Riches of the Rio Blanco
(A Member Story)
by: Timothy Baugh
Now days, it is a thrill and a privilege to hunt one of the few and limited areas across the handful of western states made famous by mule deer. What comes to mind is the state of Colorado where big mule deer are known to be found. It is a fact that many of the best specimens in the country have been tagged year after year in the Centennial State. And although mule deer numbers have diminished and record book bucks are about as rare as hens’ teeth, the hunting experience is none the less rewarding for the hunter who can find satisfaction in a quality hunt for a mature buck.
It was late in the year, usually the best time for hunting bucks. However, this year was exceptionally different from years past. Some of Colorado’s best and most famous mule deer haunts received a generous amount of rain in the summer months and then had sustaining late rains as the early fall months arrived. Moisture on the landscape is clearly the game changer when it comes to a quality big game hunt and it seemed that favorable conditions were on my side.
For me, a late season hunt with mild temperatures and a landscape of green is unheard of. But that is exactly what I experienced for a week straight. Yes, there was rain and drizzle, from time to time, but that only caused a little bit of inconvenience and some pretty nasty road conditions for a few days. Who ever heard of hunting deer in November with nothing more than a T-shirt on and still glassing up bucks every day?
Encounters with some pretty nice deer made for a great hunt, but I’ll not lie; I was looking for a good one like many of us who travel out of state to hunt; which brings me to the day before the season opened. A dandy, mature, trashy buck crossed out in front of the pickup at mid-day pushing a few does. They were heading west towards wintering grounds and how far they were going to travel was anybody’s guess.
I did not follow them or even leave the vehicle, but on opening morning before daylight, I sneaked up to a glassing point overlooking the terrain they were heading towards the day prior. I spent six hours glassing and waiting and changing positions hoping he’d show. Well, big bucks get big by not making mistakes and his calendar said “season open.” My nephew did get a picture of him moving into the trees the previous day however, so at least I have that to refresh my memory in the years to come. It was a bitter-sweet ending to a chance meeting with one very impressive mule deer.
The country I hunted has been inundated over recent years by one wildfire after another, but to suggest this a bad thing is incorrect. In fact, (based on my observations) the deer herd seems to be thriving compared to years past. Giant mature bucks are obviously at a premium and I didn’t see one during my hunt other than one dead in the back of a pickup. A very touching story ensued as I stopped to talk with a man, his wife and a friend.
“You guys been doing any good? I asked.
They said yes and in fact they had a heck of a buck in the back of their pickup. The story was that the hunter, Mike, had traveled to the mountain I was hunting to spread his dad’s ashes after losing him just recently. Turns out the mountain we hunted was his dad’s favorite place on earth and I could see why. After spreading the ashes, he and his hunting friend decided to make a little push through the thick brush on the flat-top mountain.
While doing so, this incredible old buck stood up out of his bed and offered a shot at sixty yards. The man took him with one clean shot to the neck then shortly after, nearly fell apart emotionally just thinking about the thought of his dad having a hand in his good fortune. The buck was a giant two point on each side with a little kicker making him technically a 3×2. Overall, he was a beast; old and gnarley, with heavy antlers I could barely wrap my hands around at the bases. And with a 28-inch spread, he was a spectacle for sure. Unfortunately, I had Mike in tears once again just telling me the story before he headed down the mountain.
An early morning still-hunt down a burned-out slope to a hidden spring occupied most of the day after the opener. My son Jason had discovered the place a couple of years back and encouraged me to sneak down into the hole and sit for a while which I did. By the time I worked my way back up the steep burn hunting small ridges and draws, there were several orange clad hunters gathered up on a high spot below the road hoping I’d push out something good. A father and son caught up with me later in the day and confirmed that I had in fact, got a pretty good buck up that moved out ahead of me, but just too far off for a shot.
The three burns I concentrated on offered diverse habitat and interestingly, the oldest burn, (nearly fifteen years old), transitioned into a burn about five years old and then to an intersecting burn that occurred just months ago exposing landscape that seemed to attract deer in numbers. The two highest landmarks remained in part unburned and still held old growth, black timber on the northern exposures. Day after day I delt with the temptation of shooting a buck including an impressively wide four-point that was young and spindly. “Let him grow,” I told myself. He’ll really be a good one in a couple of years. I just hoped I wouldn’t end up regretting my decision to pass on him.
Then after hunting for a week from dark to dark and with the season winding down, I was rounding a familiar mountain when just a sliver of an image caught my eye. On a rise that faded away on the horizon, I thought I glimpsed a set of ears disappearing from the blue sky out front. Bucks were getting interested in the does so I turned my attention to an old oil company, brushed-in, right-of-way on the lower edge of a steep sided mountain below the summit and immediately picked up the sight of a mature buck moving out of the thick cover at about two hundred yards distance.
My initial reaction was that it was a buck I’d like to have, but with him moving away I had to hurry to try and get a good look and a clear shot with my sticks. A very large bodied, mature, mule deer buck working his way up a brush line slowly with his beautiful mahogany-colored antlers tipping side to side is hard for me to pass on. In addition, he was moving away giving me a view from the rear and that always looks pretty good to a hunter.
I had to make a quick decision. I’d passed on a handful of pretty nice bucks in the time I’d hunted already and this guy was probably the best one I’d seen. So, kneeling behind the shooting sticks with my rifle cradled solidly, I found the buck in my scope then released the safety and waited for a shot which he gave me by quartering a look back for just an instant. Well, there was no more time for contemplating. I held steady and took the shot.
The hunt ended right then and there with a nice four-point on the ground. The buck was killed on the same mountain and not more than a thousand yards from where I took one many years ago. Ironically, the Mule Deer Foundation published that story (Jan/Feb 2013) titled “The Bucks of Burnt Mountain.” From the favorable weather conditions, to the people I met, to the animals spotted, it was truly a great hunt especially for a man whose younger days have now come and gone.
Thanks for reading
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