Big Game Illustrated - Issue 16

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Volume 4 Issue 4 | Spring Edition 2017

10

In This Issue...

6

Grandpa’s Buck by Darryl Galusha

10 Badland Ghosts by Ben Jameson 16 3 for 3 by Craig Jacobs 20 Tank by Markus Friess 31

24 Peek-a-boo Buck 31

by Wayne Lamb

The Wizard by Greg Paestch & Lane Hodenfield

34 Double Header by Lee Morin 38 Velvet Giant by Denny Conley 42 Right Place, Right Time by Josh Harb 64

46

New Record Canadian Elk! by Kyla Krushelniski

52 I Got Him & He’s Mine by Danielle Bergen 64

Alberta Dream Bull by Melissa Sarnecki

70 76

Cat & Mouse Mulie by Jason Folliet

76 Growing a Giant - The Procrastination Buck by Matt Middlemiss

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Photo by Hamilton Greenwood

FEATURES...

The Almighty Score

by Chad Wilkinson

58

by Chris Maxwell

Read Chris’s tips for taking great field photos!

by Kaare Gunderson Follow along on the incredible ups and downs of a father guiding his son through his first whitetail season.

Score is always a popular topic among hunter, but does it really matter?

72 Campfire Chronicles

May We All

74

The Future of Hunting Dedicated to all the young hunters.

M

y entire life I have been told the story of “Grampa’s Buck”, in 1958 my Grandfather harvested a 32 point buck on our familie’s homestead. This story has been told and retold countless times. He tracked it during a snowstorm and came upon it bedded down under a balsam tree. It was the biggest buck taken that year and he won a $50 prize for the largest buck in the Rainy River District. Sadly the antlers disappeared while they were being mounted, that was the last time anyone would ever see “Grampa’s Buck”. My Grandfather suffered from Alzheimer’s and no matter how many people he forgot or occasions that he couldn’t remember, he always was able to tell us the story of his giant buck. To his last month on earth, we could always count on him to remember and tell the story of his successful hunt, and how the antlers went missing.

From the time I could remember, I have always hunted with my Father and Grandfather, eventually my Grandfather passed on and it was just my Dad and myself. It wasn’t long as my son grew up, that he became another member of our small hunting group. I am very proud to carry on the traditions passed on from my Great Grandfather, and do my best to pass those on to my son. We still hunt on the family homestead that has been in our family for five generations. I’ve always felt that it is important that we carry on our traditions and share the past with our future generations.

The fall of 2014 found me sitting on the edge of a swamp. It was during the first few days of the rut and I was anticipating seeing some deer moving. I rattled intermittently, attempting to bring in a buck. I had sat on this stand for the past 25 years and had many successful hunts doing the exact same thing.

Paying heed to the wind and the rut we have harvested count-

less large bucks from this area over the years. I had just finished a short rattle when I saw movement in the trees off on the other side of the swamp, I slowly raised my rifle to see what was moving. I shouldered my rifle and peered thru the scope, what I saw caused me to shake and become weak in the knees.

It was a buck with a set of antlers like I had never seen in my life! All I could think about was my Grampa’s stories and how this may be a descendant of the deer he had shot. It was 300 yards away and I could still see his massive rack and a drop tine that was well below his jaw. I clicked the safety off my .270 WSM and placed the crosshairs behind the front shoulder of this epic buck. I couldn’t stop shaking! I squeezed off a shot, the deer jumped and ran into the brush. I slowly made my way over to the last spot that I saw the deer. I searched and searched for any sign that I had hit the deer but after several hours of looking, I was unable to see any proof of a hit and I resigned myself to the fact that I had missed the chance to harvest the deer of a lifetime.

I went back to our hunting shack and told my Dad and my son the story of the massive deer and how I missed my chance.

My Dad smiled and then retold me the story of “Grampa’s Buck”, he also added that I had missed the buck in the same spot that Grampa’s took his deer. He described the large balsam and the general vicinity with an uncanny accuracy. Needless to say, I went back to that area with my son and looked for the remainder of the day for any sign of the deer. We proceeded to hunt the area with an added intensity for the remainder of the season, not harvesting any deer in 2014. I passed on many large deer that year, waiting for another chance.

The fall of 2015 brought another opportunity at “Grampa’s Buck”. Unfortunately, my two hunting partners had injured themselves in accidents within a month of season starting! My son suffers from Osteogenesis Imperfecta (Brittle Bone Disease) and he broke his foot two weeks before season opened.

He was so adamant about being able to hunt that he convinced his MD that he would like to forego a traditional cast that would not be allowed to get wet or take any abuse. He went with a walking boot that would allow him to get it wet and give him more freedom to hunt. My Dad fell and injured his shoulder and he was unable to lift anything or climb a tree stand.

With my two main partners down, we had to figure out a new plan. I went and purchased a ground blind and put a wooden floor down to keep my son’s foot out of the damp ground, which allowed both him and my Dad to hunt from a stationary stand. Every morning that we went hunting, I would diligently wrap my son’s boot cast in plastic garbage bags to keep his foot as dry as possible prior to carrying him out to the blind. Once they were set up, I would make my way back into the swamp and sit under my tree.

My Dad has always said that the rut in our area was in full swing by November 11th. This was something that we have counted on over the years. I was in a dilemma this year, as I had to travel for work on the 11th and could not put in any significant amount of time hunting. The weather had been unseasonably warm with little or no sign of rut occurring in our area. Needless to say, I still wanted to be out in the bush on the

Grandpa’s Buck BY: DARRYL GALUSHA

Darryl Galusha calls the Rainy River District of Ontario home, and still hunts the same homestead where his Father, Grandpa, and Great Grandpa hunted. The legends of a giant buck his Grampa had killed years back dominate hunting discussions in the area. Darryl never imagined he would take a buck equalling the legendary tales of his Grandpa, but he did just that in 2015, anchoring a 217� Monarch!

11th, no matter what! I made a last minute decision to head out in the woods for at least a couple of hours prior to leaving for my work trip. I woke my son early and pulled him from school, I then called my Dad and told him that I was on my way to come get him.

I explained that I could only spend a couple of hours in the woods and needed to be back home early, but we would give it a try.

We got to our stands in time to see the sun rise over the tree tops, the mist was lifting from the swamp’s tall grass, making it difficult to see anything in the woods. I began rattling sporadically after I had arrived at my spot, hoping that I could bring a buck in close enough to see thru the rising fog. I was frequently checking my phone to make sure that I was going to have enough time to make it home to travel for work. I looked at my phone to see that a text message had arrived from my son, “Dad, I just saw three deer and the second one was a big buck, chasing a doe!” He then typed that he didn’t shoot because they were running and they didn’t stop for a clear shot. I picked up my antlers and rattled with some intensity, hoping to stir something up. Over the next 45 minutes I rattled occasionally, all the while checking as the time ticked towards my deadline for leaving. I had just bent over to pick up the antlers when I spotted movement off in the

edge of the tall grass and balsam trees, I stood up and raised my rifle. There he was! “Grampa’s Buck” was back! He was cautiously making his way towards the sound of the rattle. As I watched thru the scope, a doe and another eight point buck

materialized behind him, out of the woods, following the monster buck towards me. I eased back into the tree and adjusted my scope, attempting to slow my breathing and focus on the shot I was about to take. I waited until the deer was roughly 150 yards away, all the while not allowing myself to look at the antlers on the deer making his way towards me. I put the crosshairs on him and pulled the trigger, and he went down on the spot, never rising again. The doe and buck stood there, not moving. I sank to my knees and said some words to my Grandfather.

I stood, then made my way towards the downed monarch, I was anticipating some shrinkage as I made my way towards the buck. As I moved closer, his antlers continued to grow! I was counting points that I hadn’t previously seen. I knelt beside the buck and placed my hand on his side, thanking him. I have to admit I thought a lot of my Dad, Grandfather and Son. I called my Son and told him that I had harvested “Grampa’s Buck”. I told him I counted 26 points. Needless to say, he didn’t believe me. When he first saw the downed deer he was speechless, unable to fathom the size of the rack! My Dad was at the hunting shack, preparing the meat pole to hang a deer. He was unaware of the buck’s size, all he knew was that I had shot a buck. As we approached, he walked towards us, only seeing the antlers as we were upon him. His eyes became wide and he was unable to speak, finally uttering, “Its Grampa’s Buck!” I looked at him, we both had tears in our eyes, and I said, “Yes it is.”

Darryl’s buck is truly world class, with 24 scorable points, 32 2/8” of abnormal points, and an inside spread of 29 1/8”! The final net score on Darryl’s buck came in at 200 2/8”.

Ghost

By: Ben Jameson

ts

Ben Jameson drew a coveted southern Alberta mule deer tag and he made the most of the opportunity taking a beautiful, dark antlered buck that has everything mule deer hunters dream of. The buck is 24” wide with 6 4/8” circumferences and 16” G2’s, adding up to net typical score of 178” and a gross of 182” as a ‘perfect’ typical.

I

t all started the summer of 2016 when, like most avid Alberta hunters, we wait for draw results to come out like impatient little kids on Christmas eve. Finally, I had drawn my southern Alberta mule deer tag! I’ve wanted this tag for some time now, the coulees and sandhills in the badlands of Alberta have always intrigued me. I’ve taken a couple decent mule deer in the past with my bow, but now it was time to focus on a true trophy for the wall, and this time I’d be allowed to pack my rifle.

With lots of other things going on, like work and hours of scouting for bighorn sheep, I didn’t find any time to make it down there to do any scouting. My last set of days off before the season opener I found myself seven kilometers back in the mountains solo. It was my one last kick at the can for my first bighorn sheep. Unbelievably, I stumbled across a band of four rams my second day in! 200 yards away I was trying to size them up, as they walked into a small clump of alpine spruce. I quickly took advantage of the situation and cut the distance in half. As they came out, single file broadside, I made the judgment call and took my very first ram! It has been a dream of mine since I started hunting at a very young age, and had finally come true.

A 112 pounds on my back and seven kilometers later, I was back at the truck and headed home to rest up for some serious mule deer hunting!

As my last shift at work came to an end before the mule deer opener, I got on the phone with my good friend and hunting partner, Justin Sykes, to pick his brain a little bit on where I should start off since I hadn’t had any scouting time prior to the season. With a good idea of where to start, me and my girlfriend Stephanie headed south! The long drive in the dark with no scenery was pretty boring, but we eventually made it the hotel where we would be staying. Early the next morning we made some lunch, poured some black mud in my coffee cup and headed out the door.

There’s no better feeling then heading out hunting with a special license in your pocket, knowing there’s a good chance that you could have an opportunity to harvest the buck of your dreams.

My fingers were crossed, hoping that the horseshoe hadn’t fallen out yet from my last hunt!

We arrived at

the hunting location just as we were able to see. Right away Steph spotted two bucks sky lined on a sand hill. With out even putting glass on these two deer I knew there were big! Both were great typical 4x4s, high…wide…and deep forks. They were only about 300 yards away, but it still wasn’t shooting light so we sat and watched. I studied the two bucks for a good 10 minutes as they slowly made their way into the sand hills with their does, one of the bucks split off and took a couple of his own does with him. Of course, as daylight broke and shooting light came upon us, there was not a deer to be seen. “Funny how that works,” I thought to myself.

We parked the truck, threw our backpacks on, loaded the rifle and started off in the direction the deer went. Luckily, I had the wind already in my favor. As I crested the first sand hill, we didn’t see any deer with the naked eye, and we could see a long ways. I decided we should take our time and sit down and glass a bit before we proceeded. One thing to note about hunting in the southern country is to watch where you sit! I was picking cactus out of my behind for about two weeks after this hunt, thanks to that careless sit. So after sitting on my first cactus, I cautiously picked my next sitting spot and began glassing. To my disbelief, I started picking deer out bedded in the small shrubs and hillsides that we could have never spotted without good glass. We counted 12 does and one small little 3x3 buck.

Wondering where the big old buck went, we decided to slip down to the back side of our hill and skirt around closer to where the group of deer were and take another look.

We made our way around the hill undetected, with the wind still in our favor. Slowly peeking over the top of the hill, I could see the group of does. We were now about 200 yards away. Still no sign of the big deer, I knew he had to be somewhere fairly close with all the does bedded around and the rut right around the corner. After some serious glass time I spotted what looked to be a bigger buck, about 500 yards away standing in some willows. After closer inspection with my spotting scope, I could see it was a younger 4x4 with small forks. About that time, Steph said, “There he is”. I said, “Nooo, that wasn’t him, it’s just a small 4x4.” To which she replied “Ummm, he’s not small?” I said, “Where?” thinking maybe we were looking at different bucks. She pointed over to a sand hill, only 200 yards

away. There in the shade, behind a clump of willows, lied the big old 4x4!

I couldn’t believe how well he hid for such a big animal, all you could see was the ghostly white face peeking out of the willows and his antlers which blended right in. Without Steph’s sharp eyes, I don’t think I would have ever found him!

Now my adrenaline began really pumping, I knew I had found the buck I wanted, and just the sight of his antlers hanging out of the willows made me shake. I thought to myself, “Take it easy now and get in position for a shot once he stands.” I steadied my rifle over my backpack which made for a solid rest. Now all I needed was for him to stand up to stretch and it would all be over. But as hunting luck would have it, conditions are never perfect and things come down to chance. The worst feeling a hunter can ever feel is that cool breeze down the back of your neck. It was about three minutes after that wind decided to swirl a bit that the does were at attention. The big old buck now knew he was being watched and with out missing a beat, stood up and ran over the hill and out of sight! What a roller coaster hunting can be sometimes. We thought we had him in the bag, but how

quickly things can change from having the edge on them to them having the edge on me. My stomach sank watching him run over the hill. “They always look so much bigger running away,” I mumbled to try and make myself feel better. I didn’t think there was much of a chance of us ever getting back on that buck, but it was early in the morning and we didn’t have much else to do, so we threw the backpacks back on and headed in the direction they went.

