to come help, no matter what is going on.

Once my wife was done work I called her and asked her to go home and get our daughter, my Mom and meet me in the field. In no time they were all there anxious to see this deer. I somehow waited for them all to show up before putting my hands on him for the first time. It was a truly amazing feeling to walk up and grab a deer that I had so much history with and to be able to share that moment with two great hunt-

ing buds and my family, was icing on the cake. We took tons of photos before loading him up and headed for home where a few more good friends were waiting. The evening was full of a few drinks in the shop, telling the story of how it all went down and of course guessing the score and running the tape. I will never forget that night, one that a bow hunter dreams of.

I believe everything happens for a reason. All the screw ups on deer or busted attempts all led up to the most unbelievable moment I’ve had in hunting gear. A huge thanks to the two land owners that allow me to hunt on their land year after year. My wife Brittanie, for putting up with me being gone all the time hunting or anything that involves the outdoors. My Mom, for watching my daughter Makaila so this hunt was even possible. To Tyler and Adrian, who make our hunting trips a blast whether it is up North, in sheep country, or just hunting at home. It’s great to have a couple of friends like those two to have as hunting buds to count on for good times. To many more great times in the woods. Last but not least a big thank you to Chad Wilkinson for contacting me to be a part of this magazine.

When people dream of hunting Saskatchewan whitetails, they inevitably picture a massive, dark horned specimen like the buck Trevor Bergen took in 2015. The buck has everything that a central Saskatchewan giant should, including amazing color, and over 49” of mass! The final gross score on Trevor’s buck was 196 7/8”, with a net of 191”

“As we made our way up to the buck he just kept getting bigger and bigger.

ANY GIVEN SATURDAY BY: TREVOR BERGEN

Lifting his antlers out of the soft snow is a memory I will never forget...�

B

efore I was old enough to hunt I would always tag along with my Dad every chance I could get. I vividly remember one evening when I was about 8 years old, just as light was starting to fade we caught a glimpse of a truly giant whitetail buck. This deer had everything; height, mass, and plenty of width. Like a ghost, the buck faded onto posted property. That monster buck’s image was permanently etched into my memory and in the years to follow I would often find myself daydreaming of finding another deer like that.

Shed hunting in the spring of 2015 did little to help in locating a big deer to target. It was clear that I would have my work cut out for me to find a deer that I would be happy to hang my tag on. The summer was spent setting out trail cameras and scouting for mule deer. Several nice whitetails frequently appeared on trail cameras but nothing that I was interested in focusing my efforts on. Summer scouting for mule deer turned up a number of very nice bucks. These mule deer received the majority of my attention throughout archery season while whitetails were temporarily put on the back burner.

The first weekend of archery season was spent chasing mule deer around home with my brother Brad. On Saturday morning, we spotted a group of three bucks slipping along the edge of a large slough bottom. It appeared that the deer were intent on bedding in the long cattails and, after a few minutes behind the spotting scope, their antlers disappeared. The morning was dead calm and we knew there was no chance of sneaking the deer. Winds were forecasted to pick up later in the day so we packed up and planned to return later in the day. After regrouping at home the wind was gusting enough that we felt we could close the distance on the bedded bucks. A short time later Brad and I were well within bow range. Just as we were settling in for what could be a long wait, I felt the wind shift to the back of my neck. The bucks knew something was wrong and quickly left for safer pastures.

The rest of archery season went much the same. Almost every day we would find the group of bucks we were focused on but something always seemed to go wrong. One morning late

in the season, I was able to follow the bucks as they moved from their feeding area to their beds. With the largest of the bucks thrashing a small tree, I made it to within 30 yards as they slowly made their way through a patch of buckbrush. It was the perfect setup. The wind was consistent, right in my face and I had shooting lanes in every direction the buck could take out of the brush. As the big deer began to move, he went behind a small bluff and I prepared for a shot. Once again I felt the wind on the back of my neck and with it went the end of my archery mule deer season.

The archery season felt like it was over before it ever really started. We still had not found any whitetail bucks that we wanted to chase in the rifle season and hoped that with the approaching rut some new deer would begin to show up at our cameras. With rifle season approaching quickly we were pleased to find that a couple of good, but certainly not huge, bucks had begun to frequent our stand sites. One buck in particular interested me and I decided to spend opening morning in his area hoping to get a chance with my bow. Brad chose to sit another stand a couple miles away. Despite perfect cold conditions and the rut seemingly in full swing, movement was extremely slow so we decided to switch things up and search some other areas that afternoon. Sightings continued to be few and far between for the rest of the weekend and I found myself having to head back to school with my tag still in my pocket.

On November 24th, I was sitting in class when I got a text from Dad, “Almost got a buck this morning. He’s good, between 150 and 160.” Hearing this only made my classes go by slower than normal. Friday afternoon I quickly packed up and headed home for what would be the last weekend of the season.

Saturday morning dawned calm and clear. Brad and Dad decided to go look for the buck Dad had seen earlier in the week while I planned to go to a different area where I had heard a decent buck had been spotted in during the summer.

Right away I spotted a small buck with his nose to the ground running from bluff to bluff. This buck was clearly on a mission to find a hot doe that must have passed through there earlier. I watched him for a few minutes just to see if anything else would turn up. It appeared there were no other deer around so I continued on.

Over the next hour I saw several other small bucks and a handful of does but I could not stop thinking that there had to be something else around where that first buck was. I decided to work my way back there before heading home for breakfast.

As I approached the bush I had last seen the small buck go into, I couldn’t help but hope that it would be a great hide out for a big buck.

I slowly circled the small bush which was mostly slough bottom with willows around the edge. Suddenly, the small buck from earlier came out the far end of

the bush followed quickly by a doe and Jesse Bergen from Vivid Taxidermy did an incredanother buck. Not sure what this second buck was, I grabbed my binoculars to take ible job bringing Trevor’s buck back to life. a closer look. There was no doubt in my mind, and I instantly knew this was a great buck and definitely a shooter. Before I could get a shot off the big buck and his two companions disappeared over a hill. I was confident that I knew where the buck was headed and that I could follow their tracks to eventually catch up to the group but it did not take long before they were lost in a maze of other deer tracks.

I texted Brad and Dad that I had found a good buck but was not sure where he was now. They showed up and we searched, but we were unsuccessful in relocating the big buck. We decided to head home for some breakfast and to come up with a new game plan. Dad had other commitments but suggested that Brad and I should focus on a string of hills and bush not far from where I had lost the tracks. We decided that I would sneak through the area while Brad would watch from a couple hundred yards away to make sure the big buck could not slip away unnoticed. We thought that the fresh snow on the ground would make sneaking up on the buck possible since walking was relatively quiet.

As I worked my way along the first hill I bumped into a small group of mule deer does and fawns. The deer seemed unconcerned and wandered off. I continued on, checking each pocket of bush that the deer might be bedded in. I was having doubts that any more deer were in the area as I headed toward the last bush when I suddenly spotted 2 deer coming across the field to the east. Instantly, I recognized the back the field 350 yards in front of him, but seeing that the buck was deer as the buck I had seen earlier that morning. I watched coming right to me he elected not to shoot. This couldn’t have as the deer continued in my direction before entering a small been an easy decision, but he knew that it was the right one bush about 150 yards from the small ridge I was on. It did not and I’m sure glad he did. As we made our way up to the buck take long and the doe materialized out of the bush, intent on he just kept getting bigger and bigger. Lifting his antlers out of moving into another bush below me. Judging by how the buck the soft snow is a memory I will never forget and we were both had been dogging the doe I knew that he would soon follow amazed at the mass and width of the buck. A short time later and hopefully give me a shot. Right on cue the buck emerged dad showed up to check out the deer. Needless to say we were from the bush on a quick trot trying to catch up to the doe. all impressed.

