Tony’s Perspective:
In 2007, after watching a movie, “The Bucket List,” my wife and I each wrote our own. Elk hunting was one of my 10 selections. Years later, after retirement, and further down the road of life, it didn’t seem that important to me anymore. Hunting white-tailed deer in Wisconsin and having great success in doing so kept moving the elk hunt to the bottom of the list. Then my son, Kevin, suggested we do an unguided mule deer/elk combination hunt. He chose a private ranch in the Castle Mountains in Montana, and two of his friends joined us. We sent in a deposit and started applying for tags in 2019. We were selected this past fall. Rules of the ranch were pack in and pack out. No problem, we are all seasoned hunters, or so we thought.
I began training nine months prior to our hunt. That meant hiking at least 3 miles per day. I started with no pack and on a flat road and worked up to doing a daily hike fully packed up rough terrain. I lost 20 pounds. I still wasn’t really fully prepared for what I was embarking on in mid-November. Most of my Midwest hunts were still hunts from stands waiting for deer to show up on the trails I had scouted in advance and been monitoring with game cameras. On this hunt, it was a mile hike from the cabin to the base of the mountain to start the hunt. Then the climbing began. Were my nearly 70-year-old knees going to be up for the challenge?
Kevin’s Perspective:
I grew up whitetail hunting with my dad, Tony, in the woods of central Wisconsin. But then life happened. I got married, moved to the city, signed up for a demanding career, and had a couple of kids. I still made it out to chase the bucks around every once in a while, but the opportunities were few and far between. And I had even fewer chances to go back home to hunt with my old man.
A few years ago my colleague, Victor, caught wind that I was a hunter, and we started going to lunch every so often to chat about it. Then one day Victor sat down in my office and popped the question: Do you want to go out west for a hunt? I had no hesitation. We started researching options for a good entry-level western hunt, and before long stumbled into a ranch in central Montana that offered a cabin, access to private ground, and opportunities for both elk and mule deer. Perfect.
The ranch worked in groups of four, and I knew right away how I wanted to fill out our group. I called my longtime hunting buddy Justin who had often talked about going out west but had never done it. He was in. Now I needed to convince my dad to join us. I knew his heart would be in it, but he was also going to be anxious about slowing the rest of us down. Thankfully, following some badgering by me and encouragement from his wife, he said yes and the trip was set. After a few years of waiting, applying for tags, and gathering gear, the day was finally here. The four of us set off for Montana not knowing exactly what we were in for, but excited for the challenge.
Tony’s Perspective:
Since this was uncharted territory, we decided we would pair up each day. Upon arrival and directions from the ranch’s owner, Kevin and I decided to scout hunt the first afternoon. We had already seen a group of mule deer driving in that day near the gate.
Elk were the primary target. We chose to scout the hillside on the ranch’s south side along a creek bed. No elk sightings that afternoon for us, but we saw more muleys. The next morning we climbed a third of the way up the opposing mountain and looked back at the hillside we had scouted the afternoon before. About 8:30 the mule deer we had seen the day before snuck through the trees in front of us. I signaled Kevin, and he got into position to take a shot at the buck, but it was difficult for him to get a good shooting position down the steep slope and the deer were several hundred yards away. Just as they came in range, they were gone. After our packed lunch, Kevin suggested we cross the creek to check out the next ridge over. It was a hard climb to the top of the ridge, but I made it. As we got to the top, I heard two elk jump up and run down to the valley below. Disappointed that we had chased them away, we sat for a while on that ridge but ultimately decided we needed a different plan for the evening.
I went back to our original spot from the morning, and Kevin hiked down the creek toward where the mule deer we saw that morning had headed. I didn’t see anything, and exhausted after the long day afield, I quit about 15 minutes early. I hiked to the truck Kevin and I had parked by the road and waited. Kevin turned up about 45 minutes later excited to tell me about his evening. He had seen the group of mule deer again, but they were out of range. Then, when he got up from his post along the creek after shooting light, he could make out a herd of about 30 elk in the pasture behind him — the same pasture I had walked through a half hour earlier. I must have left my post too soon. But at least we had seen some game, and we still had most of the week in front of us.
Kevin’s Perspective:
For day three we switched partners. Victor and my dad teamed up, and I went with Justin on a long hike along a ridge to the north of the ranch. It was fun to see some new territory, and we had action again. We did most of the hike in the dark, and arrived at our glassing location just as daylight was breaking. There was a group of elk at the bottom of the hill that we could barely make out in the light, but they moved off well before shooting light. An hour or so later a group of mule deer came through with a couple of young bucks pushing some does around. Nothing big enough for a shot though. After glassing all morning, we headed back toward the cabin and found another group of muleys on the way. No bucks this time.
