With Native Hunt’s annual dove hunt in the wings, and a need for some game meat to feed the hungry hunters at this event, Native Hunt owner/CEO, Michael Riddle generously offered to let me come out and see about putting a fallow deer in the cooler for the event.  I guess I’d mentioned how cool I thought the fallows were, particularly the white ones, and Michael, being the generous guy he is, put me on the trail.

Some of you will remember that a few of us CA Hunting Bloggers were just out at Michael’s place earlier this summer where Holly (NorCal Cazadora) and I both took home some pork, while Hunting With Jim’s videographer, John, followed me to catch the quest on video. 

This trip was a little different, as the target animal was a little less specific than before.  Earlier, the plan had been for me to come out and shoot a buck that couldn’t seem to grow more than one antler.  A few days before my visit, though, that buck turned up dead.  Michael gave me the news, but then told me to come and just shoot another one.  Hey, you don’t have to make me an offer like that twice!  But that meant that this time I had to decide what to shoot for myself.

When I arrived, Michael had a couple of other guests at the lodge.  These guys were all hard-core dog guys, so their focus for the weekend was to work the hog dogs on some of the “euros” (European wild boar).  I’d be on my own to do this fallow-deer hunt. 

I rolled out Friday evening, and after a bit of scouting round, I glassed up a real stud of a white fallow buck.  He was bedded at the edge of a big barley field, about 400 yards from my glassing spot.  The wind was perfect, and I plotted out a couple of potential approaches that would put me in chip-shot range for the 30-06.  However, a couple of things stopped me from putting the plan into action.

First, I didn’t really want to be done so quickly.  It was only Friday evening, and I’d been anticipating this hunt for a couple of weeks.  I was also a little tired, and didn’t really want to ruin the whole thing with a botched stalk, or worse, a botched shot. 

The other thing that held me up was that I wasn’t sure Michael would want me to take what was probably one of the nicest bucks on the property on what was, essentially a meat hunt.  It seemed a waste, especially in light of the fact that one of his regular clients would probably be thrilled with an animal like that. 

Besides, I had little doubt that with the amount of food in the area, and water nearby, the animals wouldn’t go far.  I’d still be able to find him again tomorrow. 

So instead of disrupting the beautiful evening with gunfire, I just sat back and enjoyed watching the fallow deer, and the constant flood of hogs coming into the field to feed.  He’s got a LOT of hogs on that place!  After another hour or so, as the sun started to set and the full moon came up, I decided it was time to roll back to camp.

I hiked back to the truck, then took a slow drive along the winding ridgetop road.  I love this part of the state anyway, but it’s really a beautiful place under the light of the rising moon, with the blues and purples highlighted through the hills and canyons.  Normally, the full moon is a big game hunter’s nemesis, but I wasn’t too concerned.  These animals aren’t going far, and if I don’t find the “stud” again, I was sure I’d find something else. 

Back at camp, I told Michael about the big boy and my decision not to go after him right away.  I asked him what he’d think about me shooting that trophy versus one of the smaller bucks.  He reassured me that it wouldn’t hurt his feelings if I took the best one I could find, since there are plenty more bucks on the place, and the smaller, younger ones will certainly grow up to take his place.  Talk about generosity!

The remainder of Friday night went by in a blur.  I’m not really up on hog dogs, either breeding or hunting them, so much of what was said went right over my head.  But I sure learned a lot about the dogs, and the people who raise them.  They’re dedicated folks, that’s for sure!  After great conversation and some excellent beverages, the wee hours arrived and we realized it was past time for bed.  This happens a lot at Native Hunt… at least when it’s all friends and no clients around. 

Saturday morning I rolled over and noticed the sky was lightening already!  Had I overslept?  I hopped out of bed, grabbed my clothes and boots, and headed for the door.  As I stepped out onto the deck, I realized the bright light in the sky was the moon, not yet set.  But the blue light of morning was edging the eastern hills as well, and I knew it was time to head up onto the ridgetops.

I was in position as the first good rays of the morning sun lit up the big barley field.  The dark shapes of hogs milled around all over the place, and near the middle of the field, five bison fed complacently on the golden barley.  Shortly after I settled in, I caught sight of a beautiful red fox prancing catlike across the field. 

I scanned and crisscrossed the area with the Leicas, but couldn’t locate a fallow deer anywhere.  You’d think a white deer would show up like a neon sign out there, but with the early light and bright, yellow barley, those things fade right in.  I hiked up over the ridgetop to see if maybe they were moving somewhere else, but to no avail.  I realize that this place is surrounded by a high fence, but 1400 acres is an awful lot of land for a critter to hide in, and would take some time and effort to pick apart with binoculars. 

Fortunately, as I came back down to my original spot, I caught movement in the barley.  A white fallow buck was browsing near the bison.  He must have been there all along, but his coat blended right into the background.  He was a fairly young-looking deer, with spindly antlers, so I mentally set him aside.  I thought back to Friday night’s conversation with Michael, and it made sense that I should be looking for an older, mature buck instead of one that is still growing. 

