Hunting the elusive Coues and Carmen Mountain whitetails.

It’s early February and I’m in northern Mexico, one of the best places on Earth in late winter. Mornings are brisk, midday sunny and pleasant under a cloudless sky, bright campfire at night. I’m hunting Coues whitetail, the grey ghost of southern Arizona and northwest Mexico. I’ve been at it for three days, haven’t seen a good buck yet. Maybe I will, maybe I won’t, really don’t care. Love the desert mountains this time of year, and these tricky little deer are one of my all-time favorite pursuits.

Like so many of my generation, I first read about them in Jack O’Connor’s Game in the Desert(Derrydale Press, 1939). The Professor made hunting these crafty little deer sound like so much fun. Today we mostly hunt Coues deer by painstaking glassing. In O’Connor’s Arizona days, they were more commonly hunted by riding horseback through good habitat, jumping deer, and bailing off the horse to get a shot. Late in his life, I was fortunate to know great Coues deer hunter George W. Parker. Between 1926 and 1969, Parker put an amazing seven Coues bucks into B&C’s all-time book. George described his early Coues deer hunting just like O’Connor: Jump-shooting from horseback. I don’t know if there were more deer back then, but I’m sure the shooting was even more difficult than they described. Especially since much of their hunting was with iron sights.

I first hunted Coues deer in the fall of 1978, with Marvin and Warner Glenn out of Douglas, Arizona. Marvin is gone, but the Glenn family is still famous for their sturdy riding mules. Although the Glenns did plenty of glassing, I got my first Coues whitetail just as Parker and O’Connor described. Late in the hunt, we were riding up toward a saddle, Marvin in the lead, when he jumped some deer and vaulted off his mule. I hustled, got a quick shot at a nice buck just as he topped out. I rushed the shot, didn’t hit him well, but we caught him moving around a bowl over the rim and I got in a finisher.

I did more hunts with the Glenns, then studied post-graduate Coues deer glassing under great Arizona hunter Duwane Adams. I loved the Arizona hunting, was usually successful…when I drew. Not drawing drove me to Mexico, often with Kirk Kelso. Several times in Chihuahua, more frequently Sonora. The B&C book suggests that the biggest bucks come from Arizona. Probably true, but Arizona is mostly public land and hunting pressure is greater. I’ve never had huge trouble finding Coues deer in Arizona, including recently on BLM land adjoining son-in-law’s ranch north of Phoenix. However, in Mexico, legal nonresident hunting is on private (or communal/tribal) land. Success is higher, average size better, although Arizona’s top end bucks are probably bigger. Whatever, I love to hunt in northern Mexico. Like the feel of the remote ranchos, love the home-cooked Mexican fare, enjoy the people (I wish my Spanish was better).

Army surgeon and naturalist Elliott Coues “discovered” his small, grey deer in the Department of Arizona during the Apache Wars. So different from the “Virginia deer,” it was believed a full separate species well into the Twentieth Century. Today, Odocoileus virginianus couesi is accepted as just one of (arguably) thirty-eight whitetail subspecies, twenty-nine in North and Central America. In Boone & Crockett’s Records of North American Big Game, only the Coues deer is singled out with separate category. Fine by me, but it’s important to appreciate that this special treatment is based on tradition and taxonomic error.

The Coues deer is not the only whitetail subspecies unique to the American Southwest and northwestern Mexico. The other is the Carmen Mountain whitetail (O. c. carminis), after the Sierra del Carmen range in western Coahuila. This whitetail is not nearly as well-known as the Coues. Safari Club International’s record-keeping system now recognizes it, along with several other Mexico-unique whitetail races, and it’s part of the collection of all of Mexico’s deer, a most difficult task that many Mexican (and a few crazy Americans) strive for.

The carminis, or del Carmen, locally called “fantail” in Texas, is essentially the whitetail of the Big Bend region, the huge Park itself, and peripheries in both Mexico and US. As O’Connor’s writing drew me to Coues deer, it was early reading that drew me to del Carmen, When I was young and only dreaming about this stuff, Hal Swiggett wrote a story about hunting whitetail, desert mule deer, and “fantail” in West Texas. Wow, three kinds of free-range deer in one area? The Carmen Mountains whitetail went on my bucket list, right next to Coues.

