The Brother’s Buck

The Brother’s Buck
By Mark Newell

The day was April 28th, 2007. My fiancée, Kandace, and I were headed out to scour the red rock, juniper-covered hills for horn once again. Shed season was winding down and I didn’t think that it was likely that we would find much. We headed to a secret canyon where in the previous two years I had found a 34-inch 8×7 set and a 40-inch 10×9 monster set - both sets were from the same buck on the same ridge. Kandace and I arrived at the secret canyon, packed our gear and took off. As I rounded a large, wet sagebrush I spotted the largest non-typical brown shed antler I have ever laid eyes on just fifty feet from our truck. I was like a young boy given his first Red Ryder BB gun! I was jumping up and down and just marveling at what had been left before me. As I reached down and picked the nine-point hog up, I knew deep inside that there was something special about this buck. If I had only known what was to follow that next year. (And yes, I scoured the hills over two dozen times looking for the other side, but to no avail - it was nowhere to be found.)

On the day of the Colorado draw, my stomach was full of butterflies. When I went to the Colorado draw results, I saw right there, in bold lettering, that not only had I drawn a coveted mule deer tag, but my father had as well. Who better to share my hunt with than the very man who had instilled the mulie madness in my soul? I was so ecstatic that I would finally have a chance at these awesome mulies that I had been filming and finding sheds from in the previous year.

After a long summer, it was finally November. My dad took a beautiful buck the last day of his hunt, and headed back to the high country. I was left to wait for my brother Wes to drive down from Jackson Hole to help me out with my hunt. Kandace, my hunting partner, Cliff, Wes and I had been hitting the hills hard over the past few months in search of the dream buck we all so yearn to harvest. Opening day came and with our hunting beards full, we were off to our honey holes in search of a bruiser. Daylight came and, to our horror, it revealed a buck that any hunter would be proud to hang on the wall. The buck was a solid 185-typical with lots of mass, but as I stood motionless watching this buck at a mere thirty yards, the echoes of my father rung in my ear, “Don’t shoot the first one you see, you can’t kill the big boys by gutting out the small ones,” and that was that. We watched the buck amble out of sight and melt into the junipers. Wow, what a spectacular deer, but not the one that I was there to take. We took off and began glassing and stalking in every little coulee we could find. At around noon, we had seen somewhere between twenty to thirty bucks, but none that was the one.

After lunch, it occurred to me that we still hadn’t hunted the secret valley where I had found the big brown shed. We arrived at the secret valley around 12:30 and met my friend Jim there, as well as his girlfriend Berta. Jim had a bull elk tag and had come along in case we pushed some out. Jim and Berta sat on a rock on the point of the canyon while and Wes and I began an old school silent drive to see if a good buck would show himself. We started off slowly while scanning the terrain in front of us; we were careful not to spook animals. After making it back into the canyon approximately half a mile, we looped around and started back to Jim. Before we headed back, I stopped Wes and told him to be on the lookout for the other side to the big non-typical shed. We continued our drive and came to a little ravine with a small water hole and an open sagebrush draw. I was about ten feet from the opening of this ravine when I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. I quickly threw my Swarovski’s up to my face and saw two does looking over their shoulder. The rut was in full swing, so I slowly scanned from side to side. Suddenly, to the left of the does, I saw a sight that I’ll never forget. There stood the monarch of my dreams and, in an instant, buck fever took over my whole body like a wildfire in a windstorm. Luckily, a little Marine Corps discipline kicked in and before the buck could bolt to the safety of the shadowy cedars my 300 Ultra Mag broke the silence of the desolate canyon. I watched as the whole impact of the bullet met its mark in the buck’s front shoulder and rippled with power. The buck instantly started to trot towards a 75-yard opening. When he entered the opening, the rifle in my hands kicked as the buck took another well-placed round to his vitals. The buck began to stagger, still trying to fight his way to his does, as he went down. The next ten minutes were a part of my life that I will cherish for eternity. As Wes and I walked up to the fallen monarch, I felt a great compassion for the majestic creature I was blessed to receive. We broke out into a war cry dance and had huge smiles on our faces as we looked over the brother’s buck.

The following day, Wes and I went back to the canyon and looked thoroughly for the remaining side to the shed, but we just couldn’t locate it. We packed up our gear and headed down the road. Snow was in the air and it would be our last trip shed hunting. We had gone about a mile down the road when, for reasons I just can’t explain, I pulled the truck to a stop and looked at Wes. I told him that I didn’t know exactly why, but I felt that we should stop and look for the shed here for a few minutes. We had only gone fifteen feet from the truck when Wes yelled, “Look, a four-point shed!” But, when he reached down to pick it up from behind the bush it was lying in, he lifted up the massive twelve-point match of the brother buck we had so diligently looked for for nine months.

It was an unforgettable season to say the least. I had shot my buck fifty feet from where I had found that first shed horn that had started this addiction.
The Brother’s Buck scored 244 B&C with an 11×8 frame and a 34-inch outside spread. It was not the world record, but a dream come true and the buck of a lifetime.

Thanks to Rocky Mountain Taxidermy out of Alpine Wyoming ran by Dave Christie for his great work

Related articles

• Sound Off: The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly (0)
• Single Shot at Woolsey Peak (0)
• Shooting: The .300 Winchester Magnum (0)
• Predators: The Will to Protect (0)
• Nuge Factor: Deer Hunting Fatigue (0)