Not your traditional hero

What does the mule deer mean to you?  For the average American, the mule deer is just a floppy-eared, grey coated deer with a white rump and a rope-like tail. To some, like car insurance agents and landscapers, a deer may be a nuisance and bad for business.

I happen to have a passion and love for mule deer and I know I’m not the only one. The other day, my 12 yr. old girl questioned if I have a hero or an idol that’s alive today. I thought about it and replied with a nod, “An old mule deer buck”.  She rolled her eyes with an “I should’ve known” face and a deep sigh. But I was serious.

Recently, I was four mornings into an archery deer hunt sitting atop a sage knoll.  Typically I have my own personal rules of not listening to music, the news, and not thinking about the day to day norm while I’m hunting. It’s my personal approach in connecting with nature and has kept me relatively sane through the years.  But this day, for whatever reason, I had broken my own rules and my mind wandered onto work issues, our country’s future, my kids’ futures; all pressing items but ones I couldn’t resolve from my present perch. They were simply interfering with my hunt.  Who is this Syrian dictator that uses chemical warfare on children? I hope everything is running smoothly at work.  Did my mortgage clear this month?

I snuck 20 yards from bucks in these beds but they offered no shot.

Meanwhile, I glassed up a buck that easily exceeded 30” wide and wrapped in velvet.  “A drop tine” I whispered to myself, instantly my mind was cleared of interference and I eagerly watched the buck’s every move through my binoculars.  I’ll confess that somewhere deep within, feelings of envy grew inside me. I don’t have antler envy nor do I grow jealous of other hunter’s buck success.  I simply envy the life of a mature muley buck. I’d like the morning sun to find me each morning on these mountain slopes. I envy the lack of complications in a deer’s life and resent our overly-complex humans brain and the layers of made-up politics, plastic, and chaos we are suffocating ourselves with.

I glanced down at my traditional stick bow and smiled.  Honestly, I had little confidence in myself that I could sneak up and kill such a wide buck, or any buck for that matter, within my 25 yards range. Although I’ve killed some nice bucks through the years that 30” buck has always been one step ahead, but this hasn’t stopped me from trying to tear down that veil that separates me from them.

The morning sun peered from behind the eastern horizon lighting up the buck.  He was regal posing there with those wide antlers and heavy, sway-backed body.  I was engrossed watching this aged buck’s level of intelligence. The buck was untrusting of any ambient noises and movements as his eyes and ears can only detect pieces of a potential threat: the noise of rolling rock or a flash of movement in the shadows. But he nosed the thermals often with credulous assurance since he relied on the fact that his olfactory senses tells the whole story without fail.  He watched his back trail for minutes at a time as if he expected an unwanted visitor at any moment. Experience has taught the buck to be wary and trust only his own instincts.

His behavior was the epitome of self-reliance and survival; qualities I’ve been working on in my own life. The shadows shortened and the buck considered his bedding options; the two nearby mahogany trees that grew side by side and shaded multiple deer beds under their limbs looked like the obvious choice to me, but apparently too obvious for a mature buck. His age and wisdom was evident as the buck glared at the trees and then turned away cautiously walking in a “J” pattern and bedding 300 yards further under a solitary bitterbrush surrounded by tall sage and serviceberry.

For any of you who have watched this mature buck behavior understand it is not merely a coincidence, but strategic planning on the deer’s part that involves pre-planned escape routes and well-hidden beds all based on prior good and bad experiences. Once the buck was bedded, I couldn’t even see antler tips. These old bucks rely on good decision-making and constant alertness to detail, their life depends on it.    

The upward thermals were finally steady and it was time to make my stalk. My feet were wrapped in 3 layers of wool but still sensitive enough that I could feel each stick and rock underneath me. I thought about the mountain lion’s pads and hair underneath their feet that enables them to muffle sounds and make similar quiet stalks. Like a lion, my footsteps were noiseless and with the wind in my face I was closing the distance quicker than I predicted.

Still, with many of the elements in my favor I worry about that extra sensory big bucks seem to possess. Electromagnetic field detection, brain telepathy, heat thermal detection, I’ve heard it all. I don’t personally believe deer possess any of them but it really doesn’t matter. If you’ve experienced how acute all five of their actual senses are, you know there isn’t such thing as too quiet or too patient in your stalk. What I would give to get rid of this tinnitus and posses just a quarter of the hearing capabilities of this buck.

I was within 30 yards of the buck and still couldn't see even antler tips. My throat was parched, my ears plugged up, and I constantly fought the shaking in my knees. I could’ve used some water. Some call it buck fever. I tend to get its symptoms when I’m up and close to a big buck. Maybe it’s me that possesses a sixth sense? I sense energy when I am in a big buck’s bedroom. Almost like I am skirting the edges of his force field or radar which jolts me with liveliness unlike anything I've felt.

My three fingers held tension on my bowstring pinching the knocked arrow between my middle and index fingers. I was ready for anything, knowing big bucks are known for their unpredictability. That is how they survive.  That buck could pull a quick-witted move and escape from close range without even a shot. I crept closer…then closer staying unexpectedly composed. I found myself 8 yards from the bedded buck, the closest I've ever been to such an old veteran.

The buck was bedded under the brush in the center of the picture. I was just in front of where I snapped this picture from. I couldn't see hide nor hair of buck in bed.

Amazingly, in a few seconds of my life that are forever etched into the forefront of my memory, I kept my composure and snuck a fatal arrow into the old buck.  I approached the dying buck in disbelief that I had fooled such an admirable individual. It was a very surreal moment.  The buck represented more than just a lifetime goal of mine; this buck represents every characteristic I look up to in a hero: regal, wary, intelligent, self-reliant, strong, amazing senses, quick-witted, honest, and a symbolic icon of western freedom.  I couldn’t help but feel sadness that I was responsible for cutting the warrior’s life short; nevertheless, I justified the hunt knowing another buck will take his place, just like our children will take ours.  

Now, some of you may believe that I’ve described the mule deer buck to be something larger than life, almost super-natural in his characteristics. My description is what I’ve shaped in my mind to be the mule deer through my own experiences. This is what the mule deer means to me and why I find myself longing to be near them. 

Other pictures from the hunt...

My good friend Chuck

macro of rock lichen