Along the Timberline: Alpine Dreams

Shhh,.. Don't tell my wife and kids, or anybody else. Want me to let you in on a little secret? The real reason I applied for a job in Wyoming two years ago was because its high-country alpine had been calling my name. Wyoming is home to one of the greatest mule deer herds and probably the best high-country mule deer hunting on earth. Period. As a resident, I get to hunt it every year...as a non-resident, I only get to hunt it every 5-7 years. Now you know my little secret. Shhh.

I found a free weekend this late summer to strap on my boots, pack my optics, and head for some alpine to look for bucks. This winter, the area got whacked by a severe winter killing 99% of the fawns and 40% of the adults, according to the WGFD. I knew it wasn't going to be the best year to weed through lots of bucks, plus those that survived I figured weren't going to be able to grow maximum antler growth due to entering the spring in bad shape and needing to simply replenish body condition before splurging on pure velvet growth.

Mac enjoys these guy trips, now if I can find a way to get him to pack his own food

Surprisingly, water is scarce up high. Snow was our one good option

The scouting trip was successful. Mac and I were both reminded we aren't as young as we once were and how amazingly picturesque the landscape was. In an evening and a morning, I saw 55 different bucks and millions of wildflowers.

These were some of the bucks I'd seen on the trip.

I descended the mountain that day skipping down the trail, and with a whole new enthusiasm about living in Wyoming. I had plans to rifle hunt the area in mid-September... but then I talked to my friend Bob. Bob thought an archery hunt sounded like a good idea.

I am easily influenced and thought, "Why not?" I love bowhunting although success rates on bow hunts are typically much lower than on rifle hunts. I didn't tell Bob, but my plan was to go bowhunting with him, but mostly just use it as another scouting trip, and then head back for rifle season.

Bob is also easily influenced. I had been looking on the maps at a new spot that seemed like might work for an adventure. I noticed that one trail in the area was open to motorcycles. It was hard for me to believe, so I called the Forest Service and they verified it was open. I persuaded Bob that hauling 60 lbs plus on a motorcycle on steep, rocky grades was a good idea. Plus, Bob is a good bike rider. I convinced him to purchase a motorbike...900$ bucks later, there was no turning around. We were committed.

The day finally came. We loaded my pickup with everything we might need and headed out of Cody at first light....and it's a good thing we did, as we didn't get to our camp spot until right at dark. It took ALL DAY. You ask about the motorcycle ride? Well, it didn't quite turn out as good as hoped but after several major spills, a possible broken wrist and thumb, and motorcycle, and having to haul our packs up on back for a good part of the trip, we made it to the crest. It was a lot tougher than we had hoped for. We then packed our gear another 3/4 mile to our final camp spot. A lot of the adventure is in the journey itself ascending/descending several thousand feet a long ways with loaded packs.

The area was as beautiful as I had predicted, neither of us had been there before. The next 6 days were filled with rolling out of our tents at first light, glassing, finding bucks, putting bucks to bed, stalking the bigger bucks, failing, charlie horses in the calves, hunger and thirst, and then bedtime. It was pure bliss, honestly.

Both Bob and I had the chance to make stalks on multiple large bucks, but I'll tell you the story about one buck "#3" in particular. #3 was just that, #3 on my list of bucks in the two basins below camp. My first time spotting #3, he was fully-velveted at 88 yards. Bob was busy one basin over going after his #1 buck, which was a dandy buck. Earlier that morning I watched him get within 50 yards but no shot opportunity! That afternoon, I had found my #1 buck. After coming up with a good stalk plan, I descended into the basin, kicked the boots off, and was wool-socking towards his bedding area. I had partial glimpses of #3 from my glassing post and could tell he was a good buck, and more importantly, he was bedded only 40 yards from my #1 si I had to keep out of his sight to get set-up for #1.

If you look closely, Bob is 50 yards away from an awesome buck in this picture. Things went south quickly after I took this picture

I had just kneeled down 40 yards from the spruce tree that was shading #1. Man, things were looking up. I pulled out the rangefinder and began ranging different spots when I captured the black, beady eyes and awesome frame of #3 staring a hole right into my soul at 88 yards deep in the shade of a prehistoric fir tree. My heart sank as I knew he had seen too much. I couldn't reverse what he'd seen. I couldn't negotiate. The gig was up as both bucks exploded from their hiding spots.

This was my #1. A clean, heavy, deep-forked 4-point.