Today I know that, even as big as Far West Texas ranches can be, it’s unlikely to have two pure whitetail strains in one place. Almost all whitetail races have broad hybrid zones. Still, the Carmen Mountains whitetail is a real and unique Southwestern deer. In Texas, found in and around the Big Bend National Park. In Mexico, del Carmen has perhaps the smallest range of any of Mexico’s whitetails, restricted to western Coahuila.

North and east, they bump into Texas whitetails; west and south, into Coues deer. Carminis and couesi are both smaller races, hunting conditions much the same, low densities in country with spikey plants, crumbling rock offering terrible footing. Although I’ve done much Coues deer hunting, I know less about del Carmen. However, being that guy, interested in the unusual, I’ve hunted them in both Texas and Coahuila.

We think of them as similar, but this is a disservice to both deer. There are similarities, also differences. Compared to northern whitetails, both have larger ears and outsized tails, for heat dissipation in their warm climate. When raised in alarm, it’s that big, luxurious tail that gives the Carmen Mountains deer its nickname “fantail.”

Del Carmen is larger than the Coues deer and can grow larger antlers. This might seem misleading, because their range in Texas is harsh and dry, almost certainly reducing body size and antler growth. In western Coahuila the country changes dramatically. The Sierra del Carmen range has significant forest, and grassy valleys below are popular for breeding horses. Western Coahuila’s softer country has potential for larger deer.

Visually, the Coues deer is very grey, while the Carmen is brown. It also seems to me that Carmen antlers are more typical, straighter lines and smoother curves, while Coues antlers seem to often form in kinky curves and are rarely perfectly matched one side to the other. In both size and appearance, it seems to make sense that Carmen deer are more like the Texas whitetails they adjoin, while the more distant Coues deer show greater differences.

My first hunt for del Carmen was with Steve Jones in the Chinati Mountains west of Big Bend. In Texas the fantails share their country with free-range aoudad, so this was a marvelous combo hunt. Lots of aoudad, fewer deer. One afternoon we glassed up a nice eight-pointer. We had him in the spotting scope, waiting to see what he did before making a move. He was walking along a little rimrock far below us and I guess he stepped into a bedded aoudad ram that materialized into the field of view, one of the most amazing sights I’ve seen through a lens. The buck dropped off the rim and out of sight, so I slipped down and shot him.

I went into Coahuila with New Mexico outfitter Jess Rankin. Much different, better-watered country. We saw few deer, although we took a nice buck. Depends on where you are; Mexican friends tell me some ranches have high numbers. One thing the area did have: Plenty of black bears, killing horse foals on that ranch. Among Mexican hunters, it’s axiomatic that black bears and Carmen Mountains whitetails go together.

Whether carminis or couesi, intensive glassing is the primary technique. Small deer, thinly dispersed in big country. Patient glassing with the biggest and best optics. I’d almost call glassing the only technique. Except: In some situations, waiting over water sources can be effective. I’m at Buelna Ranch in Sonora with my friends, brothers Andres and Santiago Santos. We spend some time at waterholes here. Also, unusually, in this area whitetails are often found out on the desert floor as well as in the hills. So, we do some cruising from high racks for both whitetails and desert mule deer. Still, glassing remains the preferred method. This afternoon we’re going to climb a ridge and glass an enticing canyon until dark. There’s lots of sign–must be a big buck in there. Maybe today will be the day.

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The newest additions to Kuiu’s women’s line provide ultimate fit and function for upland hunting and beyond.

I’ve been a fan of Kuiu Ultralight Hunting clothing since 2012, when I admired the high-tech gear my guides were wearing on an Alaska grizzly hunt and asked them what it was. As soon as I got home, I ordered Kuiu’s Attack Pants, Guide Jacket, and rain gear. I still have those original pieces, and they’ve performed beautifully and held up well on countless hunts over the years. Kuiu is best known for building lightweight, technical clothing for mountain hunters, but its product line now includes a full stack of gear for deer hunters, bird hunters, and everyone in between.

When the company came out with a women’s line a few years ago, I was impressed with the features and fit — it had obviously been designed and tested by actual, hard-core women hunters — and the fact that the quality and performance was every bit as good as the men’s gear I’d been wearing for years.