Before crossing the fenceline the buck stopped, offering me a That evening we put a tape to the antlers. With over 49 broadside shot at just 125 yards. At the crack of the rifle the inches in mass the gross non-typical score was 196 7/8 inchbuck hunched up and disappeared into the bush. Knowing I es! Netting just under 191” my buck narrowly misses Boone & had hit the deer, but unsure of the shot I quickly slipped down Crockett but that makes no difference to me as this is truly the to the edge of the bush. A quick finishing shot and the buck deer of a lifetime! My only wish is that I could know where this was down for good! incredible buck had lived his life and avoided hunters for so I waited on the edge of the field as Brad made his way over. long in a high pressure area.

He informed me that he had watched the buck and doe cross

GHOST BY: CALVIN MARTIN

Calvin Martin with his buck of a lifetime that he killed on land owned by family, making the trophy even more memorable. This true Alberta giant scored 193” and was scouted and hunted in the Wainwright area in the fall of 2015. Calvin is a 20 year old hunter who has had whitetail and mule deer hunting engraved into his blood early on in life while tagging along with his dad and extended family on their many scouting and hunting trips.

The buck the “Ghost” is a special trophy for the whole Martin family.

A

s the 2015 hunting draw results came out, I was extremely excited to hear that I had finally been drawn for my rifle mule deer tag! It had been a long five year wait and I was not going to let it go to waste. After spending countless hours spotting, and scrolling through thousands of trail camera pictures, I narrowed my sights to a handful of nice, mature bucks that I would have no problem taking if we crossed paths. However, none of them were the beast that I had heard about hanging around the area. There were sightings, but they were limited. Rumors of a monster buck were spread by neighboring landowners but it was like hunting a ghost. “Is he even still alive, is he as big as everyone thought, or am I hunting a deer from other people’s imaginations?” I often wondered. I focused all my efforts on finding him, but after six months of spotting with hundreds of hours in the field, and with 12 trail cameras with over 15000 pictures, I had no luck even getting a glimpse of the elusive monster. With opening day of archery season just around the corner, I started accepting the fact that I would probably never see the deer.

Archery season carried on with many encounters with respectable deer but no luck to fill my tag. In the final week of archery season, early in the afternoon on my way to one of my hunting spots, I came around a bend in the trail and there, only a 100 yards away, stood a beautiful mature 30” wide typical mule buck! I instantly recognized him and one that I had pictures of all summer long. I watched him graze over the ridge with no way to put a stalk on without getting busted. Once the buck disappeared from sight I snuck up to the ridge to get another glimpse of him, only to find he had vanished into thin air, never to be seen again!

My hunting partner and I had now put in two months of hard work and archery season was coming to a close with no luck in filling my draw mule buck tag. We had many close encounters and nearly filled our tags a few times. It seemed there was always trees in the way of our shot, too many does or cows between us and our target, or a bugling bull in the distance to

draw the animal’s attention away from us. The result was that we still had nothing to put a tag on. No matter what we did it seemed that nothing was in our favor.

Opening morning of rifle season rolled around and started off fairly slow, with limited sightings of any wildlife. On the second day of the season I found myself at work just wishing to be out hunting. Fortunately, I was able to sneak away from work early and make it out for the final two hours of light.

Within 20 minutes, I found myself only 50 yards away from a beautiful 5x5 buck! After watching the buck for over an hour until nightfall, I decided to let him pass. Although he was a 180 class and very respectable deer, he was still fairly young without a lot of mass and lots of potential. The next couple of weeks passed with many encounters with nice young bucks but no luck with the big mature bucks I was focusing on.

On November 14th, the weather was overcast with a mild south-west wind and the temperature was way above normal for the time of year. There was not a trace of snow on the ground. With the direction of the wind, I planned to focus on the east side of two sections where there had been a lot of mule deer activity lately. I walked up and down tree and fence lines hoping to come across a big mature mule buck, but nothing was happening. I spotted a handful of does and a small whitetail buck, but that was it.

For the final hour of daylight I decide to sit on the edge of the tree line leading toward a hay field. The sun was starting to set and light was diminishing rapidly. With only 30 minutes of daylight remaining, I could hear branches cracking and the thrashing of a buck raking his antlers on the brush. Immediately, I circled around to a little opening in the timber.

It was a dried up slough bot-

tom and up over the horizon into the hay field my adrenaline and excitement started to turn to disappointment. In the dying minutes of daylight, just when I was starting to accept the fact that nothing else was going to exit the shadows of the brush, a hot doe came running out of the deadfall and willows. Then right on her trail, there he was! "The Ghost", in all his glory. I knew it was him, the buck that dreams are made of. He had a wicked drop tine and stickers going every direction. Best of all, the doe was leading him right towards me! As the distance between us narrowed, my heart rate elevated and the adrenaline started to rush in. With tunnel vision and excitement setting in, he stopped broadside at 40 yards. With a perfectly placed shot, the Remington .280 dropped him right where he stood. He laid motionless as I waited for what felt like an eternity to make sure he had expired. As I approached, every step felt like a mile until at last I was able to lay my hands on this true monarch for the first time.

All the hard work and determination finally paid off. Still to this day, when I return to that very spot it sends chills through my body. Memories flood back of that day everything fell together perfectly, a day I will never forget.

2012

BIG COU

Wacey Arthur of Whitecourt, Alberta with the tremendous buck he took in that province in 2015. The heavy antlered deer lived in big bush country full of wolves and cougars but still survived to maturity. The total inches of bone on Wacey’s buck are 164 5/8” with a net typical score of 150 4/8”. Wacey is part of a group of dedicated hunters in Alberta documenting their hunts through film. Follow their adventures on Facebook and Instagram by following Full Draw Life.

UNTRY Hamilton Greenwood Photo

BY: WACEY ARTHUR

I

t all started in 2014 when I had loaded up half a dozen trail cams and went into no-mans land, looking for some good whitetails. I run my cameras all summer and got some pics of some half decent bucks, one blurry pic of a deer with a busted main beam in full velvet. He had a good frame or what was left of it. Seeing as he was busted up I opted to not pursue him and set my sights on a few other target bucks I had on camera in different areas. Early summer had rolled around in 2015 and I decided to head back up into nomans land looking for a possible target for 2015. With cams out I got one pic of the deer that had been busted up the year before and he was super clean and in one piece this year.

I was a little worried about the deer survival rate in this part of the country for the fact that I was always getting wolves and cats on cam and there wasn't many other deer around. Later that night I made a call to my good buddy Cole O’neil and was telling him about the busted buck and how he was a survival expert living up in the bush in this big country. Cole replied back that's his name right there, "Big Country". As the summer drew on I stayed out of the area where Big Country would come

through and only pulled my cards once a month. He wasn't consistent on his travel times and I guessed part of the reason was the wolf pressure in the area. September had come and gone and I kept waiting for the right time to move in and hang a set on the old boy but knowing he wasn't a buck that could be patterned I chose to wait to the end of October/beginning of November when the pre rut would be kicking in full swing and the deer are really scraping hard and locking down their core area. October 27, 2015 was a day with high winds and according to the forecast would die off by late afternoon, I loaded up the Grizzly with a hang on and went into were I figured Big Country was bedded. As I walked in, I found a scrape the size of a car hood and it had big four finger tracks in it so I new a big deer had been working it. So with high winds gusting, I hung my set 18 pegs high grabbed my gear and settled in the stand by 3:30. By 5 the winds had died down, by 5:30 I grabbed my grunt call and did a series of chasing grunts and a couple tending grunts, ten minutes later I could see a deer body and one main beam working a scrape about 80 yards away. It took him about 15 minutes to work his way over to the scrape I was sitting over. I watched him blow the scrape out below me for a few minutes and as he was leaving he skirted my stand at about 20 yards. I came to full draw and, as he passed between two poplars he stopped, I let fly and he went 40 yards and piled up. I sat down and made my phone calls to all the boys and my wife telling them Big Country was done. I couldn’t believe it I scouted this deer for the better part of two years moved in on the right day hung my stand at 3 and killed him just after six and my whitetail season was over. I called my hunting partner Scott

www.saskbowhunters.ca

Carstairs to bring Big Red. We have work to do! We got him all loaded up and fought the dense bush for over a hour to get him out. It cost Scotty a rear end in Big Red and me a rear end in

the grizzly, but wouldn't have it any other way. There are good hunting opportunities in the back country you just have to go looking for it.

