This year my dad & I drew Coues Whitetail tags for our favorite unit, 31, in Southern Arizona. I've been bow hunting for years now even if I draw a rifle tag, mostly just to get out and hunt, but also to scout a little for our rifle hunt. I invited my friend Dave Wood for his first bow hunt and to show him what coues deer hunting is all about ( impossible terrain, never ending uphill hikes, and very spooky little deer ). We only had 2 days off work, so it was gonna be a turn and burn trip. We arrived at our camp site around 3AM and got just a couple hours of rack time before we were up and after'em. 20 minutes into the hunt as Dave & I creep along a trail I spot a BIG coues buck feeding along a fence line. I signal Dave to get low & slow. I was able to keep a bush between me and the buck. As I got closer to the bush, I peeked out to see what the buck was doing. Well, I was not aware that there were 2 big bucks and one had me pegged. I was 50yds away and decided if they stayed as I drew I could get a good shot broadside. I drew back and just as I touch off the release, the buck jumps the string. It would have been a perfect hit, but they are so fast! Clean miss. We were pumped running into some bucks right off the bat anyway! We continued down the trail to a spot I know of that dead ends around a Juniper tree. We stopped for a break and as we're sitting there, a rattle snake slithers right past our feet and cozies up next to the juniper. We watched him as we ate a power bar before getting off the trail and into some serious coues country. We started up the boulders and hills, picking our way through shindaggers, cactus, and squeezing through little under cuts. I spotted a few more does through out the morning. Dave was excited just seeing deer but also got a lesson on how hard they are to spot as I pointed out a doe in the open looking right at us;) Around lunch time I decide to take Dave down a trail that we can move a little quieter up and leads to some water. After a quick 30 min. break in the shade we start creeping down the trail.
Dave Wood creeping coues country
Dave starting to feel the effects of coues country, A real trooper!
As we hike up to the top of a group of small hills with lots of cover I jumped a small buck. I signal to Dave to go in and give him a crack at it. I crept down the trail a little further quietly hoping to push the deer back Daves direction. I get around a small bend and stop and wait. A moment later I hear his bow let loose and hear an arrow twang off a couple rocks. I gotta give Dave a big congrats just getting a coues buck in bow range! An accomplishment in itself, especially on a 1st time bow & coues hunt! Well, as the twang from his arrow hitting the rock quiets I see the buck duck behind some cover...almost crouching to hide from Dave. I drew back but didn't feel comfy with the shot and angle. I took one long step left and had him at 30 yards quartering away from me. Perfect. The buck was still focused in Dave's direction. As the buck looks back towards where Dave was I drew my bow back. Now I have missed archery opportunities in the past by rushing the shot or not taking my time to find a good angle ( like twig free ). This time I took a deep breath, settled my 30yd pin on the vitals and touched off my release. I saw the fletching disappear right where I was aiming! The buck bounded off. I crept up to where the buck was when I took the shot to find a good puddle of foamy blood. I was about to back out and grab Dave to help with the track job when I heard thrashing 35 yds away in a little ravine. I look over to see my 1st archery Coues buck kick one last time and take his final breath. I was so excited I hollard at Dave that I got'em and here he is! Dave rolled up and was just excited as I was. We pounded knuckles and recounted the events that just took place. I went to work gutting him out and Dave went to look around to see if any others were sticking around the area and to see if he locate our arrows. He returns just in time to grab my gear as I shoulder the deer and start the hard yet happy hike to the truck.
