by Boone
Robert remembers that he almost had a heart attack over his sudden bad luck, but composed himself by remembering we had heard no shots. He figured the buck would be using the escape route we watched him use before the season. Robert whispered back to me, “We’ve got to get into the next canyon, fast!”
We spotted a cow elk in the bottom of the next drainage, entering an aspen patch. Her mouth was open, and she obviously had been running hard, but was now walking, cautiously looking around. In a few seconds, the cow disappeared and our trotting resumed until Robert froze and turned back to me, pointing to a 15-foot-high cloud of dust lifting into the sunrise. Continuing another 25 feet, he immediately stopped and raised his rifle. He thought, “The heck with the non-typical, what about this huge typical.” Quickly he realized that it was a four point bull elk running hard with another cow.
As Robert ran forward another 30 paces, I spotted a high racked, two point buck, with only one antler. I broke silence with a “Pssst!” Robert turned back to me, and I pointed to the bottom of the canyon and whispered, “Buck.” He turned back on full alert, ran another 15 steps, and swung off his day pack looking for the sturdiest sagebrush. He threw his pack on a thick bush, took careful aim, and fired. I immediately grabbed my head with both hands, as in shock and thought, “Oh no... that was not the big buck.” At the same time I saw movement above the aspen patch. I raised my binoculars and spotted two more bucks trotting to escape. The second buck stumbled, and I recognized the heavy webbing on the right antler. As the buck turned downhill toward the aspen cover, I saw the webbed left antler. It was then I realized that Robert had shot at the big buck after all.
Once in the cover, the two bucks stopped and stood broadside, looking in our direction. Robert fired two more shots. The buck then jumped out of the aspens, into the open, and stood broadside. Another shot rang out and the big buck went down. Even though he was down, we both thought he had the look of getting back up again. Robert reloaded, as I fed him cartridges out of his pack. As if on cue, the buck promptly stood up as I yelled, “You have to put him down again!” Another shot drew no reaction from the buck. The next shot put him down for good.
Robert fired a total of six times at a distance of 250 yards, and all of them were direct hits. Practicing shooting at gallon jugs filled with water at 300 and 400 yards all summer long had paid off handsomely! When I asked him about seeing the one-antlered buck, he commented that he had already spotted the other two bucks crossing in the shade, above the one-antlered buck. “Even after seeing his heavy horns and his huge body size compared to the other buck, I wasn’t sure that he was our big non-typical. He had the big body size, and I was out of time. I had to take him now!” he continued.
The big boy also had an ivory tooth. We’ve only heard of two other bucks having ivory teeth and they were also non-typicals. The buck has 11 points on the left side, and 15 points on the right, with a main beam-like abnormal point near the base of the right antler and weighed an estimated 350 pounds.
Photo from B&C Archives
Non-typical Mule Deer, Scoring 264-1/8 Points, Taken by Gilbert T. Adams, Jr., in Coconino County, Arizona, in 1989 (from left to right: Kevin Harris, Adams, and Jeff Warren).
Kaibab North
By Gilbert T. Adams, Jr.
21st Big Game Awards Program
FIRST THROUGH THE BINOCULARS, THEN A SPOTTING SCOPE. YES. IT MUST BE HIM — THE MONSTER MULE DEER BUCK JEFF WARREN CAUGHT A GLIMPSE OF THE EVENING BEFORE.
When Kevin Harris and I came out of the mountains after dark, Jeff Warren met us at the designated rendezvous. Jeff was ecstatic. He said, “He’s the biggest I’ve ever seen. It was almost dark, and he was moving. I don’t know how many points. I didn’t have time to count all of them. There are two huge drop tines coming off of each antler. There is a big bulb on the left drop. It’s like dried velvet. He’s in the mid-30s outside to outside.”
For years Jeff, Kevin, Kim Bonnett, and I have hunted out of the same camp. We have hunted trophy mule deer throughout the West. Jeff was not exaggerating. It takes a heck of a mule deer to get Jeff that excited. In camp that night, Jeff dropped his head and said, as if talking to himself, “I’ve always wondered if I would see one that big on the hoof. Now I have.” We knew it had to be one of the biggest mule deer bucks seen in Arizona’ Kaibab for years.
