The 2013 Utah general season deer hunt is almost half over, and I find myself among the group of lucky participants who's all tagged up. This year was to a be a particularly special deer hunt, for a variety of reasons; mainly, I wasn't able to obtain any other tags this year. So this was it for me as far as hunting. Add to that the fact that my father came along, for the second year in a row, after he and I exchanged kidney's a couple years ago thanks to the miracle of modern medicine. Dad had been a dedicated hunter and Father as far back I can remember, but his failing health over the last decade had left him unable to hunt in the traditional fashion he so enjoyed as a younger man. The last deer my Father killed was when I was fourteen years old, 21 years ago he took myself and my little brother (aka Burglecutt on the Hide) up to the mountains above our home. It was a short and sweet hunt, but it seared into our memories the joy, camaraderie, dedication, and pure fun of hunting. Flashing back forward to today; Dad had a rough return to the hunting scene last year, as some of you may recall, and wasn't able to shoot anything, and to add insult to his injuries, he broke the handmade stock on his Springfield rifle, that he had made as a sixteen yr old kid back in the sixties. So, somewhat discouraged, we devised a plan...
Some of you may have seen the thread about my father's .264WinMag rebuild, my father inherited the rifle from my maternal Grandfather when he passed. A 1960 Mod70 Winchester, but, unfortunately Grandpa had enjoyed the gun far too long, and the bore was as scorched beyond repair. Without telling him the entirety of my plan, my siblings and I rebuilt the rifle into something Dad could not only enjoy, but be quite proud to carry. We gave it to him for Father's day, and he was very happy with it. So happy in fact, I could almost see and feel a palpable desire to put that fine piece of work into action.
Over the summer, we spent time practicing with the rifle at different ranges. Dad had never been much of a long range shooter, in fact, he had let me know on many occasions his disapproval of shooting animals at farther distances. And yet, as the years have passed he has watched me time and again drop animals at ranges up to 900 yards. His opinion had been tempered by my experiences, and he began to change his tune somewhat. And this hotrod .264 he now held in his hands, threatened to destroy his antiquated position. On the first trip out to shoot the rifle, Dad made a 731yd shot, with ease. It was hard to tell if it was his smile, or the sun that was beaming brighter from his face that day, and he was smitten with the same long range bug we all suffer from. By the time the deer hunt rolled around, Dad was quite comfortable shooting at deer sizes targets at up to 500 yards, and I was pretty confident he could connect even further.
So last Saturday, on opening morning, we set out, not even a half a mile from the same spot Dad had killed that last buck all those years ago. We took Dad to a spot where we could sit and observe, in the hopes of finding some deer, I was worried that Dad wouldn't want to shoot something due to the extremely steep terrain, as well as his "Trophy Hunter" attitude when it comes to antler's. But my fears were soon calmed.
As we settled in to a nice rock pile in the pre-dawn light, we started seeing deer. A couple bucks were moving across the canyon, but typical to Utah's public hunting grounds, the hoards of "minute of dinner plate" hunters were busy emptying boxes of cartridges on the hillside. As we watched the few available bucks get shot, or run off, I began to worry. But just in the nick of time, Burglecutt spotted a buck right beneath the towering rocks we sat on. We quickly moved into position, and I was happy to see through my spotter, the biggest buck we had seen yet. Not a whopper by any means, but a decent little 3X4, and he had no idea we were right above him. Dad setup his rifle on the edge of the rock, resting it upon his old fanny pack, and tried to find a comfortable position. Burglecutt setup next to him, and watched eagerly through his own scope. I scrambled around the rocks trying to get my video camera into position, but couldn't see the deer due to the steep angle. So I stared through my spotting scope, waiting for Dad to break the shot.
The ice cold silence was broken, the seven of us held our breath as the sound of the 140 grain Barnes Match Burner echoed through the canyon, and ended with a fist clenching "THWAP!" Dad's bullet had made the quick trip, and hit in the high shoulder area. The deer was in shoulder high brush, and you could only see the top half of his body, so a high shoulder was the best bet. The deer went straight down, we all took a deep breath, and quickly began the high fives and shoulder punches. The deer tried to get back up shortly, but he was done, and fell down the hill a few more yards. The distance? almost exactly 264 yards. I dont know who was happier, my Dad, or the rest of us who had for so long dreamed of getting Dad back into those mountains, and getting him on a deer. The extremely steep and rough terrain made getting the deer out quite unpleasant, but it may have been one of the most satisfying deer I've ever extricated.