Once in a Life Father &Son:

etime

BY: ERIC & KYLE DEW

Eric (top) and Kyle Dew accomplished something that is very rare in the whitetail world.

The father and son both took trophy class bucks on the same day! Eric had the top buck in the house for a total of 6 hours before his son Kyle topped his later that day. The Ohio bucks came in with gross scores of 140� and 174 6/8�.

D

ecember 4 is a day that will forever be etched in our minds because of the incredible hunt we shared, it truly was a once in a lifetime hunt.

Eric: We had found a solid buck on our trail cameras, and I had decided that he was the buck I was going to go all in after. I had missed a big wide, tall eight pointer earlier in the year with my bow but all that did was reaffirm my commitment to the hunt. Thanks to some dedicated scouting, we had my target buck narrowed down to a short window and he would come through from 8:30 am to 9:00 am almost every day it seemed.

There was still a few days of archery season before our Ohio gun week came in, and I was in the stand trying to get him with my bow. On two different occasions I was within 25 yards of him and had no shot at him. In fact the second time I had him in range I had to watch him for over 30 minutes, eating on old apples that had fallen from the tree, with no shot! When the week of gun season came in for us here in Ohio, I was determined to go after the buck. We had named him "ReDew".

Opening morning found us sitting on the ground, waiting for him to come through. Monday was uneventful, with only a few sightings of does and one small buck. Tuesday was about the same. We were seeing deer but just not the one I was really wanting to see! Wednesday morning came and we were back at it. I kept tabs on the wind because it seemed to always change around 8:30 each day. Sure enough, the change happened so I made sure the wind remained in my favor where I was sitting. At 8:42am I caught movement coming in from the field behind me. Instantly I recognized him and realized that he had been across the road, but was now going down the hollow away from me. So I decided to try and give him a grunt to see if he would at least start to change his course he was on. It worked! He instantly spun around and came in as though on a rope. I let him come as my heartbeat pounded in my ears. One well-placed shot and ReDew was on the ground!

Kyle: I had finals that I had to finish at college and didn’t get to go hunting December 4th morning.

Sitting, taking my tests, all I could think about was my Dad at home hunting. I was very happy when I got the text from Dad that ReDew was on the ground, and even more excited for my hunt! After finishing my finals and hurrying home, I called Dad to see where he was. He said to go down on a point we know where two big

hollows come together and get in there. “Its real thick, but find a spot and get in it,” he said. I didn’t waste another second and rifled through my gear, throwing on what I needed to hunt as fast as I could. All that I could find quickly was my bow hunting gear, shotgun and a pair of trail shoes. Not the ideal hunting gear for where we were hunting, but dad said to get there fast. So I took off and got to the spot where dad said to get. It was thick and I found a spot on the point where the two hollows came together. As I got settled in, I remember my dad saying, “Don’t set on the four wheeler path, if you do any deer coming down the trail will see you before they get too close.”

So I found a group of cedars and got ready. My furthest shot was going to be maybe 30 to 40 yards. As I sat there hearing every stick break, I saw a doe coming at me from the left hollow and another deer behind her! It was too thick to tell what it was but I thought I saw antlers. I kept trying to find an open-

ing to shoot and still try to see what was behind her. They pretty much circled me before I could find an opening and even tell what it was behind the doe. Then I caught a glimpse and it was the unmistakable frame of wide horns and a big body! I shot the first time and the buck just stopped in his tracks. The buck stood still like nothing had happened so I shot a second time and this time I knew I hit him good! Still he didn’t run away very quickly so I quickly followed up with a third shot.

Looking back, it was unbelievable to know that I had actually hit him the first time! I had never seen a deer just take a 12 gauge slug at close range and stand there like he did. Still not 100% sure what he was, I walked down to him. As I got closer,

I absolutely could not believe what I was seeing! He was a true Ohio giant of a whitetail. The story came out that we had others in our hunting club that had a few sightings and pictures of him and they had called him Mongrel. I ended up calling him the Mongrel Monster, because he is. He came to rest at 4:20pm. As I stood there it began to sink it and I thought to myself, “Two bucks down on the same day, father and son!” To top it all off the first person to walk through the woods to me was my Dad. I looked over at him and said, “I shot a monster.”

He just smiled, and then the hugs and tears started to stream down our faces, a once in a lifetime moment between a father and his son!

“A man can leave nature, but

HIGH HOPES in the

LOWLANDS Chasing dreams and moose in the foothills of Alberta.

BY: JON BEHUNIAK

David Stojan of Grande Prairie, Alberta with the result of years of hard work, a 1000 pound Alberta moose taken in the Alberta wilderness on a hunt with friends in 2015.

nature will never leave man.�

“C

heck out this deadhead we found today” Dave exclaimed as he handed me his phone. A moment of confusion trifled in my head as I gazed at the

screen…

As hunters we try to connect with anything we do or learn, this means understanding ourselves and our environment to the fullest. The summer of 2015 found myself and three friends, David Stojan, Mark Shannon and Sean Kaytor high on an alpine ridge. David Stojan brought us there, the plan was to search for a type of quartz crystal. We were very successful in our rock hounding mission and came back with heavy packs.

But more importantly we came back with a plan. The plan was to come back into the area that fall and archery hunt the foothill dwelling moose that call the remote low valleys home.

Last season, Mark and Dave spent a week chasing those dastardly cantankerous beasts. Only to have a monster slip out of their grasp on the last day. Hunting can be unpredictable and it left Dave swimming in emotions. He had never taken a moose before and to have a giant slip away is heartbreaking, but they didn’t come home empty handed from that trip. Friendship and a love for chasing the golden paddled bog camels was instilled in them.

As summer faded to fall, the unmistakable sounds of elk bugles rippled through the trembling aspen leaves. The four of us chased the hoarse bugles with archery tackle in hand. I took a meat bull on day two and we had numerous other hair raising encounters with ivory tipped herd bulls, but all ended and we switched our focus to moose.

Mark had dozens of photos on trail cameras. All showed GIANT MOOSE! Just what we hoped for. But as lady luck dealt us our cards we began to see it wasn’t going to be a royal flush.

The skies opened the week before our hunt and the goat trail into our remote camp was washed out! “Great! Now what?” we wondered aloud. Working and growing up in the area is more than just a pleasure, it’s a gift. I soon located a secondary camping site and made plans with the guys. We all had hunted close to the new area before and were ecstatic to test the waters for moose.

Sliding my way down the logging road, grinning ear to ear I raced to the new spot. I was a little worried the picture perfect

camping spot would be taken by other hunters already. Boy was I happy to find an empty spot with a stack of cut firewood! Post haste I had everything neatly tossed out of my truck and waited for Sean and Dave to help with the tent.

The guys came skidding in and it was like an old fashioned barn raising. Basically, we put up the Hilton, except with spruce bough beds.

The alarm clock was followed by the smell of dark coffee, so strong it could wake the dead. We eyed up an old logging road with numerous tracks the night before, and at first light we headed in. The sign was abundant as we trudged down the old road, but after ten kilometers of walking and calling we came out empty handed.

