February/March 2008
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Darn it, I didn’t get my first choice tag for our ranch. But, after a few weeks I found out that my uncle and I drew tags for the Hayman burn area. I was excited because my dad drives by that area on his way to and from work every day. He had been telling me about the monster bucks he had been seeing. There was only one problem; we had to wait until the third rifle season.

My dad had been scouting all summer and had seen many nice deer. Some of the deer he had scouted were 30+ inch bucks and one non-typical that looked like a monster buck. Dad followed these bucks up until two weeks before the season. The closer it got to opening day, the less my dad was seeing the deer. The day before the season opener he didn’t see any deer at all.

“Beep, Beep, Beep!!” The alarm went off. My hunting season had finally arrived. I rolled over to my nightstand and silenced the alarm and jumped out of bed. My dad was already up and ready along with my uncle. I grabbed some breakfast and my gear, my gun, knife, camo and, of course, my orange. I ran out to the truck and we were off. It took about 35 minutes, in the dark, to get to our hunting area. We had decided not to go to Dad’s “honey hole” until later. So, in the meantime, we chose to go to a more popular area to see how many hunters were out in the unit. We immediately started seeing deer. Unfortunately, they were only does and small-forked bucks. We didn’t see any of the deer that Dad had scouted all summer long. Around noon, as the temperature began to rise, we returned home for some lunch.

That afternoon we decided to let Dad’s “honey hole” wait a while longer. We went down the road to see if we could hunt another spot. Everywhere we went, there seemed to be hunters. So, we decided to head north in our unit to get away from the crowd of hunters.

When we arrived at our new spot, we hiked across a small creek and back into the burnt timber. We started seeing deer sign immediately. I just knew we were going to find deer this time. As we snuck around the burnt forest making our way up drainages and over ridges, we jumped a 5×5 bull elk but no deer. We watched the elk for a few minutes before he trotted off. Dad decided that this might have spooked the game in the area. So, before the last of the hunting light faded, we went back to the truck and up the road about two miles. As we were driving, my uncle and I spotted a buck on the hillside. Dad pulled over and quickly glassed the buck. Dad said that this was a buck that we just couldn’t pass up. It was heavy, about twenty-six inches wide, and had big deep forks on both sides. I told my uncle that he should get him because he had never killed anything with horns. So, my uncle went alone on his stalk as we sat back and waited. It seemed like several minutes before we heard the big boom that broke the long silence and sent a shiver through the air. He got him! Dad and I got out of the truck and headed over to where we last saw the buck. There was my uncle, smiling and holding his hand up for a high five. The great buck was lying on the ground, a 7×7 giant. We got him dressed out and went home for the night. My uncle was absolutely thrilled; this was a great deer. The excitement in the pick-up on the way home made a perfect ending to a great first day.

Later that night, my dad put a tape on the buck and came up with a 194-inch green score. This was truly a great deer for my uncle’s first.

The next morning my dad and I got up a little late. The Division of Wildlife had the sunrise and sunset chart off by an hour because of the time change. They were also a day off. But, that was just a minor setback – we had the entire day to hunt. So, we headed out and were back at it again. We still wanted to save Dad’s “honey hole,” so we went to a different area and hiked in. We snuck around there for three or four hours looking at sign, glassing, and trying to locate bucks. But, as luck would have it, nothing turned up. Again, for a second day the temperature began to heat up rapidly so we went home for lunch.

When we returned that afternoon, my two little brothers went with us. Dad had decided to hike back into the “honey hole.” Finally! Dad parked the truck, we gathered up our gear and we were off. We crossed the creek and hiked into the mouth of a drainage. As we entered the drainage, we stopped to take a break. Here, Dad gave his instructions on how we were to hunt the “honey hole.” He decided to climb up a small ridge to our right to peek over into the next drainage where he had watched the bucks go all summer. We started up the small ridge, trying to step quietly over the loose gravel under our feet. We carefully stepped over the burnt timber that littered the hillside and were a few steps behind Dad as he reached the top of the ridge first. Dad barely peeked over the ridge when he froze for a moment and excitedly motioned for me to come quickly. There he was, a nice 30+ inch buck. The buck immediately took off, straight away from us and up the other side of the drainage. Dad and I tried to slow him down by whistling, but he did not stop. As he slowed to cut across the hillside, there was an opening and I took a shot. The shot sailed about six inches above his back. I chambered another shell in my gun and took a hard shot at the running buck. This shot was nowhere close to the buck. And that was it, he was gone.

As we stood there on the ridge, I was trying to gather my composure. I thought back to my shot placements. I was feeling frustrated as this might have been my only opportunity at a great buck and I had missed. Dad quickly started down into the drainage and up the other side to where the buck was when I took my first shot. He found the tracks of the big buck and began searching the area for any signs that I might have gotten lucky. As we trailed the buck, we did not find any signs that he had been hit. We crossed several drainages and, as we hit the last hillside, the buck’s tracks ran into some elk tracks and became difficult to follow. Dad was certain that the buck was not hit and, with light fading, we knew there was no catching up to him. We turned around and followed our path out. With each footstep the disappointment began to overtake the excitement of the evening. I was feeling down as the second day of the hunt came to an end. I knew that this would be my last full day to hunt as the weekend was over. I had to return to school and now my hunts would be limited to evenings after school if my dad’s work schedule allowed it. As we were driving home the truck was quiet. Dad spoke up and explained to me that it’s very common to step on big mule deer bucks. Dad said that the shots that I had taken were rushed and very difficult even for an experienced hunter. He said, “He would rather have a dime for every one that he missed than a dollar for every one that he had hit because he would be a rich man.” I understood that my dad was trying to ease my frustration and help me to forget the events of the evening’s hunt, but I knew that this buck would haunt my dreams tonight.

The next morning I got up and went to school still feeling frustrated and thinking about the buck that I had missed. I was not able to hunt the next evening as I had to stay after school to turn in football gear. This turned out to be an even more frustrating day as we were unable to go out to hunt and I just kept thinking about the one that had gotten away.

The next evening was starting to look better as dad’s work schedule was going to allow us to get out and hunt that evening. Dad called me and said he could pick me up as I got off the bus. We could quickly get geared up and head out to hunt. Then, my luck changed once again – and not for the better. There were medical problems with another student on the school bus. This delayed me in getting home. As I got off the bus and into dad’s pickup, he stated that there would only be an hour and a half left once we drove over to our unit. His plan was to drive out on the forest roads and see what we could see.

