Stories of Your First Coues Hunts

[shylopolito]

I wrote this story after I killed my first Coue's last September, he was the first big game animal I've killed, I was alone and it was life altering:

 

A thousand feet of barren granite cliff climbed into the sky bathed in peach and amber light. An exceptional amount of rain had fallen that summer turning the hillsides a dozen shades of green. In the shadow of a low palo verde tree I stood in stunned silence. Twenty yards downhill a buck was lying on his side looking out at the majesty of the broken cliffs in the dying light. It was his last sunset.

I cannot wholly describe the feeling, knowing that I had taken his life, except to say that my mind was swirling with shock, elation, and even pity. It was the end of the first day of my fall hunt and I had ended it with a lethal shot into the first big game animal of my life.

I’d missed the opening nine days of the Arizona bow hunting season. Work had taken me to the Big Belt Mountains of central Montana. I had drawn a javelina tag that was going to expire as soon as the sun set my first day home. Concurrent to javelina, the deer hunting season was underway, although it went on for another twelve days. It had been my intention to hunt for javelina this day and begin the hunt for a whitetail the next.

The day had begun with a drive down a sandy desert road before twilight. The road usually coughed up dust, but this morning it was wet and soggy from the ongoing monsoonal moisture we had been receiving. From the truck I walked through the tangle of ironwood, cholla, and saguaro toward a series of cuts in the mountain side where I had encountered javelina on some of my previous hikes.

When the stars had faded I pressed my lips to a short plastic tube. The reed reverberated, imitating the scream of a wounded rabbit. On a previous excursion I had found that javelina reacted with significant vigor to the call. An entire herd had charged out of the rock filled drainage above me. The boars had come to within thirty yards of me, snorting and pawing at the ground, sniffing the air for my scent. If I hadn’t been safely above them on a rock outcrop I don’t know what I would have done. Even then I wasn’t sure what I would do if they decided to wait until I came down.

This morning I was ready though, I had my compound bow and a quiver with five razor tipped broad heads at the ready for the first sign of a boar.

I had crossed the drainage and was headed up the next hill when I heard a snort and then what sounded like a sneeze above me. I put the call into my pocket and plucked an arrow from the foam and plastic quiver strapped to my camelback. My boots crunched on the gravel as I crept up the hillside. I peered around palo verde and saguaro looking for any sign of the coarse speckle haired pigs sneaking about.

I reached the ridge top without seeing or hearing anything else. I looked about for any sign of the direction that they might have run. I found no prints except my own.

I put the arrow back into the small quiver and brought the call back out. I blew several long excruciating screams imagining what a piglet in the jaws of a coyote might sound like.

Unexpectedly, I heard twigs snap and rocks knocked loose behind me. I turned and saw two gray shapes bound out of the thick arroyo and begin to head up the next ridge. “Deer,” I thought. With one hand I lifted the 15x60 Zeiss binoculars strapped around my neck, I tried to move them slowly to avoid the excessive jitter of the massive optics. I had trouble finding the deer in the narrow field of view. I put down my bow and gripped the heavy rubber binoculars with both hands. I centered on the two deer as they moved up the hill.

At less than two hundred yards from me the bucks were moving briskly. The leader’s rack was well outside his ears with at least three points on each side. The follower was smaller in body size, with a taller narrower rack which rose almost vertically from his head and wrapped around tightly. My heart began pounding. Should I change tactics completely, abandon the search for a javelina? I hadn’t planned on hunting for a buck; from what I understood there wasn’t much of a chance once the deer had winded you or seen you, especially a Coues deer. I couldn’t decide what to do, and that was my first mistake.

I remembered the advice I’d received concerning Coues whitetails. “If you want to hunt these little desert deer you’ve got to get above them,” one hunter had told me. That was probably the only impartial suggestion I had ever received.

“Stalking a Coues into bow range is next to impossible, they live in inaccessible terrain, have excellent senses, and are pretty much crazy,” my future father-in-law Ernie had told me.

“What do you mean crazy?” I asked him.

“Whitetails are completely unpredictable once you’ve begun stalking them. A mule deer when spooked will run a straight line for over a mile, up and down ridges. A Coues on the other hand will run one direction and might turn a hundred and eighty degrees back on itself. If they hear or smell you, you will find that they simply disappear,” he’d said.