We made it over to the hill where he was bedded. I was please, but also even more disappointed when I saw that he had a pretty big set of tracks on him, further confirming his maturity. To my disbelief once again, poking over the hill, we could see the deer, and the big deer! He was trotting around tailing his does, it seemed as though the rut was starting to get the better of him. “This just might give me the edge I need to make it happen,” I thought. Quickly, we skirted around the sand hill and covered some ground. When I thought we were getting close, I poked back up over the hill. Now the deer were starting to move again.

They were about half way up the next sand hill. I got the range finder on him quickly. It read 300 yards. “Close enough,” I thought, as I had been practicing all year with my .270 WSM topped off with a Huskema scope at 500 yards. Using my backpack for a rest, I settled in and tried to get my heart rate down. The adrenaline was really starting to kick in as I clicked my safety off. I watched him through the scope as he slowly made his way up the hill, tailing his does.

Just before he hit the top of the hill the doe he was tailing made a quick turn and dove off into some willows. He turned broadside and stood watching the spot where his girlfriend darted off to. I settled the crosshairs in on his shoulder and slowly started to squeeze the trigger, which

felt like an eternity. BOOM……WHAP. As the recoil came down I could see the buck hunched up, standing there with blood coming out of the shoulder area. I quickly slammed another shell into the chamber of my Sako Finnlight and settled the crosshairs back on the shoulder. BOOM……WHAP. This time when the recoil came down I could see my deer sliding down the hill into a patch of willows!

There is no better feeling in the world then knowing your dream buck is down and it’s all over. It all happened on the first day of the first morning, with no scouting and just a good tip from a friend. It’s good to be lucky! After some shaky knees, high-fives, and back pats, we headed down to see the buck. I was still in disbelief that I had once again folded a dream tag. Most deer I have shot usually get smaller as I get closer, but not this deer. He grew! He is tall, wide, and has deep forks, the perfect recipe for a big mule deer. After lots of pictures, field dressing, caping, deboning and loading the meat into our packs, we started the long, heavy hike back out to the truck. This was one of the most fun hunts I have ever been a part of, and I can’t wait to build my priority back up and go again. There will be lots of great memories when I look at him on the wall.

Thanks again to everyone who helped out.

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M

y streak of whitetail success all began in 2012. It was late November and the season was winding down.

In face there was only five days left in hunting season when I finally found some time to get out hunting. Although work kept me busy throughout the fall, I managed to run a couple trail cameras and I knew there were big bucks in the area. I hung my cameras near my tree stand so planned on spending the week perched up on stand, waiting for a big, old rutting whitetail to find his way passed me. The first two days were a complete bust, as I didn't see anything at all. Day three started out slow, but then the action began to pick up.

Unfortunately, all the bucks that I was seeing were small. As the light began to fade, I heard a deer running and instantly he came into view! It was a mature buck that I instantly recognized from trail camera pictures! It happened so fast that he ran right through the clearing, in full rut, and I missed my chance! I looked at the time and realized I only had a few minutes left. I was just about to start climbing down the stand when I looked up to see a buck coming towards me! It had a massive left side but I couldn't see the other side. I knew this was my chance so I pulled the trigger, dropping him in his

tracks! I was shocked when I walked up to him and realized that he was a 19 point freak with three beams!

The next year I was able to start earlier. I hung my cameras and immediately had some great deer showing up, including a few old bucks who packed on the inches and were definite shooters! The pictures had me really wanting to get out and hunt, so one day after work I decided to head out for a quick hunt. Even though I did not have a lot of time, I had a good feeling about the evening hunt. As I was walking in to my stand, I noticed a nice buck so I just sat down in the cut line and waited. After that sighting, I spent the next two weeks hunting hard from my blind and hardly saw a single thing! Finally, I decided to change things up and I built another blind about 500 yards away. The first day hunting that blind, I had steady action and actually saw a couple different shooter bucks, but they were not giving me a shot! The new spot proved to be a good move as I hunted hard through November with lots of action, but things just didn’t quite work out.

That is until November 20th, after a big snow storm, when I crawled into my blind with high hopes. Within 20 minutes, I saw two big bucks chasing each other in and out of a clear-

3

FOR

By: Craig Jacobs

Craig Jacobs had an amazing streak of three big Alberta whitetails in back to back years culminating with his biggest buck to date, a 191” monster buck!

All three bucks were taken in the same area of Northeast Alberta. His first buck had three beams, including a unique unicorn point and a gross score of 166”, with his second buck grossing 174” and his third buck grossing 191 5/8”. It will be a tough streak to repeat, but Northeast Alberta continues to produce great whitetails year after year. ing! This was going on for about 30 minutes until I finally had an opportunity for a clear shot. It was the smaller of the two bucks, but he stepped out in the open and stopped broadside! I quickly took the shot and he bolted into the thick trees. I waited for a few minutes before I went and looked. As soon as I stopped, I saw him piled up under some spruce trees! I was pretty excited as I finally got a better look at him and realized that he was a nice main frame 4 x 4 with dark brown antlers. I couldn’t help but wonder

3

about the bigger buck and I knew I would be back again the next year.

2014 brought a new season but the same monster buck appeared on my cameras in the same spot where I shot the 4x4. I waited until conditions were absolutely perfect and then headed into the blind with high hopes. I knew I had done my homework and had a good chance, but I was still shocked when I looked up, only about an hour into my hunt, and the giant buck I saw the year before with the 4x4 was standing there in the clearing! I couldn't believe it, luck truly was on my side. I wasted no time taking the shot and dropped him in his tracks! As I walked up to him I realized he was easily the biggest buck of my life, a 191� monster! To say I had some luck on my side was an understatement, the two big bucks I had been chasing around and had been getting pictures of for four years now had my tags on them!

I was excited to be the one to be able to put them on my wall, but also felt the sting of disappointment knowing that the chase was over! Â

Craig took another tremendous buck in 2016!

TANK BY: MARKUS FRIESS

Markus Friess with the tremendous southern Saskatchewan whitetail he took in 2015. His big deer has it all with long sweeping 26” mainbeams and an 18 6/8” inside spread. The buck has some character too with stickers on the G2’s that add 7 1/8” to the total gross score of 178 6/8. Be sure to follow Markus and his friend’s adventures at www.awoloutdoors.com.

T

ank, Heavy, Stickers, Domi, Cactus Jack, and simply The Giant Typical, are all names cemented into my memory of giant whitetail deer that I have pursued in the past.

However, strange it may seem, most serious hunters nickname the bucks that keep them up at night. I have ran trail cameras for years and for me it's almost as fun as the hunt itself. This past summer a decision was made to get all of my trail cameras out in areas that some of these deer called home the year before. Early summer had me salivating over the chance to check my cams in anticipation of an appearance from the latter three bucks mentioned. The last day in July brought me exactly what I was looking for, a picture of Domi in full velvet! He still had his crazy heavy long beams, and it appeared he had put on a lot of stickers at his bases. It was a dream to have Domi on camera again and I was very quick to forget that he was the only whitetail I had on camera worthy of hunting, but one was all I needed. He continued to frequent my stand every other evening in legal light leading up to the season, but I would not be around the first week of archery. Our teams annual Muley trip out west was looming and I had another species on my mind. As luck would have it, Domi was shot during opening week by the neighbor not far from my stand.

After the mule deer archery season came and went, without tagging my target buck for the second straight season, it was time to really focus on finding a whitetail to go after. Rifle season started and I was still searching for a true giant. The stand Domi had been frequenting earlier had one very large buck, with split g2s. However, I knew this deer well from the year before and thinking he was only 4.5 years old. I was 95% I wouldn't shoot him if given the opportunity. Unseasonably

warm temperatures had the big bucks in my honey holes seemingly laying low until November 26th when the cold snap hit.

When I had went to bed the night before, I wasn't sure if I was going to venture in and sit in my stand in the ravine, or opt to stay on top and still hunt some of the thick bluffs in the agricultural fields that the Giant Typical called home the year before.

My decision was made for me when I slept in slightly that day and I was not going to attempt to walk into my set in broad daylight at risk of blowing any of the deer out of the ravine before I even got settled. I continued onto the fields that the Giant Typical called home. With still with no sign of him this year, I wasn't the most optimistic hunter that day.

It was probably 20 minutes after first light and I was still in my truck when I noticed a deer standing way out in the middle of the field. I threw my binos up to get my first educated glimpse of this deer when I noticed another deer a few yards to the left in the field. Immediately, I noticed the bucks large set of antlers and reached into my backseat for my spotting scope.

As soon as I got it focused on the buck I recognized his stickers and long sweeping beams, it was Cactus Jack! I had no pictures of this deer since January 25th, 10 months almost to the day without a sign that he was still around, and here he was, visible from the road no more than 400 yards from a camera I had set up in the treeline. I couldn’t believe what was happening but I realized that finding him was probably the easy part, he was still in the middle of the section with many ways to escape if he spotted me. I parked the truck and got suited up as best as I could for the elements since my truck thermometer now read -27 degrees Celsius. What I hadn’t realized from the truck was the fresh blanket of snow that fell overnight made walking

through the stubble field relatively quiet. I weaved my way out towards where I thought the two deer were, doing my best to keep the small swales in the field between me and them so I was not busted. When I got to a spot I figured I could make a shot from if they were still in their original position, I realized that they had ventured off and I could no longer see them.

Proceeding to where I thought they had been, I noticed fresh tracks in the snow of two deer, not running but just sort of meandering along. I continued to follow these tracks and spotted Cactus Jack ahead of me, about 500 yards, just bumping his lady friend over the hill ahead of him and they were heading toward a big bluff I had walked through many times. Staying on the trail and getting into the tree line I slowed down and tried rattling and still hunting because I really didn't know how I would ever get a shot in this large block of trees. It took me

about an hour but I made it through the bluff while still following their trail without a sign of the deer, so I continued to follow them into the stubble field. Their tracks were headed to

one last piece of bush and I remember thinking, “If they’re not in here, I will never see them again.” I made it to the edge of that bluff without busting the deer out and I naturally assumed that they were gone and my long, frozen walk was all for nothing. I pulled out my rattling horns just to see if I could spark any interest, tickling the tines together resulted in nothing, and since this bluff was only around 100 yards across doubt was really setting in. I took maybe three more steps into the trees when I heard a large crash to my left and I knew things were happening fast. I sprinted to the other side of the bluff in the direction they were exiting and set up for a shot with my 7mm Rem. mag. My first shot was an obvious hit but wasn’t my best effort as he was still covering ground, a quick follow up shot finished the job. It really didn’t compute in my head what

I had just accomplished until I got up beside him. Here was a buck that I had history with on the ground, and Cactus Jack was the first real true giant I had ever harvested. Now I have to say that it was disappointing not to be able to capture this hunt on film, which is why I do not have another video to share with everyone. I work a shift work job which allows me a lot of time to hit the field and enjoy the sport I love so much, however it makes it tough to get a cameraman in the middle of the week.

I have to thank my wife for allowing me all the time I want to enjoy my favorite pastime. I want to thank Mark Fitzpatrick and Keegan Lafrentz for helping with the field photos of my buck. I also want to thank all of the landowners out there that have granted us permission over the years.

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Peek-A-Boo Buck By: Wayne Lamb

Wayne Lamb with the biggest buck of his life, an Alberta beauty that is a main frame four by four that nets 153 5/8”! It takes a special deer to go over 150” with only eight points, and Wayne’s buck is that. With long sweeping beams, heavy mass throughout, long tines, and dark chocolate color, it is truly an Alberta dream buck.

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ver since I was a little boy I have always wanted to go to Canada and hunt whitetail deer. I would see pictures of the deer and hunting in the snow, and I would just dream of what it would be like. Summer 2015 was when a friend of mine called and said that he and a buddy were going to Alberta, Canada on a hunting trip in the fall. He asked if I would be interested in going. He said that the only condition was that we had to fly. I had never flown before and swore that I never would, but this was my dream coming true. I said, "What the heck, I am 50 years old. I am going to ALBERTA and hope to kill that deer of a lifetime."

I survived the flight and we were all so anxious to get to the lodge. The anticipation of meeting everyone at Take-Em Outfitters and hunting for 10 days was overwhelming. We were one of the first groups at the new lodge. It was beautiful. As we pulled up we saw a big truck with the outdoor show American Way written on the side. We knew that this would be a trip we wouldn't forget. The owners, Clay and Crystal Charlton, made us feel right at home.

The first morning there we shot our rifles to make sure that they were sighted in after the flight from N.C. Our rifles were ready and everything was set for our first Canadian hunt. We hunted ten days. Yes, as Clay said, we were getting "butt time" (on our butts 12-13 hours a day waiting for a big one). My friend, Anthony King, saw a moose, I saw a couple of smaller bucks and a few does, and my other friend, Steve Raynor, saw a few deer as well, but nothing worth shooting.

We had come before the rut, trying an early season hunt (something new for Take- Em Outfitters) but it was just too early. Clay said that if we came back in mid-November during the rut we would get to see the deer in full swing and have a great chance of killing our dream deer. Although the hunt wasn't successful that week, we had an amazing trip and all of us agreed that we would be back in November!

