When I moved to Wyoming, I stopped applying in Nevada as it seemed my local opportunities were plentiful. With time, you don’t lose that drive to explore new country, new areas, and new adventure.
Nevada opened up opportunities for returned tags called first-come first-serve, and if you’re able to watch a return tag pop-up on your phone screen, and you have fast fingers, you can pick up a pretty decent tag that would typically take years of applying, which translates into hundreds, or thousands, of dollars.
I happened to be holding my grandson, Canyon, one night, while hanging out with the family when Canyons foot kicked my phone off the couch. I grabbed the phone and there was a tag that popped up from Nevada, I was familiar with the unit and knew it had been hunting with less quality than years past. But, good stories run deep, and I had heard enough of them from friends like Chuck Cleland and John Peters who knew that country as good as anybody from years past of giant bucks and amazing country.
I did a quick handoff, although Emily said it was more like a back pass, with Canyon and ran for my wallet and purchased the deer tag. Once the order was confirmed, I quickly started doing current homework on the unit and it’s.current deer status, and I suspected why someone had turned in that tag. The unit has definitely seen better days, but knowing Nevada’s deer strategy and management, I assumed there’s gotta be a few mature bucks in the unit, and I was excited.
I did my fair share of homework and used up all of my resources. And in the end, I gravitated towards a corner of the unit that seemed more roadless, but with some good deer habitat and elevations.
I decided to haul my side-by-side to better my odds of getting to my drop off point where I would start backpacking in. Once I arrived and saw how steep, rocky narrow, and slanted the old great basin roads were, I was glad I had my machine rather than my pick up. This hunt brought a whole different level of enthusiasm and excitement to me, being country I’ve never been in and hunting my favorite species. The four wheeler trip in was adventurous in itself as I glassed up multiple bucks, a handful of does, some bighorns, and a butt load of chukar and quail! The water abundance blew me away! Springs and live creeks, running in small canyons you wouldn’t have thought there would be water in.
As I was closing the distance on my drop-off point, I jumped a herd of deer with a rutty 170 inch 4 x 4. I laid prone with my trigger finger heavy on the trigger, trying to convince myself that I would be plenty happy with this quality of buck on such a hunt, but deep down, I couldn’t help but wonder what else is up here?!
I let that buck live and continued with my initial plan of a backpack adventure! With snow in the forecast and being late October, I packed a little more rations than normal for insurance, but I paid for it during the ascent. With a pack weighing 75 pounds, I could barely find a cow trail up the steep canyon. I saw no sign of other hunters or horsemen and reality was setting in that this was going to be a remote hunt. That may have been what I looked forward to the most is some alone time and beautiful country.
Where I had planned to camp was only 4 miles from the machine, but I had underestimated the terrain and elevation grade. Heaving with exhaustion, I glassed up to my potential camp spot, and the wind was rolling like a freight train off the peaks. Meanwhile a mile and a half in the hike and 2,500’ lower, there was no wind and I was seeing solid deer tracks. In my online scouting, I had waypointed various peaks as “lookout peaks” and realized I might not need to pack in as deep as I thought and that the close-by lookout peaks would give me the views all the way up to the divide. Whether this was a move of strategy, or laziness, it was the right move.
I set up my tipi and woodstove 10 yards from a pristine, flowing creek along the edge of an aspen thicket. It was a beautiful location for a campsite that quickly felt like home.
For the next couple days, I would climb onto glassing points, battling winds and cold temperatures, but consistently found small pockets of deer, each with an interested buck as the rut was turning on. Most of the bucks were 2 to 4-year-olds and nothing to write home about. On my last morning, I was picking apart a mahogany knob when I spotted some late morning does feeding in the sun. It didn’t take long to pick up the white-face warrior bedded in the shadows behind.
From a long distance, the frame looked solid and likely worthy of closer observation so I spent the next few hours glassing new country and closing the distance. At 600 yards I noticed the buck had an odd point around its base and possibly a kicker but muddled vision due to winds made seeing detail difficult. I closed the distance even more.
I peaked over a boulder and realized I was only 280 yards from the buck and his does. The base point looked as if it was growing from the deer forehead and at that distance, I confirmed not only one flyer off his back fork, but a matching flyer on the other back fork. And to boot, he also had awesome eye guards, including a bladed split on his left side. That was all I needed to see.
I wrestled my rifle into an awkward position, struggling to find a decent platform and support on the odd-shaped boulder in front of me. The Buck knew I was there and watched intently as if he was going to run . I slowly squeezed the trigger once my crosshairs had found his shoulder, I knew immediately the buck was hit hard. Oddly enough, the rest of the deer stuck around feeding and looking back at the fallen warrior and never spooked until I got to with 50 yards. Have these deer ever seen a hunter? I slid my hand under his chin and lifted his head from the sandy soil, his basal point was its own antler growing from under the pedicle of its right antler! This is my first three antler buck and a dandy!
It was a feeling of tranquility and peace sitting aside that Buck. No need to worry about grizzly bears like my last few adventures. There was no rush to get anywhere, I could just spend hours running my hands through his cape and admiring his unique antlers.
In years when my back was a little stronger, I would’ve packed the entire deer, a couple miles back to camp, but it had been weeks now of carrying 30 to 80 pound packs on my last few hunts, and I was feeling it. I elected to split the pack and carry half the deer on round one and half the deer that evening back to camp. The burning woodstove that night brought even more peace, alone. Being windy and snowy just outside the walls of this tipi, but feeling so protected and warm within. It’s a sensation backcountry hunters understand…it’s hard to get anywhere else.
I live for these moments and hate for them to end, but it was time to pack the deer down to the four wheeler, so the next morning , I packed the entire bones-out deer out to the four wheeler hiked back up to camp, packed up camp and then returned to the four wheeler once again for the last time. Before dropping out of camp, I gave it one last look with a giant smile. What if Canyon’s foot didn’t kick my phone ? What if I never got this tag? What hunts and opportunities did I miss that? I’m not even aware of? The adventures are endless; time and money are our constraints.
I long to go back to Nevada, I’ll take a tag in the worst unit. My experience was positive and one that will have to get me by till I’m back.