We met up with Victor and my dad and learned that they had had similar luck. Victor had climbed to the top of the main mountain and had a close encounter with a bull and a spike. He was pumped. And my dad had action too. He had spotted the same group of muleys from our first morning down along the creek bed again. They were too far out for a shot, and he didn’t want to leave his post for a stalk without letting Victor know the plan. By the time Victor got back to him the deer had moved off.
The next day and a half passed uneventfully. The weather turned, with winds gusting up to 40 mph, and the game were few and far between. The highlight was the afternoon of day four when I took my dad on the long hike along the north ridge. It was 3 miles out to the glassing spot where Justin and I had seen the group of elk in the dark earlier in the week. When we got there, we were rewarded with an empty hillside, chilling temperatures, and howling winds straight into our teeth. We ended up hunkered down behind a deadfall, glassing until dark whenever we could bear to peek our heads over into the howling wind. While the lack of sightings was disappointing, it was an adventure and I was beyond excited to have that time with my dad. The 6-mile round trip was strenuous, but we took it slow, and made it back to the cabin with stories to tell. I was proud that Pops had completed that hike, but I knew that he was pretty worn out and would need to take it easy on day five.
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It was getting to be crunch time for our trip. Only two days left and we were yet to fire a shot. We made a plan for the next day. Victor and I were going to climb the big mountain where Victor had seen the bull and spike a few days earlier. Justin was going to a different peak behind the cabin. And my dad was going solo after the mule deer by the creek bed to the south. I got out a map and showed my dad where, on the first night, I had seen those mule deer come out of an alder grove, cross a wide clearing, and head up the ridge to the south. They were bedding on that ridge, and I was confident that they would work their way back down through the same area the next morning. I pointed out a big pine tree situated at the edge of that clearing and told my dad that was where he should be before first light to have a shot at those deer. The plan was set.
Tony’s Perspective:
I knew there was a good chance I would get a shot at the buck we had been seeing, and somebody had to get a shot off before the week was through. Justin had agreed to meet me for lunch at the cabin and help me process the deer should I have success. That was not something I had ever done in the field. I walked a mile and a half from the cabin and positioned myself in a drainage ditch near the gate looking back across the creek to the south. Kevin had wanted me to work across the creek and up into the clearing, but this spot was close enough. There was a great view of the area where Kevin had seen the deer, and I had a hunch that if they came down, they would cross the creek right in front of me.
It was quiet for a long time and I was about to pack it in for the morning. Then about 10:00 I saw a doe come through the willows by the creek. I started shaking like a leaf. What the hell? That hadn’t happened since my early days of hunting 30 years ago. I calmed down, and saw a few more deer across the creek, but no buck. Then I caught movement farther up the hill as another group of mule deer worked their way down the hillside. There was the buck we had been seeing, and he had his nose close to the tail of a doe.
I laid out across the ditch and waited as they closed the distance. 225 yards. The buck made a hard left hand-turn toward one of the does and lip curled as she ran off a few steps. I took aim and squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened. Another rookie mistake. I forgot the safety. After taking the safety off, I settled the crosshairs again and took the shot.
The buck “humped up” and they all scattered. Unlike whitetails, they didn’t run off completely. A few of the does were still in front of me, but the buck and most of the other deer had gone over a rise where I couldn’t see them anymore. I waited a few minutes, but didn’t see the buck. Eventually the last doe in front of me worked off to my left and I thought I would go see what had happened. I crossed the creek and started looking for blood near the shot site. Nothing. The shot had felt good, though. I couldn’t have missed him.
Kevin’s Perspective:
Victor and I had left really early that morning. We drove the truck down the hill from the cabin to take a mile off of the hike, but then we had almost 2 miles of climbing up a steep incline to the spots we had picked out for daybreak. My post was at the top of the highest peak tucked behind a big boulder. I could look west into a clearing with a bunch of fresh elk sign about 200 yards out, I could scan to the south along the entire ridgeline across the creek, and I could see back across the pasture to my east all the way to the cabin. I had high hopes when daylight broke, but the wind was really howling at the top, and no elk stepped into view.
I spent most of my time looking to the west, where I had hopes of an elk passing within range, but when I couldn’t take the strong western wind in my face anymore, I would duck back behind my bolder and glass the ridgeline to the south. About 10:00 I was scanning that ridgeline and caught sight of a deer coming out of the alder patch, right where I thought they would be. I let my tripod rest there for a few minutes and before long I saw another one step out, and then a third. I wonder if the buck we had been seeing was in the group?