After a hearty dinner, we carefully packed our daypacks. Intense planning and preparation for the next day’s hunt kept the Coleman lanterns burning late in our tent. We reviewed the topographic maps as a precaution. We estimated it would take at least an hour to get to where we would need to be by the first light of day. We hoped we would be able to relocate the monster as he fed on sage before slipping into the dense pinion-juniper to bed for the day. We set the alarm for 4:15 a.m., but anticipation made our sleep restless.
The next morning, through binoculars, we strained our eyes, trying to push back the darkness. Gradually the sunbeams came over the Royal Arches of the Grand Canyon. It was another breathtaking daybreak, but this was not the time to watch the sunbeams light up the Vermilion Cliffs. Total concentration was needed to literally take apart each pinion and juniper.
Suddenly, there was a terrific-looking buck on the horizon. With increasing light, Kevin was able to use his 20x50 spotting scope. The heat waves had the giant rack dancing on the head of the distant buck. After a mere glimpse of the buck through the scope, Kevin said, “I believe that’s him. It must be him. Let’s go!”
Feeding on sagebrush, moving toward a dense sanctuary of pinion-juniper approximately one-quarter mile away, was our quarry. Was it possible to close the distance in time? The wind was in our faces. Fortunately, the rising sun was on our backs, because time did not allow a cautious stalk. Things were going according to plan so far.
Where was he? Had the gray ghost given us the slip? After all, they do not get big by being stupid. A draw and a ridge lay just ahead. Could he be in the draw? A two-pointer appeared. Had the giant buck in the scope been a mirage? We were about to head in a different direction when we heard the tinkling of rocks. Running out of the draw with their afterburners ablaze, heading for the top of the next ridge, were four does. In seconds, they disappeared into the pinion-juniper cover. Then, two bucks appeared, running in the same direction as the does. Was the buck with the six deer? Yes, there he was. Unmistakably, El Muy Grande.
The two bucks were running through the first trees of the cover. There were only seconds left; they were 200 yards away. There was no time to look through the binoculars to count points, measure a spread, or field-score the buck. It would be the shot of a lifetime. The moment of truth had come. Would I go home with a trophy or an alibi?
In moments like that, you draw on the refined hunting instincts you have developed through years of preparation and experience: the countless hunts for all sorts of game; the hours at the rifle range and at the computer with Bullet Simulator; the innumerable articles read; the fantasies and the physical training; and, of course, the many hunts when you came home with nothing, not because you did not see bucks, but because you did not find the buck that was a trophy in “your book.”
I did not feel the recoil or hear the sound bursting from the muzzle of my Brent White Special .300 Weatherby Magnum, custom loaded to propel the 150-grain Hornady Spitzer at 3,315 feet per second. Through the 2.5-8x Leupold scope, I saw the mighty buck instantly untracked from a headlong run in the window-like opening between two junipers. Big bucks are famous for resurrecting from the dead. After watching through my rifle scope and waiting for what seemed like an eternity, I was certain that this buck was down for the count.
A total rush overcame us as we reached the side of the incredible monarch. At first, we stared and then reverently touched the magnificent horns. There were two huge drop tines and points everywhere. The rack was dark in color, like smoked metal. There were rough, gnarled bases and bladed tines. The left drop tine was covered in rawhide velvet. There was even rawhide velvet on the back side of on
e bladed tine that the buck had never been able to scrape off. It was immediately apparent that we were looking at a “book head.” The moment had sanctity that words cannot adequately express. Kevin, Jeff, and I wanted to savor the moment for as long as possible. We knew that no matter how long we lived, no matter where we hunted, or how good we thought our skills were, there would not be another moment exactly like this one.