This past fall I had the opportunity to field test a couple of the latest additions to the Kuiu women’s lineup. I wore the new women’s PRO Brush Pant and the lightweight Gila Hoodie on a September dove hunt in eastern Colorado and on a couple of subsequent forays in search of grouse.

Honestly, I used to hate brush pants because most of them are hot, heavy, noisy, and uncomfortable. But the PRO Brush Pants have none of those qualities. Weighing just 19 ounces, they are lightweight, well-fitting, and comfortable. I love that they actually breathe and stretch. Yet they’re super tough, made of densely woven, tear-resistant Primeflex fabric, with reinforced panels on the lower legs, knees, and thighs for extra durability. Everything on the Colorado prairie has thorns and stickers, which the pants sloughed off easily going through numerous fencerows. Nor did they pick up burrs. 

The early September days started out chilly and warmed up fast, and the PRO Brush Pants kept me comfortable throughout. They fit well and look good, but still run large enough to accommodate a light base layer underneath. The zippered, mesh-lined vents on the hip and inner thigh are a great feature—unzip them to help dump body heat when you’re hiking. The pants come with removable suspenders (which I did remove since I prefer a belt), and have two deep front pockets, two large, zippered cargo pockets, and zippered back pockets. The cuffs are reinforced and have a hook that attaches to your boot laces to keep them from riding up when you’re busting though brush.

Lightweight hoodies are the go-to layer these days for hot weather hunting and fishing, and the women’s Gila LS Hoodie paired perfectly with the brush pants during my early-season hunts. With Cool-Touch fabric technology, the Gila Hoodie provides UPF 50+ sun protection as well as anti-odor treatment, and it wicks sweat and dries quickly. Like the pants, the fit is the right mix of streamlined and roomy. Raglan sleeves allow plenty of leeway for swinging a shotgun, and the hood is made to pull over a ball cap if you need to protect your neck and ears from the sun. I’m fairly tall, so I also appreciated the longer length of the body and sleeves, which have thumbholes.

The PRO Brush Pants come in Valo camo or a solid color, ash; and in the hoodie you have a choice of Valo, Verde, or Vias camo, or solid bone.

What’s great about both of these pieces is not only will I get a lot of use out of them for bird hunting, but they’re also going to be ideal for early season big-game hunts, especially pronghorn. Oh, and the Gila Hoodie is turning out to be an excellent fishing shirt as well. I highly recommend them both. Learn more and order direct at kuiu.com.

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Improve your hunting skills and do your part for wildlife management by filling a doe or cow elk tag.

Photo above: Calling in this cow elk on public land in Colorado made for an exciting and memorable hunt. Photo by Trail’s End Media

It was a beautiful fall morning in the Colorado high country. I was sitting with my back against a tree, rifle across my knees, watching as dawn slowly brightened a grassy opening that was ringed with the brilliant gold of aspen trees at the height of their autumn glory.

A piercing bugle sounded from somewhere behind me. A real bull, I wondered, or another hunter? This was national forest land, and there were plenty of other hunters around, so I couldn’t be sure. I sat still and waited. From roughly that same direction came a series of chirps and mews. Cow elk. I sat up straighter. Maybe there were actual elk close by.

My husband, Scott, was sitting against another tree about ten yards behind me, facing in the opposite direction. I was the one with the either-sex elk tag, so he held a call instead of a rifle. He had heard the cow-chirps, too, so he let out one of his own.

The forest was silent for a few minutes, and then he chirped again, softly. Almost instantly, there was a crashing noise and a rustling of leaves, followed by Scott’s low warning: “Elk coming!” 

The rifle came to my cheek as I caught a flash of movement from my left. Two cow elk trotted past me, just fifty yards away. I was glad I had turned my scope to its lowest setting. I quickly verified that neither animal had antlers, then swung the cross hairs to the front of the lead elk’s chest and fired. She stumbled, ran forward, and stopped broadside a hundred yards away. I racked the bolt and put a second round through the center of her shoulder, and she dropped in her tracks as the second elk vanished through the trees. 

I watched the elk in the scope for a few moments to ensure she wasn’t moving, put the rifle on safety, and then got shakily to my feet, the adrenaline rush still surging. Scott and I looked at each other, wide-eyed. “Wow, that was exciting!” he said.