We pulled the whole front half of the deer up, so we could at least get some decent pictures. Otherwise we'd have boned him out. Lucky for them, the Grandkids got to enjoy this eventful day with their Grandpa.
The rifle: 1960 Model 70 Winchester, 24" Douglas 8.5 twist barrel chambered in .264WinMag, Shrewd brake. The stock is the original Winchester with a little Coldbore love stuck to it. Shooting RP brass, with 60.5gr of 4831, it shoots 140's at 3050fps.
It took us most of the day to get the deer out and back to the truck. The next day, we went to another spot I had scouted, in the hopes of finding some more bucks.
Along with us this year, were my brother in law, and my young cousin. They were both excited to shoot this year, my BIL had only killed one deer probably five years ago, and was really itching to get one. My cousin was still deerless, having never gotten a shot a one before. Well that sunny Sunday morning didn't start off as we'd hoped. not many deer were up and moving, and the few that were had no antler's at all. Both my BIL and cousin had no trophy aspirations, they had in fact said, "anything with horns is game." so I knew we just needed to find a buck, big, little, or otherwise. As the sun got a little higher, and just peaked over the high mountain ridges. Shots started coming from up the mountain, we looked in that direction, and I saw some deer moving into some yellow aspens. We literally had to run uphill for a good 4-500yds to get to a spot where we could see the deer properly. As I scanned the tree line, I saw a small set of antlers walking calmly through the trees. Shots were still coming from above, as best as I could tell, whoever was shooting couldn't hit close enough to these deer to even get their attention. My BIL and I scurried down a brushy hillside to a rock shelf that was made for shooting from. As we settled in, our hearts were pounding, not just from the run, but from the excitement. As my BIL settled in behind his rifle, I got my video camera setup, and spotted through my Swarovsky. The range to the deer was 270 yards, my BIL tried his best to calmly relax, and leaned into the rifle. The sunlight peeked through the yellowing leaves of the aspens, and some of the deer's backs were shining. The blinding light made it hard to see, both the camera screen, and scope images. Notwithstanding, he removed the safety, and put the 250 mark of his reticle halfway up the deer's chest, and pulled the trigger. I'll let the video tell the rest of the story, if you watch closely, you will see not the trace, but the actual bullet reflecting the sunlight. looks amazing:
Norman's deer 2013 - YouTube
The sound of the impact was evident, and shortly after running off screen, the deer stopped, and tipped over. The single shot from a 300WM is plenty to anchor this little fella:
The 180gr Hornady interlock hit perfectly, and blew the deer's heart into three pieces:
We cleaned the little guy, and headed back towards the truck. Dad, Burglecutt, and my cousin helped us get back without a heart attack.
Having expended most of our energy, and having seen the rest of the deer file out of the canyon, we decided that it was lunchtime.
As we sat in a local restaurant wolfing down far too much food, my phone rang, it was my other cousin, and his boy. They were just a couple miles from us, and he said he had two small bucks spotted on the face of the mountain, and that they were on their way up to them, and if we wanted in on that action, we'd better haul ass. So we choked down the rest of our food, and ran out of the restaurant. We made it to the foothills, and I could see the two orange dots on the hill above us where my cousin and his son were, I could also see two deer standing broadside just a few hundred yards to their south. Before the truck had even stopped rolling, my young cousin and I were bailing out, rifle and packs in hand. We had just a short 400 yds to run, straight up hill, we made about 700 vertical feet in that distance, having just downed a couple bowls of chips and salsa, burritos, beans, rice, etc. So you can imagine our state when we crested the shelf we needed to shoot from. I could barely stand, my breathing sounded like a clip from some camel porno, it took all I had to open the tripod and get my camera setup. Light was fading fast, as the sun had already dipped behind the Great Salt Lake, we had to shoot, and NOW! my young cousin was trying to catch his breath, and as we looked up, a small buck stepped into view, a short 160 yards from us. And like it was meant to be, he stood there and looked at us. I rolled the camera, Steven my cousin, steadied himself on a rock, and tried to control his shaking and breathing. Silence and concentration came, as he steadied his Weatherby Vanguard 7mmRemMag on the deer. The shot broke, and the impact was instantaneous, as was the result. The small deer dropped instantly, and rolled towards us. The 162 Hornady Interlock had done its job.