While the three of us reveled in the moment, we felt the presence of one whose physical absence was noteworthy. This person, a dear friend and hunting companion, was slowly recovering from a quirky, spontaneous tear in his lung, which had just weeks before brought him into the valley of death. That was the only reason he was not physically present. As we continued to study his rack, with its 14 points on the left, 15 on the right, and nearly 35 inches of outside spread, it seemed incredible that a buck could grow such magnificent antlers in a matter of six months. He would only have worn the regalia for another three months before returning it to nature. He was thin, without an ounce of fat. There was little hair on his knees or belly. It was obvious that he would have never made it through the winter. In 24 hours, he would weigh-in, field dressed, at 145 pounds. Later a careful examination of his molars would establish his age at 6-1/2 years.
Magnificent specimens such as this must always be carefully preserved and made available for general educational purposes, as well as for wildlife enthusiasts and admirers of mule deer to appreciate and study. With this object in mind, we were careful not to damage the hide or head while packing him out.
As soon as we could get to a phone, we placed a call to master taxidermist Ken Rowe, owner of The Arts of Wildlife studios in Phoenix, Arizona. He agreed to meet us at his shop. Ken’s approach is that of a meticulous artisan. With detailed measurements, photographs and reference casting, Ken captured the qualities, features, and attitude that is unique to every animal. The result is a beautiful preservation for posterity to see and enjoy.
A significant part of the hunting experience is knowing the hunting grounds. What is called Kaibab North is isolated and remote country, above the Grand Canyon in north-central Arizona. After the Pleistocene, many life forms became isolated on the plateau when the Colorado River formed the Grand Canyon barrier on the south side, and an arid climate produced desert conditions on the other three sides. The Kaibab Plateau extends 60 miles, north and south and approximately 45 miles, east and west.
While most of us think of the area as mountainous, in reality, the area lives up to its Indian name, kaibab, or “mountain lying down.” Flatness dominates the area, with numerous volcanic peaks and hills haphazardly sliced by eroded canyons and large winter-range valleys. All but 120 square miles are above 6,000 feet elevation. The highest point is 9,200 feet and the lowest is about 3,000 feet.
Before the state of Arizona began enforcing the law north of the Grand Canyon, this was an area where outlaws hid from the law and lay in ambush for anyone daring to follow them. There has never been a large settlement of either Indians or white men in Kaibab North.
Throughout the past century, there has been little change in the physical environment of the plateau, other than vegetative variations, due to drought, livestock, and deer population levels. There have, for instance, been no significant farms, orchards, dwellings or other obstructions to alter migration routes. Except for an occasional roadway or jeep trail, a person exploring Kaibab North will find it the way it was 100 years ago.
Even today, in an era of rapid transportation, the Kaibab is relatively isolated. A trip to the Kaibab North is a major undertaking for most hunters. However, more important than time is the requirement of winning the Arizona draw in order to obtain a hunt permit, the results of which are learned only weeks before the hunt begins.
There is a decided lack of available water in the area. If it were not for the man-made livestock and wildlife water catchments, much of the wildlife would not exist. Thus, biologists label Kaibab North as “fringe country” in regard to wildlife. Wildlife must be carefully surveyed on an annual basis; game and livestock populations, and their general health, must be evaluated along with the habitat.
North Kaibab is an area renowned for large bucks with many non-typical points. The habitat challenges, coupled with relatively sparse game populations, Arizona’s restricted permit system, and dedicated management by the Arizona Fish and Game Department all combine to allow individual bucks to reach the maximum of their genetic potential. As a consequence, the Kaibab produces some of the largest racks on the North American continent.
There are two additional, significant factors that must have recognition. One is the proverbial hunter’s luck. The other is the millions of hunters and wildlife conservationists, biologists, and public officials, all of whom help make moments like this possible today, and most importantly, to occur in the future.
Image from B&C Archives
Original score chart for Gilbert Adams’ non-typical mule deer, which scores 264-1/8 points.
Photo from B&C Archives
Typical Columbia Blacktail Deer, Scoring 182-2/8 Points, Taken by Lester H. Miller in Lewis County, Washington, in 1953. It is the Current World’s Record.