After a quick lunch and more volcanic coffee we headed out in a slightly different area.

The wind was blowing like a steam engine and I knew calling would be difficult. After a good session of cow calls I waited in the windy sunset. I daydreamed about paddles like gold, but I wasn’t dreaming! A 50” bull was standing in the glowing sun.

The bull and I danced around, him swaying his paddles and me swaying my plywood paddle grunt for grunt. But as the wind shifted the gig was up and the bull trotted away into the creek valley. Sean was at full draw a mere 57 yards away but let him walk due to the wind.

We slept with high hopes that night. The roar of the wind and tantalizing smell of coffee filled the tent early. Before I fully awoke we were five kilometers down the old road with another 50” bull giving throaty grunts in the dark timber. I was set on being the caller and Sean and I slipped up to the bull. He wouldn’t commit and he disappeared into the seemingly enchanted forest. I went back and met up with David, who was waiting on the old road. As soon as I got there the mountain sized moose walked out onto the old road! Me and Dave played cat and mouse with him and Dave even drew on the bull at 30 yards! But the sly muskeg monster bobbed and weaved his way out of range and out of our lives.

We all relished that morning, we ended up having three bulls calling and had two within eyesight. Even though we didn’t release an arrow, that day made the trip a success. That night the cherry whiskey fueled lies flowed like a river and the gourmet elk hotdogs filled our gullets to the brim. Visions of swaying paddles toyed with our dreams as we slept.

The action slowed the next few days as we put the miles on our boots. The thundering purr of a diesel

rumbled into camp one afternoon as we made lunch. Mark had finally slipped away from the grindstone and made it to camp!

We quickly filled him in on the action and the inaugural homemade cherry whiskey shot. A quick evening hunt behind camp was uneventful.

Dawn cracked like a bullwhip as we scurried out of camp.

Mark and I blazed down the old road into the pastel sunrise.

We did our best to mimic a moose brothel but nothing was interested in our efforts. Nearing the truck on the walk out, I jokingly grunted quite loud, Mark grunted back in return and the giant moose standing behind my truck grunted back at him! We watched the bewildered beast gallivant down the main road and into the dark timbers. Defeated, we limped our way back to camp.

A man can leave nature, but nature will never leave man. A grey jay bobbed back and forth, looking for his chance at lunch. They had been a friendly visitor at camp since we arrived.

Basically miniature grizzly bears with wings, they sniffed out any food left open.

We decided to switch things up for the evening hunt. Mark and David wanted to check out an area we had been overlooking close to the cutblocks we hunted the first day. Sean and I would head off down the old road we’ve become so familiar with. The old road provided some action.

We encountered a tree thrashing mystery bull, but no matter our efforts, he wouldn’t come into view.

Feeling more and more defeated and legs deflated, but still with high hopes, we made our way back to camp. Eager to feed the waiting swarm of grey jays I prepped

dinner. The sound of Mark’s diesel sparked little interest when they pulled in shortly after us.

The swarm of grey jays scattered as Dave strolled up to the fire pit. “Check out this deadhead we found today” Dave exclaimed as he handed me his phone. A moment of confusion trifled in my head as I gazed at the screen… It took me a second to realize what exactly I was looking at. THEY DID IT! The photo was Dave sitting by an ENORMOUS BULL! The dozens of miles of walking and countless hours of sitting had paid off. Sean and I sat in awe as they told us they’re adventure.

Parking on the edge of the main road they loaded packs and headed into the unknown. This was no yellow brick road, deadfall and creeks crisscrossed the old trail in the moss laden forest. Soon they broke out into some stunning cutblocks.

Thick carpets of evergreens lay in the lowland riparian valleys

below. The perfect place for a jumbo-jet sized member of the deer family to hide. With the sun at their backs Mark called. Mimicking the most beautiful cow moose in the woods, hoping a willing bull was listening to him plead. After a few minutes it became obvious there was a popping noise coming from the low area below them. “Gurph, Gurph, Gurph” Mark and Dave listened intently and they soon realized it was a grunting bull moving closer and closer! Pulses quickened when the bull broke out of the timber. The mesmerizing paddles catching the evening sun. They’re eyes widened as they realized this was no little bull, in fact it was a GAINT BULL! The lumbering beast toyed with them as he stayed just out of bow range. Moving through the cutblock with effortless strides the bull started making his way back to the timber. Seemingly satisfied that no whoopee was taking place.

Mark acted without hesitation and whispered sweet nothings into the bull’s ears. With his interest aroused the behemoth bull gladly closed the distance to his future lover. Dave was ready, arrow nocked, wind in the face. The black mass was locked on Mark, grunting with every step.

Like an arena the grunts seemed to echo though the open cutblock bouncing off the forested valleys surrounding them. The range finder read 23 yards just before Dave drew his bow, the bull still unaware of his presence paused briefly. At the release of the arrow hooves pounded like thunder as the bull took off on a dead run. Thankfully running uphill, he disappeared behind a slight rise then all went quiet. Certain of his shot Dave made his way to Mark. It didn’t take them long to see golden paddles sticking up over the hill, he didn’t make it more than 70 yards before succumbing to the double lung shot. The sun etched its last few golden rays of the day as the successful duo began the walk out.

Spirits soared back at camp as we trifled with stuff for the extraction. We used a side by side ATV to get back to the moose in the dark. The trail wasn’t as “perfect” as Mark and Dave exclaimed, and after admiring the sheer size of the beast it was soon painfully obvious that dragging the 1000 pound monarch wouldn’t be much success. With it being nearly freezing at night we opted to field dress and leave him for the morn-

ing. I was confident but still leery of the dozens of grizzlies that call these valleys home.

I’m nearly certain Dave didn’t sleep a wink that night and at the crack of dawn he was up and waiting on us.

Thankfully, no grizzly had claimed the moose as his own that night and we began the job of breaking the moose down for transport.

Not a day goes by that I don’t look back at that trip and reminisce on what we learned and experienced.

Ever thankful for the opportunities I have been given and the people I have met along the way. As I write this David is undergoing his first treatment of chemo therapy for colon cancer. He is strong, optimistic and willing to fight. Last summer, climbing that ridiculously steep mountain David was nearly a kilometer ahead of us, showing no mercy to the burning legs that slowed the rest of us down. Days before being diagnosed he was out lifting hay bales helping deer through the winter. I look forward to searching steep river banks for dinosaur bones or fields for ancient spear and arrowheads with him again. And maybe next time he can help pack out my moose!

On May 23rd, 2016, David Stojan lost his battle with cancer. A terrible loss felt by many, David will be forever missed. His positive attitude and accepting nature stayed with him until the end, a trait of a true warrior.

David Louis Stojan, April 25 1988-May 23 2016

STUMPED BY: KAARE GUNDERSON

Stumped. That’s the best adjective I could use to describe myself when it comes to describing how I feel in relation to this very column. Stumped indeed I am. What’s a guy to write about anyways? I could try and write some informational “how to” article I guess, but I grew sick and tired of reading those years ago as all they seemed to be were regurgitated pieces in different form, from different people. Same story, different day so to speak. If I don’t want to read one of those, I sure in the heck don’t want to write one.

Secrecy. I guess that’s the word I will touch on next. Is it just me or has hunting gotten to the point where a huge percentage of people go about their season slinking around in secrecy? I’m not talking about the shady character who sneaks onto someone’s property to steal a trail camera either. I mean the guy that hides everything he is doing or finding in the deer woods, even from those closest to them. Even though I understand why it has gotten to that point, I confess, it does not sound that fun to me. It’s like scoring the overtime winner and having nobody in the stands to watch it happen.