“You’re not kidding!” I said. “I guess now we know you can call in cow elk just like bulls!”

I wish anyone who thinks a hunt for an antlerless animal can’t be an adrenaline-filled experience could have been with us that morning. Most hunters understand the idea of hunting antlerless elk and deer for meat, but many of them dismiss hunts for does and cows as “too easy” or “not very exciting.” I beg to differ on both points.

Several years ago I was hunting on a snow-covered ridgetop in northern Pennsylvania in early December. I had both a buck and a doe tag in my pocket, and I had been out for several days without getting a shot at either one. I had seen numerous deer, but in this thickly forested region, visibility is rarely more than fifty or sixty yards. That means, unless you sit very still or move with great stealth, deer are going to see you long before you see them.  

Still-hunting, or moving very quietly through deer habitat, is a time-honored tradition in this area, and it was a favorite method for old-timers like my dad, who never liked to be stuck in a stand all day. It’s a fascinating and effective way to hunt, but it’s also incredibly difficult. That season, I was determined to pull it off, but I was having trouble making myself move slowly enough. I was working hard to stay quiet and keep the wind in my favor; nevertheless, I was continually bumping deer. Every time I got close, I’d peer through the trees and see white tails waving goodbye as their owners bounded away.

That afternoon, something happened. I finally made myself slow way down, moving just two or three steps at a time, then stopping to glass for several minutes. I actually got so focused I lost track of time, so I have no idea how long I had been in this groove when I spotted the tip of a deer’s ear sticking out from behind a tree on the hillside below me. There were two does browsing on some beech brush, completely unaware of my presence. I dropped one with a single shot at fifty yards, then tobogganed down the snowy slope to put my hands on her warm hide. It may have been “just” a doe, but I still consider that successful still-hunt one of my favorite hunting experiences.

According to the National Deer Association (NDA), most states need to increase their doe harvest. In places where there are more deer than the habitat can support for optimal health of both the animals and the land, hunters can improve their region’s trophy buck potential by shooting more does. It seems paradoxical to buck-only hunters, many of whom can’t understand how taking does can actually strengthen a deer herd and even improve their chances at a good buck. The NDA explains that where there are large numbers of deer, taking some does out improves the health and nutrition of the remaining animals. It also balances the buck-to-doe ratio, which means bucks must move around more during the rut–so hunters are more likely to see them.

According to the Rocky Mountain Elk Foundation, there are also excellent management reasons for taking a cow elk. Reducing an elk herd to fit the carrying capacity of its winter range is important to the long-term health of elk and elk habitat, and taking a cow elk instead of a bull is an effective way to do this. Wildlife agencies issue either-sex tags specifically to encourage hunters to take cows. If more hunters were willing to kill cows in areas where biologists have identified the need to do so, the herds would be healthier and the bull numbers would actually increase. (Taking a cow elk usually also makes the local ranchers happy.) 

As I can attest after a long day of packing out my cow elk, these animals provide plenty of excellent eating. A mature cow will yield 150 pounds or more of edible meat. On my cow elk hunt, Scott and I used all the same skills we use on our quests for bulls: identifying good elk habitat, figuring out the terrain, hiking, glassing, calling, making the shot, and of course quartering, boning, and packing out a whole lot of meat.

You may think of cows and does as less wary than their male counterparts, but that’s not necessarily the case. As with all wild animals, they have keenly developed senses, and while you may get lucky, especially in areas where they are abundant, hunting them is not necessarily easy. 

Some states, including Colorado and Montana, even issue limited-draw tags for bighorn ewes. This surprised me when I learned about it, since bighorn sheep are hardly overabundant, and bighorn ram tags are among the most highly coveted of all big-game licenses. But in some regions, there are solid management reasons for hunters to take a few female animals out of the sheep population. 

The unit where I hunted my bighorn ram in southwestern Colorado is a good example. In 2023, the state issued 14 ram tags and 7 ewe tags for that unit. When I spoke with Jamin Grigg, Southwest Region Senior Biologist for Colorado Parks & Wildlife, he explained that sheep in this area, as in many areas of the West, are “managed for separation.” Although the population is healthy, the threat of disease transmission from domestic sheep herds that graze in the area is a major concern. If bighorn numbers increase too much, they are more likely to come into contact with domestic sheep and contract a highly contagious pneumonia that could spread through the herd. 

