Check!

I'm not gonna lie; killing a heavy ol' mule deer has always been really, really high on my life list. A serious mule deer hunter can hunt across the west in various states with maybe a chance to kill such a buck, but you can't run into this sort of buck just anywhere mule deer live. You need to be where this type of buck, first, has the genetic ability to grow such antlers; and second, where proper deer management is implemented to allow older-age class bucks to live long enough to grow antlers to that proportion. Then, as a hunter, you need to have the experience and PATIENCE to hunt older-age class bucks; the self-control to pass smaller bucks, and lots of determination and good luck on your side.

Arizona has several deer units that would fit the foresaid criteria to grow big bucks, but some of those units take a lifetime to draw the lottery tag. This year, I told Jared to put in with me as a group and lets not shoot for the most premium units in the state, but units I would consider still amazing second tier units. Besides, we were still years away from actually drawing any of these late-season buck tag, according to the draws. But sometimes life throws a curve, a very unexpected one, that hits you like a bowling ball in the gut! When I saw the AZGFD charge on my account, I realized I was going to Arizona in search for a Kaibab giant!

Not a giant, but a cactus stag

I had made a plan on how I wanted to hunt the unit but things changed when on the first day, in the afternoon, I found an opening day "shooter" buck. Mind you, an opening day shooter on this tag is much different than an opening day shooter in most other places. This dude's frame was awesome with multiple kickers and inlines on each side! I never did get a good luck at that buck to tell you exactly what he looked like, but that wasn't our last encounter with him; I'll go on but a little bit of a spoiler alert, this story gets a little deep and maybe painful.

When Tyler and I first found him, we were at a glassing spot in new country. We were trying to get the lay of both the land and deer density in the area. Before leaving this spot potentially for good (never to come back), I squealed like a dying fawn to see if we could get any deer up from their beds  in the cedars or rolling ravines. It's kinda like our last resort or plea to find deer before leaving an area. It is a risky tactic as your letting everything in the area know of our presence.

A doe and her two fawns popped up 200 yards away on the ridge top very curious as to what was dying across the canyon. Tyler said "There's a buck behind them". I couldn't see it until he described the buck being on another hillside directly behind the does sneaking out at 450 yards. Immediately I could tell he had the frame of a solid buck. I dropped the 6.5 PRC on bipod and got steady. Locked and loaded, I had the scope dialed up to 32x and was getting a fairly decent look at the buck's antlers from the frontal view. I'm certainly not used to trash and lots of kickers on bucks, so once he moved his head I hoped I could differentiate it's antler points from all the background sticks, I'd then make a decision to shoot...or not. He whipped his head straight away and I realized there wasn't any sort of sticks behind him. His antlers had all kinds of extras stickin up, down, and off the sides! Of course, now he's on a mission to put distance between us and him. 

In true old buck fashion, it managed to get out of the basin through the thick trees without a single chance at a good shot. Tyler changed positions so he could have a commanding view of the ravines that created this juniper/sage/cliffrose basin while I took the machine around to where I thought he had ridged out and into the next drainage. I parked the machine a mile short and slowly made my way through the cedars to where I thought he was headed. I cut a big buck track fresh that I was pretty sure was his, so I got the wind in my favor and made a large loop to watch the cedar patch he was most likely in. 

Several hours passed and it was getting dark, so I couldn't resist the temptation to slink into the cedar patch and see if my suspicion was right. It was. I caught a flash of deer, and strangely a coyote, 80 yards in front of me in a swirling wind. Suddenly the buck broke into an open sage flat at mach 10. He knew he was being chased now and his ass was on fire, digging into the sand and putting distance between us as fast as a deer could possibly go. I thought I'd catch him in an opening across the canyon but as it was now  too dark to hunt, I caught his bounding track making a j-hook and stay within the dark juniper forest. I had a morning plan now.

We drove across the entire unit that night to meet Jared, who had made a plan of attack from another corner of the unit. Consensus was that our previous plans of camp location may have changed, now that I found a shooter buck...which is always half the battle. Why leave it, right? And Jared wanted to explore more area before settling in. Our indecisiveness on a camp location forced us to sleep on our cots under the stars that night. I didn't know the stars got any brighter than they do in the Wyoming deserts, but they do. Tyler and I had planned to haul the wall tent and all our belongings back over to the other side of the unit in the morning, hunt, and then find a good set-up for camp on that end of the unit. 

After a blown truck tire, we were a bit late getting into our hot spot but we zipped the utv towards the area where the trashy buck left his does the afternoon before. I had just parked the machine and just grabbed the tripod and glasses, headed to where I could glass multiple draws coming together.  I just sat down and heard Tyler do his little hiss sound when he's trying to get some deaf guy's attention. I looked his direction and he was frantically pointing towards the other side of the draw. Just 200 yards away, a heavy, trashy buck was, again, sneaking away from us. I jumped for my rifle, uncased it, and laid prone in hopes I'd have time to get a shot off before the buck ridged out. "I'm certain its the same buck, Mike" Tyler whispered. 