I scanned farther to the left to the pine tree I had told my dad to sit under, but I didn’t see any orange. Shoot. He must have gone in early, or maybe he didn’t even make it out after how worn out he was from our hike the day before. I continued to watch the group of deer anyway as they moved farther down the hill and toward the creek.
They were almost at the crossing now, and as I scanned a little farther to the left to see where they were headed I caught a glimpse of orange. There was Pops, laid out across the drainage ditch on the other side of the creek. Yes! If the buck was there, he was going to get a shot. I scanned back to the right. The deer were almost right on top of him, but maybe the buck wasn’t in the group. They were too far off for me to make out any antlers. But then one of the deer chased another one off a few steps and I thought I saw the distinct head movement of a buck in rut. That must be the buck we had been seeing. Suddenly a streak of gray flashed across my view and the buck humped up. That sure looked like a shot, but where was the report? It came a second later.
All the deer reacted to the shot. The buck and several others ran up the hill and congregated behind a pine tree where I couldn’t see them. Nothing happened for a minute. Then the deer started filtering out to the right headed back up the ridge. I tried to count them, but I wasn’t sure how many there had been to begin with. Was the buck working up the ridge, or had he gone down behind the pine tree? No way to tell.
After a few minutes, I saw that my dad had crossed the creek and was walking around in the space above where the deer had been when he shot. I saw him looking at the ground. He took out his binoculars to scan the woodline in front of him. Not a good sign. He didn’t have blood and didn’t know where the deer was. I hope he didn’t miss. He took a turn to his right and started heading toward the pine tree that had masked the deer from me shortly after his shot. Now you’re on the right track dad. If he comes out the other side of that tree and keeps looping around that won’t be good. Probably a miss. But if he stops behind the tree and then heads straight for the cabin the buck must have gone down. I waited. And waited. There he was, headed back across the creek with a little bounce in his step. Was that a little fist pump? I broke into a smile. He got him for sure.
I watched dad climb into the truck and head up to the cabin while I waited for Victor to come back at our appointed 11:00 meet up time. After telling Victor my plan, I headed down the hill toward the kill site hoping that Pops won’t have the deer all butchered up by the time I get to him.
Tony’s Perspective:
I knew that I had made a good hit, so I followed my instincts and headed up the hill where he had started to run. Still nothing. There was another drainage ditch which circled up the hill. I walked up and glassed back down. Time to walk back down and start over. As I crossed the ditch, I looked down. There he was, lying dead in the water. It took all my strength to pull him out. I estimated him at about 225 pounds. Time to get Justin at the cabin. I walked back and found the truck at the junction of the cabin and main roads. Hopefully, Kevin and Victor left the keys. I drove the mile back to the cabin and found a note on the door from Justin. “Saw nothing, and am taking a long hike up the north ridge. See you at dinner.” How did he not hear my shot?
I found a plastic sled, loaded it in the truck, and drove back to where it had been parked. At least I could pull the deer across the creek and up hill to the truck. Then we could deal with it after dark. How I would get the deer up the hill without having a heart attack, I wasn’t sure. About half way, I looked up and saw Kevin walking toward me. When he got to me, we “high-fived” and hugged like a father with his son’s first deer. I was overcome with emotion and relieved at the same time. Kevin looked at me and said, “You won’t believe this, but I saw the whole thing from the mountain top a mile and a half away. It was like watching TV.”
I told him the story from my perspective, and he shared the whole thing from his angle. We took some time to position the deer and take some good pictures together. Then we decided to process the deer back down by the creek. We loaded the meat into our game bags and put them in the sled. After a trip to the truck to drop off our packs, we came back for the sled full of meat. Even with all the meat off of the deer and two guys pulling the sled we barely made it up the hill. No way I could have gotten that buck out of there by myself.
By 2:00 we were back at the cabin, worn out, but also fulfilled. Kevin went back out for a hunt that evening, and the boys stayed after them for the last day while I boiled my skull for a Euro mount and started packing up the gear for the drive home. There were no more shots fired on that trip, and the hunt ended without any more sightings. In the end, we didn’t shoot the elk that we were after, and the buck I came home with was no giant by any stretch of one’s imagination. But, I was more proud of this buck, than any of the trophy whitetails I had on the wall at home. One week, with no communication with the outside world. No cell service. No TV. No guide. No elk. Walk in, walk out. Just four guys trying to figure it out together. I’m sure we each lost 10 pounds that week. The old man had put meat in the cooler, and together we had made memories that will last a lifetime. Put a check on my bucket list. Let’s do it again!
