singleshot

Nice buck! Better shot.

I have a friend who has 2 mule deer bucks that were killed in the general seasons, mounted, in full hard horned velvet. Both bucks were very old and their teeth showed it. The taxidermist told him that the testosterone level in some old bucks is so low that they lose the urge to rut and don't rub. My brother took a big mulie one year that was hard horned velvet but he was missing his testicles.

+1 three fingers coues 4 fingers mulie

Really nice pictures and write up. Two nice bucks to boot. I found myself enjoying the pictures of your camp and tents. Even with bad weather it sure looked like a lot of fun. Thanks for all of your positive posts, and can't wait to read about your adventures in Mexico.

I thought the video was awesome. Great write up and congratulations on 3 fine bucks.

I have the 1/2 HP and it will keep a guy really busy.

Great buck, congratulations to your son. I think that being able to transfer your tag to a junior hunter is one of the best things AZDGF has done for our youth. I transferred several over the years and it sure benefited my kids by keeping them interested.

Great story! I feel really old and puny after reading about your trip. Nice buck also.

Do as I say! Not as I do.

Sounds like that bull had been wintering there for awhile. Cool bull. What's with the 2x6?

Congrats on a nice buck. That Montana canvas will wear the memories of your hunt forever. Beauty Marks!

Krylon flat white.

Apparently cabelas has never sold AR type rifles in Connecticut. The only article I could find about Dicks states that they will not be selling any type of rifle, sporting arms included in the vicinity of Newton Connectiut, for "awhile" out of respect for the victims.

Then Now

If it is a goat I feel pretty stupid... but the size of the horn bases in relation to the rest of the skull doesn't seem quite right. The overall size is about that of a softball. I see now what you are saying Amanda and that is the view from the front, pygmy goat!

Should be a Christmas card, awesome picture.

Really nice work! Thanks for posting the pics.

Remington 870 .....20 gauge...have her shoot some skeet loads and then stuff it full of 3 inch #4s. You can get a brand new one for three bills. Better than a pistol in the dark.

We have an original 2002 ranger at the ranch. It has been used, and used and used. It has never seen a paved road, sat out in the weather for the first seven years and now has over 2000 dirt road HOURS on it. The drive belt is original. The temperature switch for the fan quit but I wired the fan to come on whenever the engine is running. That happened several years ago. It has been put to the test and passed . I bought my own in 2009. I really can't find much negative to say about it. We have the half windshields on ours and dust doesn't seem to be a problem at all. The clamps for the top are kind of cheesy so I replaced them with 11/2 " one hole conduit clamps. I would recommend a ranger for all around versatility. The rear shocks are also adjustable for payload and ride.

Is a foot snare considered a "leg hold trap" ? Is female jaguar in heat scat considered "sight exposed bait" ? " all traps must be checked at least once in a 24 hour period" ? Classic " do as I say! Not as I do". Tragic turn of events for a very cool carnivore that should have been left alone.

Good advice, I remember my son reciting the whole movie " Joe Dirt "on the side of a mountain while I glassed. They grow up fast, and you never get those moments back. Congrats on a fine buck.

Nice buck. I really like that tall rack.

The bargain barn on cabelas website often has some great deals.

A flock of Western Blue Birds pitched and rolled out out of the breeze and alit in a nearby Juniper. It was really easy to see the beauty in those little winter visitors but that has not always been the case. Fourty years ago I would roll out of bed and Immediately press my face to the upstairs bedroom window and stare out at the towering cottonwoods that grew along the banks of the canal. If those trees were blowing in the breeze it was going to be a tough day shooting birds. That canal was my playground and the carnage I sent floating down it's muddy water was extreme at best. Rusty grew up a few years later and a few miles away but he aslo had an irrigation canal near his home and we sometimes shared childhood memories of all the good times that tall trees and running water can bring to a boy. As we ascended the ridge we would often stop to catch our breath and swap stories and I laughed out loud when Rusty told me that as a kid whenever he was grounded he had to stay inside and watch T.V., and that he was so hard on the dove population that he felt solely responsible for all of us losing the evening hunt. My dad chained up my Terrier and I had to stay inside also. We both had the acute ability to determine what was in our Christmas gifts by shaking them. The unmistakeable sound of daisy B.B.s rattling in their golden cardboard tubes, the heft of a brick of 22 long rifle Blazers, the sounds of chains that meant #3 longsprings or jumps. Santa pretty much had us figured out. We spoke of our Eberlestock packs, thousands of dollars in optics and my sixteen power scope. How in the world did we ever kill deer afield with just a pack of matches, a canteen of water, a knife and two peanut butter sandwiches down the front of our shirts? Seems like things were so much simpler back then. Eventually we topped out and peered off into a beautiful little pocket thick with Mountain Mahogany and scrub Oak. Both perplexed why no deer had been jumped in such a perfect place. I told Rusty of jumping a huge buck once atop a ridge like this and about how he had gotten out on me. I missed him three times later that same day. Rusty spoke of probably walking past a thousand deer in his life back when we just pounded country and busted brush. The more miles on the boots, the better odds at success. I'm sure that was his plan. To stay bedded in the thick scrub on the knife edge ridge we were on. Ten yards to my left, the route Rusty was taking through the small saddle was just going to be too close for the bucks comfort. He exploded from his bed at fifteen yards and Rusty yelled "buck" as we bolted towards the edge where we were sure he was headed. The Ruger #1 found it's home in my shoulder, a glimpse of width and mass on his left side, he sagged at the shot. Fifty yards away the twitching bear grass marked his passage, just like the old days.

Truly a monster buck. Great story and determination to take such a fine animal.