n Reach
through a constant swarm of gnats and mosquitoes. Te late-Au-
gust sun was well toward the horizon when the frst doe showed
up with a stippled fawn in tow. Later, four bucks appeared on the
far side of the river, one of them a true giant. All were in velvet,
and all might as well have been a million miles away.
On my side, a lone spike buck fed through, and I started to
wonder if I’d be targeting that buck or trying to buy a cheap
canoe to reach the other side. Tat’s when movement in a sage
fat, deep in mule deer territory, caught my eye. Four whitetail
bucks, all ranging from about 80 to 130 inches, trotted across
an area I’d never seen whitetails use. Tey all went through a
riverside pinch point where a few lone cottonwoods stood. I
watched the bucks until it was too dark to see, and then snuck
down the ridge.
Te following morning I carried a stand, climbing sticks,
and a harness with me along the two-track. Afer stashing
them, I climbed the ridge and awaited frst light. A cold, steady
rain fell, and I cursed myself for not bringing any raingear.
A half-hour later, I fnally spotted six does feeding across the
river, but soon they bolted. Seconds later, a man in a bright-red
sweatshirt walked through.
For no reason other than whim, I turned around to glass themuley clifs. Scanning the foothills through my binoculars, I
caught movement. Te bachelor group from the previous night
was back in the sage fat. Te bucks fed there for an hour before
disappearing into a coulee to bed.
Te group contained a small eight-
pointer, a decent-sized eight-pointer, a
beauty of a seven-pointer, and
the biggest — a 130-class
10-pointer. Afer two days
of glassing, I realized that
I’d shoot any one of them,
which was not the case
when I was initially plan-
ning our return trip to the
Badlands. A bout of optimism had
led me to ignore the previous winter
and its likely efect on deer numbers,
although I had lived through the ex-
act same winter at home. Tat same
optimism had tamped down my knowl-
edge of rivers and the reality of uncrossable wa-
ter that I’d refused to acknowledge.By Tony J. Peterson, Equipment Editor
My time spent scouting from
above revealed two harsh reali-
ties: There were very few bucks
left to hunt, and half of them
were across a raging river and
out of reach.