Finally back at the truck with my trophy
Being nearly 90 degrees, I had to get him skinned and on ice ASAP. It was 3PM so Dave decided to keep hunting while I ran into town to load up on ice. I met Dave back at our agreed spot and headed back to camp. Dave said he'd chased another small buck, but a doe kept him at bay while the buck slipped away. That's coues deer hunting. We had the next morning to hunt before we had to head back for work. We got up early and went to where we saw the two biggin's the day before. At that same spot we were surrounded by does, but made for some fun trying to see them all and look for antlers. Turned out to be all does. We hunted back up the hills and spooked 1 buck that we couldn't get a real good look at. The day turned hotter than the day before and unfortunately the deer just stopped moving, I'm sure bedded up in the rocks in the shade. We decided it was time to pack it in and head home. I got to know Dave a lot better and what a great and determined guy he is. I will do my best to get him on some deer in the 2nd archery season. I hunt alone so often I was nervous about bringing someone with me, but I gained a great new hunting buddy and built up our friendship even more. I was happy to have him there to share the adventure and we'll be getting into a lot more adventures too. I donated my rifle tag to www.OE4A.org which helps handicapped or impaired youth to go on a mentored hunt with my rifle tag:) Another big plus! What a great time we had and I can't wait to try it again!
Summer seems to drag on and on if you don't take time to enjoy it. My family has been going to Almont, Colorado nearly every year for the past 15 years to escape the heat of the Sonoran Sun. Almont, CO is the perfect destination for our vacation as it provides access to some of the best fly fishing in the west. The Taylor River and East River combine to create the mighty Gunnison River in Almont. In every direction from that point, an opportunity lurks for a fly to be gently presented to a sly trout. The shops in Crested Butte and the smaller towns in the surrounding area are always fun to pick through as well. The Rocky Mountains provide a picture perfect backdrop for our summer reprieve.
This year was dear to my heart because I brought someone with me who was also very dear to my heart, my sweetheart Alyson. Alyson and I left Phoenix around 10pm and drove through the night arriving in Almont just as the sun started to burn into the shadows of the tall mountains. We were some of the first of the family to arrive. Of course, the first thing on my mind was gettin' a fly rod rigged and wading into cold river water. So that's exactly what I did. My excuse for doing so was to show Alyson fly casting techniques. Alyson is not only beautiful, but smart as well, knew that I really just needed a fly fishing fix;) Within ten minutes I had hooked a nice Brown Trout on a dry fly! The rest of the week we had family from cousins to grandparents stopping by to share a few days in the awesome country side. We do an annual trip to small towns like Tin Cup and Pitkin which take you up over Cumberland Pass. There are beaver ponds and small creeks to fish all along the way. We stopped at one small pond near Pitkin where Alyson worked on her casting ability. The trout were there, but were being picky eaters. I managed to pull off a disappearing act as I slipped off a beaver lodge and into the pond. I sunk so deep I could have checked the lodge for inhabitants! Fortunately, my sweetheart was on the other side and didn't get the chance to watch me flounder for my footing as my hat tried to float away! Alyson and I took one afternoon and hiked up to what we call "The Big Beaver Pond". The pond is in a nook between mountains and is home to alot of high country Brook Trout. I packed a camp chair for Alyson and she read her magazines and soaked up the beautiful scenery around us while I tried to fool a few Brookies. Pretty soon, I'm sure, Alyson wasn't reading her magazines anymore, but was probably more entertained at my frustration as I missed a strike at my dry fly now and again. Our trip to the Big Beaver Pond was short lived as a typical afternoon thunderstorm moved in and we made our hike back down. We had a family night with a fantastic dinner and cousins and grandparents getting involved in some goofy games.
Alyson working on her casting:)
My Dad and I slipped away one afternoon while the girls shopped in Crested Butte to fish Brush Creek. It was an awesome afternoon with a mixed bag of Brookies, Browns, Bows, and a nice Colorado Cutthroat thrown into the mix. The sky was blue and the trout were cooperative making for a great time alone with my dad. The nights were cold and the crisp mornings were perfect for an early jog. One morning escape brought me close to a small group of Bighorn rams grazing by the Taylor River.
Our time in Colorado never seems long enough and the days began to wind down. When it came time to leave Almont, Alyson and I decided to drive through Ouray, Silverton, and a couple other small mining towns. We stopped and shopped a little in each and checked out the mining museum in Silverton. Really I think we were just enjoying each others company and delaying our return. We spent the night in Flagstaff and drove into Oak Creek Canyon the next morning. Alyson had hooked one trout with the fly rod in Colorado, but I decided to take her to the Oak Creek Trout Farm to watch her catch a few fish for the frying pan at home.