My indecision to abandon my search for javelina and go after the bucks resulted in a ‘what not to do’ lesson. I broke all of the modus operandi Ernie had tried to teach me that spring. I never tried to relocate them by gaining elevation and backing off, I simply walked along the same ridge I had last seen them. I left on my shoes, crunching twigs and branches as I walked. I ignored the wind and moved in a direction that they might catch my scent. After twenty minutes of pseudo-stalking I landed up spooking them down the hill and lost them. Somewhat disgusted and astutely aware of my own failures I decided to turn around back toward the truck. I knew another area around the mountain where I had run into javelina earlier in the year.

I moved more quickly then, blasting away at the predator call every few minutes. I would stop to glass the drainages below me and the ridges above me as I moved. I had almost reached a tall ridge which stretched out from the Front Range when I spotted what looked to be a hunter up on a rock outcrop. I lifted my Zeiss and quickly made out the shape of a man hunched over a tripod, peering in my direction. I put down the binoculars and lifted my hand. To my surprise he waived back, in a friendly sort of way – not the “Yeah, I see you, now bugger off,” response I anticipated.

I decided to go up and talk with him. I considered that it might piss him off to have another hunter coming up on him, but figured that once I told him I was only after javelina he might relax and even throw out some information.

The climb up the hill was one that I had done a half dozen times before, and I knew the rock that he was sitting on. I crossed over and down onto his position. He didn’t hear me until I was about twenty yards away. “Good morning,” I said in a neutral voice.

“Morning,” he replied. Right away I recognized him, I had seen him once before during the spring. He and another man, who I had subsequently seen several more times and struck up an informal friendship with, had been glassing for Coues near where I’d parked the truck that morning.

“Your name is John, Patrick’s friend right?” I asked.

“Yeah, I recognize you, what’s your name again?” he replied.

I told him my name and what I was about that morning. He told me that he hadn’t seen any javelina. He wasn’t hunting; he had already shot a buck earlier in the week. We chatted for a few minutes and he agreed to help me glass for javelina.

We moved around the point to a spot that looked down into the next valley over. After glassing for a few minutes I spotted a spike buck bedded down under a big palo verde. I pointed him out to John and we continued to look for javelina.

After an hour of glassing we still hadn’t seen any javelina. John suggested that I go after the buck. At first I dismissed him, I still wanted to find a javelina, but after a few minutes discussion I changed my mind.

We worked up a simple plan where I would stalk down to the buck, and if he stood up John would holler from the hilltop to stop him so I’d have enough time to draw down on him.

Down the hill I stopped every so often to look out at the palo verde the buck was under. I wanted to memorize some of the trees from above so I wouldn’t lose my bearings in the thicket as I stalked closer. I crossed a dry creek bed that led into the thicket of mesquite and cholla. I took off my shoes and put on my extra pair of thick wool hiking socks. I left the Zeiss with my shoes on the ground; they wouldn’t be any use stalking in the thick bushes. I kept my rangefinder and quiver and started out in the direction of the palo verde.

I found that the ground was soft and even a little damp from the recent rains. I was able to move quietly and there was almost no breeze. After about twenty minutes I had moved much closer, but I couldn’t tell which tree the buck was bedded under. I pulled an arrow from the quiver and knocked it. For ten minutes I slowly picked around several large mesquites trying to spot the right palo verde. Suddenly I heard the crack of a branch breaking about twenty yards ahead of me. Then I heard a loud yell from John up on the hillside. Before I had time to clip my release onto the string the buck was up and bounding away from me.

I took the arrow off the knock and put it back. Gingerly, I crossed the rock and cactus covered ground to where I had dropped my shoes and binoculars. John met me at the bottom of the hill a few minutes later and we spoke one last time. I thanked him for his help and we exchanged phone numbers.

It was going on 10:30 am and I had promised to be home by mid day to my fiancé Marisa. On my way back to town I thought about the two big bucks I had left on the other side of the mountain.

That afternoon I started a mile north of where I had last seen the two bucks. My intention was to climb a high ridgeline and glass down to try and relocate them, or perhaps even stumble onto an elusive herd of javelina.