As we returned home, dad told me that his work schedule would allow him to come home early the next day. He would be able to get me before the end of school so we could start our hunt earlier. The next day, Dad picked me up from school around 2:00. We hurried home, got ready and headed out on the 35 minute drive to our unit. Dad said that we were going back into the “honey hole.” As we were driving, Dad said he had a very good feeling that we were going to get one tonight. My stomach filled with butterflies. I had the feeling that Dad might have known something that I didn’t or seen something on his way home. I had a feeling that there was a surprise waiting for me. He told me that we were going to have to move quickly and quietly up the drainage. This time we were going to go up the drainage where we had jumped the buck three days ago. But this time, we weren’t going to go up any of the ridges to take a peek. We would follow the drainage all the way to the head where Dad believed the bucks would be at the base of a large stone wall. So, we made it to our “honey hole” and quickly and quietly maneuvered our way up the drainage though the tangled mazes of burned timber that littered the drainage up to the base of the mountain. This was a good three-mile hike. As we started to top out at the head of the drainage, the hillsides began to become more visible. Dad paused for a moment and pulled up his glasses to look ahead while we still had the cover of the drainage. He quietly whispered that there were two young does up ahead. We snuck around to their left and, as we did, the does spotted us. We paused for a moment to see what they were going to do. The excitement was starting to build. We were so close to them that it felt like we had stepped into their bedroom. This was the moment that we started to get luck on our side. The does curiously started walking to us, discovered that we weren’t more deer, and quietly trotted off. Dad’s plan was to go away from the does towards a steep hillside that had lush green vegetation on it. As we turned to start towards the hillside, dad stopped and looked ahead again. It was then that my dad said, “Kyle, there is a good buck looking at us.” As dad continued looking through his glasses, he told me that this was definitely a buck that we should take. Dad was standing next to a burnt tree and as he stepped around it he told me to rest my gun against the side of the burnt tree to take the shot. As I got my first look at the buck through the scope, the buck appeared to be just what dad had said. He was facing us looking in our direction with an intense stare. As dad continued to look through his glasses he said, “Kyle, I don’t believe this buck is going to give us a broadside shot. He will run away if he does.” Dad instructed me to place my crosshairs on the white patch on his neck directly under his nose and to squeeze the trigger. I steadied my breathing, let out my breath and squeezed the trigger – POW!! That buck jumped a mile high as the shot went off. As he turned in mid-air and did the “old bulldozer,” as my dad calls it, he collapsed out of sight. Dad exclaimed, “You got him Kyle, good job!” We hugged as Dad’s gut feeling of me getting one tonight came true. We gave the buck a little bit of time (that seemed like hours) before we went to find him. I was so excited, but I tried to collect myself. The adrenaline was flowing. Dad told me to get another round ready as we took off to go see the buck. As we arrived at the spot where we had last seen the buck standing, we immediately found blood and tracked him about fifty feet. The buck was in a small ditch. As we were approaching, it appeared as if he had fallen into an old dead bush. My dad made it to the buck first. He told me to get my gun ready. My heart was pumping. I could see the grey color of his body as dad picked up a rock and tossed it toward the buck’s belly. As the rock hit and bounced off the buck’s body Dad exclaimed, “He’s done Kyle.” This is where my luck took an enormous turn for the better. As I was securing my gun, I heard my dad say, “Oh, my.” He just kept saying, “Oh my, Oh my,” over and over. Neither one of us was prepared for what we found lying at our feet. We assumed that we had shot a good buck, but never in our wildest dreams had we known that he was this good. As I stood next to my dad looking at the buck, there were so many points coming off his antlers that it looked like the bush that he had fallen into had overtaken him. His horns were heavy and it seemed like there were hundreds of points going in all different directions. From this point forward there would be no words to describe this buck – none that anyone would believe anyway without seeing it with their own eyes. Dad gave me a big hug. We had several high fives. There is just no way to explain the excitement and emotion of what we were looking at. Dad said that we needed to get to work on him right away because we had just brought the bare minimum and we needed to get to the truck to get photos of the buck before light faded.

We dressed out the buck and got him ready to go. We still had a long three-mile hike out to the truck. We started off on top of a ridge, but soon the ridge died out and we bailed off into a nasty drainage. The drainage was littered with many deadfalls of burnt timber arranged in a tangled mess. Light was beginning to fade and we could only drag the buck a hundred yards at a time. Then, we would have to stop to clear out another hundred yards. This process seemed to take forever as darkness was now upon us. The excitement of the hunt began to rapidly wear off because of the work that had to be done to find an easy path to drag this monstrous deer out. What seemed like an easy decision at first, to leave the deer whole so that we could get photographs, now seemed to be fading as fast as the light was. Those three miles were the longest of my life but, as I look back, it was worth every bit of it. We had shot the deer around 4:30 p.m. and didn’t get back to the truck until 7:30 p.m. As we got the deer to the back of the pickup, we looked up and saw a car traveling down the road towards us. The vehicle slowed as my dad had his parking lights on. The people inside the vehicle asked if we were alright. Boy, if they only knew – we were overjoyed. Dad told them that we were ok and that I had just harvested a buck and we were loading him into the pickup. The buck’s massive horns didn’t go unnoticed as they asked if they could take a photo. They were amazed at what an awesome trophy this was. They asked Dad for our email address and said that they would send us the photos that they had taken. They congratulated me on my harvest and drove away. As we climbed into the truck to head home, there was one more hug from Dad congratulating me and telling me how proud he was. What a great experience this was. As we drove up the hill, I could hardly wait to call my mom and my brothers. We began making plans on who would call first once we had cell service. Once we got those magical bars to make a call, I immediately called my mom and brothers. I began to tell them very excitedly the details of the great buck that I had just taken. As I was describing the buck’s many points to my mother, she seemed amazed and asked, in disbelief, if I was multiplying the points. As we got into town, we stopped by several friends’ houses to show them the great buck. Everyone that we stopped to show was simply amazed. Everyone told me that this was truly a deer of a lifetime, but I believe that it is truly a deer of a thousand lifetimes.

As we started out on this hunt, it was our goal to take a good buck for my uncle and myself. I would like to thank my dad, for he is not only an awesome dad but a tremendous guide. I could not have done it without him. My dad’s scouting to and from work and his knowledge of hunting played a big part in my success. My dad has a lot of sayings and, as I thanked him for being such a great guide, he said, “I would rather be lucky than good any day.”

With an official score of 306 3/8 net B&C, the Kyle Lopez Buck is now the #2 non-typical for Colorado and the pending #12 or #13 in the world. It is the largest non-typical mule deer taken in the last 30 years.

Tale of the Tape

Number of points: 26×17
Outside spread: 37 0/8″
Gross typical frame: 206 6/8
Total abnormal points: 104 4/8
Gross score: 311 2/8
Net score: 306 3/8

I used to think, when I was younger, that the day would come when I got “old” that I would finally have the time and money to retire and then be able to do and see all the things that I’ve always dreamed of doing. However, the older I get, the busier I become. Even now that all of my kids are married, I don’t seem to have even half the time I used to have (twenty years ago) to hunt and fish. Society seems to be on a much faster run today than we were on even a year ago. We all used to burn on just regular, then we moved up to regular plus, then premium – and now we seem to be on rocket fuel to get us where we think we need to be. Boy how times have changed!

As I was running to and from the hunts I had planned for this year, my rocket fuel was running just a little bit low. My body was telling me, “Whoa, slow down and rest.” I got to thinking about how much time and money I was willing to give up and spend just to have those three seconds to see, shoot and hopefully kill another big muley buck. How much money are you willing to spend? How much time do you invest in your hunt(s)? I remember when I was in high school, there was a very popular song called ‘That Magic Moment.’ I have always thought about that song when it came to my hunting and how much of my time and money I give up for those ‘Magic Moments’ that come my way.

