Well, I’m back.
It was an eventful couple of weeks at Coon Camp Springs… too eventful, in fact, for me to simply summarize the hunts in a single post. Instead, I’ve decided to write up each hunt separately (although there’s a great connection between the first two).
Click Here to view Part 1
Here’s the second part, then… hope you enjoy it!
When Nolan left with his father on Tuesday night, his plan was to get home, visit with his family a little bit, and then come on back out to the ranch on Thursday afternoon. Tom said he might come back as well. Even though he already had his buck, he wanted to be there when Nolan tagged out. In the wings of the plan was the possibility that Nolan may bring his six year-old son back up with him to enjoy the hunt and camp, and possibly to see his father take a buck, just as Nolan had been there 35 years earlier to see his own dad tag out.
With these plans in our minds, Dave Allen (President of the Coon Camp Springs non-profit org), Kat (my girlfriend and camp cook for the week), and I decided to take our downtime on Wednesday to get out to town and pick up some supplies. We did some work around camp and headed up the hill to the highway. Just before we topped the last ridge, a black truck came up the road toward us. Nolan just couldn’t stay away! I bailed out and let Dave and Kat go on to town. I’d spend the evening hunting with Nolan and his son, Tommy, and see what we could do to fill that tag.
With a six year-old in tow, the cards were stacked against us on this one. On this property, there are a couple of ways to hunt. One is to sit tight on a high spot and glass, and then either shoot or stalk for the shot. That requires quiet, patience, and sitting still… none of which are exactly common traits among the first grade set.
The other method is to still hunt slowly through the juniper thickets. This is slow, silent going, and is difficult enough for a solo hunter. With a couple of experienced hunters, getting close to a buck is a real challenge. With two hunters and a youngster, it’s almost a guarantee we wouldn’t see anything except tracks.
There is a third method, of course… road hunting. While I’m not against the practice, and will do it from time to time, it’s not really something we encourage at Coon Camp Springs. The terrain is pretty friendly, and there’s almost no place the most out of shape hunter can’t go on foot. Besides, riding around in the truck isn’t the kind of experience most mule deer hunters are paying for.
I had some decisions to make, and none of them looked promising. This was gonna be tough and no way around it.
Fortunately, Nolan was fairly realistic about our chances, but what he wanted most was just to share the time and experience with his son. If we got a deer, that would be ideal, but if not, then at least the two of them would have a great time in the field. I could really appreciate that, as it reminded me of those early days in the field with my own dad… memories that will last a lifetime. I was determined to make the most of this hunt, no matter how hard it would be.
I got a pretty good taste of the challenge later that afternoon, as I led the two of them down to my glassing rock. I figured the odds were that if we saw deer, they’d be in the distance… far enough away so that maybe Tommy’s fidgeting wouldn’t immediately blow them out of the county. We got out there with a relative minimum of noise, although at a couple of points I had to tell Tommy to slow down and try to be “more sneaky”. However, we hadn’t been settled on the rock a half an hour before the boy had to go to the bathroom… and not the kind you can do standing behind a tree.
We hiked back up the trail and I looked in dismay at the rapidly sinking sun. Back at the truck, Tommy suddenly decided he didn’t have to go after all. After a flash of impatience, I remembered why we were here and the fact that he is only six. I adjusted my attitude then, and actually found the whole thing pretty funny. Since we were in the truck anyway, I suggested that we drive up onto a saddle-back ridge, and just sit until dark to see what came out. Nothing did, but it was better than bagging the evening hunt altogether.
Before bed, Nolan had a little chat with Tommy to remind him the importance of being quiet and still. With a promise to be quieter tomorrow, they settled into the bunkhouse until the crackle of the morning campfire rousted them. Over breakfast we went over options. I tried to be as clear as possible with Nolan that we’d be fighting an uphill battle, but if he wanted to, we could go back and sit the rock again. He said he was cool with that, and we headed out.
The temperature had fallen pretty sharply overnight, into the mid-twenties. On the hike down to the rock, I was impressed by how careful Tommy was to be silent. Even so, as we came out onto the rock a pair of cattle on the adjoining property spotted us and bolted, from over 400 yards away. I watched carefully, but it didn’t appear that the slow elk spooked any deer in their progress.
