Chasing Mule Deer and Memories: A Nevada Archery Hunt

My name is Declan, who will be one of at least three writers. This will be the start of many blog-type posts to come. In this particular experience, I plan to bring you along on a Nevada high desert archery mule deer hunt — to educate, entertain, and bring light to the benefits and joys of the outdoors and spending time in them. I’m no pro hunter, I don’t even consider myself a good writer. Nonetheless, I hope to capture the beauty of the Nevada desert and immerse you in my adventures.

In Our Own Backyard

Now in my early days of manhood (within the last few years), Hemingway has captivated me with his Green Hills of Africa and many of his other hunting stories. Many men and women alike get so wrapped up in the Great Plains hunting of South Africa, or the red stag hunts of New Zealand, and so many other exotic game animals all over the world. But they fail to look close to home.

We have world-class high Sierra mule deer. The second-largest species of elk, the Rocky Mountain elk (Cervus canadensis nelsoni). And pronghorn antelope — the last surviving member of their family, with the giraffe as their closest relative. A once-in-a-lifetime hunt, unless you have big money or are extremely lucky, is the Nelson bighorn sheep. These animals make you work. Living in elevations of 10,000–14,000 feet, you will get your steps in. Last but not least, mountain goats. Living in the same elevation range, if not higher. Eighteen of these tags were given out this year (that number fluctuates slightly year to year) and IF you draw, it’s 10 years before you can apply again.

The surface is just being scratched! This is just big game in Nevada! Go south and you have Coues deer in Arizona. Go north and you have blacktail, Roosevelt elk (largest elk species), black bear, and grizzly bear.

The point I’m getting at: don’t get so wrapped up in chasing the exotics that you overlook the ones in our own backyard. Bighorn sheep tags can go for tens of thousands, even hundreds of thousands of dollars. While I would love to hunt Cape buffalo and kudu in Mozambique, I need to take advantage of the beautiful animals we have here.

The Hunt

I blocked out a week a few days after opening day. I woke up excited but nervous. This would be the first time hunting with my dad in many years, and my first time seriously hunting archery.

I drove an hour to my parents’ to meet up with my dad, and we were off. There’s more to it than just going out and killing a deer. There are hours of scouting and planning. You can’t see the future; you don’t know what the weather will be like in a week. When you scout, you’re planning where they will be, not just where they are. Springs dry up, animals move. We had seen a few bucks and knew there were deer here. We just had to get to them.

We got there around 3:30p.m., set up camp, and relaxed a little. At 5:25p.m., I decided to walk down the creek and see if I could spook something up. I really wasn’t expecting anything — more just going for a walk with my bow. Traveling light with just my chest rig. Maybe 200 yards from camp I heard crashing to my left.

I snap my head and take a knee. On the other side, a buck is staring right at me. Broadside. I take a few deep breaths and try to get the shakes down. I take my rangefinder out with what sounded like the loudest zipper in the world. 37 yards. A perfect shot. Right within the range I’d been comfortable and confident with. I take a few more breaths, nock an arrow, and draw. Lined up the green pin and in the lull of my breath my finger brushes the release.

Thwack.

That sound you can’t mistake. The sound of a broadhead smacking and cutting through flesh.

A million emotions were running rampant. Had I made a good shot? Did I follow my steps? I ranged it right. Right?

He took off. Ran right back by camp. My dad and uncle, who were sitting at camp, saw the buck run by and called out to me, “Hey, there’s a buck right there!” to which I replied, “Yeah, with my f***ing arrow in him,” which would be referenced and chuckled at the rest of the trip.

They threw on their packs and we tried to find where he had gone. Looked and looked andddd… nothing. The doubt started to set in. Although it was getting dark and it was cold enough at night that it would be fine if we couldn’t find him, we had to give it our best shot. We went back to where I had made the shot, opened OnX, and started tracking blood. Found the trail but it was long dark. We decided to resume early the next morning.

I replayed the shot over and over and over. My arrow didn’t pass through, which meant it hit bone. Had he ducked last second and sent my arrow a little high? Had I pulled last second? Trying not to overthink, I went to sleep.

Next morning arrived and we picked up the trail once again. Consistent and bright blood drops on the dried mule’s ear made for easy tracking. And then it stopped. Cold.

Went back over and over, starting at the beginning, and it stopped in the same place. Every. Single. Time.

It happens, and that’s something you have to accept. I exhausted my abilities and could not find him. It killed my confidence and could’ve ruined the rest of the week if I let it.

Following that, we made a game plan for the next morning: get up early and get up high. At 4:25a.m. we made coffee and started off. By 5:05a.m. we were heading up through an absolute minefield of dried mule’s ear, which would be the biggest enemy of the rest of the season.

We came across 4 deer. Three bucks and what looked to be a doe. Sat and watched them for some time until they crested the hill. With that, we changed our plan and decided to follow these guys. We came up the mountain left of where they had crossed. There was a bowl and a perfect spot for them to sit. Walking behind my dad, he stopped and motioned us down. They were a hundred yards away. We waited and watched as he went left and tried to close some distance. He was within shooting distance when they spooked and ran right past him.

Trying to catch their attention, only the doe stopped. We sighed and tried to make a plan: continue to follow them or go back and try to glass the hills and catch other deer bedding down. We decided to follow. Side-hilled around the mountain and found some very nice beds. Further around the mountain we came to a saddle, and the wind changed. They must’ve caught our scent. They bounded off — this time for good.

Following that day, my dad’s friend joined us for his first hunting trip. That evening, when my father went to pick him up, I decided to go on an evening hunt. Ten steps out of camp and there was a rustle at my feet. A rattlesnake had slithered out right at me. No warning. No rattle. That bastard. The thing you’re named for and you decide not to do it before you try and bite me? Needless to say, we had rattlesnake that night. And I have a new snakeskin bookmark (thanks Mom).

We saw a few more bucks and I had one more stalk on a forked horn but ultimately no luck.

We had more trips out lasting through the weekend. No shots and no bucks within distance, but man, was it beautiful. I had spent the last 4 years in Washington, and the desert still takes my breath away.

Good Times

No tags were filled, and I beat myself up for not finding the buck that I had hit. But above that, the memories I made and the lessons I took away will forever stick with me.

I live in the moment a little too much sometimes and fail to take photos on the majority of adventures I go on. I made it a point to capture this trip. So I bought a disposable camera and clicked off many memories this time. I’m not getting younger and neither is my father, and as much as I like to believe that my father is invincible and a superhero, there’s one man he can’t beat, and that’s Father Time. I have missed valuable time with him and I’m doing my best to make up for that.

I can’t thank my mother enough, although I’m sure she was happy to have some time to herself. Hunting can be expensive, and there’s no guaranteed reward, but she knows the importance of quality time. We had great dinners, great moments on the mountain, and now have new traditions to continue.

Spend that time with your dad, your uncle, your brother. Get out into those mountains. Make memories so you don’t regret not doing so when they are gone. Life is short, and always moving forward. It kneels to no one. Not even your father.

Get out. See the outdoors. Take that trip. Make use of the land we are blessed to walk upon. Lastly, take care of it.