White Flags in the Tall Grass: Part II

 Bang Plop (by Joe Dibble)

Glassing: the Essential Practice of Couesin'

On the second morning I was particularly excited because we were headed to Jon's proverbial "honey hole". This was officially my second day of coues deer hunting. We had seen plenty of deer yesterday and still had three tags to fill!

Jon, Remi, Mike and I walked in early while Hans held down the fort back at camp. It was abnormally cold for our area again (20 degrees), and the wind now gusting in our face made glassing the distant hills more difficult. This didn’t seem to bother Remi, however, who spotted three bucks fighting on a low hillside over a thousand yards away. The trio entertained him with some great sparring (and a few cheap shots) while the rest of us found them and we determined our intent. One of the the deer was a shooter and they were in a huntable spot.

“You’re up” Remi proclaimed looking in my direction, so Mike and I packed up our gear and headed down for a “closer look”. We soon found ourselves basically right on top of the deer (bow-hunters these guys) set up prone under a scrub oak trying to get the video camera to work before taking the shot. Yet again, the many years of higher education between us kicked in like instinct and enabled us to find the ‘on’ button - shortly after the biggest buck decided to cease standing broadside in the wide open and disappear into a grove of mesquite trees. Comedy! 

Joe's fantastic 2010 Coues buck

As a consolation Mike got some great footage of the small non-typical buck before we sneaked around to get a better angle on the mesquite grove. We re-positioned ourselves further to the west, inside of 125 yards, but could still not see our target. Luckily, as we turned to leave, Mike glanced back just as our buck stood up and stepped out. The buck walked down the hill far enough for us to confirm that it was in fact the bigger deer, then re-bedded (this time with his body exposed) only 110 yards away.

The shot was pretty simple ... shoot off my Stix, in a gusty cross-wind, through a pizza slice-sized gap between a cluster of waving ocotillo branches. Just like at the range baby! This seemed to make Mike - the voice of reason on this mission - increasingly uncomfortable. He was doing his best to convince me to get even closer when grandpa’s 30-06 recoiled into my shoulder. The buck laid over, kicked a few times and went still. 

I must admit I needed to come to terms with the “portion distortion” created from hunting bigger mule deer. But, it did not take long at all to realize what all the fuss was about, and fall in love with hunting the tiny coues species. They are the sports car of the deer kind...sleek, beautiful and very challenging to harvest. I am so proud of my trophy, the first big game animal I have brought home in many many years. Tenderloins and potatoes on the menu again with a side of two more tags to fill tomorrow. Can’t wait! 

The intent of this photo was to show the camaraderie amongst the hunters, but it looks more like a scene from the Sound of Music - the hunting edition.

White Flags in the Tall Grass: Part I

Our Campsite

Opening morning finds me up early and driving to the rifle range for one last check on the weapon and scope.  The first thing I notice is that its unreasonably cold and windy, but I fling some lead anyways, probably to calm the nerves more than anything.  I have a lot of packing to do before I pick up my father at Sky Harbor at noon.  Mike and Joe should be driving in around 5 pm, and then Remi lands close to 7 pm.  

The packing takes longer than I expect, despite having packed nearly identical gear lists for any number of previous trips.   I am excited.   So excited in fact, I haven't eaten or showered yet, and its now time to drive to the airport.  I grab a snack and get in the truck.

It's good to see my dad again as I pull alongside the curb of the airport.  True to tradition he already has indulged in his annual tobacco allowance and offers me a dip.  Smiling I decline, but we compromise on finding a watering hole and partaking of some frosty libations.  We catch up on the details of our lives from the past several months and discuss the anticipation of the coming hunt.  The food was hot, the beers were cold, the company grand. This was going to be a great hunt!

Mike and Joe arrived later and between the four of us we put our collective 15 years or so of engineering education to use to try and fit our gear into two pick up trucks.  We were nearly successful until we realized that there was still Remi and his gear that needed to be added to hap-hazard caravan that would've looked more appropriate coming north from Mexico than it did heading south towards the border.  Some rearranging and a quick shower and we were off to the airport one last time to pick up our final compadre.

Four hours later and we're driving a dirt road towards the camp site.  Its amazing how things look different at night when you're the only one who knows where to go.  We hastily set up camp in the dark and it is freezing cold.  Remi just spent the last 3 months in the ice box of Montana, where the daily highs were in the teens.  When I saw him shiver I knew it wasn't just me - it was really cold.  Perfect weather for deer hunting,  poor weather for sleeping, though with the excitement building I didn't figure on catching much sleep anyways.

