By: Jim Copp (all photo's at end)

  Opening the e-mail that said Bryce and I were drawn for the December coues hunt in 36B bowled me over. I had to fork over 6 bonus points, but after this hunt I would have given 10 times that many.

     The months dragged on, but our anticipation grew. We were going to hunt an area that was shown to me by my father a decade ago. It had always provided a show in terms of quantity and quality of wildlife. I had told 12 year old Bryce of the blown stalks, the missed opportunities and even a few success stories. The days were getting shorter and we were both ready.

     Coming over from San Diego, the wind was unreal. We were diverted off the freeway as crews tried to right a big rig blown over on its side. It was a foreshadowing of opening morning. Roughing it in a hotel in Green Valley we caught a good night’s sleep and were ready to tackle the hills. When we parked, I opened the door only to have my hat blown clean off and stick like Velcro to one of the many wait-a-minute bushes out there. This was about the only time I’ve been thankful for them. The wind was blowing about 25 to 30 miles per hour as we crested my coveted honey-hole. Nothing was stirring and I didn’t blame them. From here on out it was up to Bryce to make the decisions on where to go.

     We walked to the back of the canyon, looking for the elusive grey ghosts. We found three in the ocotillos and belly crawled to a shooting position but couldn’t put any horns on top. It buoyed my spirits that the deer were at least milling about. The rest of the day was spent glassing up does. Bryce did well, asking all the right questions as we came across tracks and scat. The end of the day found us with eleven in the glasses, none with horns. 

    Day two and the wind had died down. No more walking clumsily through the hills with the wind to cover our noise, we had to slow down and glass hard so we wouldn’t get caught. The honey-hole was full of cattle, not a great start. Another walk to the back of the canyon and we jumped another doe. Then we followed the fence line and things started to get interesting. 

    Across the canyon we spotted a mule deer in the ocotillos. We went prone and watched intently, trying to make out any sort of headgear. When he cleared the sticks we could plainly make out his rack. He was a nice four by four, a couple of inches past his ears. We watched for ten minutes as he got up on his hind legs to eat the buds off the nearby barrel cacti. He was quite graceful as he balanced there without so much as touching the cacti. We waited there remarking how nice it would be to have a mule deer tag in our pockets right now. The big buck nibbled here and there, giving cautious leeway to the cattle nearby. Bryce wanted to know what this hillside was named and since there was none afforded, he aptly name it Muley Ridge. I was enjoying all this, him seeing a big buck like this in the flesh for the first time. This was only his second deer hunt, the first being a two day skunk. The buck moved off and then we found a small herd of javalina. We have javalina archery tags in two weeks for the same area, so we put the sneak on to see what they were up to. We glassed them for awhile, guessing range and then confirming with the range finder. Another whitetail doe came onto the hillside which was dubbed Javalina Hill. A video we watched before we left said that javalina and deer don’t mix. We watch to see how things would unfold and there was nothing but love on that hill. So much for that theory.

 

    We backed off not wanting to cause any clamoring of hooves and made our way along a ridge to the truck. Again we spotted a doe two ridges away. We glassed for awhile and another two appeared. Just then Bryce called out he had a buck. I ask for the coordinated and got the typical 12 year old speak: “He’s up there by the ocotillo.” With only a thousand to choose from and 330 yards away, I asked for him to be a little more specific. “Can’t you see him, he’s right there, next to the rock.” Hmmm, well that narrows it down. Then he lost him, and then he found him.” It IS a buck,” he was adamant, but I wanted to see,  I didn’t  want  him taking a shot at anything other than a buck. We went back and forth for twenty minutes, him telling me its backside was facing us, me confirming, it was walking again me confirming. Finally he said, “ See, see the antlers?” The one I was looking at had not turned around, so I figured we were looking at two different deer. I asked one more time if he was sure if it was a buck and he said he was 100% positive. We looked over our options and decided a drop into the canyon and over to a different hillside was what it would take.

    By this time it was quarter to noon and Bryce had lost the deer again. We had started our descent into the canyon, stopping every few yards to glass the hillside for movement. We made our way to the bottom and decided on a different place to set up shop. Bryce got set up quickly, dropping the legs on his bipod and getting into shooting position. Keep in mind I hadn’t seen this buck YET, until now. Up and to the left of us I caught a deer making its way up to the ridgeline. I could clearly see it was a buck, calling it out to Bryce. I was able to get the rangefinder on him and he was 185 yards away. In quick and quiet whispers I asked Bryce if he saw it. There was a response, but he was talking into the side of his rifle. Again I looked for affirmation as I watched the buck move across the bench, but all I got was a muffled reply. By this time my heart was absolutely racing, the buck was moving in and out of the ocotillos, twice posing broadside in the open. Neither time did Bryce take the shot. By now the buck had made it nearly to the far end of the ridge, a couple of bounds and he would be over. The buck stopped and presented a perfect quartering away shot. Bryce’s .25-06 roared through the canyon, nearly sending my heart out of my chest. My binoculars had been trained on the buck for about two minutes and now they were looking at the sky. I quickly brought them back down in time to see the rump flop to the ground. I watched intently for another half a minute and saw no movement. I slowly brought the glasses down and Bryce had yet to speak. 

    “Bryce, you’ve got your first deer!” I exclaimed.

    “That was loud,” he said while exhaling as though he had held his breath for the entire two minutes.

    “My legs are shaking so hard,” he said in a tone I’d never heard him utter.

    “Let’s go get him,” I said as he emptied his gun and put the safety back on.

    “What if he’s still alive when we get there,” Bryce asked.

    “I’ve got a round in my gun, but I don’t think we’ll need it.” 

    As we walked up to get the deer we both talked in excited tones, replaying the whole thing over. After a short search, we found the deer lying neatly where Bryce took him. The round went through the neck, with not so much as a tuft of hair missing. A few quick pictures and it was time to show him how to put HIS tag on HIS deer. I told him I always say a little prayer, thanking God for both the harvest and the events that lead up to it. I think it’s a tradition he’ll be happy to uphold. 

    After a quick jaunt down the hill with the deer I told Bryce he was more man than kid now and needed to get the pack frame. I threw him the keys to the truck and his eye’s lit up. He raced back to the truck and brought it gingerly down the dirt road to the canyon entrance. He pulled in then thought better of it and proceeded to back in, since he’d want to put the pack frame on the tailgate when he got back. Back to the buck we went, him telling me how he thought he missed since he didn’t se it in his scope. All the while I was reveling in a moment so profound that if someone told me to tear up my tag I would do it gladly. 

    We lashed the deer to the frame and got it on his back. It was a two canyon march to the truck as I led the way out. I asked constantly if he was okay as we slipped and slid our way over the rocks and brush. Not once did he complain and my pride swelled with each passing step. We got to the truck and then took the deer to a special tree I’ve used over the years. While we skinned out his buck, Bryce asked if it was okay to name the hillside where he took his deer Big Buck Ridge. I said I didn’t have a problem with it. Thankfully my sunglasses were on and he couldn’t see me welling up.