Enjoy:
Stevens deer 2013 - YouTube
My other cousin's boy had already shot the first buck before our arrival, and were on their way down. By the time we got to the deer, it was dark, so we drug him down the mountain to the truck, we gutted them there, and took some pictures:
Monday morning came, and my body was showing signs of having had its ass kicked, so it was with a much slower pace that Burglecutt, Steven, and I made it up the mountain that morning. And to our discontent, we saw just a few does, and as many moose. After hiking back out, we decided to drown our sorrows in unhealthy portions of french toast, hash browns, eggs, bacon, sausage, and ham. By this point, I was growing accustomed to the massive quantities of food that my body simply couldn't get enough of. We were exhausted, and spent the afternoon napping, and cruising SH. We had determined to meet back that evening in the same spot Steven had shot his deer the night before, rumor had it there was still a decent 3pt in there. So Burglecutt and I met there at 18:00, and we had brought our two sets of kids with us, (the wifes had other plans) we had planned on glassing, and not much else. But no more than two minutes after my arrival, I spotted a couple does feeding high above in a clearing. As my brother pulled up, I spotted another deer behind a tree with the does. My suspicions were aggravating because there were two other hunter's above me in the canyon, and I wanted to get positioned in case this was a buck. Otherwise these other guys may beat me to it.
Moments passed, and my suspicions were confirmed, the deer stepped out from behind the tree, and his antlers were quite visible, even from 800 and something yards. So I grabbed my son, and the two of us ran up the hill towards the deer. I couldn't shoot from there, as we were too close to town. I had to make it to the same shelf area that Steven had shot his from in order to avoid unwanted LE involvement.
So up we ran, and I scrambled to get a good position that would get me enough angle to get on the deer. I settled in, and ranged him at 620 yards with the Swaro. I setup the camera, and dialed in my elevation. And just as I was about to pull the trigger; "Dad, he's running!" my son exclaimed as he watched through the camera. The echo of the rifle report sounded through the canyon, the other hunter's had taken a shot at him. As far as I can tell, these guys were again, MODP hunters, they managed to hit him in the foot with one of their 6 or 7 shots, but that was it. I found the deer again, now out of the other hunter's view, and hidden in some trees. He stood there, limping on his broken foot, I readjusted my dope for the new distance, and sent one hot 140gr Match Burner into his neck. He dropped instantly, and rolled down the steep hill.
I quickly ran back up the mountain, trying to get to the buck before dark. I got to him, and boy was I happy when I did.
The mountain was so steep, I didn't even bother gutting him, and started making my way back down, or at least slow the fall of me and the deer to a non dangerous speed. I fell 20 or so times on the way down, and had a face full of dirt, but it was worth it.
Burglecutt is the only one left with a tag, so the next few days we'll be hitting it hard every available minute, if he wasn't such a damn trophy hunter.
One of the best deer hunts ever so far, and its not even over yet. The best part has been sharing it with the ones we love.
Some of you may have seen the thread about my father's .264WinMag rebuild, my father inherited the rifle from my maternal Grandfather when he passed. A 1960 Mod70 Winchester, but, unfortunately Grandpa had enjoyed the gun far too long, and the bore was as scorched beyond repair. Without telling him the entirety of my plan, my siblings and I rebuilt the rifle into something Dad could not only enjoy, but be quite proud to carry. We gave it to him for Father's day, and he was very happy with it. So happy in fact, I could almost see and feel a palpable desire to put that fine piece of work into action.
Over the summer, we spent time practicing with the rifle at different ranges. Dad had never been much of a long range shooter, in fact, he had let me know on many occasions his disapproval of shooting animals at farther distances. And yet, as the years have passed he has watched me time and again drop animals at ranges up to 900 yards. His opinion had been tempered by my experiences, and he began to change his tune somewhat. And this hotrod .264 he now held in his hands, threatened to destroy his antiquated position. On the first trip out to shoot the rifle, Dad made a 731yd shot, with ease. It was hard to tell if it was his smile, or the sun that was beaming brighter from his face that day, and he was smitten with the same long range bug we all suffer from. By the time the deer hunt rolled around, Dad was quite comfortable shooting at deer sizes targets at up to 500 yards, and I was pretty confident he could connect even further.
So last Saturday, on opening morning, we set out, not even a half a mile from the same spot Dad had killed that last buck all those years ago. We took Dad to a spot where we could sit and observe, in the hopes of finding some deer, I was worried that Dad wouldn't want to shoot something due to the extremely steep terrain, as well as his "Trophy Hunter" attitude when it comes to antler's. But my fears were soon calmed.
