Sir Rocko

First muddled view of Sir Rocko

Sir Rocko. This buck was named after one of Brady’s pack goat that got into some toxic weeds and passed. RIP Rocko. I first saw Sir Rocko on August 5th, in the evening. It was a bit windy and the distance between us was long. The image was rough so I wasn’t sure what he had but I knew his frame and back forks were worthy for a second look.

Group of young bucks

The next morning, Brady and I refound Sir Rocko and the addiction with this buck blossomed. We continued scouting other areas for the following weeks and we found some solid bucks, like “old man”, big 4, but Sir Rocko remained #1 on my list.  

Old man

The summer quickly turned into September and both Brady and I were ready to get back into the mountain life.

With bows strapped to our packs, and our supplies tucked into panniers on a whole squadron of goats, we broke our own trail on a steep face that would get us to archery camp. 

The weather was warm and the goats were relieved when we found camp and pulled the weight from their backs. Our tipi was a short-walking distance to where we could glass over at a couple miles of solid buck summer range, including the narrow basins where Sir Rocko called home. 

That evening, I perched on a ridge top with tripod and glass and quickly spotted a heavy 3x4 with a kicker. He was very close to where we had seen Sir Rocko 3 weeks prior; however,  my excitement hit rock bottom as I glassed up another archer traipsing across the mountain face throwing all caution to the wind; ends up he had a camp set-up not far below ours.

I’ve noticed one difference between Brady and I is that I assume any other hunter on the mountain is loaded with solid hunting skills and has full-hand knowledge of all the deer on the mtn. Brady, on the other hand, assumes most other hunters are nearly clueless! The truth is probably somewhere in the middle! Brady assured me the hunter probably is clueless to Sir Rocko, I had a hard time agreeing with Brady being that he was camped nearly in his bedroom.

The next morning, I didn’t see any sign of the other hunter But I faithfully glassed from my point in the morning gray light. I wasn’t having much luck finding deer at their normal elevation and climbed the mountain with my binoculars, and caught a glimpse of gray buckskin against the high timberline slopes. Sir Rocko!

He was alone, and wary. He carefully inspected multiple krummholz patches for a potential day bed, and finally resorted with the thickest, highest patch surrounded on all sides with heavy doses of scree rock, well before the sun touched him.

I analyzed the landscape looking for a possible strategy to get within bow range of the buck. 45 minutes after he had bedded, two more smaller, but mature bucks, followed in his footsteps and bedded in the krummholz patches just 40 yards away and on the only side I had any chance to sneak in on.  Those bucks just made an already hard stalk feel almost impossible.

Brady found me on my point in the late morning and was elated to hear that I had found Sir Rocko. I walked him through my plan and although it was a bit sketchy with scree rock and the other bucks, if the wind thermals held and I was stealthy enough, it could work.

I didn’t waste much time and dropped off the glassing ridge and hiked over two canyons to start my ascent towards the buck. I was a little concerned that the other hunter maybe hunting the same deer, but never did see him the rest of the hunt. (But I did learn more about the hunter later…stay tuned)

 As I approached the backside of the ridge, where the bucks were bedded, I dropped my pack and slipped my moccasins on. I ever so slowly slid over the ridgeline to analyze every landmark I had recorded in my head from below. I was nervous and excited when I ranged Sir Rocko‘s bed at 88 yards. His bed was at the same elevation as I was,  so now it was time to side-hill across the scree and try like hell to stay out of the other bucks vision and hearing. 

The slope was steep and the krummholz thick and as I inched closer and closer, I dissected every needle on the veil of pines making sure I wasn’t in view of the two bucks that were now below me around 10 yards. I never could see them nor did they detect me.

I was doing the side-bum-shimmy across scree. This is a practice that is the only way I know to cover ground semi-quietly on loose scree. You place your bow one arm length ahead of you in the rock, then you remove any loud, sharp rock that will shift with weight in your path, then you lift your butt off the ground and shimmy one butt cheek closer…rinse and repeat.

The rangefinder’s yardage lowered a half yard with each shimmy till I was in that 50 yard range from his bed. Did I mention I also caught a flash of his back fork?confirming he was still in his initial bed! Things were looking up!

Trembling legs, sun exposure, stiff upward winds, and confidence that he ain’t gettin out of there with at least a shot…if you know the feeling, let me hear an “Amen”!

I saw one rotten log a couple feet ahead that looked more comfortable and quiet than the rock I’ve been sitting on. I lowered myself on the old red duff as if I was trying out a new mattress at the store. Just right. 

But I failed to take into consideration those mean high altitude and attitude, little red warriors with fangs like steel tweezers, the fire ant. Within seconds, I noticed a couple ants had made it to my upper extremities from their home in the old log, and I knew if I was to smash one, the pheromones in the air would alert danger to the large armies that are just waiting for the signal.

A sharp burn on my neck drew an automatic reaction from my left thumb and index finger as my fingers violently rolled the little bastard into a ball and flicked it as far as possible to hopefully hide the murder.

It didn’t work. It was a large-scale attack of epic proportions. I began a faster version of the bum shimmy while quickly removing those warriors that had already buried their blades into me; but during all the chaos, Sir Rocko decided to stand-up and stretch, and his giant frame stepped out on my side of his krummholz patch at 48 yards!

He slowly fed on the limited plant life within the scree slope and if I stretched out my back and neck, I could see his entire body. But In natural sitting position, I could only see his huge frame. One hand was murdering ants, the other was working on getting a true range with the rangefinder. I then traded the rangefinder with my bow and with a patience I didn’t know I had, I waited to see his large frame looking directly away from me, then I would stand up and draw simultaneously.

I panicked every time he’d whip his frame my direction, but was confident I had the advantage with wind and I was out of his eyesight. Patience…patience…breathe deep….40 yards…yellow pin…relax.

The ants were still there in droves but their toxins were now feeding my adrenaline. I felt invincible. I think the ant bites helped keep my mind off of the big velvet rack in front of me. The frame turned directly away from me and without a second thought,  I slowly stood and followed my mental cadence. The yellow pin took longer than I wanted to settle but when it did, I broke the tension between the release and the bowstring.

The buck was hit hard running below me,  still unaware of my presence. The krummholz below me blew up with velvet and redcoats; the other two bucks had been 10-15 yards below me the entire time. I watched as Sir Rocko fell to his knees within 10 seconds of being hit and was dead on his back within 30 seconds, sliding down the scree slope.

Brady was able to capture all the shenanigans on video from a mile down the mountain. The sense of accomplishment with killing a target buck with archery equipment in the high country is one of the greatest highs in life. 

Sir Rocko and our encounters live on in my mind and heart forever. Long live Sir Rocko and the country he called home! I gotta thank Brady for his selflessness and positive attitude, and his goats, particularly Mr Rocko.

Oh yeah, I almost forgot…you wondering about the other archer? I later found him on YouTube and ends up Brady was right…he had no idea of Sir Rocko and ended up hunting elsewhere as there were no big bucks around…

Thanks Brady!