After my sweetheart caught 4 fat Rainbow Trout for dinner that night, we headed into Sedona for brunch before our drive home. We sat on the porch of one of the cafes and looked over the red rock terrain as we ate. On the drive home, I thought about all the previous years I had been to Colorado. This year burned a special spot in my heart because Alyson was there to join me. The beauty of the Rocky Mountains will leave you speechless, adding my sweet Alyson in the picture was absolutely breathtaking. We learned more about each other on this trip and grew closer because of it. I believe my family saw how important she was to me as well. An Outdoorsman can be hard to understand. I think I've finally found a woman who understands me ( or tolerate might be a more appropriate word! ). It was a great summer vacation and I look forward to our return.
We spent one evening at the Cattlemen's Rodeo in Gunnison
"Some people focus like a magnifying glass - focus all the light in one spot. Others diffuse that energy in different directions. That's just a matter of individual choice. It's been my observation that people who focus all or most of their energy in one spot, like a magnifying glass, burn up the spot." - Chuck Adams
"Yep, I am completely crazy.", I thought to myself...or muttered quietly. I was so exhausted as I picked my way through the shin daggers and hillside scree in the predawn darkness, I couldn't tell. This was my fifth morning in the Chiricahua Mountains.
My father and I were able to pick up a couple coues deer tags leftover from the big game draw after we were unsuccessful on the first draw pass. We drew unit 29 which is located in South Eastern Arizona and encompasses the Chiricahua Mountain range. I had seen pictures and read stories of hunting in the Chiricahuas and was excited to hunt the area myself. Now that I had a rifle tag, I decided to spend a few days during the early bow season in the unit to bow hunt and scout the area for our rifle hunt ( refer to "2011 Early Bow Season:Part 1" ). I spent a few warm days chasing a few deer, exploring, and getting to know the trails a little better. I saw a couple of bucks, but their shy nature kept them far from the business end of my arrow. I also saw three bears during this trip, which instigated a return trip to bear hunt and scout for a few more days( refer to "2011 Fall Bear Hunt: Back to the Chiricahuas" ). I spent five days hunting hard for a bear to no avail. In the Sky Islands of Arizona, animals can change habitat by moving up or down in elevation, which makes it very difficult to pattern animal movements. The unforgiving terrain and unpredictable weather also compounds the level of difficulty when hunting in the Chiricahuas. But after these two trips, I felt I had a good idea of where to concentrate our efforts when our rifle hunt came.
Opening day of our hunt was November 25th, the day after Thanksgiving. The hunting grounds are a six hour drive from home, so I had my truck loaded and ready to roll right after a wonderful Thanksgiving meal provided by my lovely mother. Dad warned me of a storm front that would be rolling through the Chrircahuas that night and said he would meet me down there the next day. He's a smart man. I drove six hours and set up camp in a down pour at 8:PM in order to be at a prime glassing spot at the break of dawn opening morning.
Opening day finally arrived after a fairly sleepless night listening to the rain beat down on the tent. I followed a ridge line out to a steep hill in an early morning drizzle. As I crept along the ridge a deer jumped a barbed wire fence line to my right. The deer was there and gone in the blink of an eye. I followed for a short distance and gained elevation, hoping to spot the deer as it came out of the oak-choked ravine. The deer vanished as they often do. I spent the rest of the day hunting the steep ravines and the high saddles, hoping to catch a buck switching bedding sights. Dad arrived and radioed around noon and said he would post up and glass an open area I had spotted a couple of bucks feeding in during my bear hunt. After scouring the hillsides and hiking into some rough and steep draws, no other deer exposed themselves. This was discouraging. I had consistently spotted deer in this area during both of my previous trips. Still, I wasn't too concerned as it was only opening day.
