Fair Chase in North America

by Boddington, Craig

  I spent several falls both hunting and guiding in eastern Colorado, and it was very interesting. Our primary quarry was usually whitetail, but the mule deer were amazing. Many of us used to be concerned that whitetail would push the mule deer out—and this seemed to be happening in many areas. But at least in some of Colorado’s high plains the two species seem to be making peace with each other. One property we hunted is cut but by a winding north-south cottonwood-lined watercourse. Whitetails frequent the northern half, while the southern part of the drainage is almost all mule deer. Go figure!

  It used to be that almost all hunting pressure in the region was on the more visible, more vulnerable mule deer. The current interest in trophy whitetails has actually taken a lot of pressure off the mule deer. On that particular ranch we posted a hunter overlooking a big hayfield one evening, and by last light he had 52 mule deer, including 14 bucks, in front of him!

  An outfitter friend of mine, Mike Watkins, hunts country in northeastern Wyoming, southeastern Montana, and southwestern South Dakota. I’ve hunted with him a number of times—in all three states. All have an interesting mixture of whitetail and mule deer, but the mule deer are generally more numerous and there are good numbers of genuinely mature bucks throughout this region. Plains mule deer are typically smaller and lighter-antlered than the classic high country bucks, but given the chance to reach full maturity they can be exceptional. In the last few years I’ve seen great bucks by almost anyone’s standard. Perhaps more importantly, I’ve seen lots of nice, mature bucks that most of us would be very happy with.

  Back in Colorado, but farther west along the foothills of the Rocky Mountain Front, the mule deer numbers are also very high. Much of this country is highly developed, a unique situation that I call “urban mule deer.” A friend of mine, Boulder attorney and outfitter Lad Shunneson, has leased and hunted a smallish ranch north of Boulder for many years. Houses have sprung up around and even on it, but that place remains the darndest buck funnel I’ve ever seen. Especially late in the season you can see big bucks—and different bucks—every morning and evening.

  There are also some superb mule deer both north and south of what we think of as mule deer country. To the north, mule deer are coming back nicely in southwestern Alberta. This is undoubtedly due to limited outfitter permits and the current emphasis on whitetail hunting, but whatever the reason, given the chance to mature those Canadian mule deer grow huge.

  The other oddball option is to the south, technically in desert mule deer country (subspecies Odocoileus hemionus crooki). Desert mule deer are smaller in body, but they can grow huge antlers depending on local food and genetics, and whether they’re left alone long enough. The situation is uneven, but I’ve seen great bucks in southern Arizona, southern New Mexico, and in west Texas as far east as Midland. Without question, however, the biggest desert mule deer—and some of the biggest mule deer currently available to hunters—come out of Sonora in Old Mexico.

  Due to high demand and increasingly limited permits, this is an expensive deer hunt today, on a par with the Jicarilla or a private Paunsaugant permit. It is also not a sure thing; there aren’t many deer and the shooting is difficult. But the potential is fabulous. One of my best mule deer in terms of score came out of Sonora in the early nineties, and in January 2002 I took my first mule deer that achieved the magical “30-inch spread” that we all dream about.

  This is a tracking hunt, and the Mexican cowboys are the best trackers I’ve ever seen—even better than the rightfully legendary African trackers. The desert floor, where the deer live, is brushy; the shooting is fast and quick decisions are essential. The trackers are great, but usually don’t speak much English—so you must be prepared to make up your own mind. Quickly. If you’re lucky you’ll shoot your buck in his bed—but more likely you’ll shoot him, or shoot at him, as he bobs and weaves through mesquite and cholla. Expect a chance at one great buck in a week’s hard hunting.

  Like most great hunts this is not a sure thing. Hunting with various outfitters, I’ve taken three bucks in Sonora out of five hunts. This is pretty good, actually. In January 2002, hunting with Ernesto Zaragoza’s Solimar Safaris, we had six hunters in camp and we took seven mule deer (tags are private land tags, and a second buck is legal if tags are available) and two Coues deer. One buck, taken by Dwight Van Brunt, was spectacular. My 30-inch buck was good, and three other bucks were fully mature, heavy-antlered “keepers.” There were two mistakes, medium-sized bucks that should have been allowed to grow up—but things happen fast in the brushy desert, and sometimes you don’t get as good a look as you need.