November 11th, 2015, we were back at Take Em Outfitters. This time it was cold outside, snow was on the

ground, just like in my dreams. We were all worked up, the bucks were in rut and we were ready for them. After a short night’s sleep, we got up and started our first day hunt at 4 o'clock that morning. My guide, Bob, took me to my stand, fired up the heater and gave me some tips. He told me to make sure that my windows were open. So I settled down for an all day sit and warmed up by the heater and waited for daylight then I opened up my windows. There was a fresh snowfall two days prior and the woods just glistened with a new blanket of snow, I waited my entire life for this hunt and it was happening faster than I knew. The wind started blowing pretty hard and by 8:45am I decided to close the right window. Bob and I came in from the right side of the stand and I figured no deer were going to cross the same path we walked in on, so I paid more attention to the other two windows. I remember my guide, Bob, telling me to be alert at all times because the bucks were on the move and sometimes it happens fast. At this point I had yet to see a deer, as I was looking down the left line and in front into the woods for any movement, something told me to look out my right window and when I looked I was shocked to see a big rack, HUGE bodied deer standing only 15 yards from my stand. I automatically put my head down, that window, the only one I had closed, now had a huge buck standing 15 yards out it! I had to unlatch my window and I made so much noise I just knew he would be gone when I looked back up. So I peeked back out the window and the buck now was looking right at me. It was as if we were playing peek-a-boo! I put my head back down, grabbed my rifle and did my best with my heart racing, trying to get my rifle out the window quietly, I ended up bumping every wall of my stand. I knew for sure he

was gone this time. I looked back out the window and it was like my worst nightmare. He was GONE and I blew the chance of a lifetime! I looked in the front lane and all of the sudden there he was again, about 65 yards from the stand and walking away from me at a 45-degree angle through the woods. I put the rifle out the blind window and picked an opening through the trees as the buck walked in to my crosshairs I shot. I knew the

bullet hit him, but he sucked it up and just looked around like, "What was that?" So I bolted my 7mm magnum and put another 150 grain Remington Core-Lock in the chamber. I put the crosshairs back on his shoulder, but by then he was swaying side-to-side and finally fell over dead! One shot, one kill.

I was overwhelmed with excitement and called my wife to tell her I killed that buck of a lifetime. Then I called Clay at 9:10am and told him that I killed a nice 8 point buck and I was very pleased with the buck. Clay knew up till this hunt, the biggest whitetail I've seen alive was 115"-120" and was shocked to hear I shot an eight point on the first few hours of the hunt. But when Clay and Bob arrived I gave them the run down on what had all happened and led the way to my first Alberta Monarch. As we all walked up to the buck they said, "Are you kidding me, he is a TANK!" They were more than pumped, He said that I really had no idea what I just killed. It took several days for it to sink in my mind. His scored netted out at 153 and 5/8 and weighed 280 pounds. He was a really huge buck for a mainframe eight point with a kicker. My good friend Steve also harvested a gi-

ant typical buck that week that scored in the 170s!

I would like to thank Take-Em Outfitters for making my dream come true. We can't wait to go back this coming year to

Alberta, Canada and hunt with Take-Em Outfitters again. The hunt, the lodge as well as the fellowship with the people there, is what made this trip such an amazing experience.

The Almighty Score

by Chad Wilkinson

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ou hear it all the time, “What does he score?” You also often hear, “Score doesn’t matter, it’s simply whether or not I want to take the shot when I see him.” An added complexity comes into play when people begin arguing about the score, and all the phantom scoring that goes on, giving numbers much higher than an official score would. Before getting into this score obsession, it is important to remember that at a basic level, score absolutely does not matter when it comes to the hunt. At a basic level, hunting has to be about providing food for our families. If it ever gets to the point where it is no longer, at a basic level, about this, then the support we enjoy from most of the non-hunting public will quickly disappear.

Now with that being said, does the score matter for those of us who live to go hunting, and spend weeks in the field looking for that one special animal that we want to tag? The conventional, and well thought out reply to this is no, it is all about what the hunter likes and what he or she wants to tag. Obviously, this is true and a defendable position. It can be compared to stats in sports. The most important factor in any sport is wins and losses, and players always talk about how that is all that matters, but fans love stats and at times obsess over stats.

It is also true in hunting, and blatantly obvious by talking to hunters, that score does matter. However, this does not have to be a negative thing. The fact is that very high scoring animals generally represent smart, older individuals who have beaten the odds and survived to an age and condition where they are very high scoring by the standards set out by a variety of organizations. A high score is always a relative term, relative to other animals of the same species, and even in the same area. The fact is also that these very high scoring animals are extremely rare and therein lies the key. The rarity of such an animal is what many of us look for. It is this rarity that makes for a long, drawn out hunt with a higher probability of failure. It also results in an increased challenge, creating an adventure and a series of memories on how success was accomplished, when it does arrive. Anyone, at any time, can get very lucky and walk randomly into a field or forest, or drive a grid road, or toss out some feed, sit down and shoot a giant, high scoring buck, but to do it consistently takes commitment, time and effort and it is these things that make the ‘hunt’. Like it or not these are tied to score, because smaller, younger, and even low scoring older animals are relatively common, and relatively easy to kill compared to very high scoring animals, simply because there are more of them. The key to enjoying all aspects of the hunt is not to focus on a number, but to focus on a standard or a goal you set for yourself on what you want to hang your tag on, and for many, score is a part of this.

Another of the old arguments you often hear is that the absolute highest scoring animals should be left to reproduce and spread their genes, and killing them makes the entire species suffer. This has been proven time and time again to be 100% wrong when it comes to wild populations of deer, elk and moose. The genetic information of a top end animal lives within all of his relatives, all of the does who are related to him carry those same genetics, not to mention most times animals of this caliber have already bred for five or more years so has directly spread their genetics. Killing a high scoring animal does nothing to the genetics in an area, just like killing a ‘cull’ buck also does nothing. A quick google search of the topic will show countless studies showing this same thing. Even in strictly controlled, tame environments where all the best males are removed, there is no effect to genetics, even over many years.

Another argument often made is that age is more important than score, and this is a valid argument that can be easily defended. However, it also comes back to that original point of challenging yourself by trying to tag a very rare animal, which often times means a high scoring animal. The simple fact is that in many areas, older but low scoring animals are more common, albeit any one specific animal is just as difficult to target as a high scoring one of the same species.

There are many positive aspects that can be integrated into the hunt by allowing a high score to become part of your adventure. However, this can quickly become a negative and effort must always be made to ensure this is not the case. The ‘worth’ of the animal, and the ‘worth’ of the hunt should never be tied to score, or other’s hunts judged by the score. Many people don’t care about score, and don’t care about trying to challenge themselves through hunting and there is nothing wrong with that. For many, it is simply a short time to get out, enjoy the outdoors and fill the freezer every time. This goes back to the first point about the basis for hunting having to remain as a way to provide food to our families. This always has to be the backbone of what we do, or the future of hunting will be jeopardized. There is absolutely nothing wrong with tagging the first animal you see if you have limited time but really want to enjoy some wild meat, just like there is nothing wrong with holding out for a high scoring animal because you choose to commit a large portion of your time to the activity we all love.

The key point to all of this is that we are all hunters, and we all face opposition to what and why we hunt from individuals and groups who are antihunting So regardless of what your motivation is, support each other, continue to share your stories and experiences and lets all do our part to ensure the future of hunting.

Wizard

The

By: Greg Paetsch & Lane Hodnefield

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rowing up hunting I had always dreamed of getting the opportunity to harvest a monster non-typical mule deer. I had started hunting a new area in archery season, and I was unsuccessful in my first attempt, but after seeing the caliber of bucks harvested out of that area and the many giants still roaming around, I knew I would be going back.

Through my hunting travels I was lucky enough to become friends with some local hunters, Cole Stark and Lane Hodnefield. Being in the Super A pool for the big game draw the next season, zone selection was easy for me. The opportunity to fulfill this dream became a reality when I had been selected in the big game draw for this zone. I was ecstatic with the results of the draw and had a feeling this would be my year

to fulfill my childhood dream. I called Lane with the good news and he was also very excited to help me put a monster buck on the ground. With my work schedule finally easing up I was able to meet up with Lane for a weekend of pre-season scouting. Lane and I loaded up the truck and headed south. The first day of scouting was pretty successful, seeing lots of bucks but with some bad weather coming in we were unable to find the mature buck we were interested in. We had some down time on our hands and we visited Lane’s cousin and fellow hunting partner, Kole Ray. As Kole was showing us his trophy room in his basement and sharing stories back and forth, a picture on his gun case caught my eye. The picture was of a non-typical mule deer with deep forks and beautiful long stickers coming off his back forks. I was captivated by the picture, I had to learn more about this buck and the history Kole and Lane had with this gnarly deer. I simply asked, “What’s the story behind this awesome buck?” By the look of heart break and disgust on their faces I could tell I had opened an old wound they had been trying to mend for a couple years. With sadness in their eyes they started to tell the story. Lane’s history with this buck started in the winter of 2010. Lane and a couple friends were out videoing some deer and noticed a nice young buck just starting to grow some stickers and they could tell the buck had some great potential and were excited to keep tabs on him.

The buck was a ghost for the 2011 hunting season but showed up in the winter on a coyote hunt that Lane and Kole were on.

They could both tell he had put on a lot of inches from the season before with some obvious growth in his non-typical points.

2012 was when this buck had really blown up! This was also the year this buck had gained a lot of attention from other hunters. In early September, Kole had finally got the chance he had been waiting for. He had spotted the king buck bedded down

When Greg Paetsch drew a coveted Saskatchewan draw tag, he had a couple good friends who helped him out and they hunted together throughout a grueling few months of the season trying to take advantage of the rare tag with a special animal. Greg’s friends had picked up a big set of sheds but the buck had been MIA for a couple years when he showed up out of nowhere! Greg managed to tag the brute and his friends also gave him the matching sheds. with another nice buck. It was finally his turn to put a stalk on the buck that had been consuming his thoughts for the last two years. After a very cautious stalk, Kole found himself 13 yards away from the bedded bucks! He was ready, both bucks stood up beside each other. Kole took aim and let his arrow fly, watching his arrow pass through the buck’s lungs! Adrenaline running through his veins and eager to put his hands on the velvet rack he walked up to his buck! As he got closer to his deer, he realized the worst! Kole had shot the wrong buck. This wasn’t the only opportunity that hunters had to harvest this gi-

ant buck. Later that hunting season a professional hunter, one of the best in the business, had a great opportunity to kill this buck. Only to have his arrow fly over the deer’s back! With the 2012 season coming to an end Kole had kept tabs on him and was lucky enough to pick up his sheds from that winter.

After the events from the 2012 season, the buck had been given the nickname the Wizard, because it was almost magic how the monster buck could survive so many close calls.

The winter of 2012 was especially hard on the deer and when the buck was nowhere to be found in the 2013 season, we had

feared that the beautiful non-typical buck didn’t make the winter. That was where the story of the Wizard had come to an end, as he had not been seen since. As I sat there with the Wizard’s sheds from 2012 in my hands I could now understand the wound I had reopened by asking about the deer. The scouting trip had come to an end, Lane and I had to return back to the working life. A couple weeks had passed and it was finally time to head out with the bow for early season velvet mule deer. On the drive south, Lane and I were vibrating with anticipation of what the morning hunt would bring. After a long sleepless night it was opening day of archery season. We were in the truck and ready to go! Lane had been watching a few mature bucks I would have been more than happy to put my tag on.

The morning was slow. We were not able to locate the mature bucks we were after. The morning hunt was over so we headed back to town and grabbed a bite to eat. After some lunch and a couple hours to regroup our thoughts, we were back out looking for what could be the buck of my dreams. It wasn’t long and we spotted a group of 5 velvet bucks! There was one buck in the group that had stuck out amongst the others. This one had very heavy deep forks big frame, everything a guy would want in a typical buck. The bucks were heading towards a pinch point in the field between two hills funneling into a big coulee.

With bow in hand, Lane and I headed off after the beautiful large famed typical. We had got to our position to ambush the bucks and just before they had entered effective bow range, the smallest buck in the group had winded us. The long walk back to the truck was not a sad one. It would have been nice to put my tag on that buck but even though I didn’t harvest him Lane and I did get something outta the stalk. We got a taste! A taste of that adrenaline that everyone gets from being up close and personal with a monster buck, the butterflys in your belly, when your hands start to shake and your heart feels like it’s going to jump outta your chest. We got that feeling that makes every outdoorsmen go hunting time and time again.

After that weekend, work had gotten really busy for me and unfortunately I had to sit out for the remainder of the archery and muzzle loader season. Rifle season came around and work was letting up so finally I would be able to get back into the outdoors looking for the buck of my dreams. Lane and I each

had a few days off so we loaded up the truck and headed out to mule deer country! As the morning came around both Lane and I were chomping at the bit eager to see what we would encounter. Lane had his eyes on a nice mature typical buck that he said I should take a look at so I agreed we should go look for it. On our way to the area of the big typical buck, Lane wanted to check a couple big coulees where he said an, “old legend” used to call home, so I agreed it couldn’t hurt to see some new area. The first large hill we stopped on, Lane pulled out the spotting scope and started scanning through the hills.

It wasn’t long until he spotted a big framed buck following a doe through the hills! The buck finally got on top of one of the big coulee tops where he was sky lined and Lane was able to get a good look at the beautiful buck. Lane took his eye out of the scope and looked at me with a stunned look, almost unsure of what he saw. Than he finally said, “That’s him, he’s alive!”

Unsure of what he was talking about, I just looked through the spotting scope to get a look at the buck myself. As soon as I saw the tall tines with deep forks and beautiful long sticker points that forked into other stickers I knew what buck it was! The buck from the picture, the sheds I had held, it was the Wizard!

I was ecstatic just being able to lay my own eyes on a legend like this. He was truly breath taking. After Lane and I took a couple minutes to wrap our heads around a game plan to get close to this gnarly old buck, and get our emotions in check, the long stalk was on! The buck had followed the doe over the big coolie top into the next group of rolling hills. We had lots of distance to close, but had all the time in the world. After walking behind hills and in bottoms, completely eliminating the chance of the buck getting on high ground and possible spotting us from a distance, we had reached the coulee top we had watched the Wizard disappear over. Being ever so cautious, we had crawled behind some cover and started glassing the rolling hills. We had finally spotted movement coming out of a slough that joined an old dugout at the bottom of the one coulee. A doe had walked out of the tall slough grass and continued on her way, not spooked. As we continued glassing we saw a second deer, a buck was in the same slough the doe had walked out of. The buck finally got in an opening and we instantly knew it was him! With our hearts pumping we watched the buck to see what his next move would be. The buck had been standing, taking a few steps around the slough as if he was unsure if he wanted to bed down for the day or follow his doe. Finally, when the buck bedded down in good cover we knew it was go time. Staying behind cover, following the bottoms and making sure we were never in sight of the buck we managed to get to 200 yards of the slough undetected! We stopped for a couple minutes behind some shrubs to come up with the next plan of attack. “Stay here or get closer?” was the question. After a short discussion, our boots were off and we were continuing our stalk! There was a wall of buck brush that stretched all the way to the slough where the buck of my dreams was bedded. Lane and I, now crawling flat on our bellies were closing the distance yard by yard until finally we were right outside of the slough! As Lane and I sat up ever so carefully to get into a

shooting position, we spotted horn tips. The buck was only 50 yards away! Emotions were high, the thought that the buck of my dreams standing at any moment and I could get the chance I had been waiting for. We had been sitting for about 30 minutes when the horn tips turned fast in our direction and the buck had jumped out of his bed! The buck ran the opposite way from us and was going towards the water! I could not believe it, the buck of my dreams was about to slip through my fingers!