I wanted so badly to just get a good look at the buck but I wasn't even sure I'd have time to shoot. I got in the scope and Tyler yelled quietly "on top of the ridge!" He wasn't quite skylined but just about to on a heavy-quartering to the left away trot. I pressed the trigger holding on the edge of his incoming chest, almost to lead it by an inch.  I was knocked out from my scope from the shot long enough for me to just  hear the "thump" of a hit as he disappeared over the skyline. I looked at Tyler and he smiled. "You hit him, but not sure where" he said. Just then, from underneath us, the buck's does lined out in the same direction, up and over the ridge. a couple bucks popped up and then ol' 190" typical with massive blades and some small kickers trailed from behind, swaying his head and in no hurry...at 200 yards.

I put him in the scope and watched him, my mind was racing! "I hit that first one, right Tyler?!!" I barked. "Yea" Tyler replied calmly. I had massive buck fever and it was a magical moment to have gotten a shot off on such a caliber of buck, only to have another trophy-class giant come into the picture. As the 190" buck hit the ridgeline, I ranged the yardage and instantly got nervous with a 293 reading from the same location I had shot the trashy buck. I had shot at the buck with my dial on 1.25 moa which means, I would've hit 5" lower than I hoped. 

I could go into great detail about the next 10 minutes, or the next 10 hours, or the next 8 days, but my gut hurts so bad telling this story again and again, that I'd prefer to breeze through this part quickly. Short story is I never found a drop of blood. The dirt was frozen hard, plus 30 does and 5 bucks had gone the same route as the shot buck so fresh sign was difficult too distinguish. The country was open enough fortunately I could glass 50% and would have to grid 50%. The rest of the day was 11-miles of hiking and gridding. 

I knew he wasn't lying wounded or dead within 1 mile of where I shot after my extensive search, which made me realize he more than likely was lightly struck by the bullet, not mortally wounded. But how could I be sure? I decided that I would hunt this area for the remainder of the hunt, with hopes to either find his scavenged carcass by raven observation, or find him rutting does again nearby. Well, to give it to you straight, I never found either one. But through the next 8 days, I found three hunter-killed deer carcasses by observing ravens within two miles of where I shot. Now, I am convinced he survived my bullet and moved on but the memory of that moment haunted me. I thought about that moment constantly through the hunt and it was painful, the only remedy to the pain was the final hunting day when I ultimately pulled the trigger on another buck, but let's not go there yet.

Of the nine days hunted, I spent two days hunting other areas just to not get too bored of the same area. I put hundreds of miles on the Honda Pioneer and we put plenty of miles on Tyler's truck, and dozens on our boots. There were lots of deer that had already migrated into the unit but we were expecting a big storm on Thursday and Friday. The hunt ended Sunday, wo we were putting all our chips into a phenomenal hunt Saturday and Sunday, with 6-10" of snow expected, and 20-30" on the mountain! If you are hunting migrating deer, this is music to your ears. 

Through the days, we passed up plenty of bucks. I passed a good framed buck with an 8" cheater, and a 4" dropper off that 8" cheater! I tracked down a 180+" buck in the red sands, I passed bucks with some mass and weak forks, and some with deep forks and not much mass. But all in all, I guess I passed 5 bucks in the 180" range, which is hard as 180" is where I call a buck BIG. 

I went to the same lookout every morning as I learned the pods of does had feeding areas they would be at every morning and there were always bucks with them, most often times, new bucks! Friday night cleared up and it was cold. Saturday looked to be windless, sunny, and lots of snow. The energy in the tent had skyrocketed as it was the last full-day of hunting and the conditions were perfect. Jared had plans to visit a spot he took a liking to, but his borrowed truck had other plans. The starter had acted up and wouldn't turn over. Jared had the steering column panels off, monkeying with the pickup as the eastern skies began it's morning ritual. 

"Wanna hop in with us?" Tyler asked. Jared didn't hesitate and grabbed his rifle, binos...and a few cartridges and hopped in the truck.  I'll admit, this wasn't the best scenario for Jared nor I, as we've avoided hunting together being we are both tag-holders. It makes more sense to split-up, but in this situation, we wouldn't leave a friend "high and dry" so we made the best of it and had a great time, although our three-pack situation didn't last too long. 

We were headed to the same look-out points, and it was obvious more deer had been rolling in! There were tracks and deer in spots we hadn't seen them in the mornings. Jared was excited about one 30" 4x4, with giant backs, semi-crabby fronts, but good mass and a beautiful frame. It was an awesome 180" buck. Jared shot at the buck and had  hit the buck somewhere around the front shoulder. The plan was for Jared to  track out his buck. He didn't have his phone, nor any food. Just a knife and some ammo, so we told him we'd swing by a few hours later and pick him up on the ridge above where his buck ran, hopefully packin meat. 

After leaving Jared, Tyler and I got our eyes on a buck I'd watched for the past 5 days with giant fronts and put him to bed for the day. That buck almost got shot by me 5 days prior as I walked up on him and his does at 80 yards. He was a great buck and it was good to know where he was hanging, for a last minute buck. We went to a lookout point and directly below me was a young 4x3 with a nice kicker off the 3 side. I looked at him through the scope at 60 yards. I had passed bucks much larger than this buck but we were taking it down to the wire! I was just happy to be hunting rutting muleys in such a quality place. I didn't want to fill my tag with something I could kill in other states and units I hunt more regularly. 

