another one that got away
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Vongruenegen
- Fawn
- Posts: 7
- Joined: Sat Dec 01, 2007 10:52 pm
- Location: Wasatch, UT
another one that got away
Ok, so I have been on the sight for a while, but never actually made a post of my own. This brings about feelings of horror and guilt in whats left of a mind that has been weakened by decades of hunting and fishing. Oh yeah, and did I mention marriage? So I wrote a book for those of you that are bored. This episode occurred during the general archery Elk hunt this past September. I went nuts, and wrote this story.....
Behold the one that got away. The source of my nightmares for years to come.
My buddy Greg and I were on a 4 day backpacking bowhunt for Elk in the Uintas. We were in a place where we saw many Elk last year. This year, however, there wasn’t a single sign of the aforementioned critter, and I don’t mean Greg.
Months ago, Greg had purchased a deer cart, capable of hauling 500 lbs. Arriving at the trailhead, we promptly loaded the cart to the nuts with close to 400lbs of all the creature comforts, mostly beer. After 3.5 miles of up, we were beginning to wear. At one particularly steep section of road, we felt foolishly like the pioneers during their famed exodus from MiZZouRA. (as they say) Only dumber. Greg pushing, and me a pullin’…sweat, blood, and lots of blue air. At times it seemed hopeless… if the trail wouldn’t level out to at least a 45 degree angle, we would have to take a pit stop and drink some of the beer to lighten the load. Unfortunately, this was not the case.(the beer drinking would have to wait till later) After 2 hard hours the trail eased, and we finally came to rest in a wonderful clearing right below Hoyt peak. (We would later learn that the word “Hoyt” is from the Ute Indian word meaning- “No Elk.”) Elated, we wasted no time…unloaded our gear, and immediately donned our hunting gear and headed for Hoyt peak. Two miles, and 1500 feet or so in the upward direction later, we finally crested the saddle directly below Hoyt peak, right around 10,000 ft. We were atop a huge cirque, with tiny lakes, and tiny trees in the bowl below, 1200 feet or so away.
We both had 10X binoculars; Greg had a 48X spotting scope as well, and we immediately went about scanning the terrain below, in silence. After several minutes of eye-boggling, and a huff or two of frustration, I decided to break the silence. “Well, there sure as heck aren’t any Elk down there, but there’s a Caribou right to the left of that clearing.” After some scrambling, we had the mother in focus with the 48X. At least 800 yards away, we figured. Wow. We both agreed that this was probably the biggest mule deer we had ever seen.
Having spotted the beast, I was chosen to drop into the bowl, and retrieve our prize. Lucky me. (Next time, Greg goes…he’s a better shot anyway.) After a hasty discussion, we felt we had a plan. As I understood it, my job was to as quickly and quietly as possible, descend the 1200ft down the “none to one slope,” navigate to within 50 yds or so of the critter, all the while playing the wind, avoiding red squirrels, or sage grouse that will give your hind end away, sticks that go crunch, dried weeds , paper wasp nests….etc., and make the kill.( Fortunately I was in the woods, where these variables are tough to come by.) Greg’s job was to “hold the ridge,” as he put it- which to the best of my knowledge (which is far from best) hadn’t changed much since the last ice age. We don’t like to take chances. In between assisting gravity, he would also monitor my progress/ location, and happily munch gorp.