The monster buck ran through the water and got to the other side. Lane was grunting at the buck trying his best to stop him when finally he got to the other side of the water and stopped broadside and looked back at us. He was around 125 yards

away and I knew this was my moment! This was my chance!

I raised my gun and had my crosshairs centered behind his shoulder when I squeezed the trigger. As a shot rang out, the buck jumped in the air, ran about 10 steps then fell over. Before I knew what was going on, Lane was hugging me yelling, “You got him, you got him!� We were both ecstatic with excitement, jumping around like little kids. Finally, we walked up to my buck and I was able to put my hands on the legendary buck. He was a buck that had driven so many hunters crazy, and I was holding his beautiful chocolate antlers in my hands. I finally had my dream buck! Special thanks to Lane Hodnefield for the help and to Kole Ray for giving me the 2012 sheds.

Photo by Shawn Danychuk

Double Header BY: LEE MORIN

Lee Morin’s 2015 season was a spectacular success, tagging both a trophy class whitetail and mule deer near his home in Southern Saskatchewan. His whitetail is a ‘perfect’ typical 5x5 with only 4 1/8” of deductions and a gross score of 167 2/8”. His mule deer is a tremendous specimen with a 190” typical frame and almost 20” of junk giving it a total gross score of 209 6/8”.

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unting mule deer has been something that I have obsessed over every fall ever since my first mule deer hunt when I was a kid. 2015 was no exception. The opening day of archery mule deer season finally came and I was up and ready to rock well before the sunrise. Having several big old bucks on the hit list made for a promising season. Late in the morning of the first day I was able to get right on top of an old buck that I knew was at least 8 years old. I had named him Crabby. He had gone downhill big time compared to the year before, but still had some serious mass and a beautiful frame. At 60 yards, I decided that Crabby just wasn’t going to be the deer for me this year and backed out.

The next morning, I couldn’t stop thinking about a young, 180+ typical that I had passed up at 30 yards in 2014 when I had a draw tag.

Although I hadn’t laid eyes on that deer in 2015, I just had to go and have another look for him in hopes of him being over that 190 B&C typical mark. As luck would have it, I found him with very minimal effort. He wasn't going to go Boone and Crocket but was definitely big enough for a closer look and maybe some phoneskope photos. On my way to the next road I noticed another buck on the edge of some alfalfa. A quick look through the binos and I may have started drooling a bit because it was a beautiful, high framed muley with stickers, a back scratcher and a giant typical left side! This was it, he was, “The one". After the big guy and his little buddy grazed for a while, they headed over to a bale stack and bedded down. "PERFECT" I thought as I began what seemed like the easiest stalk I had ever been on! I was able to walk upright to within about 40 yards of where I thought the bucks were bedded.

Being as careful as possible I continually peeked around the edge of the bale stack expecting to see antlers, but saw nothing. After what seemed like an hour, the youngster appeared and started heading north. Waiting for

the big one to follow along or at least enter my line of sight, I let the younger buck get to a point that he was able to see me and when he bolted, to my surprise, out of nowhere the old boy jumped up right in front of me and took off. The alfalfa happened to be tall enough that when he laid down and lowered his head I couldn’t even see a piece of antler at 40 yards.

There was no way I was going to give up that easy on a deer like that. After following the two bucks at a safe distance for about a mile they got to the standing crop that the big typical and about nine other bucks were bedded in. Using the crop as cover I was able to get fairly close to the two bucks when up popped the big typical from earlier. The two big rigs began to head towards each other and to my surprise started lightly sparring. “The perfect time for me to get to a better position,” I thought. When the two separated I was ranged and ready. It was a bit of a longer shot, but one that I had practiced a couple thousand times and felt I was ready for. The arrow flew, the deer kicked and took off. I wasn't 100% sure where the arrow had hit so I gave the deer some time and then began following what seemed like a fairly heavy blood trail.

Spotting the buck standing at about 300 yards my heart began to sink. All that practice and it looked like my shot wasn’t as good as I had thought. With the crop being so tall it was easy for me to close the gap to about 100 yards without being spotted and I was able to determine that my shot had landed a bit high and was above the lungs. The only good news was that the deer seemed to be fairly relaxed. “I might just get a chance to redeem myself,” I thought. I gave the deer about two hours and decided that the first shot was not a fatal shot so I began to once again crawl towards the buck. When the deer stood and was looking at some bucks in another bachelor group, I pulled my bow back and started looking for vitals. A shot presented itself and I took it! Seconds later, I took a seat in the crop, certain that I had just sealed the deal. I watched the buck run, but he kept going and going, eventually clearing the horizon

and disappearing. A little surprised he hadn’t tipped over on his way up that hill I began heading in that direction. When I cleared the hill I found the buck alright. He was bedded down but still alert. I sat and watched him all morning. I called my Dad and informed him of what had went down that morning.

"Just give him time," was the advice I got over the phone so I watched the deer for the rest of the day.

Sitting in the rain, I began to get pretty upset with myself thinking just an inch or two lower with the first shot and that deer would already be hanging in the shop. The sun went down and I was forced to leave the buck overnight.

After a sleepless night I loaded up and headed back to where I had last seen the deer. Unbelievably, he was right there, standing in the crop like nothing was wrong at all. I decided to head to the next hill before gearing up and heading after the buck again, but slid off the road between the two hills and was stuck in the mud. The truck would have to wait because I had much more important business to attend to. The buck headed to a shallow ravine and bedded up for the day. The only option I had was to crawl up a water run that had about a foot of water in it. That didn’t bother me one bit, knowing that it would put me within 40 yards of this beautiful old buck. That afternoon, the buck finally stood up and I was able to make a good double lung shot and finally end what was the roughest and most emotionally draining hunt of my life.

After taking a few pics of the old buck named "Crabby," I was heading back to the yard for a bite to eat when a nice young 150 class white tail popped out of the crop beside the truck. While watching him run through the crop, another deer caught my eye, a much larger deer! The area that I hunt doesn’t often produce B&C class whitetails so to say I was excited would be an understatement. I became obsessed and spent a lot of time trying to learn as much about this deer as I could before muzzle loader season opened. I was able to keep a pretty close eye on him through August, but once Septem-

ber came he was nearly nocturnal. I knew where he lived and I was going to be ready the first chance I had to hunt him. He was living on some standing crop and didn’t seem to do much wandering at all, but a week before the season the crop was harvested. I wasn’t sure if that was going to move him to another parcel of crop, or into the sloughs, or down to the river. My plan was now full of holes.

The first day that i was able to get out with the muzzle loader was October 8th. I parked the truck and grabbed a few items along with my TC Omega and headed out across the field to begin checking sloughs. There was one brushy slough that I had in mind that was a common place to find whitetail bucks in early October so I was going to save that one until last and make sure the wind was perfect. After walking about a 3-mile horseshoe checking sloughs and creek beds, I was beginning to build confidence that he was going to be "right where he was supposed to be".

When I reached the edge of the slough, I took a minute to give myself a little pep talk and make sure I was ready for what I hoped was about to happen. The first snap of a twig under my boot and the 150 class buck and another youngster popped up and bolted. One second later, the big rig stood up to see what the commotion was and I was ready and waiting with my gun on my shoulder. A quick check list of "5x5, long mains, out past

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his ears, yup that’s him�. I dropped the hammer and he jumped up and took off. He crested a small hill and I could see that he was losing blood from both sides. A couple of people knew I was after a particular buck so after a few, "I got him" texts, I headed over the hill to put my hands on my biggest whitetail to date.

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Denny Conley of Emerson, Kentucky tagged a giant buck in 2016 near Morehead, Kentucky. He did his homework including finding a shed off the big deer in the spring of 2016, and then setting up trail cameras for the buck.

Regular pictures of the bruiser encouraged him and he had the buck figured out. It all came together and Denny was able to anchor the 196 6/8� Kentucky monster!

Velvet GIANT By: Denny Conley

I

t all began in March of 2016 when my twin brother, along with a good friend and I went shed hunting in Rowan County on a farm where I had received permission. We walked for a couple hours before finding a monster shed scoring 89 inches! I then spoke with the land owners and after a few meetings they agreed to let me lease the property for the fall hunt. I was ecstatic and immediately began making plans for the upcoming season. Fast forward to the end of June, after putting mineral sites out, I decided to hang a couple cams on the farms where I thought that the buck I had found the shed off of may have been going to bed for the day and then traveling to feed in the evenings.

I spent the next week in Florida, and it was a long week wondering what may show up on my trail camera. Sure enough, the first card I checked had pictures of the giant. I had managed to capture his pictures on my first card pull! I started running cameras and keeping mineral and corn out. Over the next few months I gathered 1000s of pictures of the giant with numerous other up and comers. With each card pull, my anticipation of the upcoming season grew, and the realization that I may have a chance at the giant became more and more likely.

The cameras had provided me with a number of clues about his daily routine, so I went in with my twin brother and hung two lock on stands, based on wind conditions. Both stands were along the river so I could access in and out of the stands without spooking the deer. We thought that it was a perfect setup and began counting down the days to the opener.

Fast forward to opening day. In preparation, I had checked the cam the day before and sure enough, he had been under the stand! From the moment the season opened, I planned on hunting every morning and evening so I was in my stand by 415 am to ensure I did not spook him as I went in. I thought that he was most likely on another property where they had planted

soy beans, and where he was going to in the evenings to feed.

Everything was perfect and I had a good feeling heading into the stand on that cool morning. As the sun was coming up, I looked across the alfalfa field to see three bucks coming up the river bank. Instantly, I knew that the third deer back was the giant, there was no mistaking him! I sent a text to my youngest brother and let him know that he had made his appearance and was slowly making his way to my location. I even snapped him a pic of him walking across the field, following the other two younger bucks.

It took a full 40 minutes for them to make their way within range, and it felt like hours as I watched in awe. I stood up and ranged him at 67, then 54, then 46, then at 37 yards I drew my Matthews Halon back with Easton Hex arrow with a 2 blade Rage, I released the arrow.

After seeing the arrow connect, my excitement almost got the

best of me! I had to sit down from shaking so much, so much I couldn't even text my brothers to let them know I had connected on the giant!

After 20 minutes, I tried my best to calm down and finally was steady enough to message my twin brother and let him know I had made a shot on him! My roommate Jeff Brown was on his way, to help recover the deer.

After arriving at the farm, we talked about what happened, and the details of the shot and decided to go ahead and follow the blood trail. I was confident of a solid, fatal hit. After following the blood trail for about 200 yards, we walked up on a massive rack sticking up from the underbrush! I walked up to the beast and just fell to my knees in disbelief! After all the hard work, and sweat and homework, I had actually done what I set out to do!

I was in disbelief as I realized that I had killed my best buck to date, and in full velvet. My emotions were overwhelming. After taking everything in, we got him loaded and taken care of, ensuring the velvet was protected and in good shape.

The velvet was in perfect shape and I didn't want to take any chance on ripping it to ensure the buck can hang on my wall for years to come and remind me of the successful 2016 season.

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Josh Harb grew up hunting whitetails in Ontario and jumped at the chance to move to Alberta a few years back, largely due to the hunting opportunities for whitetails. It took a few years, but he finally fulfilled his dream of taking a giant Alberta buck. Josh underestimated the buck because of the immense 315 pound body size which made the rack look smaller. Josh’s buck ended up with a gross score of 168 7/8”, a true Alberta dream buck.

Time By: Josh Harb

I

grew up in southern Ontario and from a very young age my father introduced me to his passion of hunting. It did not take long for this passion to transfer to me. As a young boy I didn't think there was anything better in the world than shooting ducks and geese. Every chance I could get I would be out there with him. I still remember getting my first duck call and how I must have annoyed him to to no end with that thing. But I learned quickly how to use it and was calling in birds at 10 years old.

When I turned 12 I got my hunting license and was out hunting every chance I got. I took my very first whitetail that year along with a black bear, not a bad year for a 12 year old!

As much as I enjoyed all the different types of hunting my Dad introduced to me, it was whitetail deer that intrigued me the most. I started shooting a bow that my father handed down to me. The bow was older than me and probably a few inches too long but I managed to shoot it, and eventually to shoot it well. I started hunting deer as much as I could. I would get off the school bus and go straight to the garage and get geared up, heading out behind the house.

I think my first year deer hunting I didn't even see a deer!

On my second year I took my very first deer with my bow and it was one of the proudest moments of my life and I'm sure for my dad as well. Big deer were a tough thing to come by in our area, but somehow or another my dad would always seem to find them. I've always admired the ones my dad had hanging on the wall and wanted one for myself in the worst of ways. On my 16th birthday, I arrowed my first buck. He was about a 60 inch seven pointer and I was the happiest hunter out there!

I had taken a couple bucks in Ontario with my bow by the age of 18, but still no monsters. I couldn't tell you how many days and hours I've spent in the bush, hoping for one of these guys to show themselves. An opportunity came up for me to move out to Alberta. There is quite the shortage of work where I come from and there was a job waiting for me if I was willing to go. It didn't take me long to decide to go for it, admittedly part of the reason was just imagining the kind of hunting I might be able to get myself into out west. I've heard all about the massive whitetails out west and couldn't wait to start the next chapter in my life.