Five minutes down the trail I saw a doe. She was feeding, barely paying any attention to me even though I was up wind from her. I went up the ridge along an old disused hiking trail. On the old trail I came across a desert tortoise. On my previous shed hunting hikes, the discovery of a desert tortoise, often by my dog Briggs, meant one thing – no shed antlers were to be found that day. I muttered to myself as I walked on past the hard shelled creature. At an open point along the ridge top I stopped and set down my bow. It was a bit too low for good glassing, but I figured I’d take a minute to look around.

I rested my elbows on my knees to steady the binoculars. I glassed the far hillside where I had last seen the two bucks that morning. For fifteen minutes I looked under every mesquite and palo verde on the ridge without any success. I turned the binoculars to the west and looked down the drainage and up the other side. After only a few moments of looking on the near hillside I saw the fuzzy antlers of the large buck brushing against a tree branch as he nibbled at the foliage. I moved the binoculars around to try and pick out a feature on the landscape that I might recognize when I lowered the lenses. The two bucks were just below a large rock crest. I lowered the binoculars and quickly ranged the rocky outcrop. It was less than one hundred and fifty yards away! I could clearly see the two bucks with my naked eye.

My heart started to slam against my breast; my hands began to tremble. What should I do? Wait until they bedded down and then make my stalk? The wind was in my face, they wouldn’t catch my scent. I had time; the sun was still over an hour from setting. I peered through the binoculars again. They were working their way around behind the large rocky outcrop. A thought came to me. If I hurried I could close the distance on them while they fed behind the rocks. There wasn’t time to think, so I acted on impulse. I took off my shoes and put on my extra pair of wool socks. I tied my shoes to the base of my camelback and put it back on.

I found that my sock feet were much quieter than my shoes, and that if I chose my steps carefully I could move quickly and quietly.

As I stalked down toward the bucks I focused on my foot falls, finding hard packed ground or large rocks to step on. I avoided all of the grass, brush, and gravel that I could. It only took me ten minutes to reach the rock outcrop. When I got to within what I guessed was fifty yards I took out my range finder and started getting the distances of the saguaro and palo verde nearby. I took an arrow out of my quiver and knocked it. I clipped my release to the string, I wouldn’t be caught off guard the way I had that morning. I slowed my movement even further, only taking single steps before stopping to look and listen. I was still above the broken rise of rock. The outcrop was larger than a house and overgrown with brush. I decided to move around it along its uphill side toward the direction I anticipated the bucks to come from.

As I took my next step I heard a crunching noise. I froze. I looked toward the source of the sound but saw nothing. The crunching noise continued to get louder, and still I couldn’t find its source. Little did I know that my bad luck with tortoises was about to change. Slogging along the gravelly hillside stopping every few labored steps to tear at some of the fresh grass sprouting out of the stony ground was yet another tortoise!

Silently, I cursed the tortoise. Dread crept into my mind. Was this a doubly bad omen, two tortoises on one hillside? At the same moment however, a thought came to me. The deer had to have heard that tortoise, he was walking from the same spot that I had last seen them. Had he spooked them? Quietly I took another five steps down the path that the tortoise had just come. I stopped and stood motionless. Abruptly my eyes shot toward the movement of a gray shape appearing at an opening. Less than thirty yards away was the smaller buck. He was feeding, his body quartering away from me. I knew he was close, but how close? I didn’t want to guess for twenty yards and have him be at thirty. I unclipped my release and slowly reached up to grab the rangefinder hanging around me neck. Nervously, I put the monocular to my face. A quick click on the white of his rump returned the number twenty four. Twenty four! I could hit the lid of a Pringles can from thirty yards with merciless accuracy. I lowered the range finder slowly. He was still facing away. I re-clipped the release onto the string. I let my muscles go through the practiced movement of raising the right arm, drawing the string back with the left, anchoring my thumb against my cheek, resting the tip of my nose against the string, looking down the peep sight. I stood at full draw steadying myself. I tightened my back muscles letting my bow arm relax.

