On public land, in Washington, I've learned to "go ugly early"
Or in other words, take the first legal buck I can. My 27 year old son wasn't able to hunt with me in 2017, so I headed out alone. Hunted hard all day. Must have covered 10 miles on foot. Lots of hiking, lots of glassing. As the day waned and the shadows lengthened, I parked myself in the edge of the sagebrush, overlooking a large grassy slope. Beyond the grassy slope was a deep ravine, and then a green wheat field... I figured there might be deer in the sagebrush laying up, waiting until late to go down to the wheat field and feed. Silently waited there, and sure enough, not one but two 3x3 mule deer bucks passed very close by me, heading down the hill. I couldn't move, barely even breathed, they were so close to me. I'd say 10 yards or less. Once they hit the open ground they broke into a faster pace. I put the crosshairs on one, and when the opportunity to make a good hit came, I fired. The 25-06 was sighted in at 200 yards, and it turns out the buck was hit at about 212 yards. That 115 gr Nosler Ballistic Tip dropped him instantly.
As I walked down to the buck, a couple of things became obvious. It was getting late, close to dark. And I had to get this buck back up over the low ridge I'd shot from, then down the other side and back to my Jeep, parked about a mile and a half away. And... I was 61 years old with the aches and pains and injuries from an active life. Sigh. Okay.
So by headlamp, I quartered the buck, stuffed the meat into my backpack, and walked out of there. Slowly. The buck's head and horns were in one hand, my rifle in the other. The area is known to harbor cougar & coyote, and I didn't want to walk back in the dark, carrying all that fresh meat, without a loaded rifle! By not pushing the pace, I slowly made it to the ridgetop, then started down the other side, eventually coming to the dirt road, which I followed to my parked Jeep. No other vehicles or hunters were there. It was just black darkness. I sure felt good when I saw the Jeep in my headlamp.
After putting the heavy pack, the deer head, and my rifle in the back of the Jeep. I just stood there for a moment, reflecting on the hunt, actually on a lot of hunts. It felt real good to know that at 61, I could still do the kind of hunt I'd just done. It wasn't a monster buck, but a solid buck taken on public land, all by myself. No guide. No hunting buddy. No strong young fellow to help carry out the meat. Ya, I felt pretty good about that.
And, his wheat-fed meat tasted great! The antlers got cut up into chew toys for my hunting dog. He loves 'em!
Guy