“We issue ewe tags partly to give hunters increased opportunity, but mostly to mitigate the risk of contact with domestic sheep,” he explained. Now that I know how delicious the meat of bighorn sheep is, and how magical it is to spend time in sheep country with rifle in hand, I would seriously consider applying for a ewe tag.

Hunts for the females of a species build your hunting skills, fill your memory banks, stock your freezer, and improve the health of herds. Tags are often easier to draw and less expensive than those for bucks and bulls, and you’ll gain valuable intel about the game in your chosen hunting area. As a bonus, taking a doe or a cow this year could lead to more and bigger bucks and bulls next year.

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Leica’s Amplus 6 3-18x44i is a robust scope with a sleek look and high-end features that belie its affordable price point.

When you have the opportunity to use high-end scopes and binoculars, as I’m often fortunate to do, you get spoiled—fast. There’s nothing like the razor-sharp views and light-gathering capabilities of premium optics. The problem, of course, is the sticker shock. Premium comes at a price—and while such optics are unquestionably worth what they cost, owning a scope that costs well north of $2,000 is not doable for everyone. So I was intrigued a few years ago when Leica—one of the top makers of high-end European optics—came out with a scope called the Amplus 6, which it touts as an “attractive entry into the premium class.”

The version I tested during two whitetail hunts last fall was the 3-18x44i model with the L4w BDC MOA reticle. This scope has a list price of $1,499, but a quick internet search finds it retailing for $1,199 at EuroOptic.com. Despite the price point, the Amplus 6 incorporates Leica’s proven optics technology, including top-quality lenses with 90 percent light transmission, state-of-the-art coatings, and a shock-resistant aluminum housing.

Despite its billing as a no-frills optic, the Amplus 6 is a sleek scope with the same high-end look and feel of other Leica scopes I’ve used. With a 30mm main tube, this model weighs 23 ounces—not ultra-lightweight by any means, but certainly trim enough to ride well on most hunting rifles. The glass is incredibly clear and the L4w reticle is sharp and uncluttered, with elevation and wind hold markings in MOA. It sits in the second focal plane so it stays the same size regardless of magnification. Cross hair thickness is 0.8 cm. In a word, it’s precise. The reticle also features an extra-fine (0.6 cm) illuminated dot with ten manually adjustable levels of brightness. The dot is small enough that it won’t obscure even a distant target and has no annoying glare.

I mounted this scope on a Ruger American Gen II rifle and took it to the range, and one of the first things I noticed was its exceptionally wide field of view at the lower powers. When I turned the magnification down to 3x and studied my target, I had an unusually broad view downrange. The other thing I appreciated was the generous eye relief—a big plus for a hunter who may need to take a shot from an odd angle in the field.

The 6 in Amplus 6 obviously stands for 6x zoom. The 3-18x magnification range is perfect for a wide range of hunting styles. While I kept it set on 6x during my Pennsylvania deer hunt, I cranked it up to 12x when I found myself in a tree stand in Missouri where I could see out to 400 yards—and I was glad to know there was more magnification available if I needed it. The 44mm objective lens allows for a large exit pupil while keeping the scope from being overly bulky.

This is a “no frills” scope only if you don’t consider an elevation turret, adjustable parallax, and illuminated dot to be “frills”—which I guess, these days, they aren’t. 

Leica’s BDC system lets you adjust the reticle so you can quickly dial to various shooting distances. The elevation turret features very solid, audible one-quarter-MOA clicks and large, easy-to-read numbers, and it tracks with great accuracy.

The turret also has a mechanical zero stop. After a quick online search, I found a YouTube video explaining how to set it up. It’s easy. There are two knurled rings on the elevation turret. After sighting in, hold the bottom one while unscrewing the top one. Once you remove the top cap, pull straight up to expose the interior of the turret. Loosen three screws with the included Allen wrench and turn the turret clockwise until the zero stop engages. Tighten the screws, replace the turret and cap, and you’re done. It’s one of the easiest-to-adjust turrets I’ve used.

On the left side of the scope is a parallax adjustment ring with a range of twenty yards to infinity. On the same left-side turret there are ten light-level settings for the illuminated reticle dot that alternate on and off. The windage adjustment is a capped turret you can turn by hand and has the same one-quarter-MOA adjustments the elevation turret does.

