Boot Tracks Field Notes: Mulie U, The Sophomore Year -- Montana Mule Deer 2014

Montana is a long state. Very long. According to the google, some 552 miles long via I90. Add that to the nearly 450mi from Portland to the Western Montana border, and somewhere along the line a sane person is bound to ask, "Why the heck are we driving this far for a deer?!"

Not inflicted with the burden of sanity, the thought never crossed our minds...

I had left Portland a day early to avoid potential weather delays in the The Gorge that a coming winter storm might bring. After spending the following day working remote from Craig's house in Spokane, we struck out together for Eastern Montana.

We were returning to the same general area we had hunted the year before. That year had been an education for us. A massive climb up the mule deer hunting learning curve. Every day we discovered a new piece to the puzzle. It was the school of hard knocks at times, but always an adventure at "Mulie University!"

With the anticipation of another year at Mulie U forward in our thoughts, the long drive passed quickly. Well, quickly-ish at least.

Late afternoon brought us to our hotel room. Due to availability, we were stuck in a smoking room our first few nights. Certainly less than ideal, but we would be warm and dry. How bad could it be?

It can be very bad.

I have stayed in a worse room just once in my life. It was in Southeastern Turkey on the border with Syria, and was a dive even by local standards. I felt compelled to barricade the door with my bed for safety and, in the middle of winter, opened to the windows to relieve the stench of the latrine across the hall from my door.

This room, here in America, was not better. Just less worse.

The place reeked! We quite literally choked on entering! I purchased a can of Fabreeze from the local store and proceeded to nearly empty it on the room. It now became noxious mix of some smell called "Clean Splash" and stale smoke.

Not my finest moment.

We opened the windows to the brisk, but fresh, 3*F weather outside and left for a bite and a beer. By the time we returned the potency had diminished to a tolerable level. Or perhaps our expectations had just been sufficiently lowered. Either way, after the long drive, we slept hard.

Morning greeted us with howling winds and a 0*F temp. We had planned for cold, just not this cold! With the windchill well into the subzero range, comfortable wasn't an option. Instead, our struggle was to somehow manage bearably uncomfortable. We moved often and glassed quickly. The cold would set in swiftly after even a few moments behind the binos. It finally dawned on me why all the dead deer in pick-up beds we saw the day before were only gutted and still had the hide on. It was too darned cold to do anything more!

The cold had taken it's toll and I was on the verge of either breaking into calisthenics or heading back to the truck when Craig glassed up a good buck. Guess it was time for a run instead! We dropped off the opposite side of the ridge and beat feet toward the end. Now sweating and breathless, we eased around the end and set up.

There were deer everywhere. Four different groups, but no big buck in the mix. After several false starts, the buck we were after finally appeared further down the draw than we expected, forcing us to quickly reposition. I ranged him while Craig settled his crosshairs. Unfortunately, the buck was hot on the tail of doe that seemed bent on making it to Canada by nightfall, and he only ever showed us his less-best side.

By now I swore the sweat I had generated on the stalk/run in had frozen to my skin! Shivering, we decided to pick up and head back to the warmth of the truck.

The balance of that day and first few thereafter were a bit like groundhog day: hours behind the binoculars, finally find a good buck in the glass, put together a long stalk, only to watch him bail over the next ridge... It was fan-freaking-tastic!

Each day held action. The deer were plentiful and bucks could be found throughout the day. We weren't out for a monster, but did hope to find a good representation of the species. And each day we were able to find a buck worth pursuing.

We spent much more time hunting the big open breaks this year than before. It affords great visibility, but could make for some difficult stalks with little cover.

Sometime around day five I glassed up bedded doe nearly a mile out. After putting the spotting scope on her and sweeping the area, we located a buck. Was hard to tell at this distance, but he seemed decent.

We were just getting ready to swing around the adjacent ridge for a better look when both deer stood, and for whatever reason, broke into a full run along the ridge perpendicular to ours. "For whatever reason" soon showed up; another buck! For the next twenty minutes the three deer played games of Hide and Seek, Keep Away and King of the Mountain, all while moving further across their ridge. They had moved a little less than a mile from where we originally found them, but with their back-and-forths and up-and-downs, they had easily logged four times that distance.

If we were going to catch up with these deer, we had to move fast, and move now.

It took a bit under an hour to make our circle and get within range of the opposing ridge and our playful deer. Too often we'd pushed hard like this, only to find on arrival that Elvis had left the building. Preparing for the same result, we belly crawled between the sage brush and cactus to a vantage point. Raising the binos, I was shocked to instantly land on the good buck!

They were still on their feet, but quickly bedded. Craig set up and I called the range.

"440yds."

"K. I've got him."

"Wait! The doe is bedded behind him!"

No shot. And while we had avoided the cacti on the crawl in, we hadn't in the rush to set up for the shot. Ouch! The little buggers burned! I was now thankful for the numbing effect of the snow..

"He's up! 20yds right of where he was bedded!"

Craig took a final accounting of the wind and I settled my binos. I flinched at the report from the 300 Win Mag, but managed to hold the binos on the deer. A short moment later the bullet impacted and buck kicked like a mule before barreling off over the top of the ridge.

Craig only saw the buck run, not his reaction from the hit. I tried to assure him that it appeared to be a solid hit and that surely he was down, but for anyone who has ever lost an animal knows too well, it is nearly impossible to keep the doubt from building until final confirmation can be made.

