By Justin Johnson

October 10, 2025

Opening week in public areas are always a warzone. People flying down roads, blaze orange around every ridge line, and gun shots echo through the valleys far and near. It started bright and early for me as I headed to my spot that we have hunted for generations. I got up even more early to ensure that I’ll be the first to get there! Arrived on the ridge, at an approximately 3:15 AM. So there I sat, October 1st, opening day for rifle, in my favorite spot, only to just see the rain and thunder moved in. I knew he was out there. That one perfect buck, that wall hanger, and delicious steak. Finally the sunrises just enough to barely make out shapes and sizes in what felt like miles, but was only hundreds of yards. We sat and watched does and fawns slowly emerge outta the willows on the bottom of the hill. Not a single buck to be seen. Other hunters slowly drive by to see what I see, only to be warned away from the antlerless scene. We finally get the gumption to drive to the other side, and hike to the top to avoid head on collision. We spend the better part of the rainy morning staying to the tree line and pure wall of pines. I didn’t feel comfortable enough dragging out a long gun knowing most of the competition was nothing but thick cover and fast movement I used my better judgement and grabbed the open sight 45/70 Henry, with the leverevolutions as my trusty companion. As I emerge from the crowded treeline, watching as the water washes away any signs that there’s been an animal one in the valley. I finally reach the top only to find little forky buck standing not 20 yards away. I quickly hunker down slowly jack a shell in. I’m ready, I slowly raise my rifle and put the buckhorn sight out in front, as I’m watching this forky horned mule deer I can’t help but notice movement to my left. 3 more bucks appear. All perfect meaty healthy young bucks. I wait patiently, them not knowing where I am, or even sensing I’m near. Finally, he emerged. The mischievous, and rather large deer I so hoped for. As I wait for him to close the distance I can’t help but notice, the rain has stopped. Matter of fact the ground around me has become a blanket of white. The snow has finally set in and now that I noticed it, it grows stronger. Already wet I feel the chill sink in but hold it as much as I can to avoid a potential spook of the deer that are trying to graze before the heavy snow fall sets in. I’m determined, I’ve came to far to not make this count. The buck finally closes the distance, my heart starts racing, I pull up the rifle, I place the buckhorn sights right behind the shoulder, not to low, not to high. Just right. I take a deep breath, and pull the trigger. The deer scatter the snow falls heavier, I swear I aimed and shot true! I thought to myself “ no way a deer within 50 yards just tanked a 45/70 like that?!” I slowly walk to where he stood, I sigh in total disbelief, only to find not a single blood drop. I look to a fallen stump, a stump that laid just right above his shoulder. I look at the 45/70 buckhorn sight and in my total disbelief I forgot. I raised the sight a few days ago to reach out some practice shots at the range. I look at the stump and there it was. The hole I only so sworn would bring down anything, and it did. We killed the stump. I look down the hill only to see the deer happily escape, and link back with the others. As the snow storm sets in, I feel the emotions flood through me but I can’t help but smile. My smile then turns to a laughter, and I can’t help but think “ man.. what a buck, and only to be fooled by none other than my own mistakes.” We finally make it to the parking area to be greeted with “we heard the shot! Is he down? He must be big!” I laugh, and grin as I reply “yep, he’s big, one of the biggest I’ve ever shot, and old, man he’s old, but unfortunately I couldn’t get the rest of the roots blown outta the ground to roll the stump I shot down the hill.” We all have a great laugh, and brush it off our shoulders. We all have times we get skunked and as frustrating it can be, we have all been played by mother nature’s finest tricks. A few days later, my days off come to a end, and I must return to the everyday grind of bill paying, and responsibilities. As we are leaving, there in the treeline stood the most magnificent buck I’ve ever laid eyes upon. This time, exactly 215 yards away. I refused to take down any more stumps, I needed distance, I pull the 300 win mag loaded down with 180 gr Hornady Superformance. I sneak into the tree lines just to close that pesky 15 yards to make it a even 200. I pull up the rifle, release the safety, pull the trigger, the deer drops in its tracks. My dad comes walking only to give me grief about blowing another tree apart, only to be standing there, congratulating on the harvest, of my opening week buck. Now granted, he wasn’t no Boone and Crockett stump that I had bagged earlier, and perhaps not a biggin at all. But the persistent hunt, the laugher we all shared, the meal this buck will provide, will be memorable for a lifetime. For it’s not the harvest and celebration of a wide loaded down buck, but the fond memories and lessons learned, and the accomplishment feeling of a successful hunt, that matter the most. Stomachs will be full, stories will be told, and memories will last a lifetime, and it’s all thanks to Hornady. Thank you for having me aboard. I wouldn’t have wanted this hunting season any other way. Proud to be Team Hornady.