When we saw the silhouette of the smaller buck stand up in the fog and look down the draw, I knew the big buck we were after was most certainly on his feet already as well. The pressure was building, but we were just too high to see him buried down in the depths of the steep wash. I took a quick glance back up the ridge and I saw one of our guides, Evan, with my brother and dad waiving an orange flag. That orange flag signaled that the big buck was on his feet and there was not a second to spare. It was time to act, I grabbed my bow and prepared for the final stalk!
Instantly, the world seemed to slow down as all of my focus shifted from playing the waiting game to becoming the ultimate predator. The strong Wyoming wind that had been driving cold air down the side of my neck even seemed to disappear as we made our move. We had been kneeling for three hours waiting for our opportunity, and finally the moment had arrived. The clock was about to strike midnight for a 230” giant! In the blink of an eye my guide, Brandan, was on his feet skirting the edge of the wash. I followed closely as we inched forward slowly, looking for the big non-typical’s antlers to appear. I had been telling myself for hours, “Be ready,” because I knew when the opportunity came, I wouldn’t have long at all to make my shot. The fog was heavy and the wind was relentless when the buck appeared like a ghost. As the fog gave way, his full outline was revealed. I couldn’t believe our luck; the deer was in the bottom feeding just 15 yards below and he hadn’t seen us yet! I settled my pin on the deer fully expecting to kill a giant, but when I squeezed off the shot my arrow sailed helplessly over the buck’s back! The last thing I saw was the huge drop tined buck wheel and vanish into the haze. As I stared vacantly into the slowly churning fog my heart sank, I knew I had missed an opportunity only a handful of hunters will ever get. Anticipation has always been high in September when we make our annual trip to Wyoming to hunt with Lance Creek Ranch Outfitters. Chasing big Western mule deer just seems to get in your blood. My dad, my brother, and I have enjoyed hunting with Brandan, Aaron and the crew for many years. For us, it’s much more than just a successful hunt. Being “do-it-yourselfers” at heart, we enjoy the fact that you feel like you’re hunting with a friend. In other words, it’s not your standard client/guide relationship, and that’s a big draw for us. Although each year has brought excitement, this year the anticipation was out of control because we had been primed all summer by constant photos of a big non-typical buck that Brandan was babysitting for us. As the pictures rolled in, I nicknamed him “Boones Buck” maybe because Boone is my last name, or maybe I just thought that it had a nice ring to it (I’m pretty sure it was the former!), regardless, I wanted nothing more than to bring the giant buck home with me! In fact, we decided to take advantage of the opportunity Wyoming provides to buy an archery stamp allowing hunters that draw a permit to pick up a bow for a month before the rifle season begins in most areas. I figured the more time spent with an amazing buck of this caliber the better! Since my “incident” happened on September 30th, which was the last day of archery season before the rifle season opened the following day, I knew I still had a chance to bring Boones Buck home. I’m not going to lie though, I was a mess! On our drive back to the lodge after missing my dream buck, I found myself enduring a constant barrage of jokes. The guys were trying to cheer me up in the way only really good hunting buddies know how to; with relentless harassment! Even though there were several clever one-liners thrown at me, I brushed most of them off with a laugh. Only Evan’s blast from the backseat hit the hardest when he said, “Look at it this way, Joe. You are in an elite class now. I mean, not many people can say they have shot ‘at’ a 230-inch deer before.” Although he said it in a gentle tone, the sarcastic emphasis he put on the word “at” caused everyone to erupt with laughter. Even though I was hemorrhaging confidence and was feeling down, everyone else absolutely believed that we’d find him again, and more importantly, they knew he wouldn’t get away a second time! Unfortunately, three days later, with countless hours logged behind the glass we still hadn’t turned him up. We assumed he had made a big circle and had dropped into another big drainage to the Northwest of where we had originally found him. This country was a tough and unforgiving maze. What looks on the outside to be rolling sage brush hills, quickly morphs into a labyrinth of small gullies and washes when you start to pick it apart. It’s the perfect place for a savvy buck to hide and never be seen again. Even though we were feeling a bit defeated we never gave up. We did the only thing we could, we continued glassing as hard as we could for as long as we could. We found several trophy quality bucks, yet my thoughts were only focused on one single deer, I wouldn’t be happy until we found Boones Buck for a chance at redemption.
