"It is not the critic who counts: not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles or where the doer of deeds could have done better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly, who errs and comes up short again and again, because there is no effort without error or shortcoming, but who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions, who spends himself for a worthy cause; who, at the best, knows, in the end, the triumph of high achievement, and who, at the worst, if he fails, at least he fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who knew neither victory nor defeat." ---Theodore Roosevelt 1910

Friday, October 1, 2021

The Highway Buck


   
        We decided to hunt closer to home this season on the Fishlake unit instead of the Manti. One day after school, Bron and I ran up to the Sand Ledge area where we had previously jumped a four point in the rolling sage brush hills three days prior. We couldn't turn up that buck and it was getting late, so I decided to time it just right that when we got on the pavement to head for home we still had some fading light to look along the small side canyons.
        As I pulled onto the highway, I mentioned to Bron to keep his eyes peeled on his side. I know he thought I was just trying to act like there way a chance when there really wasn't but I was for real. I knew at times bucks staged there and would waiting for it to get dark to come down to water. 
         No sooner than we got around the first bend and Bron yelled "Dad... Buck, Buck!" I flipped around and drove back up to it. It was now on my side and in the fading light was this buck 150 yards above looking straight down at us stopped on the road. It wasn't a giant frame but he appeared heavy. It's October during the muzzleloader season, bucks are all rubbed by now. I didn't know he was in full velvet.  
         We flipped around again and pulled of the road. Bron put a cap on and we walked right at this buck for 50 ft while it was watching us so we was far enough from the road for a legal shot. Just as he was getting settled to shoot, the buck spooked and side hilled. We repositioned ourselves and Bron took a freehand shot just as it entered a small group of juniper trees. 
        I thought he missed him. We quickly reloaded and Bron took off up the hill. I was out of breathe trying to keep up with him. Bron stopped at the wrong group of trees and was looking for a downed deer or blood. I informed him it was the next group higher and he took off again. Just as soon as he reached the trees he yelled out " Dad I got him!" He was pretty proud of himself. 
Well all be, what a heck of a freehand shot!
        I was surprised he shot a buck still carrying perfect velvet on its antlers. No wonder why I thought it had good mass. When we filed dressed this big bodied deer, I could tell from his boy parts and his long and very narrow face he wasn't producing near the normal levels of testosterone.

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