The next day we returned to the same general area. Dad and I each found high points to survey the terrain below for likely coues deer hideouts. I would hike up to a tall ridge or saddle and sit and pick the hillsides apart with my binoculars. After glassing for 30-45 mins, I would climb to the next ridge and repeat the process. It takes a lot of patience and eye strain to spot these little deer. I spotted two does that morning. One doe I spotted as she hopped a fence line. I would have never have seen her if she had not moved. After catching my eye as she jumped the fence, I raised my binoculars to get a better look. I knew the general spot where she was, but could not find the deer in my binos. As I lowered my binoculars, I saw the tiny deer jump back over the fence and tried to acquire it again. Once again, the ability of this deer to disappear right in front of your eyes was demonstrated to me. After only seeing the two does, Dad and I agreed to move to another area I had seen some deer in. We enjoyed a quick lunch at camp and made the short drive to the new spot. We started hiking up and in to the hills. The hills screamed of coues deer habitat with Oak and Juniper trees spaced evenly on the hilltops and becoming increasingly close together as they descend into the draws and ravines. In between the trees, plains grass, ranging from knee to chest height, would easily conceal the dog-sized deer. I climbed into a high saddle and glassed for the rest of the evening hours. I didn't spot any deer moving. Dad had spotted one doe as she crept out of her bedding area. Dad watched the deer walk within 50 yds of my position. I never knew the deer was even there. Another example of the coues deers' wraith like nature.
The following day we decided to check out a particular canyon that was rumored to receive less hunting pressure and held good numbers of deer. As we drove into the canyon, we discovered that we were all alone in there. There are two thought lines when a hunter encounters this; 1.) "We're all alone in here. The deer probably haven't been pressured....I bet we see a fair amount of game." 2.) "We're all alone in here. Do all the other hunters know something I don't?...I bet the deer moved out of the area." I try to remain optimistic in these circumstances. If you think too hard on an area, you'll never hike in with confidence. You need that confidence to be ready if an animal presents itself to make a snappy shot if required. If you do not believe in the area you're hunting, you'll find yourself walking along noisily and your weapon anything but ready. I always try to convince myself that my shot may be right around this next bend in the trail or just over this next ridge. Dad and I hiked into two promising looking side canyons. The views inside these canyons were spectacular! Large monoliths hung precariously from the steep hillsides above us. Game trails criss-crossed the hills. The wash and creek beds were filled with thick stands of oak trees and scrub brush. Bear sign was quite prolific in the creek beds. We spent the rest of the day far back in a canyon we had followed a creek bed into. We watched the hills around us as the shadows grew longer and longer while the sun made it's daily trek across the sky. The deer eluded us again.
At this point frustration was taking a firm hold of me. After spending another fruitless and exhausting day ( most of it hiking ) deep in the back country, I was down right baffled and a little angry when we got back to the truck. How could I put so much time, so much effort into this hunt and not see deer? All of these spots I had been seeing deer in just a few weeks earlier. I have pushed myself up and over hill after craggly hill, glassed until my head aches, and risen everyday before dawn. I have scoured the maps, double checked my gear, and put the boots to dirt. What more could I possibly do?
We returned to camp wore out. We were drained physically and mentally. Dad was feeling a little under the weather and had business to attend and opted to head back home that night. I was saddened to watch my dad drive into the darkness. I was really hoping that this would be OUR year... Our year to put a couple of nice bucks on the ground as a father and son hunting duo. I thought with the scouting and time I spent in the field, we had a good chance of getting it done. I sat by the fire alone, trying to read a book about Chuck Adams but mostly just staring in the twisting flames. I have been here before. I think every true hunter has been here many times. I examine every angle of my hunting strategy in my mind. Then my thoughts slowly drift to past hunting and fishing trips. I remember killing my first coues buck. I remember backpacking into Slough Creek in Yellowstone and hearing a wolf howl late at night. I remember watching a massive bull elk punish a small tree with his huge antlers just before I killed my first cow elk. I remember walking behind my dad with a pop-gun in my small hands next to some citrus orchards on my first dove hunt. These memories seem lubricated by the wilderness, as they easily glide back into my minds eye in detail.
