throwfar
Active Member
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- 152
Sometimes you can do everything right and still be wrong.
Seeing a buck over 180" is rare, and having the chance to harvest one in southern New Mexico is rarer still. 2021's rainfall was extraordinary for deer antler growth as the monsoons hit in late July. This hunt my wife and I were lucky enough to have a tag and was enjoyed by all five of us, my wife, two sons, and daughter.
Day 1
To say the road was rough would be a drastic understatement, but we made it up in my trusty Tacoma. Started hiking the ridge in the early glow of the November sunrise. We jumped a couple impressive bulls which I am always grateful to see make it past the hunts, maybe we will find their sheds. We get to our lookout just as the sun lights up the valley below, and immediately we see deer. Does with small bucks for the first half hour, when I glance to another part of the valley floor and find 3 what appear to be decent bucks sparing. I grab the spotter and am surprised at the size of the largest buck, with a wide frame and deep forks, I know he's a brute and is probably in the 190 class. The wind is whipping and the angle is steep, 30 degrees, the shot is makeable at just a touch over 500 yards. Since I spotted the buck it is decided that I get first crack at him. My kids are abuzz with excitement and are trying to contain themselves, I am trying to stay calm as this is my first rifle deer tag in over 20 years. I set the rifle up on my pack but finding a stable shooting position is proving to be more difficult than I imagined. The steep angle and wind is proving to be formidable adversaries. Finally I settle in and find the buck standing with a tree directly behind him and my wife ranges him at 550 yards, I figure with the angle I should shoot for 500. I dial my scope to the appropriate yardage settle the 5th moa mark crosshairs right behind his shoulder to compensate for the wind. I let out my breath, begin squeezing the trigger just like my drill sergeant taught me so many years ago in the Army. When the rifle goes off it surprises me, everything went perfectly I expect the buck to fall, but he doesn't. I ask my wife if she saw where I hit, she doesn't know, must've hit the tree. I watch the buck through the scope he is startled and starts trotting towards us and stops. He turns broadside, again I settle the crosshairs account for the wind, let out my breath and squeeze. This time I see the puff of dirt, I shot high. I work the bolt as quickly as I can, the buck trots closer, no time to adjust turn my turret I think so I Kentucky windage it. I aim just below the buck, I pick a rock, aim small miss small, I shift for the wind and squeeze. Again I see the puff just over his back, my wife calls out 400 yards. Frustrated I quickly turn my scope to the zero stop. Put the scope on him settle my crosshairs behind his shoulder, panic is in full force, it is impressive how quickly you can go from calm to full blown buck fever. I squeeze I see the puff of dirt right in front the buck, I forgot the wind. The buck vanishes, now he has a good idea where his predators are. Dejected I wait 30 minutes and start the long trek down the mountain to look for blood that I know isn't there. I go to the tree I last saw him and there are only tracks, no blood. I look everywhere and after 5 hours make the arduous hike back to the top to join my family. We look for a target for my wife, we see nothing. As far as I am concerned my hunt is over, disappointment doesn't begin to explain my current condition.
Day 2
We make it back to the glassing spot about the same time as the day before to be greeted by a decent 4x4, and 5x5 both of which my wife decides to let grow another year. I'm looking through my binoculars when I see a strange rock about 700 yards away. I grab the spotting scope and find the rock which happens to be a very impressive buck, as far as I can tell he's 6x5 with the potential of being 180+. However he is smaller than the buck I missed the day before. I show my wife and her eyes get big with excitement. We come up with a plan and she is gone in the blink of an eye. She works her way across the canyon from the buck I have my rifle on him, my son has him the spotting scope. The buck has worked his way to 500 yards from me, and from what I can tell about 400 yards from her. We wait. A shot, the buck bolts, another shot, I find him in my scope, another shot, I can tell it's a hit by the thwack. I lose him. My son has him in the spotter, I ask to look because I can't find him in my scope. He does as he is told and I start looking, only to find nothing. The amount of mistakes we've made in these hunts is mind blowing. However I am firm believe in, it's only a mistake if you do it twice. We wait a few hours and then get on the buck's blood trail and follow it for 500 yards where we bump him and see where he laid down. A place we could have found from our earlier vantage. Hope of finding him is slim to none. Hope is not a course of action.
Day 3
My wife has to work, and my kids have school. I pull my oldest out of school and we look for the buck. We put in 15 miles of gridding and come up empty.
Day 4
I go by myself another long day to find nothing, no birds circling, no more blood, nothing. Sickness has set in, wounding animals is like a gut punch. A bitter taste that if you hunt long enough you will find. We must learn from it and be better hunters in the future.
Day 7
We go back in, in hopes of finding birds, knowing the chances of finding our buck was near impossible. We are about to head back to the truck after 10 miles of searching when I get a feeling, there is one more spot I should look. I crest out over a ridge to be greeted by large black bear standing no more than 50 yards away. I unsling my rifle, I knew there are bears in here, and I like calling coyotes, so I brought the .243 just in case. The bear takes one look at me and runs like the devil is after him. Lucky bear I think to myself as the zone had been closed a few weeks prior. I call my wife on the radio and tell her about the bear, she says look around maybe he was on the deer. It takes me exactly 1 second to look and see the impressive rack. It looked like the bear had just killed him, he was still warm. I tell my wife and kids on the radio, they get to me in a few minutes. I hike up to a spot with cell signal and call the Game Warden. I tell him the hard to believe story. He lets us purchase the buck, we are grateful, and ashamed at the same time. Such a beautiful buck, died so brutally, but that is nature and we had a hand in it. A trophy we will cherish, a reminder we will never forget.