Case in point! My first hunt was on the fifteenth of October in big and wonderful Wyoming. I drew a tag in a new area that I had never hunted before, but I knew that there was a good chance of seeing and hopefully killing a Mr. Big if everything came together. So, in September, my wife and I went on a little scouting trip. Three days later and $800.00 dollars spent on gas, motels and food, I made it back home. The trip gave me a little more peace of mind. I had scouted the area and knew where a few good spots were so that when the hunt started, I could start hunting. On the fourteenth of October, I got up at 4:30 a.m., picked up my hunting partner, and drove 500 miles before the sun had set. On opening day, we were right where I wanted to be as the first hint of daylight appeared in the eastern sky. The first two hours we saw three bucks, two of which were little four-points. But, no Mr. Big. The area we were hunting was mostly winter range and, since it was still 70 degrees, not much had moved in from the high country. So, day two we went higher. Wow! It has been quite some time since I have hunted a steep, rugged, hard to get into and even harder to get out of, ‘ball barring basin.’ It made me tired just remembering. But, I did see a few little 18-inch to 20-inch bucks and even a few that had been killed but, no big boys. Day Three (higher again), right at daylight I spotted five bucks feeding out in a big sagebrush flat. But, here again, the biggest one was only a 23 to 24-inch 4×4. As we sat there glassing, two other hunters drove up and told us about the five bucks out in the flat. Yep, we had seen them. “Are you going to shoot?”

“No.”

“We will then.”

“OK, go for it.” We watched as they put on the big sneak. They walked right on top of the ridge in plain sight, never walking on the backside to conceal their movements. I said to Shad, “Bet you 10 to 1 that they don’t kill anything.” Sure enough, at 300 yards, the bucks slowly headed for the trees. Mind you, they were 400 yards out in an open sagebrush flat. As both hunters laid down to shoot, I thought the Fourth of July was about to start. I was wrong, 400-300-200-100-50 and still, not even a shot. At 25 yards the first shot rang out, but was four feet behind. Then shot number two – three feet high and that was all she wrote. Oh well, maybe next time when they have them out in a more open flat. I should have had all this on film. Day Four (high again), a big storm had moved in and it was snowing hard but raining down low. The fog was so bad that we couldn’t see anything, so we decided to hunt low. However, the mud was so bad that we couldn’t go anywhere. Just to go off the oiled road was to get stuck – I’ve been there and done that one, so we went back to our motel and checked out. Maybe next year those three magic seconds will come my way.

The regular deer hunt was on the twentieth of October in Utah, so I had to hurry and get a few things done because I only had one day until the hunt began. Work, work, go, go, run, run… At midnight, I finally got to where I needed to be for opening day. Since I was all by myself, I slept in the back of my truck. At daylight I was off, but found nothing. Not even one fresh track. Since most of the hunts in Utah are only five days this year (which I think is a great idea), I knew I had a lot of turf to cover and cover it I did. Now, I haven’t personally killed a deer in Utah in over ten years (not that I haven’t had the chance to kill a deer, it’s just that nothing, to me, has been big enough to shoot), and I was hoping to change that. I hunted hard from daylight to dark for the entire five days of hunting and came home empty-handed. However, I did see where a big buck had been earlier, so there is hope for next year’s hunt.

Back home again… work, work, work, run, run, run… catch up here and there… put out a few fires and head for New Mexico. I got to my camp at midnight where two of my friends had been hunting for three days. They told me that they hadn’t seen much. It was 75-degrees and very hot and dry. Most of the deer were in the middle or transition zone, which is a ‘no man’s zone.’ It’s in what I call the ‘no see-em zone.’ This zone is always rough and hard to get into and usually has very thick trees and brush. It’s always a tough place to have any success but, we were here to hunt and our time was ticking, so we decided to hunt it anyway. The three of us hunted all day long, walking in and out of some great buck holes, but saw very little – not even fresh sign. We headed back to camp where my hunting buddies decided to head back home. They loaded up and left me alone to hunt by myself. Day Two, I hunted a new place that I have always wanted to check out. I saw three bucks, but they just weren’t big enough. An hour before dark, I came out onto a big rim where I could see a whole lot of what I call ‘deer country.’ I settled down and started glassing the area. Thirty minutes before dark, I finally spotted a Mr. Big. He was 1000 yards away and I knew that there wasn’t any way to get a good shot off before it got dark. I decided to wait until morning and try to find him again. At daylight, I was back. I saw five little bucks, but I couldn’t find Mr. Big.

Day Four I was hunting hard again. After walking miles and miles, I finally saw three little bucks, but nothing big. I headed back to my truck because I was just about out of rocket fuel. A little food, water and a candy bar, and I was refueled. I drove to where I was hoping to catch Mr. Big, but I couldn’t find him. I decided to head into another new area. After about a mile, I ran onto two big buck tracks. After a closer look, I could tell that the tracks were made by big boys and that they were fresh. New life ran back into my tired body and I was excited and alert again. Once again, I was back hunting big bucks at 110%. I could feel the electricity – my eyes, ears and every step I took set me on full alert. I slowly and quietly looked over ever nook and cranny before moving on. I paused only briefly to see which way they were moving. I kept focused on looking and following the big tracks in the sand…right there is where they laid down not long ago, and there is a tree that one of them tried to take revenge on. I couldn’t tell by their tracks whether one buck was bigger than the other. Both sets of tracks were pretty much the same size. I came upon a spring of water with one Russian olive tree growing by it. Who would have ever thought that there would be water here? Not me, but it was a very good thing to know. I wonder how that Russian olive tree got there? It must have been a horse that wasn’t eating certified hay! The tracks told me that the big bucks made a 180-degree turn and headed toward a deep wash that ran along a big rock rim. The rim ran for about two miles which was very good because there were a lot of ups and downs and rollers that would give a hunter a chance to see, shoot and kill a big buck. Now, I know that a big buck doesn’t get big by being stupid; all the stupid ones are dead, so I know that where I walk is vital. If I jumped these bucks, I must have them to my left (on the side where the deep wash is). If I could get one buck to run down and up the other side, I could kill him as he climbed out. I knew that I must always walk so that I was not too far from the rim because I needed to be able to make it to the rim of the wash quickly so that I could catch the buck climbing out before he made it over the top of the other side. If I walked too far away and jumped him and pushed him over the top, he would beat me down, up, and over the other side before I could get to the rim to make the shot.

Remember my five to thirty rule. I only had one hour of daylight left and I was a long way from my truck. Because I was alone, I had to calculate sunlight and distance to my truck a whole lot differently. I knew I had to jump and kill one of those big boys soon! As I followed their tracks I was on auto-pilot. I had to cover ground more quickly, but still not five-up my advantage. Fifty yards around a little roller and I lost their tracks. I knew that they had to be back to my far left where a sharp turn put me on a straight line to the deep wash. I was fifty yards from the rim when, like a ghost, I got a quick glimpse at one of the big bucks. He was a big buck, so I made a run to the rim of the deep wash. The buck was in full bounce, doing his very best to make it up and over the top. I could see that his horns were good and that he was a big, mature buck. However, he was not what I would call a monster buck…but, after all my time and money…my three seconds had finally come and I decided to shoot. Two shots and two good hits and the buck was mine. At that moment, I heard another deer off to my left trying to climb up the bank. He stopped for just a second and then he was up and over the top. He was another good buck, a narrow but quite heavy 4×4. But, after climbing up to my big buck, I knew I had killed the best one of the two.