As we settled in to a nice rock pile in the pre-dawn light, we started seeing deer. A couple bucks were moving across the canyon, but typical to Utah's public hunting grounds, the hoards of "minute of dinner plate" hunters were busy emptying boxes of cartridges on the hillside. As we watched the few available bucks get shot, or run off, I began to worry. But just in the nick of time, Burglecutt spotted a buck right beneath the towering rocks we sat on. We quickly moved into position, and I was happy to see through my spotter, the biggest buck we had seen yet. Not a whopper by any means, but a decent little 3X4, and he had no idea we were right above him. Dad setup his rifle on the edge of the rock, resting it upon his old fanny pack, and tried to find a comfortable position. Burglecutt setup next to him, and watched eagerly through his own scope. I scrambled around the rocks trying to get my video camera into position, but couldn't see the deer due to the steep angle. So I stared through my spotting scope, waiting for Dad to break the shot.
The ice cold silence was broken, the seven of us held our breath as the sound of the 140 grain Barnes Match Burner echoed through the canyon, and ended with a fist clenching "THWAP!" Dad's bullet had made the quick trip, and hit in the high shoulder area. The deer was in shoulder high brush, and you could only see the top half of his body, so a high shoulder was the best bet. The deer went straight down, we all took a deep breath, and quickly began the high fives and shoulder punches. The deer tried to get back up shortly, but he was done, and fell down the hill a few more yards. The distance? almost exactly 264 yards. I dont know who was happier, my Dad, or the rest of us who had for so long dreamed of getting Dad back into those mountains, and getting him on a deer. The extremely steep and rough terrain made getting the deer out quite unpleasant, but it may have been one of the most satisfying deer I've ever extricated.
We pulled the whole front half of the deer up, so we could at least get some decent pictures. Otherwise we'd have boned him out. Lucky for them, the Grandkids got to enjoy this eventful day with their Grandpa.
The rifle: 1960 Model 70 Winchester, 24" Douglas 8.5 twist barrel chambered in .264WinMag, Shrewd brake. The stock is the original Winchester with a little Coldbore love stuck to it. Shooting RP brass, with 60.5gr of 4831, it shoots 140's at 3050fps.
It took us most of the day to get the deer out and back to the truck. The next day, we went to another spot I had scouted, in the hopes of finding some more bucks.
Along with us this year, were my brother in law, and my young cousin. They were both excited to shoot this year, my BIL had only killed one deer probably five years ago, and was really itching to get one. My cousin was still deerless, having never gotten a shot a one before. Well that sunny Sunday morning didn't start off as we'd hoped. not many deer were up and moving, and the few that were had no antler's at all. Both my BIL and cousin had no trophy aspirations, they had in fact said, "anything with horns is game." so I knew we just needed to find a buck, big, little, or otherwise. As the sun got a little higher, and just peaked over the high mountain ridges. Shots started coming from up the mountain, we looked in that direction, and I saw some deer moving into some yellow aspens. We literally had to run uphill for a good 4-500yds to get to a spot where we could see the deer properly. As I scanned the tree line, I saw a small set of antlers walking calmly through the trees. Shots were still coming from above, as best as I could tell, whoever was shooting couldn't hit close enough to these deer to even get their attention. My BIL and I scurried down a brushy hillside to a rock shelf that was made for shooting from. As we settled in, our hearts were pounding, not just from the run, but from the excitement. As my BIL settled in behind his rifle, I got my video camera setup, and spotted through my Swarovsky. The range to the deer was 270 yards, my BIL tried his best to calmly relax, and leaned into the rifle. The sunlight peeked through the yellowing leaves of the aspens, and some of the deer's backs were shining. The blinding light made it hard to see, both the camera screen, and scope images. Notwithstanding, he removed the safety, and put the 250 mark of his reticle halfway up the deer's chest, and pulled the trigger. I'll let the video tell the rest of the story, if you watch closely, you will see not the trace, but the actual bullet reflecting the sunlight. looks amazing:
Norman's deer 2013 - YouTube
The sound of the impact was evident, and shortly after running off screen, the deer stopped, and tipped over. The single shot from a 300WM is plenty to anchor this little fella:
The 180gr Hornady interlock hit perfectly, and blew the deer's heart into three pieces:
We cleaned the little guy, and headed back towards the truck. Dad, Burglecutt, and my cousin helped us get back without a heart attack.
Having expended most of our energy, and having seen the rest of the deer file out of the canyon, we decided that it was lunchtime.