I slept deep that night. I woke with traces of some dream hunting adventure still smoldering. During the night, in my hunting dreams, I must have been chasing coues deer because my sleeping bag was tied in a firm knot all around me! After freeing myself from my sleeping bag and hiking a good mile and a half before the sun rise, I found myself atop another great vantage point. I watched the sun crest the mountains in front of me. As the sun rose so did my spirits. I can't fully explain this attitude change. Perhaps I just needed to get a better grasp on why exactly I do this (hike for miles, camp for days, sleep very little, etc.). Maybe staring into the camp fire light the night before kept me warm with the embrace of the memories of past hunting adventures. I can't say for sure, but it happens to me most times when I find myself alone in the quiet woods.
Over the next two days I hunted hard. I decided I would check out a few more unexplored areas and different elevations. I packed up camp and moved to the North side of the Chiricahua range. I followed several very scenic trails that took me high up into the snowy peaks. Some canyons I weaseled my way into were so green and foliage strangled, you would think you were in an old growth forest in the Pacific Northwest. The deer remained concealed.
My last afternoon, as I hiked back out towards my truck to start the long drive home, I spotted a few coues deer does feeding on a hillside. They knew I was there but continued to feed unabashedly.
I watched the tiny deer graze until the orange orb in the sky was subdued by the weight of the stars. I've been told by friends that I'm an intense person. I agree with this. I am an intense person. I try to focus my passion into what makes me happy. The outdoors have always been a subject of intense focus for me. I enjoy the reminder that I am but a very, very small part of this world. This fact was lost on me at the beginning of the hunt I suppose. We try to personify Mother Nature, but in truth, the wilderness is wild. That fact is why I love it so much. We become so comfortable in our lives we lose touch with our instinct and adaptive nature. I enjoy comfort as much as anyone, but I never want to lose a more primitive connection with the outdoors. It's like having my soul cleansed, removing the dirt and grime of our hectic lifestyles. As I sat and watched the coues deer graze, I started to realize that maybe a big buck was not what I was hunting for. I feel clean.
Authors Note: It's funny how a Dad knows how to say the right thing at the right moment usually. Before my dad began the drive back to Phoenix, he left me with a few words of encouragement along the lines of: "Son, you have the determination to keep at it. You keep goin' and sooner or later the 'big one' is gonna make a mistake. Besides, it isn't about killing." I think most hunters are familiar with the ol' "It ain't about the kill" phrase, but there is no simple statement more true. Thank you Dad for reminding me. I would not be so close to the outdoors without my father and, in turn, the outdoors bring me closer to him.
I don't believe a day goes by that my thoughts do not inevitably drift towards the outdoors. My boss knows when hunting season nears by the glazed look on my face and hands behind my head as I day dream of slowly making a stalk on a buck I had missed on a previous hunt. In my day dreams, I make a fantastic shot and anchor that beast of a buck. Well, after returning from a great archery deer hunt in the Chiricahuas ( with tag still in pocket ), I was finding it hard to shake the desire to get back out there. During my bow hunt I saw three black bears! Of course, bear season would not open for another month. So, after actually seeing bears and lots of bear sign, I decided to dedicate a week to trying to hunt down a bear in the Chiricahuas. Also, this providing me with another opportunity to scout the unit a little more for my up coming rifle coues deer hunt. I was glad that my dad had decided to join me for the first weekend. I do believe he was fired up and anxious to check out the Chiricahuas after I returned with some awesome pictures and video from my archery hunt. Dad and I left the afternoon before opening day and arrived at Herb Martyr campsite, where we set up camp in the growing darkness. I found it hard to nod off for the night. I was awake, anticipating the breaking of dawn on opening day. I had seen only a hand full of bears in the wild and I actually felt like I had a chance to take an Arizona bruin from this area. We woke opening morning to the chill of the crisp, fall mountain air. We decided that we would hike to the base of the peaks to the NW of us, where I had seen a bear a month earlier. As is typical in coues country, the going became very strenuous, very fast. We trudged about half way up a mountain and split up to glass from different vantage points. We saw several coues deer and heard a hound on the trail of a bear or lion, but no bears revealed themselves. We returned to camp for lunch and spent the afternoon exploring a couple more areas that I had not been able to access due to road closures during the bow season. We returned to camp exhausted, as expected when hunting Southern Arizona, that evening and had no trouble falling asleep.