My first year hunting out west I was able to take a nice 140s buck with my bow. But like any whitetail hunter I've always had dreams of a monster deer. I hunted for a few more years, taking some decent deer but about three years ago I got a chance at my dream job, a big game guide. I started working in northern

Alberta guiding hunts for black bear, moose, elk, mule deer and whitetail. Now I was hunting virtually every day of the entire season, but with guiding almost every day I didn't get to many chances to get out in the bush for myself.

The day I killed my deer was just like any other, scouting for animals for our clients. At this point we were all done our elk hunts but I had a tag for myself. I went out scouting for moose and hoping to possibly find a bull elk

for myself. Whitetails were the last thing on my mind that night. I pulled up to a familiar field and started to glass. It didn't take me long to locate two whitetail bucks out in the field. The buck on the left looked quite nice. As the I watched the deer I couldn't believe my eyes as he turned and faced me. The brow tines on this deer were incredible. At this point there was almost two months of rifle season left. My first impression of this buck was he was a solid 140s type of buck, not one I really wanted to take this early in the season, so I decided to see how close I could get for a better look.

Sneaking down the fence line I soon found myself within 100 yards of him. I pulled up my scope and took a really good look at him. With light fading and my limited time to hunt these magnificent animals I decided I would be more than happy with him. I took the shot, heard the bullet hit and the buck did not make it more than 20 yards before expiring! As I walked up to him I couldn't believe my eyes.

This buck weighed in at a staggering 315 pounds, which likely made his rack look smaller, but he was no 140 class deer. I had made a huge judging error due to the massive size of his body took away from his antlers. I stood in awe, realizing that I had just killed my monster buck I've been dreaming of my entire life! I still cannot believe I almost didn't shoot this deer. My buck came in with a green gross score of 168 7/8�. A true Alberta monster buck! It is mind blowing to me that after the 1000’s of hours, countless days of hard work and putting myself into position to see a big deer, that is happened so easy. It just goes to show that if you are out hunting enough and continue to put in the effort, it will happen just like it did for me in the 2016 season!

“Late season warrior”. Photo by Hamilton Greenwood

Kyla Krushelniski with the record shattering elk she tagged in 2015. She passed a number of great bulls holding out for something special. The bull is nothing short of spectacular, carrying antlers never seen before in a wild elk from Saskatchewan. The 11x10 antlers gross almost 480�, and come in with an initial net score of 462 5/8� which makes it easily the largest elk ever in Saskatchewan. In addition, if the score holds in the Boone and Crockett system, it will be the largest bull ever taken by a hunter in Canada and the second largest in North America, according to Boone and Crockett club records!

New Canadian

Record Elk! BY: KYLA KRUSHELNISKI

We both knew he was a great bull but as we scaled down the hill and got closer and closer, we “ started to realize he might be even bigger than we thought. I remember glancing back up the hill and thinking, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen my husband move that fast!” While we completed the field dressing, we contacted a friend to help us load this impressive animal. It was at that time that we took some basic measurements and were surprised by our rough score. “That can’t be right, we must have made a mistake,” both my husband and I said numerous times.”

M

y hunting season started on June 17, 2016. That was the date I discovered that I had been draw for bull elk in the zone near my home. I recall checking the draw results multiple times to make sure I was reading it correctly. Since this was only the second year for bull elk in this zone and only ten tags were available, I was shocked to have been one of the lucky few selected!

Although I’ve been hunting since I was a teenager, over the past few years, my hunting activities have been scaled back, as three small children take up a lot of my time. If I do get out hunting, it is usually for a couple of days at best and then to basically shoot the fill my tag quickly. However, I knew that with this tag, that would not be the case. It could easily be the only time I get the opportunity to hunt elk this close to home. This would be a priority in our household, especially with my husband, Marty, who for the months of September through December is generally focused on hunting, hunting and more hunting! So vacation days were booked, babysitters were scheduled and hunting permission secured.

As my hunting time had been limited in recent years, a few trips to the shooting range were also required. My husband and I began reloading a few years earlier and he was anxious for me to try the Christensen Arms .300 win mag he had purchased a few months earlier along with the Barnes Triple Shock loads he had been working on. Having success at the range, I decided I would use this for the hunt, along with the special cartridges my daughter had helped him reload, with her name written on the side.

Early September started with some basic scouting around the area hoping to catch a few elk going out to feed in the evenings.

Then we’d have a starting point to where we might find our bull. These trips usually meant the entire family of five loaded up in the truck, travelling for a few hours each night trying to

get a pattern on the elk. We also had a couple of days of deeper scouting the weekend before the season opened. Luckily, we were able to locate a few animals and we were confident that we had found an area we could focus on.

The night before the season opened, my husband Marty took one last drive through the area looking for some sign of activity that would determine where we would start our hunt. Having seen an elk that evening, we returned to that location in the morning and were delighted to find he was still in the area!

We decided to approach the elk from a different direction and while relocating we happened to catch a glimpse of a second elk that looked very impressive. Unfortunately, he disappeared into the bush on land that we did not have permission for, and the elk we had originally been looking at disappeared as well.

Later that morning, we were able to obtain permission on the new piece of land so that evening and the next morning were spent walking, calling and sitting in a few spots with no sign of any elk. On our second afternoon we decided to try another spot that had been known to have elk activity over the last couple years. I think we walked close to six miles that afternoon and saw absolutely nothing! That evening, we tried a third spot where we had seen a few elk the week prior. We sat on a small hill in the pasture and called. Chills went down my back and I have to say that sitting in the hills and listening to the magnificent sound of elk bugling back and forth was truly amazing.

At one point there were four bulls calling! By the time any of them finally walked out into the clearing, it was long past legal shooting time so we decided to sit and watch. We caught a glimpse of one to the west and then watched as two others locked horns below us in another clearing. We waited until dark to walk out and decided immediately that this is where we would be in the morning.

On the morning of Saturday September 17, 2016, we returned to the same area, choosing a different hillside as the wind had changed. Bugling and calling this time resulted in only one response and that sounded to be a long distance away. An hour or so after sunrise we decided to go for another walk. We walked for about two hours and came across a couple of elk. As we watched one bull my husband said, “Well, he’s not bad”, which led to us revisit the discussions we had in the months leading up to the hunt. I told him, “In the end, I want to fill the tag, but since this is a potential once in a lifetime hunt, I would really like a nice bull, and hopefully something in the high 300’s” We decide we could be a little picky in these first few days and I passed

on that bull.

Having walked the area and not seen any of the elk from the night before, we decided to return to the top of the same hill we were on the evening before. We had an early lunch and were deciding what to do next. We were texting back and forth with another group of hunters, making a plan to join forces for the afternoon. At that point we decided to give one last bugle before we left. We let out the bugle and it was immediately returned from about 400 yards in front of us, in the heavy bush! A couple more calls resulted in another response from a different direction.

We continued to call and continued to get an answer from the west. It sounded like the bugles were coming from the clearing we had seen them in the night before, so we quickly moved down and around to see if we could see him. We had no luck, but then heard another bugle back near our spot on the hill, so we quickly returned and got set up. The bugle sounded close as we were climbing the hill. I loaded my gun as we walked to the top. As I was getting the gun loaded and scouting out a position to shoot from, my husband had his binoculars up and was able to see the bull.

He was only about 80 yards away! I couldn’t see the entire elk right away, as I had some small trees blocking my view.

Suddenly I heard an urgent, “Shoot, shoot, shoot”. I waited for the bull to walk into a position where I had a clear shot and fired! He dropped immediately. My hit looked good, in the top shoulder, but he tried to get to his feet, so I fired a second time and he was down for good. “Wow, we have him!” I thought to myself. It all happened so fast it was like a blur.

We both knew he was a great bull but as we scaled down the hill and got closer and closer we started to realize he might be even bigger than we thought. I remember glancing back up the hill and thinking I don’t think I’ve ever seen my husband move that fast! While we completed the field dressing, we contacted a friend to help us load this impressive animal. It was at that time that we took some basic measurements and were surprised by our rough score. “That can’t be right, we must have made a mistake,” both my husband and I said numerous times.

Luckily, we have a local who is an official Boone & Crockett and Henry Kelsey scorer. So the following day he came by to do his measurements. He then submitted those to the Henry Kelsey Big Game Records. A week later, following a panel to verify the score, the final measurement for the Henry Kelsey records non-typical elk came in at 462 5/8”! The bull is a 10x11 with a gross score pushing 480”! I don’t really think it sunk in until we had those official numbers. Who would have thought an animal of that size existed in our neck of the woods? With this being my first bull elk, and something I could never beat

Photo by Lindsay Wilkinson

in 100 lifetimes, my husband jokes that I might as well retire from hunting. He may be right, but I don’t think so, in fact I am more hooked on hunting now than I have ever been!

I would like to thank all of our friends who helped us that day to load, cape and transport the elk. I would also like to express my appreciation to the SWF and its representatives (Al, Brian, Glenn, Warren and Pat) for the timely measurement of my trophy and the wealth of information they have provided me thus far!

“A well of emotions came over my Grandpa as he looked away from the mug, trying to disguise the tiny droplets of water that had begun to form in the corner of his eye. He slowly wiped the tears away with a scrunched up Kleenex and I was able to catch his eyes in mid-flight trying to escape my eager gaze. “Must have been a special hunt, eh?”

I asked. That familiar Grandpa grin came across his face, “It was more than special. You want to hear it?” He didn't even have to ask. I already felt like I was diving head first into his adventure.”

I Got Him and He’s Mine By: Danielle Bergen There is something inexplicably special about a spring bear hunt. It is a difficult adventure to describe in a way that captures just how special it can be. Danielle Bergen and her family travel from central Saskatchewan to the beautiful northern forests every year, and in 2015 they had a particularly spectacular hunt with her Dad taking his biggest bear to date, and her sister taking her first ever bear!

I

have to admit, he was sort of right. It did look cool; it's shiny surface, the way the sun glistened against its side, and the steam that drifted up and off the top. To me it was just a mug, just a piece of glass smooth enough not to cut tender lips but strong enough to hold boiling liquid. But he held it like a prize; lifting it like it was gold. The smile that spread across his 90 year old face was irreplaceable and truly held a meaning far beyond what one would seemingly expect looking in on our situation. The word "Cabela's" trickled off his lips as he read the inscription on the inside of the mug. Then his eyes began to bore deeper and deeper into the picture that wrapped around the outside. I took a look at the bear and forest scene on the mug, remembering the memories of the many times I had been back home in Northern Saskatchewan hunting black bear. To me they were good, fond memories; ones that I will cherish for many years. But to my Grandpa, it was an entire adventure and a whole new world he had just stepped into.

His eyes seemed to dance as he carefully rotated the mug on the kitchen table. He looked up into my eyes for a fleeting second before retreating again to the scene on the side of the mug that seemed to come alive every time he gazed at it. “You know that bear that is in my office?” I nodded my head, “Yes Grandpa, it’s a beautiful bear.” He continued, “That is the first and last bear that I have ever shot. I shot it with your Dad up there in Saskatchewan.” A well of emotions came over my Grandpa as he looked away from the mug, trying to disguise the tiny droplets of water that had begun to form in the corner of his eye.

He slowly wiped the tears away with a scrunched up Kleenex and I was able to catch his eyes in mid-flight trying to escape my eager gaze. “Must have been a special hunt, eh?” I asked.

That familiar Grandpa grin came across his face, “It was more than special. You want to hear it?” He didn't even have to ask.

I already felt like I was diving head first into his adventure. I

nodded my head, keeping my eyes fixed on his every move. He pushed his chair back a little way from the table and just like that, there at the kitchen table, Grandpa and I were hunting the mighty northern Saskatchewan black bear.

“Are you comfortable?” he asked, looking right at me. I gave him a puzzled look. He continued, “I’m only asking because we are sitting on rocks covered in moss, and over there,” he pointed across the table towards the microwave, “Over there is the bear bait. Can you see it from where you are sitting? I have a clear shot and as long as you’re good, I’m ready.” I whispered, “Sure can, Grandpa. Everything is good from my end,” trying to get my hunting stealth mode on at the kitchen table. Grandpa slowly raised up his hands pretending to peer through an imaginary rifle scope and then I heard him murmur under his breath, “Little booboo won’t know what hit him.” As my Grandpa spoke, telling the story of his first evening in the bush hunting black bear with my Dad, I became mesmerized by his actions and the minute details that he remembered from a hunt that took place before I was even a thought. Every action he did with such care and grace that only added to the beauty of his story. As his tale of the first evening came to a close, he looked over at me and said with a face as straight as a knife blade, “I think tomorrow we should bring lawn chairs.” I couldn’t hold back and began to laugh. Grandpa quickly raised his finger to his mouth, “Allan, there is nothing funny about that. My back side is aching probably as bad as this rock is hurting from me sitting on it all evening and if you make too much noise we aren’t going to see any bears at all.” I quickly shut my mouth realizing that my Grandpa was not just retelling his hunt, he was reliving it. And not wanting to be the one to mess up a good hunt I added, “That would be a great idea. Lawn chairs will be much more comfortable for an evening sitting in the bush.”

My Grandpa continued his story, jumping over to evening number two. He told about how they jimmy-rigged the chairs together to make it easy to carry them into the bush.

How much more comfortable he was sitting on a chair rather than the rock and how he just couldn’t get over how beautiful northern Saskatchewan was. In the middle of a sentence about a beautiful pine tree he stopped and looked at me with a big smile, “Bear. Behind the bait barrel. Coming in with three cubs.” He froze in his kitchen chair and then realizing we weren’t actually hunting proceeded to act out with his hands how the little cubs would jump from moss mound to moss mound trying not to fall into the swampy water that was behind the bait barrel. Oh, the twinkle that was in his eyes as he talked about those cute little cubs. I’m positive that if that was all he had seen on his hunt that would have been epic enough for him. The sow and cubs stayed in at the bait for a while, and

then Grandpa turned to me, “Just so you know Allan, if a bear comes in that is big enough for me to shoot I want you to tap my leg with your hand and that’s how I’ll know I can pull the trigger, okay?”