There was only half an hour of daylight left, so I quickly cleaned him out, cut off the two hind hams, and threw them up onto my shoulders and headed for my truck. I knew that daylight was now a real issue. I planned to bring my back frame and meat saw so I could put the rest of the meat in meat sacks and pack it back out the next day. I was around two miles from my truck and the only road, so I knew it would be very dark before I could make it back to the road. Because I was alone, I knew I had to be very careful not to fall and hurt myself. I walked slow but steady; only stopping a few minutes to catch my breath and push myself up to the task that I had to accomplish. I was wringing wet with sweat and I had to hold the flashlight in my mouth so I could see because my hands were full just trying to pack the meat. My mouth was so dry that I could hardly spit. I finally made it back to the road. It was so dark that I couldn’t make out any landmarks. I walked up the mountain road hoping to find my truck, but couldn’t find it. I though that perhaps it was down the road, so I walked back down but still couldn’t find it. I didn’t have the energy to walk buck up the road, so I decided to walk off a big rim and then up towards my camp. I knew where my camp was, but I just couldn’t find my truck. One bottle of water and two Gatorades later, I changed into dry clothes and fell into bed. My feet hurt so bad that I had a hard time going to sleep, but exhaustion finally took over and I drifted off. At daylight, I started walking back up the road to find my truck. It was easy in the light. I walked back to my big buck, finished skinning him out, and put all the meat, head, and horns on my frame and once again headed up and out to my truck. At 12:00-noon, I made it back to my truck and drove back to camp. I had to cut the meat up and put it on ice because it was still 75-degrees during the day. I broke camp, cleaned everything up spic and span, and headed home.

As I was driving home, I began thinking again about all the things I do to be a hunter. I thought about all that it takes to kill a big buck and hopefully get those ‘magic moments’ once in a while. After all, that is what all of us hunters hunt for isn’t it? Nah, it’s still the hunt, it’s still being out in Mother Nature, sitting on a rock in the middle of nowhere and looking out over all the wonders of this beautiful world that God has created for each of us. It’s still the friendships we have and the renewing of them. It’s still the challenge that is put before us to see what we are made of. It’s still the teaching of patience, persistence, and knowledge and all those important lessons that we learn as we experience life. It’s finding out that sometimes we need this time alone just to be able to re-think the things that really matter in our lives. It’s being thankful that we can still walk, run, and climb to the top. It’s making memories with our friends and family that last a lifetime and a hundred other things that those that never hunt will never know or feel. Would I still hunt if I knew I would never have another ‘Magic three seconds’? Would you? I would in a heartbeat – when do we leave on the next one?

As our hunting party sat in the shade of a small bush, we gazed through the small openings to our trophy a thousand yards further. This was indeed a trophy beyond comparison; we knew we were hunting one of the rarest bull elk in the world – a straight 6×6 bull that would net score over 400 inches.

This hunt started like many others – somebody gets very lucky, draws an incredible tag and, if I’m lucky, they call me wanting help! That’s what happened when Don Roach from Tucson, AZ learned of his fortune the day the results came out. Don contacted us, checked out our referrals and gave us the green light. My brother Matt was excited to know that we would be hunting his favorite unit and we started scouting immediately. To further prove our dedication to our job, Matt and I would send photos of the bulls we scouted to our clients on a regular basis. We had found an amazing amount of huge bulls and quickly noticed that this was going to be a great year for antler growth. Our team on Don’s hunt consisted of Jeff Wright, Jason Scott, Craig Cormier, my dad Jim Sr., my brother Matt and, without a doubt the funniest and best cook in the world, Zeke!

After extensive scouting, we narrowed our search down to our #1 spot – and with good reason! There were several bulls close to or over that magical 400-inch mark in this area. This is an area that we’ve hunted for many years but, with the type of terrain, most people overlook it and stay away. We had several of these bulls all to ourselves and the excitement for the hunt was building. Several days before the hunt started, Matt put me on a ridge glassing for a huge 380-inch 6×6 that we hoped to reserve as a backup. While I was glassing, I heard a bugle coming in from the flats. I spun around to get the video camera set up when I saw a bull appear. At first I thought he was one of the many 360-class bulls heading up to bed but, as he passed by me at less than 100 yards, I saw that he had extra points on top of a 360-class frame. I never saw the big 6×6 that I was supposed to be glassing, but I didn’t care – this new bull was huge! Matt and I watched the video later and came up with a score of around 415-inches. This bull was a perfect, typical 8×8 except for a broken tine on his right side. Don Roach later named this bull “Ocho Grande” and he became our #1 bull for opening day.

Jeff and I would be hunting with Don Roach, while Matt and Jason headed out with another client. They would be hunting a bull that Matt has a long history with – the rest of the bulls were ours to pursue. Dad and Craig would keep tabs on our plan B and C bulls while we hunted our plan A bulls. We usually hunt the archery hunts in teams of three. This allows one guy to run the video camera while the hunter and the other guide stay back to do the calling.

When opening day arrived, Jeff, Don and I dropped off a rim to intercept Ocho as he made his way up to bed. The wind was wrong, but we hoped we could drop off fast enough to get our wind past the bull as he angled up the ridge. Running down, we soon realized that our plan wasn’t going to work. Ocho knew something wasn’t right and he moved up around us and headed over.

We had located Ocho every day after my first encounter with him, and he was always alone, never bugled much and, when he did, it was barely audible. He acted like an old bull and he had a favorite bedding area, so we felt confident that we would find him again and backed out. Back at camp, we decided to go after a bull that Matt had named “Wrongway” because his beams turned up the wrong way. Don had the opportunity to see Wrongway before the hunt with Matt and we all knew he would be pushing the 400-inch mark or better. However, Wrongway lived in open country and always had a herd of cows with him. Dad had been watching Wrongway and put him to bed that morning, so we all headed out to watch him. We climbed our hill and, as we sat in the shade of a small bush, we all gazed through the small openings to our trophy a thousand yards further. This was the hardest bull to hunt out of all our prospects, but he was definitely worth a try! Our plan was to watch him all day and see what direction he headed in the evening. Just before dark, the herd got up and headed our way. We were sitting in a saddle with very few trees and I anticipated that Wrongway would head through the saddle. Jeff set up behind us to hopefully coax the bull if he held up out of range, while Don and I set up under the only available tree that kept our wind right. The herd was heading right for us and I had the camera rolling. As the herd came closer and closer, I was sure we were going to get a shot when, all of a sudden, they turned hard right and went up and around us just out of range. It was an awesome sight as Wrongway skylined with the sunset behind him – he is a gorgeous bull!

Don, Jeff and I backed out and, even though the plan didn’t work, we felt good about what we had learned. Wrongway had moved through that saddle before and we now had a decent pattern to him. We decided to let him do his thing the next morning and wait to hunt him until that next evening. In the meantime, we decided to hunt a different 390-inch type bull in an area close to Wrongway. But, now that we had seen Wrongway, we really wanted to get our hands on him.