Leaving my backpack behind, I crawled over the ridge, and began sliding towards the bottom of the cirque. I quickly came to the realization that my fingernails were not going to last, as I frantically scraped the side of the slope, in a fruitless effort to slow my descent. I was deep into the cuticles when I finally came to a stop at the bottom of the slope. I had made it! I gathered what was left of myself, checked my bow, and took off in a sweeping- out of the way semi-circle that would keep me downwind of the sniffing creature, and give me some much needed additional exercise for the day. About an hour later, I found myself in the clearing which was pre-arranged for me to stop and check in with Greg about the status of the beast.(we’re no dummies!, we had a list of handsignals, and such that would ensure success!) I raised my 10X binoculars, and focused in on the Camo clad speck that was Greg. Or was that a tiny bush….or one of those rotten red squirrels? It was tough to say. I know I wasn’t thinking clearly, what with all the hooplah going down, but I swear the only thing I saw on the ridge where I had left Greg was a tiny pebble. A tiny pebble that was eating gorp. I crept around what I thought to be the dead log that was adjacent to the location of the beast.( Now let me pause here to make it clear just how confusing things get when you go from the “looker” to the “looked.” What I mean is simply this… when you look at a map, it is easy to pick out where your house is…you may even be able to spot your car with this wonderful thing called Google Earth. That’s great. But the @#$ gets thick when you find yourself shrunk to 1/100 (if you’re lucky) and thrown into the mix. What was once crystal clear, becomes hazy and downright spooky.) Dead logs were everywhere! And they all looked the same; Dead, and log-like. Panicking, I tried once more to consult the gorp eating pebble. As expected, no reply.(I would later learn that to Greg, I looked like half a camoflauged breadstick. After all, he had the high power scope) I decided to take a chance; one of the logs looked to be “the one”, and I had to get moving before the deer, or I died of old age. I came over a slight rise, and knew I was in the right place, and that the deer would be no more than 60 yards away. I quietly climbed over the last bit of rock, about 10 ft up. Crouching, I slowly lifted my head and saw the tips of his velvet rack. ( Horribly BAD language!!!) The thing was huge. You cold have fit a beachball nicely between the whole setup.
Without warning I began to shake. Or was it tremble? “Oh no,” I thought, “I’m too old for this buck fever. I was too far out, and needed to be closer. “Relax,” I told myself, after all, I’m here to hunt elk, and a deer was second best. Yeah right. Hunched low, I took a couple steps closer. There were a couple of trees in the way, and he was looking in the opposite direction. Slowly….About 45 yards…I was nearly there…
That’s when things got ugly. I was about to draw my bow when the critter suddenly turned his head and looked square at me . I was in mid-step at the time – and I froze. Right foot still in the air…mouth agape. I stopped breathing…blinking …thinking, and just froze.( I was happy that trees were blocking Greg’s view of me- the half breadstick- street mime.) The buck stared at me for what seemed like a week, but realistically was no more than a couple of hours. I became aware of a grimace building on my strained face. That and what sounded like a distant whimpering, coming from deep within my soul. I HAD to put my foot down or risk permanent damage to my nervous system. Suddenly, I got a break, as the beast turned his head back to the forward position. I heard a WHOOSH- WHOOSH as those antlers broke through the air. As if synchronized, I dropped my aching foot.
There must have been a snap from some rogue twig, or perhaps it was a gorp crunching from headquarters high on the ridge.. maybe a sigh of relief from my aching leg. Who knows, I could have farted. Whatever the source, the deer heard something he didn’t like, and in two shakes of a trophy bucks tail, turned in my direction, shot me a look as if to say “Are you kidding me, rookie?” And vanished with a WHOOOSH. Leaving me standing there in a puddle of piss, feeling awkward and confused.
Painfully, I lowered my bow. My heart rate plummeted 200bpm. The squirrels dropped pinecones on my head, heckling me. I couldn’t BELIEVE it. As an afterthought,(or an attempt to save face) I raised my binoculars and aimed in the direction of the disappearing animal, now approaching Evanston.
The moment had come to a close. I circled the spot where he had lay, and began my journey back to the ridge.
When I finally met up with Greg, he had few words of comfort. (much like a good friend) He was raving about the deer , and how big he was, and blah blah… I had blown it. Or something had blown it. Either way, it had been BLOWN.
Walking back, we re-lived the AWESOME experience, and joked about what may have gone wrong. Our leisurely pace quickened when a fast moving electrical storm began throwing bolts of lightning in our direction. We hobbled off the mountain as fast as our worn out bones would allow, and made it into camp just as the first few bucketloads of chubby rain began to hit home. We retreated to our separate tents, and cracked some warm beers. The rain turned into a downpour. (which lasted for 28 hours) In between lightning strikes, and rumbling thunder, we talked about the day, and came to this conclusion; “Who cares about the deer of a life-time anyway?” we reasoned, “especially when you’re hunting Elk?”