The King
By Lester H. Miller
18th Big Game Awards Program
FROM THE VERY FIRST MOMENT THAT I SAW THIS BUCK, I KNEW I HAD TO HAVE HIM, NO MATTER THE COST IN TIME OR EFFORT.
He was standing at the back-end of an open hay field, near a patch of second-growth timber. His antlers glistened in the morning sun and he looked almost like an elk. I had been walking up an old railroad grade that was half obscured by willow and alder. It appeared that I might be able to get close enough for a clear shot at him, but that was not to be. I was carrying my Winchester, Model 94, .30-30 carbine, not capable of making clean kills at any great distance. My deer hunting had been limited to heavy brush shooting at ranges of 150 yards or less, and this big buck stood at least 300 yards away. I carefully moved to a small opening and peeked out. The buck either saw or heard me. He vanished into the second-growth in a flash.
For the greater part of every day of every legal hunting season in the years of 1950, 1951, and 1952, and until that all-important day in October 1953, I stalked, drove thickets, and took stands in the Upper Lincoln Creek Area of Lewis County, Washington.
On as many as a dozen different occasions during that period, we were able to see him in the vicinity of Lincoln Creek. At Grange meetings, livestock auctions, and wherever people gathered in the nearby towns of Chehalis, Centralia, Fords Prairie, or Adna, it was not unusual to hear someone mention this majestic animal. Mostly, they would talk about his huge antlers, four points or bigger. Of course, the stories grew in the telling and soon he was almost a legend. Although I had twice jumped this deer out of his bed, and had seen him running down a runway on three or four different occasions, I still had never fired a shot at him, fearful that I might wound him and not make a clean kill.
And so it went. The sightings continued to be reported, with an occasional shot fired at the buck. He was seen often in the company of two other large bucks in late summer and early fall. He was seen in many different places (sometimes at the same time), from Doty Lookout to Adna, up Bunker Creek Road to Lincoln Creek. To hunt and to take this fine buck became an obsession with me. As the 1953 season approached, a gnawing kind of fear grew in me that a poacher might kill him or someone else would get him during the coming season.
I began to look for him on foot, cold-tracking him mostly, but many times hot on his trail. The purpose of this was for me to get familiar with his whereabouts and his habits, and hopefully to catch a glimpse of him and rid myself of a little of the “buck fever” I usually felt when I would see him. I covered a lot of ground during this period as I was not hampered by carrying a gun or being heavily dressed. This game came to an end two days before the general buck season opening in 1953. For the greater part of that day, I had been traveling along the creek bottoms and alder swamps, hoping to
cut sign.
The day was rainy and the brush was wet. I was wearying of the game, when right in front of me in the muddy crossing, I saw the unmistakable tracks of several large deer and one smaller one.
My pace quickened as I began to follow the very fresh tracks. They led me up the side of a small hog-backed ridge, covered with thick hemlock. I worked my way through this wet brush and merged on the other side to look down into a large, open alder bottom. There, not 50 yards away, were two large bucks, one a fork-horn and one a very nice four-point. But the size and majesty of a third buck dwarfed the other two. Here was my prize buck! He was nuzzling the neck of a young doe, occasionally watching the other two deer as they sparred with each other.
As quietly as I could, I worked myself back into the heavy cover and made my way down to the creek bank where I sat down. I noticed that my hands were trembling, and they continued to do so for some time. Naturally, my mind was full of thoughts and plans for opening day of the buck season, 36 hours away.
My plan for the hunt was fairly simple. As I saw it, I would drive up the Forest Service road to a point where I could park. As soon as it was daylight, I would walk to the creek, which I felt certain would be an excellent place to start hunting. However, I reasoned that those deer could move some distance in any direction since sighting them two days before. Daylight found me parked on the road, preparing to enter the woods. My pack contained a hatchet, knife, whetstone, rope, first-aid kit, lunch, a water-proof tube of “kitchen” matches, a liver bag, and a handful of .30-30 shells.