Even after we settled down on the rock, Tommy was doing a pretty good job of being still and quiet… at least for such a young guy. I was pretty impressed. Unfortunately, he had a cough that overcame his efforts and in the quiet morning, the sound was pretty explosive. At one point, as I was watching a line of does from over 1000 yards, he coughed and the lead doe raised her head in alarm, peering straight at us. They didn’t spook, not from that far away, but it was a pretty good illustration of what we’d be up against.
Nolan and I tried to show him how to cough into his elbow, but he didn’t quite grasp what we were after. Again, I felt the surge of impatience. We’d never see a deer like this, much less shoot one. But I pushed those feelings down, keeping in mind that this wasn’t my hunt. This was Nolan’s hunt, and if he wanted to spend it this way, then that’s what we’d do. My job was to do the best I could with what we had to work with and show them a great time.
Besides the coughing, everything was pretty good for about two hours. Then the cold started to get to the youngster. To his credit, he maintained as well as he could, but he couldn’t take anymore. With tears in his little eyes, he turned to his dad. “I’m cold,” he whimpered. “Can we go back to buck camp?”
We picked up and headed back to the truck. The walk helped to warm him up, and by the time I got the diesel running and the heat coming through, he was pretty happy again. “What do you want to do,” I asked Nolan. “We could take a little hike.”
“No,” he said. “Maybe we should just drive around a bit.”
I rolled down the hill, and poked along the ranch roads. One of the cowboys who’d been out rounding up stray cattle had mentioned seeing a “nice buck” on a particular ridge, so I figured it would be worth driving out to see what was around. Besides, we hadn’t really spent any time hunting that side of the ranch yet.
As the hill came into sight, I mentioned what the cowboy had told us. The words had no more left my mouth than I spotted movement at the base of the hill. Deer! I hit the brakes and grabbed the binos. Sure enough, a doe was coming off the hill into the sage flats. As we watched, we spotted two yearlings with her. They trotted out into the open, and then stopped to look back. “There’s got to be a buck in the trees,” I hissed. “Get ready!”
A moment later, a three-point buck came bounding out of the trees, hot on the trail of the doe and yearlings. Only a few days earlier, we were seeing bachelor groups, but this was a definite sign that the rut was coming on. I turned to ask Nolan if he’d like to take this buck, but he was already out of the truck with his rifle. I climbed up on the side of the truck to glass.
The buck was moving too fast for a shot, so I bleated at him. It didn’t seem to have an effect, so I let out another loud bleat. I didn’t account for how long it would take the sound to reach him, but he suddenly slammed on the brakes and looked toward us. He stood broadside, like a target. I ranged him at 430 yards, but with the open ground all around him and after having seen some of Nolan’s shooting on some coyotes earlier, I decided to give the green light.
It seemed to take forever for the shot, and I actually thought Nolan was having second thoughts about the range. Suddenly, the 7mm Mag roared and the buck jumped, kicked, and took off on what we thought was a death run. He went about fifty yards in a half-circle, then tipped over under a patch of bitterbrush. I saw blood on both sides as he ran, and it looked good, but I decided to wait a few minutes before going down to collect him.
Just as Nolan started down, the buck got his feet and trotted a few more yards before collapsing into the sage. I told Nolan to go ahead, and be ready in case it jumped up again. After the experience with Tom’s deer, I didn’t want to take any chances with this one. Finding and collecting the buck in the high sage brush was a bit of a challenge, but finally Nolan called out over the radio, “I need packers and skinners down here!”
I drove the truck down into the flat, bouncing over lava rocks along the way. Tommy, bouncing around the back seat was giggling like crazy at each hop. He’d come a long way since his tears and frozen feet earlier in the morning.
On arrival, there were high fives all around. Nolan had accomplished his ultimate goal for the week… he’d taken his buck with his son along to witness the event. The buck, a 17-inch 3×3 wasn’t what many mule deer hunters would consider a trophy, but there was no question from the smiles on both of those faces that this was a memory that would last a very, very long time.
The final hunt is coming up. Hope you’ve enjoyed so far, as I sure had a great time hunting with all of these guys. I also know these write-ups are a little long, but I hope that the background I include provides more than “just another hunting story”.
Another Great! story Phillip,
Enjoying every minute of it, I actually came home a little early just to read this one!