As we sat in a local restaurant wolfing down far too much food, my phone rang, it was my other cousin, and his boy. They were just a couple miles from us, and he said he had two small bucks spotted on the face of the mountain, and that they were on their way up to them, and if we wanted in on that action, we'd better haul ass. So we choked down the rest of our food, and ran out of the restaurant. We made it to the foothills, and I could see the two orange dots on the hill above us where my cousin and his son were, I could also see two deer standing broadside just a few hundred yards to their south. Before the truck had even stopped rolling, my young cousin and I were bailing out, rifle and packs in hand. We had just a short 400 yds to run, straight up hill, we made about 700 vertical feet in that distance, having just downed a couple bowls of chips and salsa, burritos, beans, rice, etc. So you can imagine our state when we crested the shelf we needed to shoot from. I could barely stand, my breathing sounded like a clip from some camel porno, it took all I had to open the tripod and get my camera setup. Light was fading fast, as the sun had already dipped behind the Great Salt Lake, we had to shoot, and NOW! my young cousin was trying to catch his breath, and as we looked up, a small buck stepped into view, a short 160 yards from us. And like it was meant to be, he stood there and looked at us. I rolled the camera, Steven my cousin, steadied himself on a rock, and tried to control his shaking and breathing. Silence and concentration came, as he steadied his Weatherby Vanguard 7mmRemMag on the deer. The shot broke, and the impact was instantaneous, as was the result. The small deer dropped instantly, and rolled towards us. The 162 Hornady Interlock had done its job.
Enjoy:
Stevens deer 2013 - YouTube
My other cousin's boy had already shot the first buck before our arrival, and were on their way down. By the time we got to the deer, it was dark, so we drug him down the mountain to the truck, we gutted them there, and took some pictures:
Monday morning came, and my body was showing signs of having had its ass kicked, so it was with a much slower pace that Burglecutt, Steven, and I made it up the mountain that morning. And to our discontent, we saw just a few does, and as many moose. After hiking back out, we decided to drown our sorrows in unhealthy portions of french toast, hash browns, eggs, bacon, sausage, and ham. By this point, I was growing accustomed to the massive quantities of food that my body simply couldn't get enough of. We were exhausted, and spent the afternoon napping, and cruising SH. We had determined to meet back that evening in the same spot Steven had shot his deer the night before, rumor had it there was still a decent 3pt in there. So Burglecutt and I met there at 18:00, and we had brought our two sets of kids with us, (the wifes had other plans) we had planned on glassing, and not much else. But no more than two minutes after my arrival, I spotted a couple does feeding high above in a clearing. As my brother pulled up, I spotted another deer behind a tree with the does. My suspicions were aggravating because there were two other hunter's above me in the canyon, and I wanted to get positioned in case this was a buck. Otherwise these other guys may beat me to it.
Moments passed, and my suspicions were confirmed, the deer stepped out from behind the tree, and his antlers were quite visible, even from 800 and something yards. So I grabbed my son, and the two of us ran up the hill towards the deer. I couldn't shoot from there, as we were too close to town. I had to make it to the same shelf area that Steven had shot his from in order to avoid unwanted LE involvement.
So up we ran, and I scrambled to get a good position that would get me enough angle to get on the deer. I settled in, and ranged him at 620 yards with the Swaro. I setup the camera, and dialed in my elevation. And just as I was about to pull the trigger; "Dad, he's running!" my son exclaimed as he watched through the camera. The echo of the rifle report sounded through the canyon, the other hunter's had taken a shot at him. As far as I can tell, these guys were again, MODP hunters, they managed to hit him in the foot with one of their 6 or 7 shots, but that was it. I found the deer again, now out of the other hunter's view, and hidden in some trees. He stood there, limping on his broken foot, I readjusted my dope for the new distance, and sent one hot 140gr Match Burner into his neck. He dropped instantly, and rolled down the steep hill.
I quickly ran back up the mountain, trying to get to the buck before dark. I got to him, and boy was I happy when I did.
The mountain was so steep, I didn't even bother gutting him, and started making my way back down, or at least slow the fall of me and the deer to a non dangerous speed. I fell 20 or so times on the way down, and had a face full of dirt, but it was worth it.
Burglecutt is the only one left with a tag, so the next few days we'll be hitting it hard every available minute, if he wasn't such a damn trophy hunter.
One of the best deer hunts ever so far, and its not even over yet. The best part has been sharing it with the ones we love.