Dawn breaks frigid and clear, with only the faint touches of color that come from a sunrise after a still night in the desert.  We're running a few minutes later than I had hoped, but we are together: four rifles, four tags, five good friends.  This is going to be a fantastic hunt.  Single file we walk up the back of a hill from which we will glass for deer.  I can only imagine how suspicious this train of people wearing backpacks and dark clothing must look to any of the Border Patrol agents in the area. 

My Buck and Another Eating from a Barrel Cactus.

We pause for a minute before reaching the summit to catch our breath and survey the surroundings.  Mike points to the adjacent bowl and comments about how this is really good deer country when suddenly a buck busts out of the draw below us and runs up the opposite side of the bowl.  The white flag of its tail is thrown up and I can see the frame of a good buck as it skylines momentarily before disappearing over the other side.  Suddenly there are more deer, bucks - four of them, following the first in like manner, long, white tails thrown up and waving side to side, standing out in such stark contrast against the ocotillo and prickly pear hillside that even a blind man would be able to spot them.  Mike and I both chamber a round and follow the deer as they disappear, but neither of us shoot.  We quickly run to the ridge and relocate the deer as they continue to run through the draws and ravines of the mesquite country and up towards a large open hill side. 

After a little while the bucks calm down and begin to feed out in the open about a 1000 yards away.  We settle down behind the glass and spend some time looking over the bucks and discussing possible plans of stalking in on them.  There are at least two shooters in the group, and one in particular that catches my attention.  I intended on taking a mature representative of the species, viz. a three point with eyeguards and a basket frame.  This buck was exactly what I was looking for.  After some discussion, Remi and Joe aren't interested in pursuing these bucks for the first day of the hunt, so Mike and I decide to head after them.  Mike generously allows me the first shot.

The bucks bed down for the morning while Mike and I work our way into some rocks about 300 yards away from the deer.  After relocating the buck I wanted, I got set up using a backpack laid on top of a rock for the rest.  After hours of reloading and shooting, spending time trying to memorize the ballistics for my rifle, I really felt that I could make the shot.  I set the horizontal post of my scope's reticle to where I could just barely see daylight above the buck's back, figuring that should accommodate the 6 inch drop that my bullet would sustain over the shot distance.  I work into the trigger pull, focusing on my breathing.  One final breath, let it halfway out, first pad of the index finger on the trigger, squeezing... the rifle cracks loud in the morning quiet and I momentarily lose the buck from the recoil.  But there is no tell-tale echo of an impact.  I missed! 

Camp Chef and the Griddle

Fortunately, the buck is none-the wiser, jumping up from his bed and looking around confused.  I chamber another round and settle back into the rest but the buck begins to feed now, and I don't have a shot.  This continues for some time, until the buck is satisfied with his breakfast of barrel cactus fruit and beds down behind a large yucca plant.  Mike and I reconvene to discuss our present options.  The buck has now bedded in a spot conducive to a very close stalk that I elect to take, while Mike hangs back at 200 yards to help guide me in to shooting position.  The stalk will take me straight up the hillside directly at the buck to a rock outcropping that should put me within 80 yards of the deer.  Its a risky stalk, but the wind is right and because of the the angle of the hill I will be concealed from the buck the whole way.

As I reach the rock outcropping from where I anticipate getting a crack at the buck I pause to try and relocate the deer.  After a few minutes I can pick out an antler and an ear from behind the yucca.  I am close now, but I still have no shot.  The wind has become finicky, and I realize if I try to wait the buck out I will probably get winded and the angle for the shot will be poor.  If I can gain another 20 yards I should be in a better position to take the shot when it comes.  Being a bowhunter at heart I have no hesitation in trying to cut 80 yards down to 60 or less, though this is typically where most of my stalks fall apart.  I quickly take my boots off and set them aside to try and close the last bit of distance in my socks.  I wonder if everyone else is as amused with this decision as I am.  Why use a rifle if you're still going to try and get within bow distance? 

The first fifteen yards are easy.  I am getting very close to having an angle that will present a shot.  I can now see the back of the buck's head and a portion of his neck.  His ears bat back and forth, and periodically a shaft of sunlight will glint on an antler.  The wind is swirling now, and the last five yards are thick with vegetation and steep.  The deer is suddenly wary, alert, and stands up.  I shoulder the rifle just as the deer steps forward - right behind the bush.  I can't see the buck's body, only the outline of his back.  Three times I commence the trigger squeeze, trying to talk myself into shooting through the bush.  Its a light bush I say to myself.  The buck is only 60-65 yards away, the bullet should have no problem punching through at that distance.  But I hesitate, there is just too much that could go wrong with the shot.  As if the deer can hear my thoughts it now turns and begins to run up the hill.  There are several ocotillo between us now, and I swing ahead of the buck's gate trying to find a shooting lane only to arrive there too late as buck passes through.  We're close to the summit of a ridge and I realize that if I'm going to get a shot I'm going to have to move, and move fast.