The next morning, we did get close to the 390-inch bull after an awesome long belly crawl by Don. The bull’s cows busted when he only needed 30 more yards to the bedded bull. The video was awesome and the stalk nerve racking, but now we had our sights back on Wrongway and we were eagerly waiting for evening. Craig and two other buddies of ours, David and his wife Jenny, showed up to see Wrongway and hopefully get to watch our hunt from a distance. Our problem today was that Wrongway had picked up more girlfriends and now had a total of nineteen! That’s a lot of eyes out in this open country, but we knew where he would go and hoped for the best.

Evening came and we set up with Jeff up high with the camera, while Don and I picked a different tree on the side of the saddle that the elk went up the previous night. The problem with this location was that if the herd decided to take the saddle, they would be downwind. But, with the angle of the wind, we would hopefully get a shot at the trailing bull before the lead cow spooked. Everything was set, and I could hear Wrongway bugling as he pushed his cows our way. The herd angled up like before, but Wrongway ran up and pushed the cows back down and headed for the saddle! Using a rangefinder, I whispered the yardage to Don as they all passed by out of range. The bull stayed on the opposite side of the cows which put him at over 100 yards but, we had cows at less than 20 yards at the same time! Soon, the lead cow got some wind, spun and took the rest of the herd with her. I frantically did a “lost calf” call on my reed, hoping to at least make the cows question what was happening. Surprisingly, one cow stayed close and the lead cow came back. She was mewing nonstop looking for me, but I had stopped as soon as I knew she was coming back. I could then see the ears of all the other cows coming back into the saddle, and then antler tips! Wrongway was following the cows in and soon, with one cow at less than 20 yards, I could see that we might get a shot. Don drew his bow very slowly and, without any other movement than his drawing arm, he held steady. The cows were all staring at us as Wrongway walked into a shooting lane through all the cows and stopped. I had been whispering the yardage as he came – 100, 90, 80, 70 – Don then asked if he should take him. I said, “Yes,” and the arrow was on its way! Upon impact, Wrongway buckled and hit the ground hard. I jumped up with Don and he put another arrow in him quickly. In less than a minute, Wrongway lay still.

With our buddies running down the hill, Don and I were overcome with emotion and could not believe we had made it happen. We walked around the fallen beast and couldn’t believe his size and beauty. Don had to walk off a ways to take a moment to reflect and I just sat there in amazement that we had Wrongway on the ground. I had dreamed of hunting and harvesting a bull of that caliber all my life and, even though he wasn’t my bull, it felt the same. We all worked very hard and put our knowledge and skills to the test to make that moment happen. Don Roach is the type of guy you like to see get a trophy like Wrongway because he knows and appreciates what he’s achieved. He amazed all of us in camp with his shooting skills, and he is very knowledgeable about elk and their habits. He hired us this year because he had no time to scout and he knew how precious his tag was. Thank you very much Don for placing your trust in Mullins Outfitters and, without a doubt, you deserve that bull buddy!

We never forgot about Ocho Grande during the hunt. David was one of the lucky few who had the early rifle hunt for this same unit. He and his wife were able to find and relocate Ocho several times up to the evening before his hunt started. We all headed out opening day and, like clockwork, Ocho showed up following the monster bull I had initially set out to find the day I found Ocho. This bull is a typical 6×6 pushing the 400-inch mark, but David passed him up at 150 yards – he wanted Ocho. Soon Ocho stepped out, presented a shot and BOOM! David made a great shot and Ocho went down quickly. Ocho is a spectacular bull with eight matching points all the way up. If un-broken, he would have easily scored over 425 gross. He was 415 gross as is! It was an amazing ending to an incredible hunt. We were able to put our hands on two of our biggest bulls this year in less than two weeks apart. Again, I would like to thank these hunters for allowing us to help and also to the Mullins Team, you guys are awesome!

The largest mule deer bucks exist in hunter’s dreams. You know what kind of buck I’m talking about, a buck that could cradle your gun safe in its rack. My friends ask me, “So, what are you holding out for this year?”

I usually respond with something like, “Mr.Big – I think this is my year, boys!” The guys all nod, believing…I think. I’ll be the first to admit, I more often than not (with a really big emphasis on the “more often”) don’t shoot the biggest buck on the mountain. I shoot good, mature bucks – just not those legends that bring widespread attention. It’s truly effortless to stand in front of your peers pre-season with your bold claim that this is the year you will take a book buck. But, what I have learned is that as the year unfolds and hunting season is upon me, my hope for a bona fide record-class rack slowly diminishes, one inch at a time. Before you call me a cynic, let me explain.

The first let-down of the year usually arrives through the mail. I’ve read the words “un-successful” so many times that it’s beginning to give me a complex. Look at the odds at drawing a coveted mule deer tag and you’ll see that your chance of hunting some of the West’s best units isn’t getting any easier. In fact, many of the units are becoming much more difficult to draw. Want a couple examples? The Henry Mountains; although the total deer herd has not increased much on this southeastern Utah unit in the past decade, the state has limited buck hunting to the point where it maintains one of the strongest buck to doe ratios in the state – and it’s no secret. Good luck drawing it with 4,574 other hunters (me included) pressing their luck for the 34 total tags in 2007. The Arizona Strip, famous for its open, expansive country and monster bucks. In 2007, 6,671 hunters (me included) applied for 75 tags in the Strip, unit 13B. I will have to resort to over-the-counter tags or second-choice hunts; still enjoyable hunts, but a major blow to my probability of killing Mr. Big.

It never fails, each year before hunting season we all get a little irrepressible kneeling over piles of maps, snacking on pretzels, having a drink, and running our fingers over the areas we plan to hike and hunt hard. “I think I’ll start at the head of this canyon and work this ridge up until it gets dark,” my friend Tyler broadcasts while dragging his greasy finger across eight, one-mile sections of my map. The rest of us nod our heads in disbelief. A word of guidance: the canyon’s contour always looks much less significant on a map when you are snacking on pretzels in a warm, dry room, with a drink. It never looks quite the same when you actually arrive at the head of that canyon. It’s always much, much, much bigger and more inhospitable in person.

Fall 2007 was no different. Finally, there I stood in the frosty morning light the day before the season opener looking up at my ridge. The mountain’s topography seemed steeper since the last time I visited two years before, thrusting another jab into my formerly solid, unwavering confidence of killing a really big buck. Somewhere, subliminally, my dream buck just lost a couple more inches.

“How am I going to pack a buck out of this country?” ran through my head. All prior pre-season romanticism and impracticality (along with some body heat and a few more inches from my dream antlers) slowly evaporated from my psyche while reality, body aches, and an icy breeze began filling the empty space. I just left the truck and the weight of my pack already made my back ache. I still don’t know why my pack weighed 63 pounds heading into camp; I thought I had packed light. Let’s see: an eleven-pound muzzleloader, four days worth of food, extra clothing, sleeping material, water, optics, tripod, bullets – it adds up quickly.

Opening morning was cold, really cold. I wore seven layers to bed and still woke up freezing. I spotted several bucks in the morning including two that I felt were shooters. They were loafing alongside a small meadow 2,000 feet lower in elevation along with nine to ten other bucks and some does. I thought, “Do I really want to drop all the way down into the canyon and then haul the buck out? OF COURSE I DO!” I slowly made my stalk for several hours inching my way through rugged, steep country. I finally belly-crawled to the point where I felt I couldn’t get closer without the risk of a pair of eyes spotting me. I laid 200 yards from the deer and hoped they would get up and feed in the meadow between us for a hundred-yard shot.