  Many hunters have concerns about travel in Mexico, but generally without justification. If you book with a good outfitter and follow his advice you should have no trouble. I’ve made many trips down there for both mule deer and Coues’ deer, and I’ve never had any problems.

  We’ve covered my spin on the “where” of big mule deer today, but what is a big buck? Mule deer hunters, like moose hunters, talk about spread, but this is just one measurement. My 2002 Sonora buck was a typical four-by-four with eyeguards, decent points, good beam length, medium mass, and an outside spread of 31 inches. You wouldn’t pass him anywhere—but my buddy Dwight Van Brunt’s buck, taken on the same trip, was much better in almost all ways. His buck had more massive antlers, longer beams, and deeper forks; his buck makes the typical B&C minimum of 190 quite easily. Mine doesn’t come close—but my buck is a “30-incher,” while his has a spread of “only” 28 inches. Take your pick.

  Thirty-inch bucks exist, but they aren’t common—and spread isn’t necessarily the most important factor if you’re into record book score. Mass and tine length count more, score-wise, and to my eye are more impressive. But the wonderful thing about trophy deer is that no two racks are alike, and beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

  Whether you’re a “spread freak” or not, the 30-inch mule deer is scarce nowadays—as are bucks that are big in all the other dimensions. These days a mature buck of 4 1/2 years or more with good mass, reasonable points, and a spread of 24 to 26 inches is a very fine buck. The chances are so slim today for a buck that will reach the Boone & Crockett minimum that I consider it foolish to even hunt for such a beast—unless you’re prepared for lots of disappointment, and of course unless you gain access to one of the few magical, mystical, and almost mythical hotspots.

  Keep in mind that the vast majority of mule deer that do reach that wondrous score of 190 fall short of the 30-inch mark. Only two of the current “top 10” mule deer in the Boone and Crockett record book have an inside spread exceeding 30 inches—and the Number 8 typical mule deer, taken by Wesley Brock in Grand County, Colorado (in 1963, clearly a “Golden Age” buck), has an inside spread of just 21 4/8 inches!

  But regardless of how they get there, mule deer that grow 190-plus inches of antler are both awesome and rare—whether you speak of gross or net. Unless you already have very nice mule deer trophies, an unlimited budget, an aversion to venison, or you like punishment, set your sights 10 to 20 inches lower today—and hope Lady Luck smiles.

  After the “where” and “what” we should discuss “how.” This has not changed much. Excepting special circumstances like heavy oak brush or Sonora’s mesquite desert, mule deer are far more visible than their whitetail cousins. Glassing is generally the best technique, with early morning and late evening the most active periods. Mule deer are not as difficult to hunt as whitetails. The problem with big mule deer today isn’t that they’ve gotten more wary—it’s that there simply aren’t as many! However, the survivors, the ones that have lived to full maturity and grown those legendary antlers, aren’t exactly the pushovers of the 1960s. And, no, they don’t always stop to look back…

  A couple of years ago outfitter Mike Watkins and I drove into a new ranch that was supposed to have some great deer. At dawn, enroute to the ranch house to “check in,” we passed a hayfield that was full of mule deer—mostly bucks. There were several “keeper
s,” nice plains deer, but we weren’t too excited—until we glassed a big-bodied buck at the far end of the field.

  Oh, my! He was well outside his ears, very high, and very heavy. He was looking right at us, so we couldn’t count points. I assume he was a 4x4 plus eyeguards (which we could see), but he might have had small kickers. Whatever he was, he was a mid-180s frame, minimum, and if he had deep forks he was 10 inches better at least. He was the best mule deer I’d seen in quite a long time, and he was mine.