I begin to run, still in my socks, after the buck, catching a glimpse as he crests the ridge.  I arrive there shortly after, looking frantically for the deer.  There is grass and rocks, mesquite trees and ocotillo, but no deer.  There's too much country for the deer to have covered already, but I can't find him anywhere.  Suddenly, I catch movement in my periphery.  Tucked low in some ocotillo about 80 yards away the buck is trying to sneak away, with his head low to the ground.  I shoulder the rifle and fire.  I hear the impact echo back as the buck kicks and begins to run.  Another round runs through the Ruger's action and I shoulder the rifle again finding the buck in the scope and swinging through his body trying to match the buck's pace.  As soon as my vertical post disappears into the edge of the buck's front shoulder I fire again.  The buck lunges forward, his white tail flagging frantically as his front legs buckle and he collides with the ground disappearing into the tall grass not much more than a football field away.     

  

My 2010 Coues Deer Buck

 I begin to walk back towards my boots where I will meet up with Mike.  I am suddenly aware of how many cactus spines I've acquired in the soles of my feet, but the pain is irrelevant in light of the success of harvesting my first Coues deer.   A three year quest came to fruition on the first morning of the hunt, with an off hand shot at a running buck less than 100 yards away.  It was entirely different than the long distance prone shot with spotters that I had anticipated, but I couldn't complain.  There would be a beautiful set of polished basket rack antlers waiting for me on the other side of the ridge; tenderloins and Crown Royal on ice would welcome us back at camp.  My dad was able to witness me take a buck again for the first time in over 8 years.  I had great friends to help me, and they still had tags to fill.  This was going to be a fantastic hunt.

From Left: My Dad, Mike, Remi, Joe, and Myself

My Dad and Mike Enjoying the Fruits of Victory

Success and a Preview

Here are some teaser photos - I'll get the stories up later.  Great hunt!

It starts tomorrow!

A Healthy Dose of Coues Candy

 Well I promised some recipes once I got my rounds worked up for the deer hunt.  Here is my homemade (and family tradition) recipe for Coues Candy:

For a Ruger M77 chambered in .243 Winchester.

*95 gr Nosler CT Ballistic Tip
*45.5 gr IMR 7828 (89% load cap.)
*Remington Large Rifle Primers
*Winchester Brass (once fired)

Without a chronograph, I'm estimating about 3120 fps muzzle velocity.  Nothing to be insecure about there!  This should yield about 800 ft-lbs at 500 yards and a trajectory of -39 inches at the same distance.  300 yards is a more realistic distance given my setup and ability at this point, and I should be able to deliver about 1200 ft-lbs of kinetic energy with only -6 inches of bullet drop.  Given an average chest depth of 13 inches on a Coues buck, holding the horizontal reticle on a buck's spine should deliver this little early-retirement present right to the boiler room.   I had some real trouble initially getting my powder charge to drop accurate loads, but a new digital scale and powder trickler remedied the situation and I tightened up the charges to within a tenth of a grain.   Then there was the issue of ill-seated bullets that could be turned by hand in the case - nothing that an adjustment to the resizing die couldn't cure.  It only took mushrooming a few case necks before I realized that dropping the seating die was the wrong direction to fix this aggravation.  In hindsight, building bullets has proved to be rather therapeutic, and it has helped me to weather the interminable wait before hunting season.

 Come on November 26th!

Callie Tips Over a Grand-Daddy Muley

I wasn't there to help with this hunt, but this was one tag I was really hoping got filled this year.  I'll be honest though, I didn't expect the tag to get hung on a deer of this quality.  Those Nevada boys (and girls) really know how to get it done.  Congratulations to Callie on her first deer ever!   I did have the privilege of periodic updates from Mike, Callie's boyfriend/deer guide, while they were pursuing this monster, which almost made it feel like I was on the hunt.  Great shooting and hard hunting.  Sure hope one day I can collect an old white faced bruiser like this one.   Callie did  on her first hunt what a lot of people (including me) are still dreaming about.  Way to go girl!  Now go draw your sheep tag and we'll really be talking!

This photo here belongs on the cover of a magazine.  It's that good!                                                         

When you hit the hills with guys like these, two things happen.  1- Something usually dies.  2- You're gonna have a lot of fun.  The two on the left will be accompanying me on a Coues Deer hunt in two weeks.  Really looking forward to that hunt.