Two days later found me perched atop a massive cliff alongside Bob. "I got a good-looking 4-point Mike" Bob said. When I first caught glimpse I knew it was #3, except now he was rubbed and hard-antlered. We watched him until he bedded. It was Bob's turn to try and stick this nice buck. A 3-hour stalk found Bob within 20 yards of #3. It was torture from a birds-eye view at 800 yards away seeing how close he got to the buck before the gray body sprung from his bed and escaped via the deep timber canyon. It ended up the buck was in a deceiving depression making it difficult for Bob to get a visual for a shot, even at 20 yards.

#3 while Bob was making the stalk

While Bob was making the stalk on #3, I found my #1 buck and watched him bed. My hope was to get Bob's attention and send him into the #1 buck with our own version of sign language...which neither of us are fluent in this type of communication and we end up just looking like fools waving arms. pointing, and making other eyebrow-raising motions. Bob never looked my direction and appeared to be still in pursuit of #3, determined to catch up with him.

It was the last full day of our hunt. I enjoyed helping Bob, but it was now the afternoon and he was disappearing into the timber where I would be no help. I began wondering where I could possibly find my own stalk for the day. I pulled my eyes from the binos and looked to the south and picked up movement on a distant ridge. It was #3!

#3 had pulled the ol' buck move of the J-HOOK. He ran north away from Bob, made a wide loop and now was exactly 180 degrees from where Bob was watching. The buck was alert and regularly looked towards Bob's direction while ascending the basin with what looked like the intent of leaving the massive basin entirely,over the crest into the thick steep timbered slopes and off the west side.

Waxy currant berries for lunch

My heart skipped a beat, thinking that I might have a chance at this buck if he continues working up the mountain. I grabbed my bow and without much more thought took off on a full run knowing full-well if this was going to work, I'd have to beat the buck to the crest and be ready in-ambush mode! It's amazing I didn't break something during the sprint down through the boulders. When I neared where I assumed the buck would crest, I quickly tip-toed towards the edge hoping to see antlers still headed my direction.

A hundered yards below, the buck was cautiously ascending towards the crest. I smiled and without anytime to pull out a range finder, I relied on all the old-fashioned yardage-guessing I've done through the years. I guessed the trail was 40-45 yards away at the closest point. My plan was to stop the buck when it hit that point. Before I could get nervous or think of what will screw up this ambush, the buck was already at my spot, I made some sort of noise...not sure what it imitated...nor did the buck, but it stopped him for a short second. My pins were bouncing between the front shoulder and lungs fully broadside. I flexed my shoulder blades and the arrow was sent like a missle.

Tink-tink-tink-tink-tink, Arrow shaft on rock was the sound that resonated in my head. Did I hit it?!!! I watched the buck intently as he bounded sidehill. Within seconds his back leg showed a sign of struggle. I held my breath. My senses were so focused on the buck's every move trying to capture any evidence of a good hit, bad hit, or no hit. A few seconds later, the buck began taking faster, shorter steps before coming to a complete stop and then tipping over. Within 30 seconds, the buck was dead, lights-out.

My mind was still trying to reel in the fact that I had made a perfect heart shot on the buck, while the pessimist in me was still in disbelief I could make such a shot, especially without a rangefinder. Maybe the buck had a heart-attack catching a gentle whiff of my 6 day ripe unbathed body? My bloody arrow laid in the rocks just yards behind where he last stood unaware of my presence. Holy crap I killed #3!

As excited as I was, one of the first emotions that ran into my head was knowing I was done mule deer hunting for the season, which was a sad feeling. Of course, it didn't last long as an overwhelming emotion of accomplishment came over me. High Country Bowhunting Mule Deer is One of the Toughest and Rewarding Challenges I've Eve Been On.

I ran back up to my post where I had been watching Bob. I found him in the glasses and he was still on #3's trail slowly creeping along. My brain telepathy wasn't working as I tried to communicate with him that #3 is dead and get your ass up here! It was hopeless. I knew the sun was warm and that the dead buck needed to be broke-down and cooled soon. I took a few pictures and then took him apart a leg at a time. I had each quarter boned-out and hanging in the trees before Bob began making his way back up the mountain.

This two-bladed fixed broadhead did it's job again

I was lying on my back in the shade when he dropped his bow and pack and crashed next to me. I let him tell a couple stories about his close encounter. I then dropped the news that I had him killed and he was already processed and hanging. His facial response was priceless! When you have friends like Bob, you don't worry about jealousy, envy, or other negativity. It was all positive energy and he was tickled to wrap his hands around #3's antlers.

We pulled camp and left the next morning without too many hitches. I left that mountain already wanting to come back up and explore other canyons I've never been. Too find bucks I've never seen. The mountain once again calls and I will be back as the snow melts the high-country next summer, in search for my dream buck.