“The buck on the far left is the one we want to take. He’s got four points on his left and three on his right, counting brow tines. He’s about 450 yards. Can you take him from here?” Instructed and questioned the ranch’s manager as he glassed the distant hillside where several mule deer does and bucks were feeding.
“Yes sir,” I responded as I patted my 270 Ruger American rifle loaded with Hornady American Whitetail 140gr InterLock bullets. “But, I’d rather get closer.” Looking at the undulating, brushy terrain between the buck and me, I felt assured I could cut the distance to 200 yards before squeezing the trigger.
The ranch manager nodded. “I’ll stay here and direct you to the buck. Keep looking back at me and I’ll point you in the right direction, should you lose sight of him once you drop into the ravine.”
I grabbed my shooting sticks, made certain I had extra Hornady rounds, although I doubted needing them. Moments later I dropped into the ravine which angled toward the hillside where the buck fed.
It took 15 minutes to cut the distance to 250 yards. In so doing, I had only one time glimpsed the buck. Still, I was confident in the next few moments I would be in a position to make a shot.
Ever so cautiously I eased up to the cusp, pushing my Ruger forward and onto a clump of prairie grass which would make for a solid rest. Then I started moving into a shooting position behind my rifle. As I did, the buck I hoped to take jerked his head up, stared over his shoulder and immediately bolted towards the top of the ridge. I raised up to where I could see the entire ridge only to see all the deer running.
Why would they run? The wind was blowing briskly from the top of ridge towards me. I glassed the ranch manager, who was pointing towards my left. Raising a bit higher I could see the entire ridge, where four coyotes were running after the deer.
I considered taking a shot at the coyotes, but, then I thought the better of it and headed back towards our pickup.
Earlier that morning I had had another stalk go sour. We had spotted a massive and wide forkhorn, just as he laid down alongside a ravine next to a tall western soapberry, the only tree in the half section of tall bluestem, prairie grass.
We backed up, then I walked to be directly downwind and started my stalk. Easing from bush to bush I was closing the distance and would soon be within 200 yards. I had picked out a small mesquite that would make an excellent rest, 20 yards away. Only five steps remained when four does and three fawns erupted under foot. They ran towards the bedded buck, only for the eight deer to disappear into a brushy draw at the base of a long-slope ridge.
For the past few days I had been spotting and stalking mule deer in the upper regions of the Texas Panhandle and they had continually eluded me. There had, however been some success in taking a deer.
The second day of the hunt I had taken a massive and wide eight-point whitetail. We had watched two bucks, both shooters, chase a doe to within 270 yards. When the larger of the two stopped to survey the creek bottom below, I took my shot. I knew the way I was sighted in, at that distance the bullet should drop eight inches. I held the Trijicon’s horizontal crosshair just below the buck’s broadside back-line, then pulled the trigger.
The solid “whump” drifted back to me before I completed bolting in a second round. At the shot, the buck had shuddered then turned to run. He quartered away and I was just getting ready to send a second Hornady round his way when he fell. It felt good to have a deer down, particularly one I knew would be absolutely delicious!
But now, my four-day hunt was coming to a close and less than three hours remained. I decided to head to where the first day I had seen a truly good Texas mule deer, as well as one that had some age but lacked huge antlers, a nice three by three without brow tines. My agreement with the landowner was to be able to take such a buck.
I had seen the older three by three in a broad, grassy valley with a couple of coulees. My intention was to glass the basic area and if I did not see a likely candidate, walk to the top the ridge and glass the low spots.
No sooner had I walked to where I could see the valley when I spotted a nice three by three, which appeared to be mature, if not well over the hill. I watched as he bedded in a low spot near the top of the ridge.
Quickly glassing about I picked out a route which should put me less than 75 yards of where the buck was bedded. It was a near perfect set up. As I started my stalk a brisk, cold wind blew out of the north-east, and, the sun was at my back.
I moved quickly the first 300 yards, then slowed to a cautious walk the next 75. Nearing where I thought the buck was bedded I slowed to a snail’s pace. I knew the buck was bedded somewhere in the linear low area ahead of me, but not sure exactly where. I took three more steps and spotted the tips of the buck’s antlers. I got on hands and knees and moved forward until I could see most of the facing away bedded buck.
Cautiously, in slow-motion I moved my shooting sticks in front of me, nestled the Ruger into a comfortable shooting position, then settled the crosshairs on the buck’s shoulder about six inches below the top of his back. My intention was to put the buck down in his bed. I knew such shot placement, if it did not immediately kill him, would stun and give me an opportunity for quick second follow-up shot in to his vitals.
At the shot, the buck simply rolled over. I immediately bolted in another round and got back on target. If the buck so much as wiggled, I intended to put a second shot into his vitals.
A full minute later I decided the buck was not going to get up. Even so, as I walked to where he lay I was ready for a follow-up shot. At the buck’s side I whispered a prayer of thanks for my deer and for not having blown my last minute stalk.
Photo credit: Larry Weishuhn Outdoors