The hours went by slowly until, finally, the evening shadows stretched across the canyon. I knew any moment the deer would stand and begin to feed. The largest buck, which I was hoping to kill, stood up first. He ignored the other deer and slowly fed his way alongside the meadow heading uphill – the wrong way.

I needed a quick change in plans. That big buck wasn’t going to step foot in the meadow, he was quickly moving back into the safety of the rough terrain. The other bucks turned their heads to observe the big buck, learning from his astuteness. They stood up and followed the buck uphill. I needed to make a decision quick or I was not getting a shot at this buck. My limit with my smokepole is around 170-180 yards, on a good day. I had to close the distance quickly. I grabbed my fleece jacket, stood from my afternoon bed and quickly ran at the deer through the meadow as quickly as I could. I knew I would be busted, but how quickly would they bolt? I covered 30+ yards in no time, threw my jacket in the shrub, lay prone, and set up my smokepole for a quick shot.

The does had spotted me and were leaving the country in a hurry. The bucks turned to watch the fleeing does, not realizing that danger had just snuck within range. Without thought, without any hesitation, I squeezed the trigger. KAPOOOOWWWW!!! Smoke filled the air between me and my prey. Did I hit him? As quiet as a diesel engine, I hastily loaded another bullet into the barrel. My buck stood broadside ready to bolt. This time all buck fever had left me, I was upset I had missed. KapooWWWW!!! The bullet sounded like it hit rock. I quickly loaded another bullet wondering if I possibly banged my scope during the hike in. I pulled my binoculars up to get a better look at my buck. The big buck was staggering and slowly lay down, his head wavering to and fro, gasping for his final breath. I breathed a sigh of relief. I knew he would die quickly.

There he lay in the evening shadows, a sight to bring the satisfaction that only a hunter can know. He wasn’t the magic buck that stays alive in the canyons of my mind, but that caliber of buck wasn’t what I set my sights on (pun intended) on this trip. Those hopes for a dream buck slowly diminished earlier. Without a doubt, my hopes for harvesting a monster buck will again swell while we are looking over maps, applying for quality tags, and telling big-buck stories. But, for the moment, I couldn’t have been more proud.

Tyler came down to help me pack my buck out. “I thought you told me you were holding out for Mr. Big,” he said jokingly – I think. What is “holding out” anyway? It may mean waiting for Mr. Big. It may mean waiting for the draw of a lifetime. It may mean waiting for a deer to cross your path that is absolutely love at first sight. As for me, it means just that, to hold out for whatever makes your hair stand on end, your knees shake, and your throat go dry. I hold out all year during preparation for that one single moment, the moment of the kill, the moment every hunter lives for, their own glory march back into camp with the deer they “held out” for.

Tyler shouldered my gun and offered to help pack the deer uphill to spike camp. “Let’s tie the antlers to the top of my pack,” I said, ignoring his offer to help pack meat and antlers. “Right, your glory march back to camp. I shouldn’t have even asked to help,” he responded. Two days later I packed the 102 pounds of meat and camp back to the truck which patiently waited for me 4.5 miles away. I tell myself all over again it will be the last time I will make that darn trip “holding out” for that big one, but I doubt it.

It was 2006, and my hunting partner, Brad Sears, and I had just put in for the bull elk draw. I was up fishing in Alaska when the draw results were released. Brad gave me a call and let me know that we had both been lucky and drawn. We immediately began scouting and found some good bulls. Now we just had to wait for hunting season to arrive.

When the rut kicked in, the bulls moved a few miles and I was unable to find the largest bull. My brother Vinnie and I went out the day before the hunt started and tried to locate him. Vinnie was lucky and happened to find him. He promptly called me and told me that he had found the large bull.

On opening morning, our group went out and saw some good bulls, but we never could find my large bull. That evening we went back out and, right before dark, we came across the large bull. I missed a seventy-yard shot that went just under him. I couldn’t believe it! I finally had a shot and I missed! We followed the bull for a little while and couldn’t get another shot. We carefully tracked the bull and watched him bed down for the night.

The next morning it was really windy and nothing was bugling. We were unable to locate the bull. That night my friend, Ryan Mell, showed up and wanted to go out with us the next morning. He must have been good luck, because the next morning the bulls were going crazy. We had been following a nice six-point all morning, which I would have gladly taken, but I was never presented a shot. Then, all of a sudden, I heard another bugle close by. The large bull appeared and started fighting with the bull I had been chasing. I hurried to close the distance. When I was approximately thirty yards away from the bulls they broke up. My bull started walking right towards me so I took the shot. The shot was a little far back and high, but it did the job. The bull went about seventy yards and went down.

I would like to thank Vinnie, Ryan, and friends for filming, scouting, and loading my bull up. This was a great hunt and I’ll never forget it. My bull was one of the top archery bulls in the state of Arizona for 2006 and officially scored 411 6/8 gross and 393 1/8 net non-typical P&Y.

Joey’s great Arizona archery bull elk was featured in the 2008 King’s Bull Elk Calendar

Behind the Re-creations

Hunter: Joey Wyatt
Date: September 2006
Location: Arizona
Points: 7×8 non-typical
Gross Score: 411 6/8 P&Y
Net Score: 393 1/8 P&Y
Featured: 2008 King’s Bull Elk Calendar

While horseback riding in familiar country, Rod Taylor, along with his two boys, Jeremy and Dillon, spotted a huge buck. At first glance, this buck seemed bigger than your typical Utah muley. Upon closer inspection through spotting scopes and binoculars, the image through the glass revealed a buck whose horns resembled the gnarly branches of a dead cedar more than buck antlers. For the next several minutes, they sat in awe of this magnificent animal while exchanging looks of disbelief and words that can be summed up into one simple phrase – “I don’t believe it.”

Rod and his boys soon came to the conclusion that someone needed an opportunity to harvest this once-in-a-lifetime trophy. Jeremy mentioned that Rand Newby, a gunsmith at Christensen Arms, had drawn the 2007 Sportsman Tag. All three agreed that this buck was definitely deserving of the Sportsman Tag and well worth it for Rand. With the sun sinking rapidly behind the mountains to the west, the buck bedded down below some steep cliffs under an aging cedar tree. The Taylor’s knew that they stood a good chance of the buck not moving again until dawn. They decided that Jeremy would ride off the mountain and contact Newby. In the meantime, Rod and Dillon, with the aid of a bright full moon, would stay with the buck to keep it in sight.

Eventually, Jeremy contacted Rand who was accompanied by his dad, Michael, and his brothers Dusten and Shad. Christensen Arms guide and cameraman, Andy Christiansen, made the trip as well to capture the hunt on film. With Jeremy leading, they wound their way up a gorge and into the neck of a narrow canyon laden with boulders, sage brush, and cedar trees. Rand, like any hunter in his position, was full of excitement and nervousness as he listened to the descriptions from Jeremy and thought about the sight of this enormous deer in his crosshairs.

