LAST EDITED ON Feb-02-08 AT 09:06PM (MST)[p]I guess I can start on the history of this deer by giving some history on the man that arrowed him. In telling this story I imagine I will be telling the story of a lot of fathers and grandfathers that we all know and love.
R. Grant Clawson, known by all that love him as ?Beard?, due to his ability to grow one at a very young age, was born and raised in a small town in NW New Mexico. He grew up poor and was taught the value of an honest day?s work as well as the need of hunting at a very young age; not for sport but for food. He often told me, that although they always had fun and enjoyed the outdoors they hunted to feed a hungry family and to help ease the burden. The deer that they killed were never taped and seldom ever photographed, they were lifted up into the fork of a nearby tree gutted and then the head was cut off and left and the meat hauled away. Twice in my life, while hunting some of that same country, I have found the head of a big buck wedged into the fork of a tree. Both were very old and mossed over, on one occasion my dad was with me and he said ?I bet that was your Grandpa, looks just like the way we used to do it?.
My dad is the in the center
My dad was a hunter that never had a plan, we would pull up to a spot and get out, he would offer a prayer pull an apple out of his pocket and walk briskly into the woods looking for tracks and telling us to keep our eyes open and the wind in our face; by the end of the day he would return with blood on his hands and smile on his face. He always killed his deer, his knowledge of what they would do and where they would travel never ceased to amaze me. He didn't have gear, he didn't have a fancy scope or nice binos, he had a red flannel jacket, blue jeans, boots and a love of friends and the outdoors.
My Grandfather was also a very accomplished hunter killing more deer and having more knowledge of them than any one I have ever known. As a young man in one of the most remote parts of the west he helped keep families in town fed as well as a lot of the Navajo families in the local area with his skill in the woods. I mention this because as good a hunter as he was, he has told me several times, ?Ole, your dad can sure get it done-he one of the best hunter I have ever seen.? I have only seen two deer that my grandfather killed, both are well over 220. He said that he had killed one or two that were ?as big? ?maybe bigger? and several that were big but just never kept them around.
My dad on the right
Out of all the deer that my father killed, this is the only buck that he has mounted. In truth, back in 1987 when he got this buck done it was most likely a huge financial burden and probably went against his better judgment. My father made living several ways, Rodeo, as a ranch hand, as a guide in Elko NV, and at the same time, as a saddle maker just like my Grandfather has been since 1937, and although he stayed busy, 6 kids was never easy and money was always an issue. There was always lots of beans and bread on the table at dinner time. Due to limited funds the mount was poorly done and had a bad case of acid rot.
As a very young boy I dreaded the hunt because it meant getting up in the dark being cold and walking a forced march for most of the day in rough country. He would always stop in a sandy spot and start drawing things into the dirt and telling us how long it would take to get here or there and where we would meat and what to look for when we approached a particular place. After explaining things he would turn us lose and wish us luck.
These lessons paid off; as a teen I found myself doing this on my own and remember killing my first mature buck alone several miles from home on foot and thinking nothing of it or the job ahead; I was 13 years old. I made the 4-5 mile hike back to My Grandpas saddle shop for help, I knew he was there from the pinion smoke coming out the chimney. I walked through the door, he looked over his glasses from his leather tooling bench and said ?Well Ole, looks like you did it right!? We saddled the horses and went and got my little 6x8 buck.
my Grandpa
As an adult I came home from where ever I was building power line for the deer hunt, we didn't kill many deer in those few years but I have some of the best hunting memories that a man could hope for while out in the country with my father. For a lot of us that's why we go, or at least that's why we should go, to spend time with people who are dear to us, outside under the watchful eye of god surrounded by his wonderful creation.
After several years of hanging upstairs unnoticed, I asked my dad if I could take his buck to my house to hang, he agreed and I set my plan into motion. The next day I called a my friend Tory Brock and told him that I wanted to get my dad?s buck redone and surprise him with it he said to bring it up and he would start it.
It wasn?t easy keeping it from my dad for those few months but somehow I managed. When I returned from Utah with his deer and called him to come and help me ?move a couch?. It was late in the evening and he was getting ready for bed but like he always does he came anyway, he walked into the house looked at me and said ?well, I aint got all night? I just stared at him with a smile on my face and waited for him to notice. He looked up on the wall and saw it but didn't say a word, his eyes filled with tears and he crossed the room and gave me a hug. That buck is now back in his house on the living room wall where everyone can see it as it should be!
He Told me the story of this buck again this morning on the way to feed cattle and I tell it as close to the way he did to me:
?It was back when they had the 15 day hunt in January and the deer where rutting. I grabbed my bow and headed out to look for deer. When I had hiked for a while and got into a few I climbed a big ole pinion to look around and there he was, I was blown away, he was such a nice buck. I spent the next 13 days following them trying to get a shot and saw him every day. About the 5th day I had him at about twenty five Yards but when I went to draw I noticed that my arrow rest had fallen off so I just watched him feed off. On that last day I took me several hours of hiking to finally find them and when I did another hour to get around them and down wind. The buck was on a little Knob feeding on Buck Brush so I slipped down on him and around on the other side of the hill and crept up it as quiet as I could, When I got near the top I could hear him feeding and then all of the sudden he lifted his head and there he was, I bet he wasn?t 15 feet away. Well, he feed around and below me and when he winded me and stopped I shot him. That's was it?
now you have it and I hope you enjoyed.
Son