  He was about 450 yards, but I had a laser range finder and a .300 Weatherby that would reach him. We never considered this most obvious option. We also never considered one of us staying to watch him. We had permission, so we could have done either. Instead, at my insistence, we played the game properly and went on to the house, said our “hello’s,” and launched a stalk around the back side of the field—which should have brought us to within 200 yards of the buck’s last known location.

  We made the circle with the wind good, then crept up to the ridge overlooking the field. About the time we got there deer started to trickle out of the field, finished with their morning feeding. We viewed the procession for an hour—but the big buck was not among them. Non-plussed, we climbed to a high ridge that overlooked the field and system of sagebrush draws beyond. We had no trouble picking out the bedded forms of numerous deer, or recognizing deer we’d seen in the field and leaving the field. But the big boy was simply gone, and we never saw him again. So much for stupid mule deer.

  The best technique for mule deer is to get high and get comfortable and spend your time glassing with good optics. At any time of the season this is the best technique to locate a big buck. Obviously the chances are best during the rut, when even the older, more sedentary bucks are far more active and visible. In fact, a trick the late Jerry Hughes, a great Nevada outfitter, taught me is that during the rut you don’t even worry about finding bucks. Glass up a group of does and stay with them—for days if necessary. Sooner or later a big buck will show up. By the way, if the country is such that glassing is not an option, then the rut is not necessarily the best time to hunt. In Mexico, for instance, the cowboys can pick up good tracks at any time during the season—but during the rut the bucks are travelling, and they will generally have to follow them much farther. In tracking, the longer you must follow a track before the buck beds, the better the chance of losing the track. Even without tracking, prior to the rut bucks are much more habitual and easier to figure out—if you can find them—but when the rut occurs all bets are off.

  Mexico and some of the thick oak-brush country are exceptions. In the main mule deer are open-country animals, generally visible and usually fairly vulnerable. If you can find them. The trick is to hunt where they are, meaning where the kind of buck you desire is present. Hunt patiently and with good optics and reasonable expectations. When you see something you like, move in decisively with cover between you and the animal and the wind in your favor. And don’t expect him to look back!

  Shooting is often fairly long in good mule deer country. Learning to find and use a natural rest—quickly—as well as good range estimation are critical skills, especially for trophy bucks.

  In January 2002, hunting with Ernesto Zaragoza’s Solimar Safaris, I took my first and only mule deer that reaches the magical 30-inch spread that mule deer hunters crave. He’s a beautiful buck, but spread is just one measurement—he could be heavier and needs better point length to score well!

  This mule deer, taken on the Jicarilla Reservation in northen New Mexico, is a fine example of a great—and attainable—mule deer trophy for today. He doesn’t score well, but he has good mass, plenty of height, reasonable spread, and lots of character.

  My buddy, Dwight Van Brunt, took this mule deer in Sonora, Mexico in January 2002. This is one of the prettiest and most perfect mule deer I have ever seen, “just” 28 inches wide, but heavy throughout, even, and carrying excellent point length.

  MOOSE—The World’s Largest Deer

  Sometimes Comical, Occasionally Dangerous, and Always Magnificent, the Moose is the King of all Antlered Game.

  A number of years ago, while hunting Dall’s sheep in Alaska’s Wrangell Mountains, my guide and I took a much-needed breather on a little bench cut on a steep shale mountainside. The nearest scrub timber was far below, and the only vegetation was a bit of grass that managed to creep through the mossy rocks. There on that bench was the bleached skull and antlers of a good-sized bull moose. All other bones were long gone. Whatever drama had occurred here had taken place in the late winter; one antler had been neatly shed, while the other remained attached to the skull.

  ­I have thought about that bull moose for many years, wondering what possessed him to climb so far above his sheltered valley, and how he met his end on that bleak mountain. Probably he was harried by wolves, or perhaps he was trying to escape unusually deep snows. Or maybe he just wanted to see what lay on the other side and didn’t quite make it. But one thing is sure about moose—you can’t figure them out. Just when you think they’re an oversized, amiable, and not-too-bright deer they will surprise you.

