When news of the Washington special draw was finalized, I was eager to check the results. I had been putting in for the same deer tag for 15 years, and was ready to be hit with the annual wave of disappointment that sets in when you see “not selected.” Much to my amazement I saw “selected” next to my first choice! My mind began racing, planning my scouting trips, and researching areas I thought would hold deer. I knew I would see a lot of deer, and I would have to be selective if I wanted to shoot a good buck.
Once summer hit, I spent a few days scouting, but the days were so hot the deer were basically nocturnal, and I didn't see anything that caught my attention. Once September hit, I had a few more scouting opportunities and saw some deer, but the weather was still hot and we were seeing fewer deer than I had hoped. In all of my scouting trips, I never saw a shooter buck which was really discouraging.
The weather leading up to the start of my hunt was still scorching for that time of year. Highs in the 80s and lows in the 60s did not make for great hunting weather. However, as luck would have it, the weather started to turn the day before my tag started. The skies became dark and grey, the temperature dropped, and some precipitation began to fall. It was really feeling like hunting season now.
Hunting and Family have always been synonymous for me, and I was accompanied on this hunt by my Dad and Brother. The first couple of days my Brother-in-Law, Uncle, and Grandpa were there as well. Opening morning was rich with anticipation, because of work and other responsibilities we all got into camp late the night before and spent the evening setting up camp, which meant we didn’t get to try and find some deer for the opener. We had plans to spread out throughout a large chunk of state land and glass as much area as possible. When first light hit, we were all in our spots and deer were popping up left and right. I saw many bucks the first morning, but they were all young bucks, years away from being the type of buck I was looking for. The highlight of the morning was seeing multiple smaller bucks pursuing does, which meant the rut was beginning and hopefully that would help bring the big bucks out of their hiding spots. We reconvened back at camp in the afternoon and made a game plan to see some different areas in the evening.
That evening, I was sitting with my dad and glassing the area around us when my dad saw a buck he thought was a good one. By the time I got my spotter on him, he disappeared behind the sagebrush. The area looked flat, and we figured he would come back out, so our plan was to sit and wait to see him reappear. By the time it was dark, he never reappeared and we weren't able to get a better look, but we knew we needed to be back the next morning to see if we could lay eyes on him.
The next morning, my Dad, Grandpa, Uncle, and I were in the same spot glassing, trying to turn up the buck from the night before. We glassed for a long time, but we never saw him, so around midmorning, I decided to go for a walk to see if I could turn something up. I ended up walking to where my brother had been glassing that morning, and he said he watched a hunter miss a nice buck that morning and he thought the buck was still in the area. That got my heart racing since this was the first good buck any of us had actually seen. I posted up on a different vantage point and scoured the area waiting for him to turn up. We saw a couple of really nice 4x4s, but never saw the buck we were after. Another taste of disappointment for us, and we continued to be amazed at how easily a deer could disappear in an area that appeared so flat.
The next morning, we decided to try a new area that we had heard about. The area was thick with huge sagebrush, but we were tired of sitting and thought a nice long walk would be a good change of pace. We jumped lots of deer, including a couple of nice bucks, but still didn’t see the type of buck we were looking for. We finished walking around with about an hour of light left and decided to hit another area we had wanted to check out for the last bit of the golden hour. We glassed for a while and didn’t see a deer, which was really discouraging so with about fifteen minutes of light left we decided to check another area a half mile away. As soon as we got there, I put the binos up and immediately saw deer. There were five does and one buck, and as soon as the buck picked his head up I immediately knew he was different. My brother bailed out of the truck and set up his spotter and I started trying to find a good rest. I scoured the area for a good spot to lay down, but the sagebrush was tall and the topography didn’t help either. My brother said he was a shooter, but I just couldn’t get steady enough to take a shot. In what felt like an instant, the light faded and it was too dark to see the deer. I had mixed emotions, I was excited that we finally saw a good mature buck, but disappointed that I wasn’t able to find a good rest. We knew where we would be the next morning, and my mind raced all night on what I could have done differently, wondering if I blew my chance.
The next morning we were all up early and excited with anticipation. I went back to the spot I had seen the deer the night before and got all set up, ready for the deer to appear as the light started to fill the sky. I sat all morning, but there wasn’t a deer in sight. I really felt like I had dropped the ball the night before. We headed back to camp for some lunch and to make a game plan for the evening. A buddy came down that afternoon to help out and we were glad to have an extra set of eyes.
We decided we had to go back again and see if we could find the buck we were after. I sat that evening with my Brother, and my Dad and buddy were at a different vantage point to try and cover this small area that we thought held this big buck. The light was waning quickly when my brother excitedly said, “deer!” His next words were even more exciting, “big buck, we gotta go!” There was a canal between us and the deer and we had to drive around it to be able to make a stalk on the buck. We jammed into the truck and parked the truck with about 20 minutes of daylight left. We had to go about a mile to get into shooting range. We lucked out that there was a small hill that gave us cover to get within 400 yards of the deer. We high-tailed it as far as we could while the deer couldn’t see us, then belly crawled to the crest of the hill. At the top, my brother set up the spotter and I tried to get a rest. The deer was bedded down next to a doe, and we knew he hadn’t seen us. There was a small berm in front of us that was blocking my view of the deer. With little light left, we had a choice to make, sit here and wait for the deer to move into a spot I could see them, or quickly sneak to the berm and risk spooking the deer. We decided on the latter and quickly snuck to the berm where I laid down between sagebrush to set up for a prone shot. As we got there, the deer stood up and stared in our direction. My brother whispered, “he’s 200 yards, take him.” I settled into the scope and steadied the crosshairs right behind the shoulder and slowly squeezed the trigger. My .300 Win Mag recoiled into my shoulder and the unmistakable sound of the bullet hitting the deer loudly rang out. The deer reared up like a horse, ran about 100 yards, and piled up. We were ecstatic! The 15-year wait for this tag had paid off and we sat in jubilation as we knew the buck was big. My standard going into the hunt was to harvest a 170” buck and we had far exceeded my expectations. We hustled over to the deer and snapped some pictures before complete darkness set in. After the pack out we returned to camp and celebrated the hunt of my lifetime. The buck was everything I wanted and more, but having my Brother and Dad there was the best part.