Barnacle. Deadhead. Freeloader. It doesn’t matter what word comes next they are all the same and I strongly suspect they are greatly contributing to secrecy. Chances are good that you, and I, know someone who has been burned by that barnacle, not literally of course but in a way that has led them to keep all that they do in regards to hunting to themselves. And that stinks! It stinks for anyone who could be privilege to hearing about that buck they are chasing, seeing a trail cam picture, or hearing about and seeing the results of a successful hunt. Those are the things after all that build bonds between people and cement

relationships. They also make this magazine possible.

I believe I was quite likely ahead of many in that I can remember being “online”, somewhere back around the turn of this new millennium that was going to spell the end for all of us. Sitting in a dumpy house trailer we were renting, I’d connect via that screechy old dial up connection and snoop around the web trying to learn as much as I could about hunting whitetailed deer. It was here where I would find these crazy things called discussion forums and message boards and while it may be hard to understand for the more modernized internet users, it was in these places, thanks to other users, that I gained much hunting based knowledge. But thanks to the barnacle, these same places, though still around in many cases, look nothing like they once did. It is rare that anyone would share a trail camera photo anymore and successful hunt stories and photos, they are hardly less rare than a hen’s tooth and that’s too bad.

I think that’s a shame, for the really was much to be learned in these places and in hunting, much like everything, learning makes you better. Yeah, Yeah, I know, I have heard that there are all kinds of Facebook groups and Instagram is pretty damn good for sharing photos, but I am not convinced they have made comraderie better. In fact, I think that maybe they have helped add to the number of those stuck in the rut of secrecy due to a freeloader or two. So in direct defiance of secrecy and the freeloader, that’s where my column will go, to sharing pretty much everything about this ensuing season. Well pretty much everything, for finite details, such as when, where and why I will cut a leg off of my long underwear at some point in time can go without saying. Those who have done such a thing, already know why.

So in the spirit of being willing to share. Back in January I stumbled on a terrific set of shed antlers, 177” without a spread kind of terrific. I had even found the left side off that deer back in 2015 but until this January all I knew about that deer was where he’d shed his left antler the year before. Today, all I know, is where he dropped antlers the past two Januarys so I definitely will not be concentrating on finding and hunting him. I know deer, and I know winter so I know he could live 5 miles away, or even more. Though finding shed antlers can be a great clue as to the whereabouts of a buck, it can also lead you on a wild goose chase in which you never catch up. I’ve definitely been on both sides of that coin flip over the years. Realistically, that set of sheds is less intriguing to me than another set from

from this winter that is in my house right now. It’s a big main frame 4x4 with a split g2 and I figure he is at least 10” bigger than I would have guessed by the trail camera shots I got of him last year. What’s most exciting about him is how much he is putting on from year to year. It’s awesome watching bucks grow but it’s even more special when you see them add inches in a hurry.

So here I am, it’s mid-April as I type and shed antlers are still on my mind. Winter, hockey and big fat northern pike kind of shut my search down for a couple months but I am anxiously chomping at the bit for the snow in the timber to melt so I can get back out there, treasure hunting for the antlers from any buck that survived at least up until the point in time his weapons fell from his head. “Where do you find them?”, I am often asked. Besides the obvious feeding areas, I just look for places that appear “sheddy”. That word is tough to describe, but you’ll know it when you find it and it’s often found on south facing

slopes, in grassy edge areas or in stuff so thick that you almost have to crawl through it. “Sheddy”, the word itself almost sounds exactly like another word you could use to describe what you’ll often notice about these areas. If there are numbers of deer concentrating, they are leaving lots on the ground.

Outside of the obvious shed hunting, this time of year, spring is kind of a dead time for me in relation to hunting. I do what I have to in regards to salt licks in preparation for trail cameras later on in the summer. “What is that exactly?” some may wonder, and truthfully, it’s not much. A grass whip is often involved as is some form of game attractant, for me it’s generally salt, and in rare cases, a pruner will make that trip as well. Once those jobs are complete I go back to fishing until a few weeks after we have enjoyed our longest day of the year and the days begin to get shorter again. Bears have a tendency to chew on my trail cameras so I don’t have any desire to run that risk in hopes that I can get some photos of a bachelor group of bucks with nothing but unidentifiable stumps on their head. By mid-July, I know the bucks will be identifiable and I will become consumed with attempting to learn who has survived and my aa battery charger will be once again working overtime. In the fall issue, you’re bound to see a trail camera image or two of such bucks and in the fall if things go well, a dead one, or even two.

In regards to the trail cameras, they will all be cable locked on unfortunately. Indeed I am still bent out of shape over the camera in which was stolen last year and hope the person responsible at least one day recognizes and acknowledges his contribution to this fine sport. Secrecy, suddenly I am thinking about it again, but I’ll rise above and in the next issue, I’ll keep sharing my season, if anyone actually cares.

"LUCK IS CREATED

Hardwork Preparation" by

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BY: CHRIS FISCHVOGT

015 turned out to be the year of many “firsts” for me. It also turned out to be one of the best hunting years I have ever had. Not only was I fortunate to harvest a 177” drop tine buck but my daughter, Autumn, harvested her first deer with me at her side! Then a few weeks later after my Dad tagged out on a big nine point buck, he took her hunting and she harvested a nice 8 pointer! 2015 also was the first year I started outfitting hunters here in my home area of Southern Indiana. A friend and I had talked about starting an outfitting business for a few years and decided to just pull the trigger and try it. Thus, Muscatatuck Whitetails LLC was born. In just a few short months advertising by word of mouth and a few small websites, we suddenly had 19 hunters booked to hunt with us. We couldn’t have asked for more! We were ecstatic, but also a little nervous.

Among our concerns were, did we have enough land, would our clients enjoy themselves, would they kill any deer, would they even see any deer?

We leased more properties and scouted them the best we could to give our hunters the best possible opportunity at good bucks. I started thinking about a place I had hunted a few years earlier that I knew held good deer.

I hadn’t seriously hunted it because there were several other hunters that hunted it pretty hard. I did, however, find a dead buck on the property during one of my hunts that had an 8” droptine of off one of its bases. I was shocked to find this buck because in 30 years of hunting this area I had never seen a droptine buck. One of my lifelong dreams has always been to harvest a buck with a drop tine!

I contacted the landowner and to make a long story short, I ended up leasing the property. This property was right behind the church that my family attends and is a pretty special place to my family. My Grandparents

Chris Fischvolt of Jennings County, Indiana had a year of ‘firsts’ in 2015. The highlights were the 177” whitetail he took, his first droptine buck ever, and even more exciting for him, when his daughter Autumn took her first ever whitetail with him by her side! The long flyer and droptine are very unique and give Chris’s buck a tremendous amount of character.

are buried in the church graveyard and the site will be my final resting place as well. My Dad was raised right across the road and had played in the creek on this farm when he was a boy. My Grandpa had taken an albino coon on this farm in the 1950s and this was long before there were any deer in this area. Grandpa considered the albino coon to be his trophy of a lifetime. Unbeknownst to Grandpa, his Grandson would harvest a trophy of a lifetime within a few hundred yards of where Grandpa’s greatest hunting achievement was taken and where Grandpa and Grandma are buried 60 years later!

I set up a few cameras on scrapes and my first card pull was unreal. I had several good bucks on cam and low and behold one of them was a droptine. “WOW!” was all I could say. The latest hunters to book were going to get a chance to hunt a great buck on this new hunting lease! I sent out the droptine’s picture to a couple friends of mine and we all agreed that the deer was in the neighborhood of 175” to 180”. It was a little bittersweet to me since the incoming hunters were going to get to hunt for this buck and I was not going to get to hunt him until their hunts were over, but my main goal was to get my hunters on good bucks and that’s what I was going to do. As it turned out, all three hunters I had booked for this property cancelled due to personal issues. My other hunters had already been down earlier in the summer and scouted and hung stands on other properties in the area and elected to hunt those places. I have got to say that was fine with me. I was finally going to get a chance at a droptine buck!