  Twenty-some years ago, when I was going through the riverine portion of the Army’s Mountain Warfare School at Fort Greeley, Alaska, our boat came around a sharp bend in the Tanana River. A bull moose stood in the calmer water on the inside of the turn—except we didn’t know he was a bull. The water rose nearly to his belly, and his outstretched neck—head, ears, and antlers—were totally submerged as he nibbled on some underwater succulents. We floated to within a few yards before the head came up—and the wall of water he threw in his hasty departure nearly capsized us.

  In retrospect slipping up on that moose may not have been the smartest thing I ever did. I’m not one of those writers who places mayhem-bent bears behind every bush, and I’m not suggesting that old Bullwinkle is dangerous . . . but he’s unpredictable enough that you should give him space. A friend of mine was snowmobiling along a bulldozed track in late winter, with eight-feet walls of packed snow along either side of the narrow trail. He came around a bend and was face to face with a moose. He slowed to a stop, and the moose took one look at him and charged. He had just enough time to draw his .44 and fire . . . and was good enough and lucky enough to catch the bull in the brain.

  This was a Shiras’ moose, and of course the season was long since closed. So my friend left everything exactly as it was and made his way to a phone. He called the local game warden, gave him directions, and waited several cold hours for that wardan to arrive. The tracks of the moose heading toward the snow machine at a dead run were clear, so a verdict of self-defense wasn’t hard to arrive at. But the most telling evidence was probably the head and front hooves of the moose draped across the front runners . . . .

  North Country lore is filled with accounts of rut-crazed moose attacking freight trains and Mack trucks, and in Newfoundland (with the most dense moose population in North America) moose are one of the greatest road hazards. But finding a moose when you want one is often something else again. On several hunts in both Canada and Alaska I’ve spent days and days without seeing a single moose—while seeing droppings and tracks literally all over the place. And yet sometimes it can seem all too easy.

  About fifteen years ago I hiked up in the foothills of the Chugach. After some delays getting into camp and the mandatory “same day airborne” respite, we left camp in the morning with just one day of moose season remaining. The moose were in full rut at the time, and on that one morning we saw more than ten different bulls. Most of these were seen from one vantage point, a knoll that overlooked a lovely stretch of alder-lined creek.

  Several of the bulls were marginal “keepers,” especially on the last day of the season. But we kept looking, and late in the morning we saw the golden antlers of a very good bull as he tended cows in a patch of thick evergreen timber. Toward midday all movement ceased, and we were certain the bull had bedded right there with his cows.

  The smart thi
ng would have been to wait until evening, in the hopes the moose would move out of the timber and into the alders or an open hillside where a stalk would be possible. But on this last day of the season there was no tomorrow. And besides that, it was far too cold to wait all day. So we got the wind right and edged slowly into the timber. Along the way we bumped a couple of cows, but our luck held. The big bull stood up at 60 yards, and then the work began.

  Although there may be options I’m not aware of, the techniques for hunting moose are generally glassing, still-hunting, and calling. My preference is far and away glassing—finding a good vantage point and working the binoculars until something interesting is located, then planning a stalk. A moose is a very large animal. Not only that, but his black color stands out . . . and on a sunny day his white or golden antlers will catch the light and gleam at incredible distances. There are just two problems with glassing for moose. First, you can often see moose so far away that you have absolutely no chance of getting to them, at least not on that day . . . and you may have less chance of being able to pack a bull out if you can get to him. Second, you must have terrain relief in order to glass.

  Moose are creatures of the northern forests, with strong preference for swampy country with willow and alder. If there are hills and valleys and meadows you can glass. But in heavily forested country or relatively flat boggy stuff—which comprises a great deal of moose country—you may not have the vistas you need for glassing. Still-hunting, cruising good areas and looking for moose, is a viable option. But moose are big animals and need a lot of country, so such hunting can be a lot like looking for a needle in a haystack even where there are lots of moose. A better wrinkle is to still-hunt lakeshores from a canoe, or by floating along a northern river. You need to cover a lot of ground to bump into a big bull moose.