A big Coues buck I'd like to find during rifle season
Bear fur on a popular scratching post
We rose early again the next morning set out on a trail to the west of our camp. We hiked for about 5 miles and came to a beautiful draw with an open hillside that would be ideal for glassing. Dad and I separated to glass both up and down the draw. As I began to glass, I focused my Vortex binos on a big black spot I noticed with my naked eye. It looked like a big black stump, which were prevalent after the Horseshoe II fire had burned most of the Coronado National Forest. But, then I saw the stump move forward. I immediately came to the conclusion that it was a bear...and a big one at that! I raced to grab my dads attention. We returned to the spot I had glassed the bear up from and tried to spot him again. In the excitement of spotting what looked like a big bear, I failed to take note of landmarks around it to make relocation easier. I briefly glassed the area and determined that he had gone over the ridge or was behind some foliage. We decided that Dad would stay and glass the hillside while I dropped down and up the other side to hopefully find the bear again and put him to the dirt. As I crested the ridge, out of breath and legs burning with lactic acid. I saw three coues deer bolt down the draw. I was discouraged knowing that if the deer were alerted to my presence, the bear was too. I stalked through the oaks and junipers for a little longer wondering if it had in fact even been a bear I had seen. After lunch at camp, we returned to the draw in hopes of spotting a bear on the hill side again. A short sit later, the skies turned threatening and the crack of thunder encouraged us to retire back to camp for the evening. The next morning, Dad was only able to hunt til about noon before he would have to hit the road and head back home. We decided to check out a canyon I had heard good things about through some of my online hunting buddies. We walked into the canyon system and began scanning the canyon sides with our binos for anything that resembled a bear. This proved to be quite frustrating as just about every stump, rock in the shade, or pile of rubble began to look like bears! At one point I was absolutely certain I had spotted a bear about 1/4 mile straight up a mountain. Fortunately my dad, ever so patient, continued to glass the spot, as I bounded towards the base of the mountain. After more review, the bear I just about climbed a wickedly steep mountain side after, turned out to be a burned up Yucca plant. Thank heavens for my dad's patience...and Swarovski binoculars. The canyon revealed nothing but a few deer tracks and some border patrol agents. At camp, we said our goodbyes and I promised to check in as often as I could while I stayed and hunted the next three days alone. A quiet evening on a distant hill provided a beautiful sunset and a few coues deer does, but no black bears. The next day I hunted a saddle I had spotted a couple coues deer bucks feeding near on a previous evening in hopes of, not only seeing a bear, but to see if the bucks were using the area regularly. I saw a few more deer but couldn't determine if they were bucks or not. That afternoon I drove to a cemetery a few miles to east of the saddle to hike in from a different direction, for a different view. As I made ready my gear, I heard foot steps coming my direction. Being the savvy Southern Arizona hunter I am (...try to be), I immediately dropped my right hand to the grip of my .357 mag "Big Medicine". From past experiences, I was not surprised when a line of illegal aliens walked out from the tree line 25 yards from me. The lead smuggler spotted me has he turned to the man behind him. The group of illegal border jumpers froze as we cautiously stared at each other. With my brows heavy and my hand never leaving my unbuttoned holster, I hollered a single order "Vamanos!". The group took off and I quickly put my gear back in the truck and drove to another spot, grinding my teeth with frustration and anger after once again having one of my hunting spots spoiled by the threat of the illegal desert walkers. I returned to the side of the saddle I had hunted that morning and glassed the valley below until dark. As I hiked out I spotted two great looking bucks feeding about a 150 yds away. I was able to snap a couple of pictures which made the evening a success in my book. As I was sitting by the fire at camp, dozing a little as I looked up at the clear night sky, a truck rolled up to the trail head above my camp. The