Don’t worry about the coulda, woulda, shoulda
- Bob Hanna: Someday
- January 27, 2019
- 1172
Before I forget to tell ya, we weren’t alone in our travels this trip. I brought Herman, my good luck buck who I adopted from a garage sale this year and who rides behind me with his lucky hat. Also Taryn adopted Bo, a friendly bear we met at one of our Cabela’s stops.
Well, just as many elk we had seen that week in Wyoming, the mule deer were just the opposite. We spent three days driving and glassing. What we did find were too young and too small. At one point frustration started to set in.
Once again Taryn had to remind me of our true hunter’s philosophy. The main reason to hunt should be to maintain a strong herd in numbers and health. Our first priority is to take older bulls and bucks or “management stock.”
Wednesday, Oct. 17, our last day, Tom, our guide, decided to take us to a new area. Just after sunup, we spotted four bucks crossing a ridge. One looked pretty good. Tom drove out of sight in a direction to intercept the bucks. Tom and Taryn carefully stalked toward the bucks as I stayed a bit behind.
After awhile I saw Taryn coming back alone. She said the bucks had somehow disappeared, and Tom was walking the steep hillside, hoping to find them up again, but we never found them.
The last afternoon hunt, Tom, I think, was realizing how frustrated we were to have not at least had a chance at a decent buck. We discussed finding a management buck to fill Taryn’s tag. At one point that afternoon we met up with another of the camp’s guides, Adrian, and his son. They said they would help us scout for a buck.
About 5:15 p.m. Adrian called Tom, saying they had our buck bedded near the reservoir. Tom just said to hang on because it was getting late and it was a good ways to get there.
So flying across the canyon floor, not a road mind you, at about 40 mph, which reminded me of that morning in Africa in 2014 when one of the scouts called Hannes, our guide, to tell us that they had spotted my zebra, I think the only time Tom slowed down was to crest a ridge, or we would have been airborne.
As we arrived at the reservoir, Adrian motioned for us to come to the dam, where he had his spotting scope set up. Actually there were two bucks laying in the brush about 500 yards at the top of the ridge, smart deer indeed.
At first sight I knew this one buck was exceptional, but he was in direct line with the other buck, and his backside was toward us, so Taryn had no shot. Adrian suggested Taryn use his 6.5 Saum precision rifle, which he already had dialed in to take the shot. Adrian worked with Taryn to try to get her acclimated to his rifle.
The sun had already began to set, so we had to somehow get the buck to stand up. Adrian yelped like a coyote, Tom whistled and I even did my barking dog impression (we laughed about this later), but he absolutely would not stand up.
Tom said it was time to “roll the dice” before it was too late. Tom told Taryn to get ready and he took off up the slope to our left. I was watching this whole time through the spotting scope, and as Tom got within 200 yards of the bucks, he stood up.
This was a sight I will never forget. We knew he was big, but silhouetted against the evening sky was this 300-pound, 30-inch-wide, 190-plus-class buck. But his rear was toward us, so Taryn didn’t have a clear shot, and as he turned, I could only think “now.”
But no shot.
As the buck bounded over the hill out of sight, we knew we had seen something special. Taryn said that because this wasn’t her rifle, she had trouble with finding the buck in the scope until he stood up, and as he turned, she didn’t have enough time to reacquire his vitals.
She apologized, but I congratulated her. First, she didn’t take a bad shot, even under extreme pressure. Second, we got to witness a legendary buck that lived another day.
What could we have done differently? What should we have done? What would we do if we had a second chance? Coulda, shoulda, woulda, just be grateful for the experience.
God bless.