For the next 4 days, we saw no Elk, and for the past three months I haven't gotten a shot.
Family, a recent return to school, and life in general have kept me from the hills more than I wish. On the bright side....12 more days of Elk!! Here's hoping somebody posts some photos of success in the near future! And if its not me, I have some great new recipes from Martha Stewart for "Taggue Soup" that I'm dying to try out.
Greg took this picture from at least 800 yds away through his spotting scope. Pretty amazing, considering the distance. I had to chop it up in order to allow the program to accept it. The original photo is pretty cool, because you can see the outer border of the scope.
If you think this was long-winded, you’re correct. But wait until I actually shoot something!
Behold the one that got away. The source of my nightmares for years to come.
My buddy Greg and I were on a 4 day backpacking bowhunt for Elk in the Uintas. We were in a place where we saw many Elk last year. This year, however, there wasn’t a single sign of the aforementioned critter, and I don’t mean Greg.
Months ago, Greg had purchased a deer cart, capable of hauling 500 lbs. Arriving at the trailhead, we promptly loaded the cart to the nuts with close to 400lbs of all the creature comforts, mostly beer. After 3.5 miles of up, we were beginning to wear. At one particularly steep section of road, we felt foolishly like the pioneers during their famed exodus from MiZZouRA. (as they say) Only dumber. Greg pushing, and me a pullin’…sweat, blood, and lots of blue air. At times it seemed hopeless… if the trail wouldn’t level out to at least a 45 degree angle, we would have to take a pit stop and drink some of the beer to lighten the load. Unfortunately, this was not the case.(the beer drinking would have to wait till later) After 2 hard hours the trail eased, and we finally came to rest in a wonderful clearing right below Hoyt peak. (We would later learn that the word “Hoyt” is from the Ute Indian word meaning- “No Elk.”) Elated, we wasted no time…unloaded our gear, and immediately donned our hunting gear and headed for Hoyt peak. Two miles, and 1500 feet or so in the upward direction later, we finally crested the saddle directly below Hoyt peak, right around 10,000 ft. We were atop a huge cirque, with tiny lakes, and tiny trees in the bowl below, 1200 feet or so away.
We both had 10X binoculars; Greg had a 48X spotting scope as well, and we immediately went about scanning the terrain below, in silence. After several minutes of eye-boggling, and a huff or two of frustration, I decided to break the silence. “Well, there sure as heck aren’t any Elk down there, but there’s a Caribou right to the left of that clearing.” After some scrambling, we had the mother in focus with the 48X. At least 800 yards away, we figured. Wow. We both agreed that this was probably the biggest mule deer we had ever seen.
Having spotted the beast, I was chosen to drop into the bowl, and retrieve our prize. Lucky me. (Next time, Greg goes…he’s a better shot anyway.) After a hasty discussion, we felt we had a plan. As I understood it, my job was to as quickly and quietly as possible, descend the 1200ft down the “none to one slope,” navigate to within 50 yds or so of the critter, all the while playing the wind, avoiding red squirrels, or sage grouse that will give your hind end away, sticks that go crunch, dried weeds , paper wasp nests….etc., and make the kill.( Fortunately I was in the woods, where these variables are tough to come by.) Greg’s job was to “hold the ridge,” as he put it- which to the best of my knowledge (which is far from best) hadn’t changed much since the last ice age. We don’t like to take chances. In between assisting gravity, he would also monitor my progress/ location, and happily munch gorp.