doors closed and I heard no voices which made me a little nervous after the days events. I saw two headlamps moving in the dark woods, making their way towards my camp. I stood and walked outside the fire light and waited. As I saw 2 men slowly creep out from the trees I said "Speak English!". The 2 men turned out to be border patrol agents checking campsites. We all had a little chuckle. After I informed them of my run in with the illegals that morning, they understood why I was so nervy as they approached my camp. They took GPS coordinates that I had saved after the encounter and even looked at the soles of my boots so they could follow where I had been. They thanked me for the information, wished me luck hunting and headed out. After several years hunting down south, I've gained new respect for our border patrol agents. Those men and women are constantly in the some of the toughest and most rugged terrain our state has to offer. My hat's off to them.
The next day I hunted through rain and howling wind which kept most of the wildlife hunkered down (I'm not that smart). After a cold discouraging day, I moved camp over the mountain pass so I could spend my last day hunting and scouting the other side of the Chiricahuas. As the sun rose the next morning I was already on my way up the mountain...and up and up and up. After a ferocious up hill trek, I came to a gorgeous green mountain side with a great view to glass from. This would be my last day to hunt. I glassed hard for hours until my eyes felt like they would pop out of my head and, once again, the afternoon monsoons returned and chased me off the mountain. I ended the 2011 fall bear season with my tag left useless and unfilled. As hunters we say "we filled our tag" if we were able to harvest our pursued animal. After hunting in Arizona for years I feel as though whether I return with a cooler full of meat or not, my tag is always "filled" with the memories of the hunt and the special people I spend time in the outdoors with.
After returning to work for another week, I planned another quick trip to get a couple more days of bow hunting in before the season ended. I planned to hunt near one of my favorite fly fishing spots, Canyon Creek. If the deer were not cooperating, maybe I could entice a trout up to a dry fly. I left early Monday morning and had to return to work Wednesday, so it would be a quick overnight trip. As I was driving the last 1/2 mile stretch into the canyon, a velvet fork-horn Mulie buck jumped the road right in front of my truck. The canyon road is steep with few pull outs, so I hastily continued the last 1/2 mile and set up camp. After quickly throwing up my tent and chucking my bags into it, I climbed a ridge near the ravine the fork-horn had bounded in to. I found a high vantage point and picked apart the small canyon below with my binoculars, looking for any sign of the little buck. I glassed for a couple of hours without spotting the buck or any more deer. I climbed down from my vantage point and drove towards Canyon Creek to look around. I parked near a familiar spot at the creek and started hiking up the west side of the canyon. The Rodeo-Chediski fire had burned much of the area a few years before and now clearings with new growth are interlaced within strips of old growth. I hugged the edges of the clearings, remaining in the shadows as much as possible. At each little saddle I stopped and glassed hoping to spot a buck bedded down, escaping the warm mid day sun. After hiking for a couple of hours I reached the top of the mountain and found a nice point to view the surroundings from. I sat and started checking the hills and clearings below me with my binoculars. It wasn't long before I spotted a small herd of about a dozen elk grazing just below me. I followed their lead and ate my unrecognizably smashed sandwich. I glassed for a while longer then decided to move to the other side of the mountain. From the top of the mountain I could see a water hole just at the edge of a clearing below. As I checked out the meadow with my binos, a loud, throaty bugle echoed through the valley. I looked across to the next ridge and saw a huge bull elk. The bull bugled once again as I admired his massive set of antlers though my binoculars. Another distant bull responded half heartily to the big boys bugle. I watched and listened to the bull for about an hour and decided to stick around and see if any deer would come towards the waterhole. As I was working my way closer to the waterhole, I heard a cow elk call. I