“Sure thing Dad,” I said in my best manly voice like my Dad would have said to my Grandpa. Grandpa continued telling how the sow and cubs had gotten scared away and then in came a solo bear. He raised his imaginary gun in his hands and looked through the scope. I didn’t know whether this was the scene where my Dad tapped his leg or not, so I decided to give it a little time. “He’s beautiful Allan,” Grandpa said one eye closed and one open peering down the scope on his rifle. I tapped my Grandpa’s leg.

“BOOM!” I almost fell backward in my kitchen chair as my Grandpa racked the bolt on his rifle and chambered another shell bringing the gun back up for a second shot. “Did you get him Grandpa?” I asked regaining my balance. He brought his gun back down and rested it on the table, “That’s my line,” he said with a grin, “But yup, your Daddy told me I smoked him right in the, the, the phrase that means you shot an animal in the heart.” “The boiler room?” I said. “Oh yes,” Grandpa said enthusiastically, “This first time bear hunter is now a first time bear killer. I got him! Did you hear that? I got him and he’s mine!!”

That relived hunting adventure with my Grandpa happened two months ago, and now here I am, sitting in a tree stand hunting black bear in northern Saskatchewan with my brother and sister. My brother Joshua, Dad Allan, a hunting buddy, and myself had already been up for a week hunting bears and had seen some bear action but nothing quite big enough to slice a tag on. My sister was able to get time off this weekend, so she and my Mom came up to finish off our final weekend in bear camp. And my brother and I had decided that if a decent bear came in, we would give our sister, Shaunti, a chance at shooting her first bear.

Dad and Mom had dropped us off before going to sit in a different stand a short distance away. We got to the stand we call “Park View” nice and early and while Joshua grabbed the trail camera card, Shaunti and I climbed into the tree stand and got strapped in. Then Joshua proceeded to climb the ladder stand and make himself comfortable in-between us, sitting down on the platform of the stand. I began to fuddle around with my camera gear, strapping on my tree arm, screwing the tripod head on, and clicking my DSLR on to make sure I had enough battery and memory card space in case things got intense early. I then proceeded to change my regular lens out for my zoom lens just as my eyes caught my sister’s sharp gaze. Her lips spelled out the two words that makes every bow hunter’s heart leap, “Don’t Move.”

I slowly peaked out from behind my camera and saw the muscular mass of gorgeous long back fur coming our direction along the ridge. He was jaw dropping and absolutely stunning in every way. Every step he took made his thick coat roll from side to side like waves on an ocean. The white V on his chest was vivid and beautiful. Shaunti turned around to face me, “I don’t think he is big enough” she hoarsely whispered. Clearly my brain was registering completely different thoughts. But before I could piece together the phrase of how he was an absolute smoker of a first bear or a second or a third or a fourth bear for that matter, but my brother jumped in with four emphatic words, “Shaunti, shoot that bear.” Shaunti questioned him saying that the bear looked too small and he couldn’t actually be as big as we said he was and how could she just shoot the first bear she had seen this year. The bear came into the bait and began to feed. Joshua quietly but firmly told Shaunti that if she didn’t shoot him he would be taking the shot. While all this was going on and Shaunti and Joshua were having their sibling confrontation, I was happily shooting the bear with my camera. I finally heard Shaunti say that the bear was

maybe good enough, when all of a sudden like a trout on the hook he took off back into the bush with the speed of an antelope on steroids.

“Why didn’t you just shoot him?” I asked, probably interjecting my two cents into an already heated tree stand debate, that I should have just left well enough alone. Joshua was silently versing the “I told you so” line in his head and Shaunti was kicking herself that she hadn’t tried to take the shot. Then everything went quiet, abnormally quiet, especially for us three when we are together. We sat in silence for a while before hearing more snaps coming from behind us. A smaller bear came strolling into the bait like he was king of the castle. Instantly I saw it click into Shaunti’s brain. She was getting her first look at what was a small size bear and I could see that she knew the previous bear was just as big as Joshua and I had said.

She looked over at me, “Now that is the definition of small. If that other bear comes back, he won’t be alive much longer.” I wanted to shout out “Thank goodness!” but I held back and continued to film the smaller bear playing around at the bait barrel.

Then something completely unexpected happened. My brother’s phone lit up with a text message from my Dad with a picture of a monstrous cinnamon coloured bear at their bait site. The text read, “Saw this guy come and go” Joshua responded right away, “Why didn’t you

shoot?!” Dad replied, “I did. Now what?” Followed by a smiley face emoji. I could have done a happy dance right there in the tree stand. My Dad finally shot a mega bear after letting us kids have the first shot for the past eight years. And to make it even more memorable for him, my Mom was there with him and she got it all on film. All of our trips from central Saskatchewan into the north were paying off. Like, heck ya! This night was turning out to be a dandy!

Our little boar was at the bait for a good twenty minutes before a loud crack was heard behind the bait site. All three of us in the tree stand jumped a bit and the small boar took off like he’d been shot out of a cannon. The cracks, snaps, and leaves crunching made their slow illusive way towards the bait barrel. I could feel the tree stand begin to shake as my sister slowly stood to her feet and grabbed her bow from the bow holder. She looked at me with an, “Oh crap, do you think I’m ready?” look. And I smiled back at her with the most supportive smile I could come up with. I turned my camera on and zoomed in, scanning behind the barrel. Then he emerged. His white V gave him away on the spot. The big boy was back for round two. I pressed the record button and followed the bear as he began to make his way to the bait. Then he stopped and looked up right at us. By now Shaunti was shaking like a poplar leaf and her breathing was coming out in quick short gasps. She tried to control it,

but it was no use, bear fever was running its course.

After a good ten minutes of testing the surroundings, the big boy finally took the steps to make his way to the bait barrel. At the same time, I was filming and praying with my eyes open. I asked the Lord to bring the bear in and please help my sister to make a fatal shot. The bear came into the bait and put his front paw perfectly up on to the bait barrel exposing every inch of his precious vital organs. I heard Joshua whisper the magic word, “Shoot!” Shaunti drew back her APA Viper V7; her Easton arrow sliding back through the whisker biscuit. I kept my eyes on the small LCD screen on my camera, waiting for her to let the arrow fly. As the bear reached his paw farther into the barrel, I was scared the yelling of “Shoot him! Shoot him! Just shoot Shaunti!” in my head would become audible to the entire forest. It felt like decade of silence had passed before I saw the sight I had been waiting for. My sister’s green nockturnal cut a line across my screen and I watched as the arrow disappeared into the bear’s thick black fur. The forest came alive with the sound of music. The bear woofed, jumped, growled, and spun around, tripping over the logs surrounding the bait barrel. Off to my left I heard Shaunti’s voice loud and clear, “Shoot!” In my mind I was like, “Yes, you did shoot. And you made a heck of a shot at that. Well

done sister.” But that wasn’t the ‘shoot’ that she was referring to. She thought that she had hit the shoulder blade and made a brutal shot, so her rendition of “shoot” was out of pure frustration at herself. We watched and listened as the bear took off in a mad dash back over and down the backside of the ridge. You could hear crashing, snapping, popping, and crunching as the bear bore a hole through the forest. No tree, bush, moss, water, or animal was going to get in his way. He was running for his life and making a good effort I would say.

Then just as quickly as it had all began it was silent, deathly silent, the silent that makes you squirm in your seat or just get flipping excited.

The next day we went and retrieved both my Dad and sister’s bears from their beautiful resting place amongst the timber of Northern Saskatchewan. The look on my sister’s face told the entire story I had heard two months previously. The tale of a first time black bear bowhunter who was hooked for life. My sister couldn’t have said it any better as she quoted my Grandpa’s words to a T, “This first time bear hunter is now a first time bear killer. I got him! Did you hear that? I got him and he’s mine!!” Two amazing bears in the same evening.

Dad with his largest to date and now Shaunti with her first ever! A new era of bear hunters has begun!

May We All By: Kaare Gunderson

“Y

eah you learn to fly if you can’t then you just freefall……May We All”. Those song lyrics are always in my head these days it seems. Though in my books, 90’s country remains king, every now and then I hear a song from today’s artists that strikes a chord with me. Though the song is not about deer hunting, in my head, I’ve related parts of it to the season that my hunter and I had. “May we all, do a little better than the first time, Learn a little something from the worst times, Get a little stronger from the hurt times. May we all, get the chance to ride the fast one, walk away wiser when we crashed one, keep hoping that the best one is the last one.”

It’s like those lyrics were written specifically for me to reflect on this past hunting season. You see, “The first time”, I wrote it about last article. It was a first for both of us, he actually hunting, Photoof doing, taking my child and Hamilton myself doingGreenwood what I had dreamed hunting. It was October 1st, there was a missed buck and much

room for improvement. 32 days later, my hunter would do better than that first time. The worst times and the hurt times, I will mention those later.

When I sent in my last article it was October 28th and my season to that point had been interesting to say the least but it had been smoldering down, even almost burnt out at that point. It sparked back up that very evening. I had been guiding my 12 year old son in pursuit of his first deer. By definition a guide is a person who advises or shows the way to others so technically that is what I was, though I’d prefer to be viewed by him as a hunting buddy and mentor.

Looking back, I think come that evening of October 28th, he was mentally fatigued, that’s why he chose to stay home that evening. Hunting had been extremely tough the previous two weeks and I feel there wasn’t a pile of optimism flowing through his veins, I know that mine seemed void of it. Thankfully a warm snap had melted off all of the crusted snow that had made deer movement cease to exist in the area we were hunting. Like any competent guide does, I decided that I would go on a scouting mission to see if the deer would cooperate as much as the weather had.

It was refreshing to see so many deer using that particular field as I sat from my vantage point, my muzzleloader leaned on a tree. I knew from the get go that it was merely an accessory to my costume, that it would remain there, propped against a limb, as I had put myself in a location far more conducive to observing than actually killing. When the buck that got my attention strolled out onto the field my first thoughts were, “I don’t know that buck.” They were rapidly followed by “that’s a real good deer.” Initially, I think his big body and redwood tree neck made him appear smaller than he was but once I got to scrutinizing him with the binoculars it was evident I was staring at a mature buck with heavy, ebony antlers. He was a poster boy for how the month of October brings about a metamorphosis in the whitetail buck. Gone was the sleek look of summer and early fall, he had been transformed into a hulking, muscular beast that had clearly been spending countless hours battling with other bucks and any poor sapling that should dare stand in his way. I tucked this new found knowledge away in my back pocket and headed home to pass on the information I had recently learned. “There is a new buck in that area, and he is a good one.” The next day would be the first of what many Saturdays become for myself at this time of year, another day, another rink, another town, and the hunt for this new mystery buck would have to wait until Sunday, the 30th.

It would be that Sunday that would be the “Learn a little something from the worst times” part of our season. Is it strange that something that resulted in heartbreak can also be viewed as something unforgettable and awe-inspiring? I wrote in an article long ago that a pro to hunting is that the disappointments build character. If this is indeed accurate, then we would be experiencing some serious disposition building before the day was done.

Like I often do when I go hunting, I chose to wing our location that day. By that I mean, carrying our gear in packs, stools included, and depending on the wind direction, taking those stools and trying to melt into cover in the best way we

Reid's buck working scrapes the night before he shot it.

could. We ended up deciding on a location roughly 100 yards from where I had watched that buck strut onto that field two days prior. I took the time to toss down some Scentballz “She Ready” in front of a camera on a nearby scrape, and then littered our area with another of their products, “Paydirt”. I’m not normally one to pimp products, but based on my observations this year, these things work. We settled into our chosen spot.

It was simply the two of us, snuggled in between two nice little spruce trees that I felt would break up our outline on the field edge. With our smokepole resting on a shooting stick we began the wait for the buck I was betting on to return.

It didn’t take long for some does to show up where we were expecting him, but even so, my attention had now been diverted all the way across the quarter section. From a distance I could see a deer, obviously a buck, chasing and harassing a group of other deer on their way to feed. Though still October, he was displaying some stereotypical breeding behaviour.

Within mere minutes he had covered a few hundred yards and I could now tell he wasn’t just a buck, but was a good buck. He was now starting to appear as though he could just become part of our game plan. After talking things over with my hunter it was decided that we would at least attempt to call him in.

Truthfully, I wouldn’t have done it had I been alone, in fear of blowing the opportunity I had come there for and that was a different deer, but Reid wanted to try so we did. I like to think that he learned many things from me this season, but I know for sure that the incident that would soon transpire would teach me something and I owe thanks to my child for that.

When I hear that song I spoke of earlier and they sing “May we all get the chance to ride the fast one, walk away wiser when we crashed one.” I can’t help but think of that day and how his optimism in trying to bring that buck in allowed us to climb on in and take that ride. It was a fast one and the crash at the end was a doozy and it hurt but I walked away wiser from the experience. The right buck, he can be called in during October.

When the buck heard my grunt tube I knew almost instantly that we were going to do something that I bet the majority of hunters never will do. His defiant body language upon hearing that grunt told me that he was game and within seconds he had trotted down the fence line to a rubbing post that he intended to take his aggression out on. Even from a good distance

I could plainly see through my optics the pole being pushed from side to side. Not only was he doing his part to whittle it down, he was helping reverse the effects that the post pounder had when it drove it in years prior. I think it was at this point that I realized that together, my son and I, were creating our own opportunity and witnessing a grand spectacle. With Reid’s encouragement, out came the doe in heat can call and from between those two little spruce trees, we became nature’s orchestra.

Momentarily afterward our second calling session we lost sight of him. A small bluff of trees in the field sheltered his whereabouts as he moved south from the rubbing post. It was not very long and he reappeared angling right in our direction.

He stopped along the trees to display to whichever deer may have been watching him that he was intent on participating in a donnybrook and he immediately went to work on a big scrape. Unless you have actually watched a buck do it, or place your trail cameras on scrapes such as I do, you likely have not even witnessed how a buck will stretch himself out, nose thrust into the air so that he can work the licking branches above. It was this we were witnessing at the moment. With his front legs beneath his chest and his rear ones pushed way out behind him he had the willows above rocking as though a gale force wind was passing through. Upon completing this task he squared up and began tossing mounds of earth rearwards with his front hooves. He was like a bull and he was looking for his matador.