After traversing the canyon, the silhouettes of Rod and Dillon came into view with the moon still casting an eerie glow onto the land below. After Rand settled in and located the buck, the only thing that separated the two from each other were 420 yards of uneven Utah terrain and six hours of murky moon-cast shadows. Being in this situation, you can imagine that everyone was hoping for the perfect scenario. Anything could happen in the six hours before shooting light from predators to catching the hunter’s scent. The patiently waiting men hoped that the buck would not spook and run. The hunters knew, at this point, that their skill level had taken them as far as it could. They had done everything in their power to ensure that Rand had a chance at a successful shot. As each of them took turns watching the buck, the others slept. During this time it became clear that luck would be the ultimate decider of their fate.

With the moon setting about an hour and a half before sunrise, there was a period of time where the buck was lost to darkness. As it turned out, the buck seemed to take advantage of this and moved from its original bed unbeknownst to the hunters below. As dawn finally approached, Rand and the rest of the hunters were scrambling to locate his new position. Spotting scopes that only a short time ago contained an enormous Utah muley now held an empty bed and a lone cedar.

After spending just a few minutes searching, they were relieved to see that the buck had moved off the slope it had been on and was lying behind some low-lying sage below. With the deer being 402 yards away, Rand made final preparations. The Sportsman Tag that had been drawn ten months ago, the time spent scouting, dreaming, and getting told by his co-workers not to screw it all up, came down to this next couple of seconds. While lying in the dirt, Rand propped his Christensen Arms 7mm WSM up on his pack, clicked the safety off, and steadied the crosshairs just above the buck’s vitals.

A few seconds later the stillnesof the mid-October morning was replaced by the sound of a Nosler 140-grain Ballistic Tip being hurled through the silent morning air toward the prized buck.

The buck was hit hard and didn’t move from where he lay.

As the group made their way up the steep, rocky terrain and saw up close what they had viewed from so far away over the past several hours, they were in awe of what they saw. Rand walked up to the buck and, with friends and family surrounding him, took hold of its enormous horns and shook his head with disbelief. Congratulatory handshakes and hugs quickly turned to admiration for the buck. Rand, along with everyone there, saw their vocabulary reduced to the same simple phrases the Taylor’s had first uttered some seventeen hours ago, “I don’t believe it.” Admiration quickly gave way to the excitement of the harvest with everyone recounting the events and the people that had made it all possible.

The only thing wider than the 42-inch spread on the deer was Rand’s perma-grin. A buck with thirteen points on each side will do that to a man.

The Taylor’s were right. This buck was definitely worth it.

There is no question that there has been a huge explosion in the side-by-side ATV market. There are many different makes and models of side-by-sides available from many different manufacturers. The jokes about these being glorified golf carts have slowly faded as the performance of these machines has increased dramatically. The introduction of the Yamaha Rhino 660 a few years ago really hijacked the market with its ability to not only work, but to play…and play hard. Yamaha rolled in some of the features found on their popular Grizzly ATV and made the Rhino well-equipped to handle rough terrain both on and off the farm – not to mention the tricked-out versions people were kicking out on the West coast. As the competition started to close in, I felt it was definitely time for Yamaha to kick-start another chapter in the Rhino adventure. Once again, by piggybacking off the success and technology found on the new Grizzly 700 FI ATV, Yamaha has added and improved upon some features that make this more than just a bump in the engine department.

Increasing the motor a bit on the Rhino was a given and, nowadays, any new utility ATV should come with fuel injection. Hence, the Rhino 700 FI had no surprises so far. With the new motor and added performance and benefits of the fuel injection, it was time to look deeper at what else was new. Of course, with the added power from the engine, strength was added to the motor, tranny, and other areas to handle the extra strain. At first glance, you quickly notice the addition of some custom fit doors on each side of the ATV. These doors were added to provide additional safety by keeping feet and knees inside the machine. They are also to block water, mud, branches and brush. At first, I wasn’t impressed and wasn’t quite sure what the deal was with the doors. I was anxious to see how they affected the overall ride. To continue with the safety theme, Yamaha also added a hold bar and handle grip next to the passenger seat to aid in giving a secure and safe ride for the passenger. From what I understand, Yamaha is willing to provide the doors and hold bar to previous Rhino owners at no charge to extend these safety features to all. Other added features are the improved parking brake lever, cup holders, higher air intake location, relocation of the air filter, enhanced steering wheel, expanded diagnostics feature on the digital instrument panel, improved engine and exhaust mounts for a quieter experience. The final new feature I will mention is the dual rear-wheel disc brakes and a separate single-disc brake for the parking brake. Obviously, there were a lot of new features to test out. I headed off to Knoxville, Tennessee to see if this new Rhino was going to have enough to keep it ahead of the class.

I hit the foot brake and turned off the key. I was sitting at the base of a hill and I was pondering what I would soon encounter at the top. In front of me was a nice sandstone ledge that had a two-foot shelf just to give me a little excitement before reaching the safety of the top of the hill. Nice, let’s see what this thing can do! I fired the motor back up and, being a little cautious, I shifted into low gear and pushed the button into four-wheel drive. Then, just for insurance, I flicked the switch and engaged full-wheel differential lock. “Might as well,” I thought. “You can never be too prepared.” Hitting the foot pedal, I laid on the gas. Now I was cruising up the hill with plenty of torque and realizing that I probably didn’t need to gear down to low. I was soon approaching the steep part. This is usually the time that, if you’re on a normal ATV, you would be wondering if you could get enough momentum to get over the lip, but not popping the front tires up and over. Realizing I had a long wheelbase under me and a full roll cage over me, I decided to not be a wimp and try and go around it. I lost most of my momentum when I approached the ledge. Hitting with my front tires with a slight angle, I hit some gas to get them over pretty easy. As the back tires hit and socked into the ledge, I pushed the gas with some controllable torque and, the next thing I knew, all four tires where clawing me up and over without a whimper. “That was it?” I thought to myself as I glanced back at the hill I just conquered. “That was too easy; I needed to try that again in high range and with no differential lock!”

Conquering the beautiful hills, rocks, roots and mud of Tennessee was all part of the setup that makes the new Rhino 700 FI perform so effortlessly. I did come to realize very quickly that the mud bogs in “Volunteer” country are very deep and smell really bad. With that said, I was very grateful for the doors and realized how much mud and water they kept out of the cab of the Rhino. Brush and branches were also deflected with ease. Maybe these doors weren’t so bad after all. The only drawback I found is that they did make it more difficult to get into the Rhino. The smoothness of the motor was great and the power to get through or over obstacles was never an issue. The wheelbase, combined with the four-wheel drive system, really made the Rhino 700 a tremendous hill climber. I don’t think I fully realized how much I took for granted the ease of going up the slippery hills with exposed tree roots and rocks until I saw a group of guys on four-wheelers stopped at the base of a hill. After I cruised up the hill in the Rhino without thinking twice about it, I realized that those guys were actually taking pictures as I was working my way over a group of gnarly rocks half-way up the hill.