The first day I hunted the droptine buck was the morning of October 18th. Soon after daylight I heard a deep buck grunt about 100yds away. I grunted back and in came a young buck to investigate. I thought “Surely that wasn’t the same buck I

heard grunt?” What I heard sounded like a dominant buck. A few short minutes went by and the droptine buck appeared! I stood up and got my crossbow positioned for a shot. He was coming right to me and I couldn’t believe I was going to kill him the first time I hunted him! He stopped at 32 yards. “Plenty close enough for my Horton Storm RDX,” I thought, but the problem was he was quartering slightly to me. I was not going to take a shot like that and as so many other bucks had done through the years he simply walked off. I assumed this chance at him was probably the last I was going to get. Little did I know in the next month I would come to know this buck better than any other deer I had ever hunted. Now that I had seen this deer I was determined to get him! In Indiana it is legal to shine a spotlight to look at deer as long there is no weapon

present. I wanted to try and pinpoint this buck’s bedding area so my son Colton and daughter Autumn and I would go shining almost every night looking for him. We ended up shining him on four different occasions and every time he was with a hundred yards or so of this one thicket. I assumed that’s where he was bedding. Twice he was bedded a mere 20yds from a county road right by the church! He was so close to the road, that I was worried he would get poached, but luckily there were a lot of houses nearby which would hopefully deter any would be poachers.

I hunted a lot over the course of the next month, but didn’t see the buck again until Friday, November 13th. I was in my stand that morning and had just had a conversation with my wife on the phone and she said, “Be careful, today is Friday the 13th”. I said, “Yes I know, sure would be a good day to take the droptine buck!” It was only a half hour later when I looked down to my left where I had seen the droptine buck three weeks earlier and there he was again! I grunted and he was coming right to me. “All he has to do is step out into the edge of the fields and I have him”, I thought, but the big deer had other plans! He went behind me in some thick stuff and walked by me at 35 yards. I didn’t feel comfortable with the shot and once again he walked out of my life. I felt fortunate to see him but wondered if it was ever going to come together.

This was the day before the opening of Indiana’s gun season, and I had hunters coming in and needed to get them settled in and show them their spots so an evening hunt for me was probably not going to happen. The hunters arrived a little earlier than they were supposed to and I got them settled in earlier than I anticipated. I had a few hours left and figured I would go hunt a stand that I considered an observation stand, not ever expecting to see my dream buck. A half hour into the hunt he appeared 300yds away and coming straight to me. When he

was about 100 yards away, he turned and went into the woods.

At about 60 yards I grunted and he stopped. He wasn’t going to be fooled and he walked away for the third time! The next day I would have a rifle in my hand so I had high hopes.

Before the sun rose on opening day I was faced with a de-

ci cision. I was face to face with a really nice 150 class ten point, at seven yards! I never even thought about shooting him, and videoed him instead. I sent the video to a few friends who all agreed I was crazy! In the back of my mind I wondered if they were right. I hunted the deer every chance I could and finally on November 24th my opportunity came. I snuck in to a stand from the south, assuming the buck was probably bed-

ded in the thicket north of my stand. This was only the second time all season I had hunted this stand. The walk in was a long one, but it kept me hidden.

I didn’t see my first deer until 15 minutes before shooting time was up. As luck would have it, I heard a deer coming from the south. I figured there was no way it was the droptine, I did however say a prayer to God to PLEASE let this be the droptine buck! To my surprise, the droptine stepped out at 35 yards and he walked right in front of me!

I mouth grunted and stopped him at 30 yards and shot him right through the lungs. After running 100 yards the great buck fell! I couldn’t believe it was finally over and I had him.

135 hours in the tree stand and it finally all came together. I called my wife Brandi and told her what had just happened and thanked her for letting me spend so much time chasing my dreams. I then called my dad to help me get him out of the woods and then called a few friends who knew about the buck.

When I got to the buck, I just sat down on the ground and held him and cried. My dream of a droptine buck was finally a reality. The next day I called a good friend of mine who happens to be an Indiana Conservation Officer up and invited him out to the kill site and tell him the story. The day I harvested my buck was the 9th time I had seen him during the season.

I have no idea why he was so predictable and showed himself so often. He was unlike any deer I had ever hunted before. Despite the success of my hunt, the highlight of the season was experiencing my daughter Autumn harvesting her first deer. I told Autumn, “There will only ever be one first deer!” No matter how many big bucks a person harvests in their lifetime you will never harvest another “First” deer. Her smile back at me made it all worthwhile and is what it is all about.

BY: GORDON BUCKINGHAM

Gordon J. Buckingham from Colonsay, Saskatchewan with one of the top bucks from that province in 2015. The giant buck had a gross score of 218 3/8” and even after 14 6/8” in deductions still nets 203 5/8”!

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ike many hunting enthusiasts, I truly look forward to the many stories and adventures that fellow hunters have had in the pursuit of their harvest of big game animals.

Wildlife and hunting magazines all seem to deliver a similar message. It is your family and friends around you, with you, during the hunt that makes the enjoyment of our activities in the field all that much more enjoyable.

My early hunting was with my brother Bruce. My Dad, John, supplied a rifle and shotgun, and we would be on our way.

There were ducks, antelope and mule deer. Getting married paired me up with my father-in-law Tony, progressing into whitetail deer and moose. We have since included my son, brother in laws, some of their friends and a nephew. What is so special is that my father gave me his rifle, a bolt action .303 British that came home with him from basic training just as the Second World War was ending. The rifle that I use to this day, much to the dismay of my father in law. Every year it is always, “Bucky you need a bigger gun.” My response remains, “Tony, it’s wild meat in the deep freeze!”

Hunting in my home area and dumping six guys in the basement wasn’t popular with my wife Lori. “Don’t expect me to cook and clean for these guys, especially after big meals and late nights,” she explained to me. Despite the opposition, after 10 hours in the bush, we always found our way back to my basement, usually celebrating something. It never fails, when we get back to the house and open the door, the smell of the

food is incredible, thanks to Lori! A good meal, a few drinks and we are ready to go again the next day.

Our hunting group for many years has been my son Braden, my good friend Mike, nephew Landin, Merv and recently Robin, my son’s friend, and my current hunting partner. My son has decided to travel the world so Robin has joined our group. With close to 20 years hunting together, Mike and I often reflect on our preseason scouting more than the actual hunts. This is the tale of many hunters, old and young. We are all happy to get out there, happy to get a couple days off, happy to swap weeks with a co-worker and just happy to catch a breath of fresh air regardless of temperature. This one is for the weekenders, the ‘get out when you can’ guys and the ordinary ‘Gord’s’ like me.

In recent years, we moved our hunting base to an old farm house in Mike’s area and we have permission to hunt many different quarters of land in the immediate area. This year should have been like any other. Arrivals a couple days early, get the farm house set and heat on, begin to scout around and set the ground blind in a good spot. The plan is always similar, post up by an opening in the trees, sit in the wildlife lands and rattle, maybe spend time in the ground blind depending on the time of day. I wish I could say that I had trail cams set up and spotted the beauty I would eventually tag many times over the years, or had seen him at a distance, in the field while glassing.

If I said that, I would be lying.

The hunt started off poorly, I was really under the weather and wasn’t able to take my gear to the farm early. A work commitment had me two hours away from the farm right up until the end of work at 5:00pm, the day before hunting! I spent three days worried about a truck full of hunting gear in a hotel parking lot. Driving in the dark, watching for wildlife that may cross the road, gives you nothing but eye strain and white knuckles. Mike and Landin had put a fire on in the afternoon so I couldn’t wait to get there and settle into a nice warm evening. Finally, I got to the farm only to find out the fire was out! It was cold, took a half hour to start the generator in the dark, then get the fire going once again and truck unloaded before I can find my bed. Despite the setback, I was ready! The plan was for Mike and Landin to leave from town and my partner Robin to meet me at the farm early morning. “It can’t get any better than this,” I thought before falling asleep.