A couple more grunts and a flip of the can and it was apparent, he was committed and he was coming.

The unfortunate aspect of this show we had been privileged to witness was that now, his route to us was in a straight forward direction, we would be staring at his front the entire way.

Up until this moment I had not even really taken the time to attempt to know which deer we were looking at but at roughly 100 yards he looked to the side and I knew it was the same big 5x5 buck that had shown himself to us way back on Thanksgiving Weekend, roughly 3 weeks earlier. I stated to my hunter which buck it was and in hindsight this was likely a bad decision as it only added fuel to a fire of excitement that was already raging. Adding to the list of things that were not exactly optimal at that moment was the fact that our hidey hole in between the two spruce trees had us in a position that was forcing the buck to be close, real close by the time he got into our shooting lane and with him locked onto our general position and coming, we would have no opportunity to make things more optimal.

To make a long story short, there was no shot. Despite getting in tight the buck eventually figured out he had been tricked and we were left there, on our knees about to as the song says, “learn a little something from the worst times.” Unfortunately it took a while for me to see the blessing in what had happened, an awesome display of rutting behaviour, witnessing nature in a form so few actually do. Instead I was focused on what went wrong and that is that no shot was fired. If I could have the night back, I would have handled it differently but I cannot so I have to live with how it shook down and there is no taking back the harsh words I may have spoken but I do know

my hunter would learn that night would be that you cannot shoot a deer if you do not shoot, for whichever the reason you have created may be. At that moment my hunter was freefalling, but he would soon learn to fly.

He would not actually hunt again until November 2. Though only a few days had passed since the incident I had repeatedly told him, over and over, “you have to shoot if you want to kill a deer”. One thing I learned on the night of October 30th was that missing a buck on the very first morning of his hunting career had really hurt his confidence, he was afraid to miss so he was finding reasons to not shoot as opposed to pulling the trigger. Everyone misses at some point I had tried to explain to him, it is part of hunting if you do it long enough. I suppose only time being a teacher can prove that to be true. The song states “May we all do a little better than the first time”, I knew that he could, he just had to believe it.

We were tucked into that very bluff of trees we had watched the big 5x5 work the scrape on before strutting right at us on the 30th and I had been going over scenarios as they might play out. Things will not always be perfect I told him, you have to sometimes make it work. Right around sunset he would see this and he would make it work, like I knew deep down that he

Big 5x5 the two called in during late October.

could. There were two separate groups of does in front of us, roughly 100 yards away and 100 yards apart.

Action had recently picked up with more and more of them stepping on to the field. It felt like something was going to happen, I learned later that Reid felt the same way. We actually heard the buck before we saw him. No sooner had the words “I heard a buck grunt”, escaped my mouth than we were observing a buck blasting out of the timber, grunting like a pig with almost each step. His antlers and nose were thrown up high and he was intent on cutting a doe from the group, any doe. Within seconds he was at a stop at a distance of about 75 yards but before my hunter could get a shot off he was on the move again, like a cutting horse, heading for the next group of does. It was here that things could have went south for us like they had a couple times already during the season but this time, together, we made it work.

Almost instantly the buck was on an individual doe, pushing her away from the group, and away from us. No longer was the makeshift rest I had prepared way back in September an option. The buck was angling away and back towards the cover, it was time to act fast. Fortunately I had carried along a shooting stick in anticipation of a shot being presented that was not going to come off the small tree I had nailed between two larger trees. When my hunter got up from his hiding place in the small bluff, he had to come around me and it was this movement that brought all the chasing to an end. Like deer almost always do when they see something they are unsure of they stop, that is exactly what he did when the rock pile in the trees came to life. He stood, quartering away at about 50 yards and I am not even sure I had time to say “shoot” before Reid had that gun on the shooting stick and the trigger pulled. It was almost as though the buck was crumpling to the earth where he had previously stood before we even heard the bang. Equally as quickly as the flight path of the bullet, the emotion flowed from my young hunter, absolutely overjoyed with having just taken his first buck. In all of the years I have hunted, I have never felt anything close to what I was feeling at that moment. I’m not sure what you would actually call a feeling that is a combination of pride, relief, excitement, privilege, wonder, and euphoria but if you could bottle it up, I would have been chugging it down at that moment.

Though the buck lay piled up roughly 50 yards away from us we did not even have an idea of which buck it may actually be. After we were done sharing our moment together and collecting ourselves after what had happened fast and had taken us both on a serious emotional rollercoaster we headed for the downed buck. I let him lead the way, it was his buck after all. I can still hear his words, “Ohhh…he’s dark, he’s chocolate, look at the mass!!” It was during these moments of fondling and admiration prior to the photo session that I would realize which buck he had shot. It was the buck I had seen on the 28th of October, one I decided would be a dandy for him if given the chance. Though he was not overly wide, he had terrific mass and great length in his g2 and 3’s. He absolutely blew away my

first buck! Because everything had transpired so quickly we had zero time to scrutinize which buck we were looking at, we could simply discern that it was a buck and a real good one at that.

We took the time to take some photos on the cell phone prior to calling the landowners to let them know of our good fortune.

We then returned home to fetch a better camera, a camera man in the form of his excited little brother and a quad in which we would need to retrieve him. No longer was my hunter stuck in the free-fall he experienced in October, he had learned to fly!

I can vividly remember a September night in 2015 when it became apparent that we would soon have to put our beloved old dog Hunter down. “Life is memories”, I had told him. After all, moments prior to this very second are just that, memories. On November 2, 2016, together, we had created one only known to us, one never to be forgotten as long as we live. We had lived the “may the best one be the last one”, moment of our fall. He had witnessed something spectacular and made the most of his opportunity. We relished

the moment, soaked it all in and it was well after dark before my boys and I made our way from the northern Saskatchewan field to get the buck hanged and skinned.

I once read that every memory has a soundtrack of it’s own.

“May We All.”

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Regina Fish and Game League

Presents

REGINA

3RD Annual

OUTDOOR

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Canada Centre – Evraz Place www.reginaoutdoorsportsshow.ca

18th-19th, 2017 Saturday 9am – 6pm • Sunday 9am – 4pm Adult : $10 • Junior (under 17) $5 12 and Under are free

Sponsors : Alumacraft, Mercury, King of Fun - Mainline RV, Jack FM, Big Dog Major Raffle; March 19, 2017 @ 4:00 pm Canada Center Alumacraft Classic 165 Sport,Mercury 50 HP- 4 stroke, w/trailer ( Retail Value $30,542.60 ) Early bird Raffle on Advance Tickets: March 17, 2017 @ 7pm Canada Center CanAm Outlander L 570 Hunter Special ( Retail Value - $12,391.50 ) only 3000 Tickets are being sold

Melissa Sarnecki from Leduc County, Alberta took the bull of lifetime late in the season, and on her last day out of the year! Her big bull had long sweeping beams, both over 42” long and was a perfect 6x6 with no abnormal points and only 6 4/8” of deductions. The result is a net score of 300 4/8” and a big bull on her wall that will always remind her of the challenging season and sweet success that she had at the last minute of the season.

Alberta DREAM Bull BY: MELISSA SARNECKI

I

t was a long time waiting, but the year finally came when I was drawn for my Alberta bull elk. I have been on many hunts throughout the years but this one is my most memorable. I only had three weeks to find and harvest such a beautiful animal. The temperature was seasonal November, around -8C with no snow on the ground. It was a ‘hunt on foot only’ zone, with no motorized vehicles which suited me just fine, but I knew it was going to be a challenge! I was confident in myself and my hunting partner and husband Allen, and knew that we could get the job done and take advantage of this amazing

opportunity.

The night before opening day, I was like a kid in a candy store with excitement. We sent our daughter off to the babysitters and continued to pack our hunting gear and food for the next day. With no snow, we decided to save some time and mountain bike into the area we wanted to be at. It was a hard ride in with winter gear, boots and hunting gear. We set off up and down hills and old trails, and after stopping a few times to catch my breath we were deep into the bush so we left our bikes and continued on foot in search of elk sign. I saw a few cows that first day which help to lift my spirts and my hopes were high. We hiked and scouted until the sun started to set. There were alot of coyotes and wolves who decided to begin a chorus of howling as the sun set, which made it a little scary, but it also helped me peddle a little faster.

With work schedules and trying to line up babysitters, I took every opportunity I could to get out there to hunt. One particular day, I saw in the far distance a couple young bulls, a couple wolves, and a group of cows but there was no sign of a big bull.

By the third trip out the ride and hike seemed to be much easier and my body didn’t ache any more.

As the weeks went by the days got colder and the snow covered the ground. I was getting discouraged. It was my sixth day out and I knew it was the last day for me. We had a snow storm the day before and temperatures were around -10c in the sun.

The snow was deep, right up to our knees in most spots but we pushed through it. We spent the whole day out, but as temperatures dropped and it began to snow, I hung my head and started to make my way back. Allen could see that I was really upset. My tears were freezing to my cheeks. I remember trying

to focus on being appreciative and enjoying all the time spent in the bush with my husband, but it was he ar t bre a k ing knowing my long awaited draw tag would not be filled.

We came to a fork in the trail where we could see a long ways and decided to take one last look around.

Sure enough, in the distance, we spotted some elk! There were about 1000 yards away. We were not sure if a bull was in the herd, but it was one last sign of hope and we decided to push through the deep snow to get a closer look.

My husband was ahead of me when we came up to a hill.

He ducked lower and signaled to me that he had seen something just over the hill.

It was a small group of mature bulls! I ranged them at 240 yards.

While setting up my shooting sticks, my adrenaline was pumping like never before. It was hard to control my breathing as I threw my gloves to the snow and took aim with my 7mm at the first bull that presented himself for a perfect shot. The thunder of the shot echoed as the bull dropped and then everything was silent.

Once we got to my bull, I was in tears, but this time in thank-

fulness for the opportunity as we took a moment of respect of the animal. It was now getting dark fast with temperature dropped below -20C. We still had an hour and a half hike back out so we knew we had to leave him until daybreak, but my fear was the wolves. So I proudly admit that I did a trick that I was taught by my father. He told me that if you must leave an animal, you should urinate close to your animal to keep predators away, along with an article of clothing on him. I like to believe it worked because the next morning he was untouched!

With help from family and friends we hiked in, packed him up and pulled him out on sleighs. Every time I look at his mount I am reminded how thankful I am that I got to spend that quality time in the bush with my husband, hunting and pushing my limitations physically and mentally. My reward was to provide food for my family, and every second of hard work was worth it.

Photo by Shawn Danychuk

Campfire Chronicles BY: CHRIS MAXWELL

Field Photo’s

How to make the most of your memories They say a picture is worth a thousand words, if this age old adage is true your hunting photos should speak volumes. Many of us have been on adventures and have seen things that would make even the most seasoned traveler envious. There is however, a big difference between good and great field pictures.

In the “old days” the 35mm camera was king. Hunters far and wide would use this camera with varying degrees of success. While the old point and click was sufficient for its day you never really knew what would come out on the back end especially in low light conditions. Often pictures would have improper light exposure, be blurred or worst of all someone opened the back of the camera before the film was completely rolled in ruining any of the photos that had been exposed to the light. Today we are spoiled with digital cameras, high resolution, high capacity storage and the ability to instantly see the picture that was just taken. These advances have taken photography to a level never dreamed of by the previous generation and there really is no excuse not to have great field photos and lots of them.

Tips for taking great field photos The first piece of advice I would give for taking great field photos is to have the animal propped up in a good position and if possible have the blood cleaned off its mouth and cape making sure to place the tongue back in the subject’s mouth. Show respect for your quarry and avoid photos with one foot on the back while holding the rack, this looks disrespectful and these types of photos are often used by anti-hunters to discredit the hunting community.

The background to any photo can make or break it. Make sure to have good scenery as a backdrop and avoid having things like trucks, gear and gut piles in close proximity before starting to take your pictures. Inevitably, if these things are close by they will get captured in some of your pictures.

Lighting is perhaps one of the most critical elements of good field photos. The best conditions for field photos are midday and extremely overcast. This will give you good light and won’t produce “ball cap” shadows over the hunters’ eyes like a bright

sunny day will. In low light conditions always use your flash.

A couple years ago I was fortunate enough to harvest a mountain lion and it was late in the afternoon. By the time we got to taking pictures the ones without flash were extremely dark and the ones with flash turned out ok. Low light, in my opinion is the worst case scenario when amateur photographers like myself are trying to get a good picture.

Look at the magazines. I personally have no imagination when it comes to dreaming up unique or artistic photos that I will like. Because I had no idea how to create the perfect field photo I started to pay attention to hunting and trophy photos in the various publications I subscribed to. I would find the shots I liked best and would try to figure out how to recreate them myself. The result was having a lot more field photos I enjoyed and that were more interesting to look at.

The “hero shot” is the one most hunters are concerned with but when you’re on the trip of a lifetime or even if you are just hunting around home take the time to capture images of scenery, interesting items that you may find in the field, unique rock outcroppings or anything else of interest that is in the area. All of these things help build the memory and the experience of the hunt.

A big mistake when it comes to field photos is being in a rush. Maybe it is the end of the day and light is fading fast, or perhaps the work that lies ahead is beckoning you to hurry up, regardless being in a hurry never ends well when taking pictures. The results are often unsatisfactory positioning of

the animal, perhaps an undesirable backdrop or poor lighting.

Regardless of the issue, you can almost guarantee you will be taking less than magazine quality photos. My advice is to slow down! This may be a once in a lifetime trip or an exceptional animal you have just harvested. Take as much time as you need to do a proper photo shoot, you won’t regret it. What is an extra half hour in the field, at the end of the day you are far better off to spend a little extra time and capture exceptional quality pictures than to rush and leave with marginal photos you won’t be likely to look at down the road. At the end of the day you will never be able to replicate the exact hunt you just did and when you’re old you may never be able to do the hunt again.

The opportunity to create and capture your memories is now.

Make sure you do a good job of it while you can.