I mentioned a loop we could make to cover some ground that would allow us to see fresh deer tracks and find funnels and corridors so we had a good idea where to focus our glassing efforts. Out Tyler's window, and a ways out, was an open patch of sage surrounded by a dark cedar forest. "There's lots of tracks in that opening" Tyler mentioned. The only way to get a better view of this spot was through a little hike along a ridge overlooking this open patch. I had a good feeling about this spot. I grabbed my 7 rem mag Fierce and shooting bag. I replaced my atlas bipod with Tyler's longer Hatch bipod as prone position wasn't going to work with 10-12" of snow and we went for a walk.  

We were almost to the edge of the overlook when I glassed up a 23" buck along the edge of the open patch, just an average-looking buck staring right at us from 300 yards. I put a pinyon tree between us with plans on closing the distance for a better view of the entire patch. Tyler tapped my shoulder and I stopped. He pointed out to the left where suddenly a buck stood from his bed. I put the binos up and immediately noticed the mass. I noticed bladed points and heavy bases, and a really unique old face, cape, and body. I sat down and got the rifle ready. He was looking our direction so seeing the entire rack was impossible as points hide behind points, especially bladed points. 

He gave me a slight turn and simultaneously Tyler said "Shoot that buck", and I whispered' "I'm gonna shoot". Of course, in big buck fashion, the brain telepathy, the ultrasonic ears and understanding of the English language, or whatever the sixth sense giant bucks possess is, he sensed it and had turned to leave the open patch. Fortunately, it is the rut and he had been tending a doe that decided to bomb back down through the open patch and stop right on the edge of the thick cedars, forcing the buck to stop. The buck was in the middle of stretching out it's neck in full-rut fashion, when my crosshairs caught up to him. 

Both shots hit the buck well as he made his final rest in the deep snow. Neither of us were certain on his antler configuration but I couldn't wait to get up there and get a better look. I've said it many times, it's a sacred moment walking up on your downed prey. I prefer to do it alone. I prefer to have a couple minutes alone and Tyler knew and respected that. He went and got the truck closer as I walked up on my buck. His massive right antler was sticking out of the snow. I grabbed the antler and the buck rose to it's feet facing me. I was startled but could sense the buck to be dead, it was almost like a reaction to touch, I can't explain it as the buck wasn't breathing. With a little shove the buck collapsed back on it's chest where I reverently sent a bullet through his heart, just in case. 

I was in awe and still am with this buck's overall character. His massive bases, gnarly eyegards, hundreds of bumps, bladed points, his inline extra, his heavy, long main beams. His wet, strikingly-colored facial features. His lack of any fat content with rut in full swing, his large hooves that could for sure tell some stories about the places they've wandered into....the predators they've run or snuck away from. I'm in love with this buck. This buck fits the category of "massive-antlered giant" for me and my life list. If I never kill a bigger, that's okay. 

...The rest of the story. After hours of admiration, caping, and quartering, we took my buck back to camp but not without looking for Jared first. Jared hadn't made it to the road yet, which only meant he was still field dressing or tracking his buck from that morning. We admired the heavy buck back at camp for an hour or two before deciding we better go find Jared as temps were gonna drop as the sun goes down. We caught him just yards from the road looking exhausted "Where's your buck?" I asked. "Down there with my pride" he responded in frustration. It ended up the buck must've not been hit too hard as he saw it chasing a doe through the thick cedars. Jared looked deflated, but it was a tough day for him starting with his truck not starting, only to jump into another vehicle without most your gear, to hit a buck and hike all day in the snow following it with nothing to show.

"Let's go kill that giant front-forked buck", I told him. "You can shoot him Mike" He responded not knowing I had killed. That minor detail about me killing was left out of all conversations until we all got back to the wall tent that night. Haha. "He ain't gonna kill it Jared" Said Tyler acting frustrated with me. "In fact, this SOB ain't pulling the trigger on nuthin, You should see the bucks we'd seen today that he passed...you go kill that buck". There was a little life and warmth coming back into Jared and he was all for it. Everything worked out fairly well, and moments before darkness fell, Jared was able to harvest the beautiful front-forked giant.

We built a huge fire in the 10" of snow right alongside Jared's buck while in the firelight we took the buck apart one piece at a time. The warmth of the fire, the excitement of the day, the glow of the flames on the bucks antlers and the snow covered sage, the camaraderie, it was all very memorable. 

Maybe the most memorable was when Jared walked into the wall tent that night completely surprised that, first, I HAD killed a buck, and second, how MASSIVE the buck was. It was an evening I'll never forget; a trip I'll never forget. It wouldn't have been possible at all if it wasn't for such a sweet wife and wonderful family who support my passions, and great friends to do this stuff with; particularly Tyler on this trip. Tyler didn't have a tag and spent his Tday and plenty of days down there to help, and help he did. He's become quite the experienced glasser and hunter. Thanks.

Beamer and his gals