The first three days found us working our way around a number of familiar spots. There were some smaller bucks, a good number of does but nothing really rutting yet.

The good news was that my hunting partner and nephew had each taken a buck! Robin, his very first one, a smaller 5 x 6 with a big body and Landin a 150 class 7 x 5. Day four rolled around and we knew that it was now time for the two old guys to come through. The challenge has always been for bragging rights, all in good fun of course. Robin generously stayed an extra day, volunteering to be my spotter. When we post up on an opening in the tree line I said, “I’m happy to take a 150 class buck but believe me when I say the horns look much bigger in the scope!

When we see one, you glass him and let me know if I should take it or leave him to grow.” “It won’t be the first time that I have left my tags on the Christmas tree,” I thought to myself.

The first hour there were does, does and some more does with nothing following! We decided to change locations. Just as were getting back to the truck, shortly after 9:00am, my phone rang loudly, as I had forgotten to put it on vibrate. Mike was on his way out to see us and had spotted a nice 4 x 4 that had a doe corralled in a different spot! I had to leave later in the day for home so I knew this may be my last chance. This field is one we have hunted a number of times before with a small ravine and creek running through it with a very large area of trees at the end of the quarter. Often the deer will come across the quarter on their way to the bush. There are three or four spots they tend to go through into the bush so I posted between two of them. We spotted the 4 x 4 and doe, but they stayed on the far side of the ravine and disappeared into the bush. With it being early in the day, we decided to wait a bit and see if anything else crossed the field to the bush.

Within minutes, a doe entered the field on the far corner, with a buck hot on her tail! I don’t have the best eye sight, but luckily I had my spotter close. Unfortunately, he never said anything!

However, I immediately saw horns, without even using my scope and knew it was a mature buck that was good enough for me!

They came across the field at a diagonal, right towards us at a good pace! I got down on one knee and used the other as a rest for

my elbow. When I scoped him, they turned parallel to us and continued for the trees. “I haven’t made a running shot in over twenty years,” I thought to myself. Despite that, it was broadside shot and I had a number of opportunities and one of my bullets found its mark! It looked like he was going down until he looked at the doe again and followed her into the trees. We decided to wait a while in order to let me catch my breath and see if my hands would stop shaking and my heart would slow down! We walked over and found his tracks. The blood in the snow indicated a good hit, and it was a good trail that followed every breath and step to the trees. Robin and I followed the trail into the bush too soon, and we spooked him up Mike soon joined us for our next steps. Many times over the years he has been my hunting partner, guide, spotter and tracker. The waiting game was on. It’s not surprising that with his help we tracked and followed a diminishing blood trail. After an hour and a half, we found him under a tree. Not one of us, even my spotter with the binoculars, got a good look at the horns before he went into the bush. All three of us were spell bound by the incredible sight that lay before us! High fives all around and I’m not ashamed to admit I broke into a happy dance. The body on the big boy rivaled any mule deer I have ever taken and from what I was looking at for horns it may take a year or two to knock me off the pedestal. Needless to say, I

didn’t sleep well for the next number of nights.

A picture that was taken with our three deer, from this year, and will forever be a part of our photo album. We have often done this over the years and a huge thank you to Mike’s wife Chandell for a wonderful photo addition to the book. Believe me when I say I would have been happy to pull the trigger on any of those deer. Looking back at the hunt brings me back to how I first gained the love of the sport of hunting, those around me, and those no longer here. I’m looking forward to next year already!

It is with deep sadness that we lost my father John and father-in-law Tony earlier in 2015. They so enjoyed the stories and pictures after the hunting season. Two very talented individuals that have been such a large part of contributing to our overall enjoyment of hunting. The rifle, the truck “Old Brown”, the homemade wooden plaques to mount our horns, hunting knives from both of them, home built electric grinder and sausage maker, band saw, meat saws, folding table for the ground blind and the memories of both of them will be a part of our hunt for eternity. In honor of them, this buck will be forever held in my heart and mind as the “JT” Buck. Actions and deeds are but a moment in time, memories are moments that time cannot erase. Thank you Dad, and Tony, it’s in the deep freeze.

Everything Outdoors

...with Kevin Wilson

On Access & Appreciation

H

unters continue to face an onslaught of social issues – not the least of which affects right of access the lands we hunt. While hunter numbers may be lower than they were generations ago, we are now seeing a resurgence.

Multi-media messaging is influencing many newcomers to give it a go. The organic crowd seeks to reconnect with nature by collecting hormone-free protein, but the extreme message is striking an even louder chord, convincing us that being red neck is now in vogue. Bigger, faster, harder is the message, and it’s becoming downright cool to be seen as a hunter, especially if you’re the kind that collects big racks. Problem is, more hunters need more ground to hunt, and that equates to more pressure on both private and public real estate.

As long as biologists monitor closely and policy makers implement regulations accordingly, our wildlife can thrive. On the other hand, access itself is arguably our most valuable resource. In the end, it doesn’t matter what game populations are; we simply wouldn’t be able to hunt without it. The world over, where land is controlled either by private owners or government agencies and, where control is the name of the game, hunters simply have to pay to play.

Throughout much of Canada, especially in the west, hospitality remains the status quo. A cordial conversation and verbal gesture have been the way hunters and landowners interact for as long as I can remember. But as more land is gobbled up and human populations grow, pressures on those lands and the folks who control them, continues to increase. Producers face growing regulatory issues, and I would be remiss if I didn’t at least mention the relentless pressure from First Nations hunters. You don’t have to look far to see at least a big part of the problem. Social media is rife with indivduals bragging about their rights to harvest scores of trophy class elk and deer wherever, and whenever they please – all in the name of subsistence hunting - as residents wait over a decade to draw a special permit for the right to take just one animal. At the same time, immeasurable social pressures are absorbed by private landowners.

Heather and I drew mule deer permits last year, in one of Alberta’s top management units. We’ve been hunting that area for over 20 years and access has never been an issue. Ranchers own townships and as long as hunters abide by their rules, most have always welcomed hunters. Until now that is.

Sadly, for the first time, we heard several complain not only about the number of hunters but more importantly about their behaviour. They say more are making a mess of their fields,

pounding trails into the prairie grasslands, and generally conducting themselves badly. As a result, they said they may have to restrict, or even shut down, access altogether. Repeatedly we heard farmers citing pressures from the province, concern over liability, and the ongoing problem of first nations people literally decimating herds.

So what would you do if you were a landowner, or the government for that matter? And, perhaps more importantly, what does that mean for you and I as hunters who care not only for the wildlife we hunt, but equally about maintaining access?

Without permission to trespass on private lands, not to mention public ground, the game residing on those lands would be off limits. Yes, our provinces and states currently allow us relatively unrestricted access to crown lands but in the big picture the acreage is often physically inaccessible, irrelevant, underutilized or even over-utilized. In many areas, one of the biggest access issues relates to commercial hunting operations and how they are allowed to monopolize public land areas. I’ve seen it in Alberta and Saskatchewan, and it isn’t pretty. In the end, if we want to maintain access to public ground, we have to find a way to play nice together. Our provincial and state governments make the rules and we have to work within the system, but if we see concerns and want change to help retain our access to those lands, the only way it will happen is by communicating with our elected officials.

As far as private lands are concerned, we as hunters have no choice but to sharpen our public relations skills. Respect must

Good landowner relations are key to maintaining access to prime hunting grounds.

be priority one. Sound political? You bet it is. As pressure on access increases, we have no alternative but to be on our best behaviour if we hope to continue hunting in the future.

