sunrise, without any apparent problems. I don’t know how
he did it.
I made sure my truck was locked, and then started of to-
ward my stand. Tat’s when I noticed fresh truck tracks go-
ing in, but none coming out. Halfway to the stand, a truck was
parked before the frst washed-out part of the road. Bowhunt-
ing decals littered the back window, and I immediately recog-
nized it as belonging to the other hunters in camp.
If they bumped those bucks out of the coulee, I was most
likely out of the game, unless a random new deer showed up
(not likely). I climbed into my stand and glassed the other
stand, which was empty. Two hours later, a doe and a fawn
showed up across the river.
I could see the shadows stretching farther across the river
and the sage fat, when a bobbing rack caught my eye. Te bucks
were on their way, following the same trail as the previous night. I
stood up and got ready, not knowing which trail they would take.
Te buck in the lead, the big seven-pointer, had shed his
velvet in the 10 hours since I had last laid eyes on him. It didn’t
matter; he was a great deer, and he was the frst volunteer. I
ranged him at 40 yards as he crossed through, only to watch
him turn and start toward me. I started to draw as he trotted
right past me and out of my life.
At that moment, I realized the rest of the bucks might
do that, so I focused on the second buck and got ready. As
he closed to 20 yards I drew, bleated loudly, and aimed. He
stopped in his tracks and ducked at the shot. Unfortunately
for him, he didn’t duck far enough, and the arrow him hit right
behind the shoulder, angling down through the lungs.
Te velvet-racked buck sprinted 75 yards through the river
brush before stopping in an opening. He stood there for a few
seconds, and then tipped over. I quickly pulled my stand and
bungee-corded my climbing sticks to the platform. Ten I
walked to the downed buck, admiring the healthy 4x4 before
feld-dressing chores.
It was nearly dark when I returned to my truck, and as I
drove out a truck passed me. In my rearview mirror, I saw the
truck peel of through the sage to a camper tucked back in
where the taxidermist had camped the previous year.
At camp, I grabbed headlamps and my deer cart, and then
drove back down to the river. Te stand was almost exactly
one mile from my truck, and afer loading the buck onto the
cart, I started back along the two-track for the third time that
day. By the time I made it back to the truck, my snake boots
had worked quarter-sized blisters onto my heels.
I awoke at sunrise to photograph the buck, break down
camp, and drive the 10 hours home to see my family. As I
loaded the last of my gear into my truck and started down the
gravel road, I met a truck.
In the driver’s seat the taxidermist waved as he drove past,
on his way to camp and eventually, I had to assume, to the tree
he had seen my stand in a year earlier. It was hard to get too
mad with a great deer in the back of my truck and the real-
ity that stuf like that happens all of the time to public-land
hunters. Of course, it’s random things like that, that make tag-
ging out on Uncle Sam’s ground so much more difcult, and
so much more rewarding. ❮❮❮AUTHOR’S NOTE: I used a G5 Prime Alloy bow, Carbon
Express Maxima Red arrows, Trophy Taker Shuttle T-Lock
broadheads, TruGlo accessories, Sitka Gear clothing, and
Cabela’s camping equipment on this hunt.
WWW.BOWHUNTER.COM 47I killed this velvet-racked buck on open-
ing day of the 2014 North Dakota bow
season. The deer, along with three other
bucks, spent his days bedded in mule
deer territory before crossing through
a pinch point to feed in the evenings.