Eventually, as I glassed the hillside down the canyon below the barley field, I caught sight of a set of heavy, palmated antlers waving above a patch of chemise.  I studied the spot closely through the binos, until I was able to see the white body of a nice-sized fallow buck.  After a moment, I realized I was seeing two good bucks, and they were both white! 

The rangefinding binocular put the range to the deer at around 500 yards.  That’s further than I care to shoot, especially on a hunt like this one, and I figured out a route to get closer.  I briefly considered switching the bow, but I’d tried to gauge Michael’s thoughts on that earlier as well, and I didn’t feel like he thought it was a good choice.  Better to get close and kill clean and quick with the rifle, than risk wounding one of these beautiful animals and having to track him in the summer heat through the chemise and steep canyons.  I opted instead to make the stalk as though I were bowhunting, but to make the kill with the 30-06 at bow range, if possible. 

Despite the fact that the rangefinder said it was only 500 yards, that doesn’t account for the fact that to cover that distance I’d have to drop down into the canyon, then climb part of the way back up.  There was also the option of trying to slip around them through the barley field, but with the amount of game in the field, I didn’t want to start a stampede.  Did I mention there were dozens of hogs out there feeding?  

I made the drop and the climb, and recognized another minor error on my part.  I underestimated the height of the chaparral where the deer were feeding.  From my glassing point it only looked a few feet high, but up close it was head-high or better.  I couldn’t see anything.  I do this all the time when I’m hunting in this country.  You’d think I’d have it down by now.

I crept along an old road, making my way to the last landmark, a turn in the road where it looked like the deer would cross the road heading up to the barley field.  As I neared the bend, a white, broad-antlered head popped up from a bush about 75 yard away.  Another one popped up next to him.  The first one had the palmated antlers that I really liked, while the second was maybe a little bigger and had more points, but less palmation. 

I was off-balance and really didn’t have a very good shot at either of them.  Under other circumstances, I’d have taken the neck shot they offered, but from my position on the hill, I didn’t feel steady enough.  I had to move while four alert eyes and ears were turned right to me.  I readied the rifle for a snap shot, and eased up one step, then another.  On the second step, my buck decided maybe this wasn’t so cool, and started to walk off, quartering away from me.  I quickly brought the Savage to bear, put the crosshairs behind the nearside shoulder, and touched it off. 

The shot was a good one, and the buck went down on the spot.  He thrashed for a moment, and I held the rifle on him until he was still.  At the shot, two more bucks that I hadn’t even seen popped up, and the three survivors stood looking at me wondering what had just happened.  I held my position, not wanting to blow them out. 

One thing about hunting on a ranch like this.  Since the animals are very lightly pressured, they don’t always equate humans with gunfire.  If you don’t go running into the midst of them after shooting, they’ll stay pretty calm and walk away quickly without bolting.  Otherwise, you’ll turn them spooky and they’re likely to end up going nocturnal… or at least they’ll start to make themselves scarce at any sign of human activity.  There’s a fine line on an enclosed ranch between having the animals become too wild, and letting them become totally docile until they appear to be tame.  And trust me, with the terrain at Native Hunt, if the animals don’t want to be found, they won’t. 

Anyway, I decided to hike back out and get the truck.  By that time, the survivors would have the opportunity to move off and I could recover my buck without creating too much of a disturbance.  I’d bring the truck as close as I could get it, then drop my winch cable and some rope down to pull the deer out of the deep stuff. 

Things seemed to go as planned, and I was able to get within 100 yards of the buck, after a little tricky manipulation on the old road.  I grabbed the winch cable and went over the edge, only to find when I reached the spot, the buck was gone!  It only took a glance to see where he’d been, with frothy lung blood all over the ground, and a chunk of lung tissue hanging in the brush.  With a hit like that, even a grizzly bear should stay down.  But here I was, and the danged buck wasn’t there!   

Fortunately, he’d only managed to move off about 30 yards or so, and I found him pretty easily.  I walked up with the rope in my hand, and noticed he was still breathing!  His eye rolled at me, and then he struck out with his front leg.  No way!  Having been kicked by a “dead” deer earlier in my hunting career, and very nearly emasculated, I really didn’t want to repeat the experience.  “Wait right there,” I said, and ran back up the hill to the truck to fetch the .44. 

A few moments later, there was nothing left to do but drag the brute up the hill and get him back to the skinning shed.  A little sweat, blood, and creative winch-work did the trick.

By noon on Saturday, half the buck was hanging in the walk-in cooler for use at the bbq, and the other half was in my cooler, for use in my freezer.  I cut up one of the backstraps on Sunday evening, and served fallow steaks at a party with some non-hunting friends.  To say this stuff went over well would be an understatement.  It’s got to be some of the best venison I ever ate, easily on par with axis deer for tenderness and mild flavor.  The ribs and several roasts went into the smoker overnight, and a quick sampling before freezing indicates that they’ll be a hit at the table as well. 

We spent the rest of the weekend working the hog dogs, chasing and catching euros.  While I may never become a full-fledged “dog guy”, I certainly got a kick out of the high-octane excitement of getting up close and personal with these fierce hogs… as well as the rush of racing full-bore through the chaparral and chemise. 

Many thanks to Michael and the guys at Native Hunt for yet another great weekend! 

 

 

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