A few issues ago, Cody Forsberg paid tribute to farmers and landowners, reminding us that producers are custodians of the land. He reinforced that that they are our unsung wildlife and habitat conservation heroes and that without access to the private lands controlled by these very individuals, many of us would not be able to hunt. Depending on your state or province, lease arrangements may or may not be a part of the equation. Regardless, the access issue is complex.

Take BGI’s home province of Saskatchewan for instance.

Provincial regulations state that where private property is not posted, hunters can access those lands for the purpose of hunting without seeking permission from the landowner. While many resident and visiting hunters capitalize on this, and sometimes abuse this liberal allowance, the consensus among most ethical hunters is that seeking permission to hunt is not only a courtesy, but more importantly, it is the right thing to do.

Currently paid or unpaid access is a hit and miss scenario across Canada. Some provinces allow it, and others don’t. For example, in Alberta and Saskatchewan, if hunters or outfitters are caught paying for the right to hunt on private land, they best be prepared for stiff sanctions. Alternatively, in Ontario and Manitoba for example, paid access is allowed. In many states, lease arrangements are a way of life. Certainly there are places in the U.S. where hospitable landowners will grant access simply by saying yes, but they are few and far between these days.

For those entering into lease arrangements, landowner appreciation may be a moot point. A contract covers both the hunter and the farmer, but when it comes to the good graces of hospitable landowners, the age award-winning question remains – how do we express our appreciation for their generosity? In other words, how much is too much? After all, what reason could they possibly have to allow access if there’s no monetary advantage for them? More specifically, at what point does the line between gesture and payment become blurred?

On more than one occasion I have had landowners either boldly suggest that I make a “cash donation” or blatantly say that they charge so many dollars for access. I understand, and respect, that it is their land and their prerogative to say no, but my hackles go up when I’m presented with this ultimatum in a jurisdiction where the regulations clearly state that it’s unlawful. As a resident hunter and as an outfitter, every now and then I’m confronted with these situations and it turns my stomach, mostly because so much of it goes on under the table. My response is bold an unwavering - it is illegal and my desire to hunt doesn’t outweigh my ethics. When confronted with landowners who either hint at, or insist upon payment, I generally offer with a willingness to help mend fences for a day or something of that nature. I have no problem acknowledging hospitality by offering a small gift or gesture in return, but on too many occasions I’ve seen these gestures evolve into a clear business transaction.

In my experience, where paid access is not allowed, most private landowners are hospitable. No doubt, many have been burned by unscrupulous hunters. Certainly these can be the difficult ones, but prove that you’re one of the good guys, and many will give you a chance. If the landowner is pleased with how you roll, it makes good sense to offer a gesture of gratitude. The challenge is doing so within the confines of the law, and not overstepping the boundaries of acceptability.

No point beating around the bush, we’ve all heard of hunters or outfitters paying cash for access in places where it’s illegal to do so. It’s wrong and it creates a huge problem for those who play by the rules. On the other hand, delivering an appropriate gift basket at Christmas, for instance, is generally viewed as acceptable and it is appreciated. The question remains, how much monetary output is appropriate for a gesture? It comes down to discretion and personal values. What one individual deems acceptable may be out of line for another. In my own opinion, it’s appropriate to spend between $20 and $50 on each landowner gift. This token amount can only be interpreted as a gesture.

So what kind of thank you gift do you get for a private landowner? I’ve delivered everything from a box of chocolates to deer sausage, barbecue utensils, restaurant gift certificates, and a host of other things. After going through this exercise for over two decades, my most talked about landowner thank you was a bird house; it’s practical, memorable, and inexpensive.

They were well received and I still see many of them in various farmyards. Another winner is a container of farm fresh honey.

In my experience, landowners tend to appreciate these types of gifts given their day-to-day connection with the land.

Whether Christmas is the time to take care of your landowners, or another time is perhaps better, rest assured expressing appreciation goes a long way in maintaining access and entrenching a positive public image for hunters now and into the future.

Kevin took this fine mule deer on private land by first contacting the farmer to secure permission to hunt.

The

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Hunting Shaelynn Russell

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Shaelynn, Tristan & Haley Russell

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Tristan & Haley Russell

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I

knew if I wanted a chance at tagging a monster mule deer that I would have to buckle down and focus. I was committed to making a plan and more importantly, sticking to it.

The first part of the plan consisted of my hunting partner and I overnighting in the area after a serious day of scouting the habitat that I knew the buck called home. After an unproductive day, as the sun began to disappear behind the horizon, he

made a brief appearance before disappearing behind the hills.

With any luck I would get my chance at first light.

After a restless night we awoke early, prepared the black powder and headed out into the dim light of dawn. We spent the better part of the morning scouting the area where I had spotted him the night before, but there was no sign of him. We were just about ready to head back to town when my partner

SWAMP ONSTER M BY: DEVON AMBROSE

Devon Ambrose with what can only be called a monster of a mule deer. The buck has a huge frame to start with, and a number of stickers and droptines that give the antlers loads of character and add serious inches to the score. The final gross score on Devon’s buck is 236 4/8” and he did not lose much with a net score of 231 2/8”.

Jordan spotted something a ways off, it was just one of those things you had to look at with the binoculars to see if it was even a deer. One quick glance and we knew it was him! Big, smart bucks like this are history if they bust you and rarely give a hunter a second chance. To complicate matters he was in posted land, he was on the move though and looked like he would head right towards us. After finding a good vantage spot

I set up and waited. Sure enough one of the does he was with walked out right where I was hoping they would. The thought that maybe I had arrived too late occurred to me and that if that was the case, he would be heading for the hills behind me and be long gone. However, today was my day, and he appeared as per the plan but he had some company and they were on the move! The big guy, a smaller buck and a doe were all heading out at the same time. Scooting over to a better spot, I setup the bi-pod and made ready for my chance. At 150 yards, I was confident that I could pull off a good shot. The only problem was that the doe was acting as a shield, not allowing a clear shot. We were forced to wait, and wait, and after what seemed an eternity the big guy moved forward, quartering away slightly. “Perfect” I thought and in slow motion the slug left the muzzleloader barrel and was on its way! The hit was solid, a little further back than I would have liked, but a good hit regardless.

Thank goodness for carefully sighting my gun and cleaning it well the night before.

After remaining motionless for quite a while, he began to walk over the hill and into a coulee. I was wondering where my partner was with the extra loads for the gun, panic began to set in. Thankfully Jordan came around the hill, I reloaded

and we carefully made our way to where the deer had walked into.

I went one direction and Jordan the other way looking for blood trails or horns in the grass. To my surprise he was laying down right over the first rise. I steadied my gun and let the shot go.

Letting out a holler Jordan came running over grinning ear to ear and just then the buck got up and ran back onto the posted property! We were devastated but were not going to give up. After tracking down the landowner and receiving permission to retrieve the downed animal, it was back to the scene where we spent the better part of an hour searching and glassing the area. We decided to walk an area we thought he might have gone into and maybe laid down.

It was almost surreal when he stood up in front of me at five yards! Not wasting time the gun was on my shoulder the final slug hit home but he was still not going to make it easy for me, he took one big jump and was back in the water and expired out in the middle of the water! The rest of the story is quite amusing as I then had to take off my boots and jacket and swim out after my trophy. All said and done and after what can only be referred to later in my life as probably the most memorable hunt to date, the animal was on shore, tagged and ready for the trip home.

After measuring, the muley netted 231 2/8 inches, with a final gross score of 236 4/8 non-typical.

A great deer made even more special for a number of reasons. Being that it is the largest mule deer I have taken and that I had made it my goal from before the season started that this was the deer I wanted. The circumstances and story are ones I will never forget and never tire of repeating. Special thanks to Jordan Godson, my wing man and confidant.

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