Locked Horns

     It was about 3:30 PM on an overcast Friday as we pulled into our hunting area just north of Prescott, Arizona.  We were checking to see if the mule deer herd were still in this same valley where we had spotted them two weeks earlier on the first weekend of the late archery season.  The dirt road we were on died out into the hills, so we turned back and continued scouting in preparation for tomorrow morning’s early hunt.  We were no longer looking for the record book bucks we had seen in this area. Just hoping to fill our tags. 

     Ryan looked out his window and saw a few deer on the hillside, but could not tell if there were any bucks in the group.  I scanned my side and spotted the rest of the herd, but saw only does. The deer were now in rut so we were confident a buck would be in the area.  Ryan got out of the truck and took cover in a stand of trees where he was able to spot a three by three muley standing at the base of the hill between two Ponderosa pines.  Estimating the range at 45 yards, Ryan fell to his knees and came to full draw.  As the deer turned broadside he released, just missing low.  The buck headed up the hillside.  He was walking slowly so we could tell he was not spooked by the shot.  Ryan headed up the hill following the tracks, I rounded the base of the same hill in hopes of cutting him off.  Ryan crested the hill only to see that  the buck was moving fast toward a creek bottom on the other side.  We met up at the base of the hill and I decided to continue tracking along the creek.  Ryan circled back, retrieved his arrow and paced off the distance of his missed shot to find that it was actually closer to fifty yards. Then he went back to the truck to wait for me.   Every few minutes he could hear a strange crackling sound like dry leaves being walked on, or tree limbs breaking, but he dismissed the noise.

     I followed the tracks along the creek bottom, till they headed up the hill into some very thick cover where I finally lost the trail.  For the next ten to fifteen minutes I walked back along the creek, which led to the road where the truck was parked.  Suddenly I heard the cracking of antlers off to my right and instinctively froze.   I slowly looked around and  saw a buck with his rear towards me, his head lowered, looking as if his rack was tangled in something.  He spun to my right  and I saw a mass of antlers. I had found two large bucks engaged in battle! I was completely out in the open.  I stood motionless expecting them to bolt at any moment, but they continued struggling with each other, seemingly unaware of my presence.

   After a few seconds I turned in anticipation of a shot, taking a knee to avoid an overhanging branch.  I estimated the range at fifty yards, and as I took an arrow out of my quiver and nocked it, one of the bucks let out a grunt that sounded like a distressed doe.  I rechecked my distance but now one of the deer was facing toward me and had the other deer pinned on the ground.  This would have been a very difficult shot, having to fit through the tight opening between the antlers to hit the vitals, so I chose not to take it.  I didn’t want to move and possibly alarm the deer, so I waited for a better shot.  The upright deer turned back around and offered me a broadside shot.  I came to full draw but found it difficult to distinguish my fifty yard pin from the others.  I took a deep breath, focused my concentration, and finally rested my fifty yard pin on the deer.  The arrow struck the deer dropping it to the ground.  

  I was now confident that my deer was down.   I needed to get Ryan to shoot the other deer before it freed itself and was gone.  I silently crept out of the area to the main road, then ran the remaining three hundred yards back to the truck, hoping Ryan was there waiting.  He was, and I quickly gasped out the situation. He grabbed his gear and we made our way back to the deer. 

     We moved quietly, not knowing if both deer were still there.  As we narrowed the distance we heard the bucks crashing again and picked up our pace.  We spied the deer through the trees and I pointed out to Ryan that my deer was on the ground, nearest to us.  Ryan moved around to the left for a clearer shot of the buck that was now standing and struggling to get away.  We briefly discussed the distance and figured it to be between 25 and 30 yards.  Ryan made a well-placed shot to the deer’s vitals and dropped him.

 As we stood there reality began to sink in.  We looked over our bucks and counted their points.  Both were four by fours, each weighing between two hundred fifty and two hundred seventy-five pounds.  We attempted to separate them, but it didn’t take long for us to realize that they were not going to come apart.  We were losing our light and had to make a decision.  We knew we couldn’t lift both of the deer into the truck together, so we removed their heads and boned them out, putting the meat in coolers.   With the truck loaded we headed back to Phoenix, arriving home around midnight.

     Saturday morning we took our deer heads to several archery shops in town. The response of the people there confirmed for us what a rare trophy we now possess.  We are hoping to have the heads mounted together in their locked position to display the extraordinary circumstances under which they were taken.

Mike Roberts