I reached the spot where the buck was standing at impact, but no blood. Now doubt swelled within me also. I followed his tracks, scouring the snow for crimson. 10yds and nothing. 20. 30. 40 and still no blood. Finally some 50yds later I discovered a tiny drop. Just a drop, small and freezing on the snow. My heart sank.

My head filled with questions about what we might find. Or more precisely, what we might not.

Another drop. A few steps and another. And finally, I saw where he had coughed; the snow dusted with a frozen red mist.

We were both on the trail now, and with the pattern developing before us, we knew the question of finding him had changed to when, not if.

As we came up out of a small crease I paused, as though attempting to relocate the trail. "It's right here," Craig stated, pointing at the obvious line of red below us. He proceeded another few steps when he finally saw him.

He had shrunk some from the time between shot and recovery, and the relief and adrenaline of the moment gave Craig pause. This pic was snapped then. It's raw and perhaps not the most becoming, but I thought it honest.

We readied our gear for the process ahead, and set about a few photos.

We had just about finished up, when this young 3x3 trotted by! I'd be lying if I said the thought of doubling down didn't cross my mind, but we had plenty enough work ahead to occupy the remaining minutes of daylight.

The temperature was falling faster than the sun and we made haste to transition the buck to our packs. We were soon on our way.

We stayed awake a little later that night, and perhaps had an extra beer (or two), but the alarm sounded at same the next morning as it had the previous days. Lucky for us, the snooze button worked a little better than it had previously as well.

Our start was a little later than usual, but not bad. We struck out to explore an area we hadn't been through before. It was a long drive along a river bottom that was largely filled with ranches. Despite many miles behind the wheel, we found some promising country. We'd just need to turn back the morning alarm a little more next time. And avoid that snooze button..

The deer density in the river bottom was amazing, and despite only being able to put down a handful of miles of boot tracks, it was still a rewarding day.

This was the second biggest 3x3 we saw.

Now here's a fella, er... Here's a, uh, a buck?.. Well, here's a deer you don't see everyday!

Too quickly, our last day was upon us. It was back to the breaks. One final day to apply our studies.

Here is where you might expect me to describe how it all coalesced. How we pieced together all the tidbits we had discovered over last couple years, picked the place, set our plan, executed on our approach and were rewarded with that big buck in our cross hairs. And as it happened, well, it didn't quite happen that way..

Geared up and headed out from the truck, we hadn't made it fifty steps when Craig's forearm caught me in the chest, hard! It was that reactionary move that your mother did when she had to suddenly hit the brakes in the car and swung her arm across your chest to somehow keep you from flying through the windshield.

"Buck, buck, buck! There!," insisted Craig, pointing forward across a crease in the ridge we were crossing.

Tailing a doe was a really good 3x3. Remember that 3pt from the photos above that was described as the second biggest 3x3 we saw? This was first biggest. Huge! Well, huge from the perspective of a blacktail hunter at least. I don't think we was booner, but he was plenty huge-enough for me!

A short stalk later, we found him bedded. Just the crown of his head, ears and rack were visible to us. Wind prevented us from circling him from the right, and the open terrain blocked any opportunities to the left. Experience had taught us he would be back on his feet at any minute, so we set up and prepared for the moment he stood.

The minutes passed. Then an hour. Then two. All the while Craig was fixed on him through his binos, and I through my scope.

Seriously! This sucked. We had pains in this place, aches in that place, chilling snow in an other. This time of year, I hadn't seen a buck stay stationary this long. Was glad the weather was "warm."

This is Craig.

This is me.

Hm. Guess we do kinda look like brothers. Hadn't really seen it before...

Ok. It didn't really suck. It was a blast! The range was comfortable, my rest solid, and I played out every possible scenario while we waited. Provided he didn't stand and walk straight away with his South end pointing North, I was ready.

See that little spot on the knob out there? That's where nothing but his top knot was showing.

At just past 2 1/2 hours, his ears twitched, his head bobbed, and he stood.

"He's up! He's up!"

"Yup. Got 'em."

Only what I "got" was his South end, pointed North. And in a moment, he was gone.

A few dumbfounded blinks and a head shake was all I had. That's it? He’s gone? Craig and I stared at each other for a moment, not wanting to believe what had just happened. In my mind, we already had him field dressed and packed in the coolers. I knew where his euro would hang on my wall. I knew the story I would tell, and this was not it.

Figuring we could intercept him, we packed up and beat feet toward the knob where he had enjoyed his long morning siesta. Half way there we caught movement below us. Way below us. I only had to glance through the binos to know it was the same deer, now almost 900yds out. We watched as he continued away, pausing at moments to keep track of his doe, and again to measure his progress toward another small group of does. Soon he was out of bounds and onto private land, tending to his new harem.

We managed one more stalk that day that again ended more fortuitous prey than predators. The real treat of the day was running into a group of youngsters on their way back home with their truck bed filled with bucks. The phrase, "stacked like cord wood" came to mind. There must have been a half dozen of them ranging from 14 to 19yrs, all tagged out. Each shared their story of their particular deer, and many other animated descriptions of those that eluded them. We imparted what advice we thought might be of use to them and bid them a safe journey home.

During the drive back across the long state of Montana, Craig and I recounted the lessons, adventures and successes our week at Mulie U. We had certainly moved up the learning curve, but it was also clear that a little more tutelage was in order. Guess we’ll be back for our Junior year…

Just a few more photos from the trip:

They do like a view!