Seeing a buck over 180" is rare, and having the chance to harvest one in southern New Mexico is rarer still. 2021's rainfall was extraordinary for deer antler growth as the monsoons hit in late July. This hunt my wife and I were lucky enough to have a tag and was enjoyed by all five of us, my wife, two sons, and daughter.
Day 1
To say the road was rough would be a drastic understatement, but we made it up in my trusty Tacoma. Started hiking the ridge in the early glow of the November sunrise. We jumped a couple impressive bulls which I am always grateful to see make it past the hunts, maybe we will find their sheds. We get to our lookout just as the sun lights up the valley below, and immediately we see deer. Does with small bucks for the first half hour, when I glance to another part of the valley floor and find 3 what appear to be decent bucks sparing. I grab the spotter and am surprised at the size of the largest buck, with a wide frame and deep forks, I know he's a brute and is probably in the 190 class. The wind is whipping and the angle is steep, 30 degrees, the shot is makeable at just a touch over 500 yards. Since I spotted the buck it is decided that I get first crack at him. My kids are abuzz with excitement and are trying to contain themselves, I am trying to stay calm as this is my first rifle deer tag in over 20 years. I set the rifle up on my pack but finding a stable shooting position is proving to be more difficult than I imagined. The steep angle and wind is proving to be formidable adversaries. Finally I settle in and find the buck standing with a tree directly behind him and my wife ranges him at 550 yards, I figure with the angle I should shoot for 500. I dial my scope to the appropriate yardage settle the 5th moa mark crosshairs right behind his shoulder to compensate for the wind. I let out my breath, begin squeezing the trigger just like my drill sergeant taught me so many years ago in the Army. When the rifle goes off it surprises me, everything went perfectly I expect the buck to fall, but he doesn't. I ask my wife if she saw where I hit, she doesn't know, must've hit the tree. I watch the buck through the scope he is startled and starts trotting towards us and stops. He turns broadside, again I settle the crosshairs account for the wind, let out my breath and squeeze. This time I see the puff of dirt, I shot high. I work the bolt as quickly as I can, the buck trots closer, no time to adjust turn my turret I think so I Kentucky windage it. I aim just below the buck, I pick a rock, aim small miss small, I shift for the wind and squeeze. Again I see the puff just over his back, my wife calls out 400 yards. Frustrated I quickly turn my scope to the zero stop. Put the scope on him settle my crosshairs behind his shoulder, panic is in full force, it is impressive how quickly you can go from calm to full blown buck fever. I squeeze I see the puff of dirt right in front the buck, I forgot the wind. The buck vanishes, now he has a good idea where his predators are. Dejected I wait 30 minutes and start the long trek down the mountain to look for blood that I know isn't there. I go to the tree I last saw him and there are only tracks, no blood. I look everywhere and after 5 hours make the arduous hike back to the top to join my family. We look for a target for my wife, we see nothing. As far as I am concerned my hunt is over, disappointment doesn't begin to explain my current condition.
Day 2
We make it back to the glassing spot about the same time as the day before to be greeted by a decent 4x4, and 5x5 both of which my wife decides to let grow another year. I'm looking through my binoculars when I see a strange rock about 700 yards away. I grab the spotting scope and find the rock which happens to be a very impressive buck, as far as I can tell he's 6x5 with the potential of being 180+. However he is smaller than the buck I missed the day before. I show my wife and her eyes get big with excitement. We come up with a plan and she is gone in the blink of an eye. She works her way across the canyon from the buck I have my rifle on him, my son has him the spotting scope. The buck has worked his way to 500 yards from me, and from what I can tell about 400 yards from her. We wait. A shot, the buck bolts, another shot, I find him in my scope, another shot, I can tell it's a hit by the thwack. I lose him. My son has him in the spotter, I ask to look because I can't find him in my scope. He does as he is told and I start looking, only to find nothing. The amount of mistakes we've made in these hunts is mind blowing. However I am firm believe in, it's only a mistake if you do it twice. We wait a few hours and then get on the buck's blood trail and follow it for 500 yards where we bump him and see where he laid down. A place we could have found from our earlier vantage. Hope of finding him is slim to none. Hope is not a course of action.
Day 3
My wife has to work, and my kids have school. I pull my oldest out of school and we look for the buck. We put in 15 miles of gridding and come up empty.
Day 4
I go by myself another long day to find nothing, no birds circling, no more blood, nothing. Sickness has set in, wounding animals is like a gut punch. A bitter taste that if you hunt long enough you will find. We must learn from it and be better hunters in the future.
Day 7
We go back in, in hopes of finding birds, knowing the chances of finding our buck was near impossible. We are about to head back to the truck after 10 miles of searching when I get a feeling, there is one more spot I should look. I crest out over a ridge to be greeted by large black bear standing no more than 50 yards away. I unsling my rifle, I knew there are bears in here, and I like calling coyotes, so I brought the .243 just in case. The bear takes one look at me and runs like the devil is after him. Lucky bear I think to myself as the zone had been closed a few weeks prior. I call my wife on the radio and tell her about the bear, she says look around maybe he was on the deer. It takes me exactly 1 second to look and see the impressive rack. It looked like the bear had just killed him, he was still warm. I tell my wife and kids on the radio, they get to me in a few minutes. I hike up to a spot with cell signal and call the Game Warden. I tell him the hard to believe story. He lets us purchase the buck, we are grateful, and ashamed at the same time. Such a beautiful buck, died so brutally, but that is nature and we had a hand in it. A trophy we will cherish, a reminder we will never forget.