It might be simple, but one of my favorite features on the Rhino was the improved parking brake. The lever has been extended to make it easy to pull and the brake is strong and secure. The braking system is much better with the dual-disc brakes in the back. Throw in the solid Yamaha engine braking and the big Rhino seems fairly nimble. Speaking of nimble, one surprise was not only how the Rhino was able to traverse steep terrain up and down, but also tight trails. I was able to go through not only tight four-wheeler trails, but trails that were lined with trees. I was surprised at how the Rhino, as big as it is, still managed to get through the tight, winding roads. The design of the roll cage allowed it to roll off a tree if it did get caught or hit and not snag.

I believe one of the successes of the Rhino is that is falls right in the middle of both a work/utility side-by-side and also a sport side-by-side that can perform as well as an ATV. There are also no shortages of accessories that you can pile onto the new Rhino 700 as well. Roofs, windshields, winches, bed boxes, gun scabbards, brush guards and more are available to make it the ultimate hunting rig. Yamaha didn’t have to pull a rabbit out of a hat to keep the Rhino 700 FI in top condition. They made the necessary improvements that they were lacking and continued with a package that will be hard to beat.

Video Review

We were going for a perfect score. Since the judges were a little bias (being my daughters) I thought I would explain a little about what our new 10-10-10 campaign is all about. No, you are not signing up for the latest in long distance rates. What you can sign up for is a great package for a great price. We have been listening to our customers, and now we’re willing to try something a little different, a little aggressive. Some might think we are a little crazy. I won’t argue there, but what I will say is that we want to provide a deal where you can get the best magazine at the best price. For a certain time, we are offering our 10-10-10 plan. That is $10 for a one-year subscription to Hunting Illustrated. That also gives you 10% off anything you buy from us at www.huntingillustrated.com and our catalog. Lastly, but most importantly, the last 10 in the deal gives 10-percent of your subscription fee back to conservation. Yes, we will donate 10-percent of your subscription rate back to help conservation and the future of our hunting sport for your kids and my kids.

So, just like those annoying commercials on TV, let’s do a quick review:

Ten bucks for a one-year subscription (that’s 60% off our normal subscription rate of $24.95 and 70% off the newsstand cover price) that gets you six issues a year of great big game hunting action. Where are the free gifts you ask? Let’s forget the free gifts and gimmicks to get you to subscribe. If you want to get the magazine, just get the magazine and we’ll give it to you for a price that is too good to pass up.

Ten-percent discount on all purchases through HI on-line and the HI catalog. It won’t take much to recoup your $10 subscription fee when you include the benefit of saving even more money on your gift and gear purchases through Hunting Illustrated.

Ten-percent of your subscription fee will be donated back to conservation. Yes, this may not be much, but it will add up and every little bit helps. You want to make a difference? So do we, so that’s why we are kicking some revenue back through your efforts.

Enough of the review, now let’s talk serious about some huge bucks and bulls. This issue is our annual “Best Of” issue and we have some incredible stories to share with you from the 2007 season. Enjoy! I look forward to meeting more of you at the shows.

A. Kyle, a Roman nose simply means a nose with a high, prominent bridge. Normally, the Roman-nosed buck’s face appears shorter with a hump on the nose bridge. It’s common for bucks to develop this feature as they mature, which is probably why you have been advised to look for a Roman nose. Don’t just look for the Roman nose however, because not all mature bucks develop this attractive bump – though it sure adds a little character to a nice trophy.

Q. Why do mule deer tend to live in the high country?
Cy Sneed – via email

A. Cy, mule deer tend to follow the best forage in their range. In the summertime, as the snow gives way to succulent feed, mule deer follow the snowline into the high country which offers an abundant supply of optimal forage. In addition, mule deer take advantage of the high country’s cooler temperatures, steady breezes which prevent pesky bug infestations, and rough topography to hide them from danger.

Q. Do mule deer live longer in some states than they do in others?
Pat Gifford – Farmington, NM

A. Throughout the mule deer’s range, the average lifespan is around ten years old; though they have lived up to 25 years in captivity. Many factors will influence how long a mule deer will live. Predation, hunting, vehicular-traffic and weather severity play a vital role on the mule deer’s average life span in a given area. For instance, the Arizona Strip mule deer may well have a longer life span than deer in agricultural Wyoming, given that Wyoming has heavier winters, more vehicular-traffic around agriculture and more hunting pressure as well due to depredation antlerless deer tags to relieve damage to agriculture.

Q. What is the best source for finding info and maps for areas that are open to public hunting in southeastern Idaho?
Jeff Whaling – Brookville, PA

A. Your first phone call should be to the Idaho Game and Fish wildlife manager that is involved with the area you want to hunt. Second, try Idaho’s new Idaho Hunt Planner, an interactive search engine designed to provide information on regulations, seasons, drawing odds, harvest statistics, maps and hunt boundaries – all in one location. http://fishandgame.idaho.gov/ifwis/huntplanner/

Q. I am planning a trip to Wyoming to hunt mule deer. When is the rut and would rattling antlers or grunt calls be helpful? I have hunted whitetail deer in Ohio and West Virginia and have been pretty successful. Could I expect the same while hunting mule deer in Wyoming or do I need to hunt differently out West?
Robert – Troy, Ohio

A. More than likely, you will be hunting differently out West. You may have some success with your Eastern tactics, but may be better off leaving them home. Wyoming terrain is expansive and requires a different sort of patience than what you’re probably used to. Instead of waiting in a stand/blind for a whitetail to appear from the thick hardwoods, you’ll sit and glass extensive open country for long periods of time searching for mule deer. Once you spot your quarry, you’ll need to make a stalk to get within range of the buck. Mule deer rut throughout November in Wyoming. Whatever part of Wyoming you hunt, your optics will be extremely important. You should also be equipped to take longer shots than you would for whitetail.

Q. Hey Mr. Mule Deer, can you tell me the difference in the scoring between Pope & Young and Boone & Crockett?
Cody Lunceford – Vernal, Utah

A. The same scoring system is used for both Pope & Young and Boone & Crockett. However, the minimum score for awards is quite a bit less for Pope & Young, since it recognizes records on bow-harvested North American big game only. Boone & Crockett’s Record Program includes trophies taken by bow, rifle, hand gun and other methods.

Q. Are mule deer color blind?
Jeff Baldwin – Ontario, OR

A. The debate over deer being color blind is not new. But, recently, extensive studies have confirmed that deer do have limited color vision, much more limited than the range of a human’s color vision. In essence, deer are red-green color blind. This does not mean that these colors are invisible to deer, but rather that they are perceived differently. A hunter may perhaps get away with hunting in green, red, or orange clothing, but be disadvantaged suited in blue. There is no question that breaking up your outline is far more important than the color of your clothing.

Q. I am a bow hunter and prefer to hunt over water. However, it seems that when I sit at water, only little bucks come into it. I see and hear about people killing great bucks over water – do these big bucks water at night?
Jeff – Reno, NV

A. The first bit of homework you need to do is to make sure a great buck is using the water hole you hunt over. Often, if other water is available nearby, larger bucks will steer clear of the obvious water holes and find small water sources that are less conspicuous. Once mule deer sense danger or have had some hunting pressure, their watering patterns are interrupted and it is difficult to predict when they’ll come to water. Does and little bucks may still come into water during hunting hours; but, by the time a buck has matured, he has found that water holes are danger zones. These big bucks often use the tanks during the night when it is safest. Your best bet is to be in your stand well before light and after dark.