Leaving my backpack behind, I crawled over the ridge, and began sliding towards the bottom of the cirque. I quickly came to the realization that my fingernails were not going to last, as I frantically scraped the side of the slope, in a fruitless effort to slow my descent. I was deep into the cuticles when I finally came to a stop at the bottom of the slope. I had made it! I gathered what was left of myself, checked my bow, and took off in a sweeping- out of the way semi-circle that would keep me downwind of the sniffing creature, and give me some much needed additional exercise for the day. About an hour later, I found myself in the clearing which was pre-arranged for me to stop and check in with Greg about the status of the beast.(we’re no dummies!, we had a list of handsignals, and such that would ensure success!) I raised my 10X binoculars, and focused in on the Camo clad speck that was Greg. Or was that a tiny bush….or one of those rotten red squirrels? It was tough to say. I know I wasn’t thinking clearly, what with all the hooplah going down, but I swear the only thing I saw on the ridge where I had left Greg was a tiny pebble. A tiny pebble that was eating gorp. I crept around what I thought to be the dead log that was adjacent to the location of the beast.( Now let me pause here to make it clear just how confusing things get when you go from the “looker” to the “looked.” What I mean is simply this… when you look at a map, it is easy to pick out where your house is…you may even be able to spot your car with this wonderful thing called Google Earth. That’s great. But the @#$ gets thick when you find yourself shrunk to 1/100 (if you’re lucky) and thrown into the mix. What was once crystal clear, becomes hazy and downright spooky.) Dead logs were everywhere! And they all looked the same; Dead, and log-like. Panicking, I tried once more to consult the gorp eating pebble. As expected, no reply.(I would later learn that to Greg, I looked like half a camoflauged breadstick. After all, he had the high power scope) I decided to take a chance; one of the logs looked to be “the one”, and I had to get moving before the deer, or I died of old age. I came over a slight rise, and knew I was in the right place, and that the deer would be no more than 60 yards away. I quietly climbed over the last bit of rock, about 10 ft up. Crouching, I slowly lifted my head and saw the tips of his velvet rack. ( Horribly BAD language!!!) The thing was huge. You cold have fit a beachball nicely between the whole setup.
Without warning I began to shake. Or was it tremble? “Oh no,” I thought, “I’m too old for this buck fever. I was too far out, and needed to be closer. “Relax,” I told myself, after all, I’m here to hunt elk, and a deer was second best. Yeah right. Hunched low, I took a couple steps closer. There were a couple of trees in the way, and he was looking in the opposite direction. Slowly….About 45 yards…I was nearly there…
That’s when things got ugly. I was about to draw my bow when the critter suddenly turned his head and looked square at me . I was in mid-step at the time – and I froze. Right foot still in the air…mouth agape. I stopped breathing…blinking …thinking, and just froze.( I was happy that trees were blocking Greg’s view of me- the half breadstick- street mime.) The buck stared at me for what seemed like a week, but realistically was no more than a couple of hours. I became aware of a grimace building on my strained face. That and what sounded like a distant whimpering, coming from deep within my soul. I HAD to put my foot down or risk permanent damage to my nervous system. Suddenly, I got a break, as the beast turned his head back to the forward position. I heard a WHOOSH- WHOOSH as those antlers broke through the air. As if synchronized, I dropped my aching foot.
There must have been a snap from some rogue twig, or perhaps it was a gorp crunching from headquarters high on the ridge.. maybe a sigh of relief from my aching leg. Who knows, I could have farted. Whatever the source, the deer heard something he didn’t like, and in two shakes of a trophy bucks tail, turned in my direction, shot me a look as if to say “Are you kidding me, rookie?” And vanished with a WHOOOSH. Leaving me standing there in a puddle of piss, feeling awkward and confused.
Painfully, I lowered my bow. My heart rate plummeted 200bpm. The squirrels dropped pinecones on my head, heckling me. I couldn’t BELIEVE it. As an afterthought,(or an attempt to save face) I raised my binoculars and aimed in the direction of the disappearing animal, now approaching Evanston.
The moment had come to a close. I circled the spot where he had lay, and began my journey back to the ridge.
When I finally met up with Greg, he had few words of comfort. (much like a good friend) He was raving about the deer , and how big he was, and blah blah… I had blown it. Or something had blown it. Either way, it had been BLOWN.