stopped and heard the elk calling and moving closer. I knew the elk were probably heading towards the water, so I got down wind of where I thought they might come through. As I ducked behind some brush, a cow elk cautiously walked out to the waterhole. Two feisty fawns came trotting into the waterhole after an undetectable "all-clear" sign from Momma elk. I watched the elk graze and play until it was time to meander back to camp. My father and brother-in-law, Tony, met me at camp. They planned on fishing Canyon Creek while I hunted and I would join them on the water if time permitted. I love sitting fireside with my family, my dad in particular. It brings back memories of camping trips long since past. My dad and I would inevitably talk about fantasy hunting and fly fishing trips or about how the new gear is awesome but with an un-awesome price tag. As is usually the case, I was beat down from hiking uphill all day and it didn't take me long to drift off to sleep that night. I rose just before the sun the next morning and went back to the canyon side I hunted the evening before. As I crept through the tall ponderosas I scanned the dark forest around me. I heard small twigs break ahead of me and a quiet foot fall. I raised my binoculars and caught sight of a line of elk walking down the mountain side with a nice 5x5 bull bringing up the tail end. I quietly enjoyed watching the elk make their way to the bedding grounds. I crested the top of the mountain about an hour and half later and spent the morning watching elk move through the hills and glassing the surrounding gullies. No deer decided to show themselves, though I'm sure there were a few in the area. I climbed out and met Dad and Tony for lunch. Dad and Tony were heading back home after lunch and a little more fly fishing. I would hunt the rest of the day and head home that evening. I decided to hike a trail to the Southwest of where we had camped. I packed up camp so I wouldn't have to mess with it after hiking out. As I started hiking in I immediately spotted a doe mule deer. The doe was alone, so I slowly moved on. I didn't see anymore deer but thoroughly enjoyed my hike through the quiet, cool forest. During the drive home, I wished I didn't have to return to the bonds of the cities daily grind. The beautiful thing about the outdoors is that I always return home with great memories, usually a cool story or two, and always a longing to return as soon as possible. Now I long for November, when I can once again scrub the stress of the city off my sleeves as I squeeze between the trees and shrubs of our wild Arizona.
As we hike up to the top of a group of small hills with lots of cover I jumped a small buck. I signal to Dave to go in and give him a crack at it. I crept down the trail a little further quietly hoping to push the deer back Daves direction. I get around a small bend and stop and wait. A moment later I hear his bow let loose and hear an arrow twang off a couple rocks. I gotta give Dave a big congrats just getting a coues buck in bow range! An accomplishment in itself, especially on a 1st time bow & coues hunt! Well, as the twang from his arrow hitting the rock quiets I see the buck duck behind some cover...almost crouching to hide from Dave. I drew back but didn't feel comfy with the shot and angle. I took one long step left and had him at 30 yards quartering away from me. Perfect. The buck was still focused in Dave's direction. As the buck looks back towards where Dave was I drew my bow back. Now I have missed archery opportunities in the past by rushing the shot or not taking my time to find a good angle ( like twig free ). This time I took a deep breath, settled my 30yd pin on the vitals and touched off my release. I saw the fletching disappear right where I was aiming! The buck bounded off. I crept up to where the buck was when I took the shot to find a good puddle of foamy blood. I was about to back out and grab Dave to help with the track job when I heard thrashing 35 yds away in a little ravine. I look over to see my 1st archery Coues buck kick one last time and take his final breath. I was so excited I hollard at Dave that I got'em and here he is! Dave rolled up and was just excited as I was. We pounded knuckles and recounted the events that just took place. I went to work gutting him out and Dave went to look around to see if any others were sticking around the area and to see if he locate our arrows. He returns just in time to grab my gear as I shoulder the deer and start the hard yet happy hike to the truck. 