Peering through the peep I let the pins come into and out of focus as I aimed at the buck. I needed for him to turn toward me. As I focused my aim the larger of the two bucks came into view. He was walking almost directly toward me. Adrenaline pulsed through my veins. I brought my pins into line with the larger buck. He was facing me straight on at less than twenty yards. He quartered toward me as he began to move around a mesquite. My back tightened, my left arm moved backward a fraction of an inch, the bow convulsed and the sharp sting of the string snapping forward thumped in my ears. The buck jumped forward and ran to my right. The smaller buck leapt up as well, wheeling about to follow his friend. The large buck stopped and stood at thirty yards, but now a small palo verde stood between me and the two deer. The smaller buck looked about and trotted away. The larger buck stayed, standing motionless.

I reached around my back and pulled another arrow from my quiver. To my surprise the insert had come loose and the broad head remained embedded in the foam, leaving me with only a shaft in my hand. I carefully lowered the shaft to the ground putting out my foot to stop it from bouncing on the rocks as I dropped the nock. Again I pulled an arrow from my quiver. This time the arrow came as it should. I knocked it and stood there staring at the buck. The small buck was gone. From where I stood I couldn’t tell if I had hit him. What if I had missed? He could bolt at any moment and be gone; I would have blown a shot at less than twenty yards.

I could hear what sounded like the buck pissing on the ground. That dang deer was taking a leak before tearing away into thin air like a gray ghost!

I carefully took a side step, and then another, trying to get out from behind the palo verde. I drew back on the bow, keeping my eyes on the buck. He was staring right at me. I was still behind the branches of the palo verde, and had no decent shot. I took another side step. Still, no shot. Then the bow convulsed and the string snapped forward. I watched the arrow snake through the palo verde branches and sail over the buck. The arrow bounced off the ground and disappeared. The buck wheeled about and began to trot away. “You idiot, you’ve ruined it,” I thought

To my immediate surprise, he stopped after only a few steps, still in view. I pulled up the range finder and ranged him. He was now at forty five yards. I knocked another arrow, drew back again, and pulled the release. The arrow sailed high a second time. Had I now missed him three times in a row? As we stood there looking at each other, I saw how oddly the buck’s stance was. His feet were only a foot or so apart and his back was bowed up. He turned and trotted down the ridge, disappearing from sight. I stalked clumsily, not knowing if I should run, walk, or stalk. When I reached the spot where he had stood I saw blood on the ground.

“The pissing sound?” I thought. Maybe it hadn’t been him urinating.

I walked back to where he had been standing when I shot the second arrow. There on the ground was a small pool of blood. He had been bleeding, a lot, that was why he hadn’t run when the other buck took off. I had hit him with the first shot! But where had I hit him? I still hadn’t seen any wound on him.

I pulled my last arrow from the quiver and knocked it. I walked slowly, following his blood trail, picking out the spots on the ground where his hooves had torn up the soil. Twenty yards down hill I spotted him. He was lying on his side on a flat overlooking the high mountains beyond the foothills. He turned to stare at me, our eyes met, after a few seconds he looked away. What was he thinking? Was he angry or afraid? His body convulsed as he tried to breath. Blood erupted from his nostrils and sprayed the dirt. He was dying; the first shot had been a good one. I remembered what Ernie had told me about hunting mule deer, how he always put a second or third shot into the animal if he could; to make sure the buck would die, and not escape. I drew back the bow and took my time. The other two shots had been rushed, there was no need to rush the shot now, it had to be true – it was my last arrow. The string snapped forward and the arrow found its mark. I expected the buck to jump back up and maybe run off further. Instead he simply turned to me one last time before looking away toward the hills ahead of him, the hills he had probably been born on and spent his entire life, the hills he would walk no longer.

I stood silently, watching as he took his last labored breaths. Soon he would be gone and I would be a hunter, a killer, just like Ernie. What did that mean? Was this what I wanted? Had I done it to feel accepted, to join a new group? All of those thoughts faded into the tragic beauty of the sun light on the cliffs. My emotions continued to dance as I set down the bow and watched the buck. The world shrank and then grew as my senses expanded to take in everything around me. In those final moments it was just he and I, and the dying light of the sunset.

 

 

 

This has to be one of the best stories I've read on here. This brings back some memories of this August when I tried to harvest the ever elusive coues with my bow. This gets me so pumped up for December and January.

Awesome write up and awesome buck.