Walking back, we re-lived the AWESOME experience, and joked about what may have gone wrong. Our leisurely pace quickened when a fast moving electrical storm began throwing bolts of lightning in our direction. We hobbled off the mountain as fast as our worn out bones would allow, and made it into camp just as the first few bucketloads of chubby rain began to hit home. We retreated to our separate tents, and cracked some warm beers. The rain turned into a downpour. (which lasted for 28 hours) In between lightning strikes, and rumbling thunder, we talked about the day, and came to this conclusion; “Who cares about the deer of a life-time anyway?” we reasoned, “especially when you’re hunting Elk?”
For the next 4 days, we saw no Elk, and for the past three months I haven't gotten a shot.
Family, a recent return to school, and life in general have kept me from the hills more than I wish. On the bright side....12 more days of Elk!! Here's hoping somebody posts some photos of success in the near future! And if its not me, I have some great new recipes from Martha Stewart for "Taggue Soup" that I'm dying to try out.
Greg took this picture from at least 800 yds away through his spotting scope. Pretty amazing, considering the distance. I had to chop it up in order to allow the program to accept it. The original photo is pretty cool, because you can see the outer border of the scope.
If you think this was long-winded, you’re correct. But wait until I actually shoot something!
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Vongruenegen
- Fawn
- Posts: 7
- Joined: Sat Dec 01, 2007 10:52 pm
- Location: Wasatch, UT
Re: another one that got away
Sorry, hopefully the pic posted this time. forgive me, I just started e-mailing for God's sake!
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sneekeepete
- Monster
- Posts: 1757
- Joined: Tue Sep 23, 2008 1:15 pm
- Location: Utah
Re: another one that got away
Thanks for sharing the story and good luck next time!
SNEEKEEPETE
OIF Vet.
Sgt Petersen USMC
Colossians 1:27,28
OIF Vet.
Sgt Petersen USMC
Colossians 1:27,28
Re: another one that got away
Great story. To bad that you couldn't put an arrow through that monster. That crack about Missouri hits a little two close to home. Next time have one of your many wives help you pull the cart and it won't be so heavy.
Re: another one that got away
Great story! Man, that buck was a Doozy too (Of course, I am by no means rubbin' it in 
)
)
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MuleyMadness
- Site Admin
- Posts: 9997
- Joined: Thu Oct 10, 2002 9:34 pm
- Location: St. George, UT
- Contact:
Re: another one that got away
Wish I could write stories that good, really enjoyed it. Keep the stories and photos coming.
That is a small buck though, so glad you passed on him.
and thanks for the story! 
That is a small buck though, so glad you passed on him.
and thanks for the story! -
lunkerjunker
- Spike
- Posts: 71
- Joined: Tue Oct 11, 2005 10:09 pm
- Location: SLC, UT
Re: another one that got away
Hey buddy! This story has repeated itself all season! 1 more week, the soup is gettin' HOT!
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NotEnufTags
- Monster
- Posts: 1138
- Joined: Wed Nov 26, 2008 12:50 am
- Location: Central Region, Utah
Re: another one that got away
Great story and photo. Where I hunt it is near impossible to spot and stalk from a long distance. I consider my self lucky to see a deer 150 yards out. I enjoyed reading about your spot and stalk tactics. Great looking buck.
Although my user name is NotEnufTags, I've got plenty of past years unfilled ones if you run out of ingredients for your Taggue Soup.
Although my user name is NotEnufTags, I've got plenty of past years unfilled ones if you run out of ingredients for your Taggue Soup.
"Some day I'll scout out a monster, spot him while hunting, make the stalk of a lifetime, and have dreams come true. 'Til then I'll be happy with the buck in my cross-hairs."
Re: another one that got away
I loved your story! I think the only thing worse than blowing one out on a stalk is to miss him at 16 yards after waiting in the cold for hours 
.
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johnyutah5
- 2 point
- Posts: 258
- Joined: Wed May 02, 2007 10:53 am
- Location: Utah
Re: another one that got away
Great story. Been there, done that! Although when I did it, it didn't seem nearly as much fun.