My dad and brother did manage to shoot two of the great bucks we turned up while looking for my missing giant. While both were great bucks, Dad’s was the bigger of the two. It was an impressive, big main framed 185” 4x4 with a little sticker coming off his left side. The excitement of seeing tags on a couple bucks was great, but we kept everything in perspective as we began another morning of glassing. Maybe it was the long hours behind my spotting scope staring at empty sage brush with bloodshot eyes, but I had truly begun to feel hopeless. My mind kept wandering back to the moment I watched my arrow sail over the buck’s back, and the longer the hunt went on the more I doubted myself. I just couldn’t figure out what I had done wrong, and worse, I couldn’t quit dwelling on something I knew I couldn’t change. Did I jerk the trigger? Did I not pick a spot? Will I ever see that buck again? Honestly, deep inside I had answers to most of my questions, but the lingering question that remained was the latter... Would I ever see him again? One thing was for certain IF we could only find him again, I would make my second chance count. At some point the unforgiving landscape just felt endless, and I felt like the odds of finding the buck again were a million to one. Honestly, I think I was on the verge of throwing in the towel when I heard Brandan say the three most magical words I had ever heard, “I’ve got him, I’ve got your buck!” Instantly my attitude shifted! I was back in the game, and I can’t even tell you how good it felt to be there! In the end, the old buck had done exactly as we had anticipated he’d do, we just finally happened to be in the right spot on the ridge to see him make the slightest of mistakes. He was in the bottom of the draw working his way up into another deep, narrow wash when he literally appeared for a second, then disappeared right before our eyes. For the first time in days I knew luck was back on our side!
Once we were confident that he was bedded down in the wash we circled around and got the wind perpendicular to us. If there is one thing that I have learned watching the deer and our guides in Wyoming it’s that deer almost always bed against a steep bank where they can see in front of them and have the wind blowing over the bank from behind them. With their nose detecting everything they can’t see, it is almost impossible to sneak up on them. Because of this, there are many benefits to keeping the wind perpendicular to you as you approach the bedded deer. You can maintain an elevation advantage making it hard for a deer to see you on your way in, and if you don’t get too high, you can keep your scent blowing safely down away from the deer. Even if the wind switches or the thermals change your scent should blow up or down, not at the deer. With this in mind, we slowly worked our way along the gully glassing every step. Brandan was just about to move forward when my brother and I spotted the buck bedded 55 yards away. I grabbed Brandan’s pack and he immediately rocked back towards me. I slowly pointed to the buck’s massive rack and ears that were sticking up on the far side of the wash. With a rifle in my hands I knew the buck was in serious trouble as I carefully got into position for a shot that was in comfortable range with a bow! All we had to do now was wait for him to stand! Time drug along, every minute seemed like an hour, and every time his head turned, my blood pressure spiked! Finally, the huge rack rose exposing the magnificent animal’s entire body. I settled the crosshairs right behind his shoulder, took a second to appreciate this amazing moment, then squeezed the trigger. Minutes later, I wrapped my hands around the buck that I thought was gone forever! Looking back, I am a true believer that everything happens for a reason. The hunt was meant to unfold like it did because the beautiful deer was meant to have a good story. Had I hit him on my first day there it wouldn’t have tasted so sweet. The work, the endless glassing, the worry, and the doubt had all culminated into the buck, and the story of a lifetime. “Boone’s Buck” taped out at a rough score of 228”, but more important than the score, are the memories of this hunt that will forever be with me. Thank you to everyone at Lance Creek Ranch Outfitters for making this dream a reality. You are all truly great friends and I look forward to many more hunts together.