Social media is a blessing and the curse of the hunting community; we all love to see other people’s trophy animals and pictures from each other’s hunts and social media is perhaps the easiest and most convenient way to do it. While the majority of pictures posted are just fine there is always the odd one that gets posted that was better left on Jonny’s home computer.

My advice is to be aware of what you are posting and the potential backlash to yourself and the hunting community before posting it. There are lots of great pictures to post, do everyone a favor leave the questionable ones off line.

Good luck this year I look forward to seeing your trophy photos in the next issue of BGI!

Cat&Mouse

Mulie BY: JASON FOLLIET

Jason Folliet from Saskatoon, Saskatchewan with the big typical mule deer he took in 2016. After drawing a tag, he hunted throughout the season, holding out for something special. His big typical fits the bill, with a 26” inside spread, a longest back over 19” and a gross score of 182 4/8”.

T

he 2016 mule deer season started as soon as I found out I drew a coveted Saskatchewan mule deer tag! After a bunch of scouting trips in August with my hunting buddy Greg Yaholnitsky, we had a good idea of where to spend time to find a good deer to hang a tag on. Greg, only having an archery mule deer tag, meant he could only start hunting on September 15th. I, on the other hand, could start on September 1st. The sun was rising and my hopes were growing and growing. I was hoping for a buck with a huge frame and long points. I saw a lot of deer in the morning, but the only antlers I saw were awfully small and the points were almost nonexistent. I spent hours crawling around and creeping through the southern Saskatchewan wilderness with nothing but memories to take back. Later that evening, I went to a different area and

almost right away it paid off. Two beautiful September bucks layered with tan coloured velvet stood in a hay field, tempting me. After a stalk, an hour went by as I went back and forth with the decision to hang my tag on the smaller, but beautiful looking buck before me. In the end I passed him. I continued on, running out of light on opening day when I saw movement in a wheat field that I wasn't expecting. In my binoculars all I saw was a huge frame, and long tines before it disappeared in surrounding scrub brush. I was more than excited and I felt lucky to have laid eyes on such a beast on opening day!

Driving back home my BRAND NEW truck met a decent little mule deer buck on the highway and I was forced to take a few days off while dealing with insurance and rental companies. September 9th was my next mulie adventure, this time in

a much less rugged rental SUV. At first light I was determined to try and find the HOG I saw nine days earlier so my plan was to lace up and put on some miles. I arrived to my location and saw movement in the brush a few hundred yards away. One buck, Two bucks, three, four, all the way to seven velvet bucks heading deeper into the brush to find a spot to hang their hats for the day. For the next 30 minutes, I was watching with my spotting scope and a tripod trying to find the big framed and long tined deer I spotted earlier in September. The big framed mulie was nowhere to be seen. I followed and scoped the bachelor herd all morning but couldn't bring myself to end my mule deer hunt on the second day with anything less than a truly mature buck. The evening was less productive as I was STILL trying to find the deer, which was now turning into a ghost.

A few more days of cat and mouse with bachelor herds turned up nothing massive until my buddy Greg joined me. September 15th had now arrived and Greg joined me in the pursuit of a now mythological creature. Greg and I arrived in the dark, too early to spot anything, so we decided to drive to a different area that we were SURE had deer. We were right! The sky was JUST turning from black to grey when out of pure fluke I scanned a field for deer and BOOM, long tines and big frame. Greg and I watched the deer until all of a sudden it disappeared. Confused about its Houdini trick, I pulled up the map on my phone and noticed there was a hidden ravine in between a bunch of hay land. Permission was gained so Greg and I were now on a mission to find our new target. Hours went by as we played a game I like to call, "Is that a deer antler or a stick?" as we were creep-

ing through the jungle like scrub brush.

Greg found himself too close and too late to a BIG set of antlers.

I was a short distance away but I could still see the look on Greg's face, which I knew meant that something was about to happen. All of a sudden a giant mule deer came crashing out of the brush and almost ended up on our laps during his exit.

Finding the big mulie became almost easy because of his reluctance to bed in any other bed other than HIS own personal bed every time. However, sneaking in on that spot was impossible and he knew it! It seemed like he was a mutant deer with 15 eyes and super hearing because no matter how good

Greg and I snuck into his bedroom, he would disappear somehow. Finally the perfect conditions for a stalk appeared, with 100km/h winds and rain flying sideways. A few hours later, Greg and I, half hypothermic with our shoes off and soaked to the bone, could see giant antlers sneaking away from us through the bush. Somehow, we blew it again!

The last half of October came and we lost sight of the big deer. October 15th came and Greg could no longer hunt with me, though he still tagged along like the good hunting buddy

he is. Cactus in the feet and sweat down our brow, we scoured the entire countryside for the old buck.

Though we saw beautiful country and nice deer, we could not locate our big one, no matter the effort we put in. The season rolled by, and we hadn’t encountered the buck in a while. November 5th came and I pondered what to do. I remembered advice I was told by a local professional hunter who told me, “In November, find the does and you'll find the bucks".

All the time and effort we had put in meant that we knew exactly where the does were. The next morning Greg and I were out too early again, so we decided to do the same early morning trip we did the first time we saw the big mulie. In the grey sky we saw HUGE frame and TALL tines dipping into the hidden valley, both of us couldn't get the smile off our faces.

Sunrise came on the most beautiful foggy morning and all I could see coming around a bend in the ravine was my big mulie! The mule deer that took me away from my family for so many days, the deer that cost me so much time and money, and the deer that bonded Greg and my friendship was now 70 yards away from me. In that moment, it was all worth it, and after the initial celebration and once I got over the shock, Greg and I made sure to give this giant old buck the respect he deserved with a perfectly placed shot, and a lot of time spent getting amazing field pictures, trying to show the stunning country this big old boy lived in.

The

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Ryker, Lydin & Hays Lewans

Jaxon & Hayden Rutley

Brandon Elles

Lisa McGladdery

Kaybree Fettes

Josh Verwimp

Isaish Zajonz

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our years of cat and mouse finally came to an end on November 15, 2016. Whether I knew it or not, the story of the Procrastination Buck began back in 2013. I hunted this deer with my buddy Nathan Black for four years.

In 2013, we gained access to some new land and after walking the property we found some good spots and some major trails that we set our trail cameras on. We had been told of a giant deer in the area and we were excited to hunt him this coming year. The year came and went and we did nothing other than setup cameras. However, we did get pictures of a good 150” deer but never consistent enough to warrant setting up on.

In 2014, we did the same thing as the previous year. We concentrated on where we thought the deer were moving based on the game trails and previous year’s scouting. The area looked awesome, but we never seemed to get a lot of pictures and never any consistent pictures of “the big guy” we were after. At this point he was only about a 150” deer, which was a good deer but just not the giant we were told about. So again we didn’t setup any stands and just continued to hunt our other spots where we felt we had a better chance of getting a good deer.

In 2015, we talked a big game. We set up multiple stands

Growing a Giant The Procrastination Buck By: Matt Middlemiss

By: Aimee Murray

Matt Middlemiss with the Alberta megabuck he and his friends hunted for four years before finally catching up with the elusive buck. Matt battled bad weather and a big snowstorm but did not give up on a challenging track job to recover the buck and it was worth it! The buck has an official score just over 180�! Be sure to follow Matt’s adventures with The Replacements Canada on WildTV and through their social media channels.

and scattered our Ridgetec cameras all across the property.

August passed, and we still only had cameras out. September came and went with no change. It wasn’t until the end of October when we went to go check cameras that we caught sight of him again. There he was in midday, rubbing a tree in one of the coolest pictures I’ve ever captured. I continued scrolling through the pictures and there he was again in midday. After a good winter he finally grew and was now a 160” plus whitetail, and one that we wanted bad. This is when I named him “The Procrastination buck”. The scramble was on to get a couple stands setup before the rut. We found a couple pinch points and felt really good about our setups. We sat these stands time after time and were barely seeing any deer, it was getting very discouraging. At the end of the season we went home with our tail between our legs and hung our tags on the Christmas tree.

We left our cameras out all winter and never got one sighting of him, we figured he was probably taken by another hunter.

2016 arrived and we had cameras out earlier than ever and had a couple other good bucks on camera all summer. One really nice 4x4 and another deer that looks like a hybrid between a whitetail and mule deer, but no pics of The Procrastination Buck. Most of September we concentrated on elk and mule deer, so there wasn’t much time put in for whitetail. When I got back from one of my hunting trips at the end of September I went to go check the cameras and there he was, again in broad daylight and right by one of our stands! We sat for him a few times and didn’t even see a deer. After that we knew he seemed to be in the area and we needed a new plan, but we just didn’t know what yet. He was MIA for the rest of September and our cameras weren’t seeing as many deer as they had been before. With some fresh snow in mid-October, we decided to walk the entire property again including a small chunk that we had neglected in our previous scouting missions. This is where we found a lot of tracks and it looked like where the majority of the movement was happening. We found a nice group of spruce that had a couple big tracks going into it and it just felt "big bucky". We put up a couple of cameras and within five days he showed up and became a frequent visitor! He and that big 4x4 even started to make a scrape right beside the camera.

We quickly set up stands and planned on hunting him long and hard all November.

We sat a few times in early November and barely saw a deer.

November 7th I tried to sneak into the stand mid-day and have a long sit till dark, but to my surprise he was standing right under the stand. With a quick glance and the flash of his tail, he was gone. I was absolutely crushed. I thought we may never see this deer again.

After that Nathan had five days off and planned to sit every day. All five days rolled by and he didn't even see a deer. We were both starting to think that we may need to change spots and do some more scouting. I had some days off coming up and it was my turn to take a run at him. I decided to stay put for the first few sits because it was the rut and anything can happen. Since every picture we got of the deer was between 10am and 3pm I decided to sit exactly that. I hunted a different spot first thing in the morning and got in to my stand at 10am.

I swapped out the SD card on the camera and there he was!

“He's back!” I thought. At 1am in the morning he had come to

freshen up his scrape and the Ridgetec cam had captured him.

I had nine days off and with my faith renewed, I planned to sit all nine days but on November 15th at 2pm the good looking 4x4 came in and tempted me with a 15 yard broadside shot. I held off and good thing I did because two minutes later I heard grunting from the side of me and the buck of my dreams was coming in hard and fast. Instantly, out from a spruce he appeared with a hot doe! He was every bit as big and beautiful as I had imagined. He quickly ran the 4x4 off like he was a spiker, making sure he didn’t get any ideas about his new girlfriend.

He turned to go back to his lady and stopped and stood still for a brief second to give a lip curl. It was then that I took my chance and drew my Obsession Bow, steadied myself and released the Kill’n Stix and Ramcat Broadhead! Smack! It found its mark. He was quartering towards me so I stuck him right in front of his shoulder and hit the opposite side shoulder. The shot looked good and seemed to get

decent penetration but that’s not the optimal angle that you are taught as hunters, for good reason. I stayed in my stand for two hours and figured I would go look for blood and try to recover him before dark and before it started to snow. I got on his trail and there was a ton of blood! Things were looking good I thought, until I looked up and I saw a whitetail running away

straight from where I had seen him run to last. My heart sunk.

I figured I just bumped him and it was going to be dark and start snowing in an hour. I backed out and went straight to my truck. I wanted to leave him overnight but knew that would be risky with the dump of snow they were calling for. After a few phone calls and a few differing opinions, the decision was made to give him a few more hours and go in that night. Unfortunately, it already snowed 2” from dark to the time we went back to track him. We were still able to find blood under the 2” on snow that was still piling up and followed him for 150 yards.

Once we got there, we soon realized that the deer I bumped wasn’t him, which was a good

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thing. We kind of hit a standstill and couldn’t find where he went from one point. There were four of us looking and we couldn’t find anything.

So we ended up just walking the entire bush hoping to stumble on him, which ended up being in the wrong direction of where he went anyway.

There were no fresh tracks, no more blood, nothing, other than a growing accumulation of snow.

By 1am we were soaked and tired so we decided to call it quits for the night.

I got in there at first light the next morning and it was very overwhelming with all the snow.

There was 4-6” of snow now and it was all over the trees and branches. I figured I was wasting my time, but knew I couldn’t give up on any animal. I started by walking any fresh tracks, looking for blood or any indication that that deer was walking funny. I did that for about an hour with nothing to show for it other than a load of snow down my back from all the tree limbs. After that, I went to where we last found blood the night before but I got distracted by some spruce trees that I wanted to have a closer look at. I was circling about the 5th tree and as I was looking under it I spotted a speck of blood on a small sapling!

We were back in business! The next hour or two was painfully slow and was spent packing down snow with my feet, getting down on my hands and knees and flipping over the packed snow to try to find blood on the bottom of the snow. As I very slowly worked my way along, some spots the sign was fairly good and others I had to spend a

lot of time finding out what direction he went.

I followed him to a fence line where he jumped to the neighboring property. So I had to go back to the truck, open iHunter and look at the landowner map to figure out who owned it and get permission to finish my track job. After gaining permission I was quickly on the trail again and felt like I was getting closer. After hours of painful tracking, there he was under a spruce tree up against a log! I have never felt as nervous and anxious as I was in that moment, walking up to this deer.

It was like a dream, all a blur in my mind.

After that track job I felt like the best tracker in the world! All joking aside I couldn't be happier with him. He is by far my biggest buck and maybe the biggest buck I’ll ever shoot. I am going to have a story and trophy that I will be able to share with everyone for my lifetime thanks to Top Notch Taxidermy Studio. Huge thanks to Dayne for the amazing pictures and to Dayne, Dan and Nathan for the help tracking the deer.

Most of all big thank you to my understanding and supportive family. This deer is as much Nathan's as it is mine. We put in countless hours and strategy to make this happen and that is the most gratifying part of harvesting this deer. Thanks buddy for all your hard work alongside me! Hopefully we can grow another one that you can sit behind

next time.

I have had the deer unofficially scored at 180 6/8�. A deer that will be tough to top especially with archery tackle. Be sure to tune into The Replacements on Wild TV to watch this un-

fold and Follow us on Facebook (The Replacements Canada), Instagram (@treplacements) and Twitter (@treplacements) to stay up with everything going on with the show.

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