Leftovers in Coues Country

I will spare you my typical long winded rant, and let the photos do the talking on this one.  Plus the story's already been written: Diagnosis Heart Explosion.  Enjoy!

Caleb Kills a Coues

A full morning of hunting turned up nothing but does and fawns - not to mention a gorgeous sunrise in spectacular country.  We were hunting our way back to the truck which we had left a few miles away and a few hours ago when we swung onto one last ridge to check a northern exposure.  As we were working our way through the oak and manzanita Caleb whispers, "I see a coyote!"  My immediate thought was that if Caleb saw a coyote he should feed it a copper wrapped breakfast of lead but I figured I should double check before I said anything.  With a little help from Caleb and my 10X glasses I located the coyote, which happened to be a deer, and buck at that.  

"Its a deer, and its a buck."  

"Really?  How many antlers does it have?"  

"Two."  

"Do you think it would be a good first buck?"

We might only have one day to hunt, and more people are joining us in the evening, which invariably complicates things... Plus, this is your first deer hunt ever.

"I think it would be a hell of a first buck.  Get ready to shoot."

By this time the buck is getting self conscious after being on display at about 100 yards, and is starting to look side to side, surveying his options for a stage exit.  Caleb drops to the kneeling position, elbow tucked against the inside of his knee.  The buck is concealed by a solitary manzanita bush.

"Which direction is he going to go?"

"Left, I think.  No, Right.  Ok shoot now!"

The rifle reports somewhere in my peripheries but I am staring intently at the buck through the glasses.  The echo of solid hit returns as I watch the buck collapse and fall over backwards, legs stretched momentarily heavenward before constricting with spasms in the throes of death.

"Nice [really nice] shot!"

Prayers of thanksgiving and a blessing for the meat preceded the photo shoot and then a rather arduous pack-out back to camp.  Another successful hunt and another addict-hunter joins the fraternity.  I love hunting Coues deer!

Quail Opener

The Phoenix Valley is a "hot spot" for Gambel's quail, and considering that this bastard summer heat has yet to give up the ghost and make way for fall, that is a pun most certainly intended.  My brother in law Johnny came to town for a brief visit this past weekend to interview for graduate school, but we took advantage of the opportunity and grabbed the shotguns and a three day license for him and headed out to a new spot I had been pondering.

The heat was already radiating through the semi-riparian area when we arrived.  Although I was prepared for a hot hunt, I was still surprised at how quickly my brow was laced with sweat which stung my eyes and permeated my shirt.  I was also surprised by the thrilling sound of flushing quail much sooner than I expected; we were scarcely 100 yards from the truck.  Not one to miss an opportunity I swung on the nearest bird and watched it crumple in the air after the shotgun's report.  Trying to find a sustained lead I shot at a second bird only to realize too late that my lead had been short and the bird was unscathed.  As I mentally scolded myself another bird flushed, the head feather and darker colors identified it as a cock bird.  Instinctively I snapped the shot and the bird collided with the earth in front of me and that was that.  I wiped my brow with a grin, thinking "Damn this heat, but thank God for quail season."

The day progressed, and the quail were on fire, not to mention everything else in the ephemeral wash system that we were walking.  My shooting gradually worsened as I worked through the better part of two boxes of shells, but Johnny shot quite well and displayed conservative wisdom on avoiding the longer shots over thick cover that I seem to possess no self control for abstaining from.  The two of us brought a total of 15 birds to hand, and with a few unfortunate cripples we had collected our limits and concluded the quail opener.

Saturday found us back in the same spot and a few hours earlier than the day before, but we could already tell that it was going to be even hotter than our previous hunt.  We swung out wider to avoid some other hunters and encountered even larger coveys than the opener produced, but already these birds were acting jumpy, almost like the educated birds of late season hunts.  They were flushing a hundred yards or more in front of us, and the only shooting we had was over singles that flushed after the covey had already disappeared.    This afforded us the opportunity to shoulder our guns a little less and talk a little more, which was a welcome change.  It was good to catch up and enjoy a long overdue conversation that the field seems uniquely suited to offer.  With four birds in the vests we called it a day around noon and headed back home.

One of the best parts of hunting with family is sharing the harvest with family afterwards.  We prepared the quail in a kabob style by wrapping the filleted meat with a little cream cheese in a strip of bacon.  Hard on the arteries but oh-so-good for the heart!  I am so thankful to be able to share these kinds of experiences with friends and family, to take a morning and bring from field to table such a wonderful fare.