There’s no doubt this scope is robust. It took a few knocks during my fall hunts, including a couple of times when I was raising and lowering the rifle on a rope from my tree stand and I cringed as it banged a little too hard against the ladder. But my zero never budged.

Leica offers an impressive transferable warranty on optics sold in the USA and Canada. Their 30-year manufacturer’s warranty guarantees against defects in the optical system and their 10-year Passport Protection Plan promises to repair or replace your scope if it is damaged or becomes defective. 

With excellent light transmission, wide field of view, precise tracking, tough construction, and that fantastic warranty, there’s no doubt the Amplus 6 is a true premium scope—without the premium price.—Diana Rupp

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The defeat of Proposition 127 in Colorado is a blueprint for saving science-based wildlife management throughout North America.

Photo above by VictorSchendelPhotography.com

This past November, the North American hunting community celebrated a potentially game-changing victory with the defeat of Proposition 127 in Colorado, a measure that would have permanently banned the hunting of mountain lions and bobcats statewide. Despite Colorado’s heavily urban voter base and the backing of a powerful group of anti-hunting activists that outspent the pro-hunting side 2 to 1, the ballot measure not only went down, it failed by a fairly decisive margin of almost 10 percent.

When I first became aware of the issue in fall 2023, I assumed, as many other hunters did, that science-based wildlife management would come out on the losing end of this latest attempt at ballot-box biology, just as it had with Colorado’s voter-mandated wolf reintroduction in 2020. Instead, something very interesting happened. For the first time I can remember, I saw hunters come together in an organized way with a purpose and a plan.

A nucleus of determined people who believe in the benefits of hunting and scientific wildlife management joined forces to counter the emotion-filled falsehoods of the anti-hunters. They united behind an organization called Coloradoans for Responsible Wildlife Management (CRWM), led by the bearded and indefatigable Dan Gates.

Awareness of the issue spread rapidly throughout the Colorado hunting community, and by the time elk season was underway, thousands of volunteer-created “No on 127” signs sprouted along Colorado roadsides, with messages like “Let Scientists, Not Activists, Manage Wildlife.”

There were many facets to the success of the opposition to 127 that other states can learn from when — not if — anti-hunting groups attempt to disrupt their hunts. On a recent episode of the Hunter Conservationist podcast, Charles Whitwam and Mike Costello of HOWL for Wildlife, an organization that has helped beat back recent anti-hunting initiatives in several states, discussed what worked.

They noted that it was important to have focused, consistent messaging. Outreach to urban communities was critical, and this was done through social media, advertising, and, interestingly, face-to-face contact. The campaign actually set up tables in downtown Denver and Boulder and talked to passers-by, with surprisingly positive results.

One of Whitwam’s remarks that stood out to me was this: “This whole war is won through public education.” He explained that the vast majority of people, especially in the cities, know absolutely nothing about hunting. They are not automatically against it; they just know nothing about it. Once they hear from hunters, they start to understand that wildlife is managed under a carefully regulated, science-based system, and that the information they are getting from the other side is not trustworthy.

The bottom line, and what the majority of Colorado voters ended up agreeing on, is that decisions about wildlife management should be made by biologists and state agencies — Colorado Parks & Wildlife, in this case — not by voters.

As hunters celebrate this win, anti-hunting groups are continuing their efforts in Colorado and elsewhere. We now know the hunting community is capable of effective action. So the next time the antis try to come for our hunting licenses, we know we can beat them. We need to be ready.

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Lightweight and rock-steady, these are game-changers for backcountry hunting.

Photo above: The Javelin Pro bipod is lightweight, easily adjustable, and quick to deploy.

For years I was not a big fan of having a bipod on my hunting rifle. Most of the ones I tried were heavy, clunky, and noisy to deploy. And of course, you can only use them when shooting prone, which isn’t always possible depending on the terrain and the game you’re hunting. Instead, I generally rely on using my pack for a rest when shooting prone, and carry some sort of tripod or shooting sticks on which to rest my rifle if I end up shooting from a sitting or kneeling position. But good shooting sticks can also be heavy and unwieldy. So when I first heard about Spartan Precision’s range of lightweight bipods and tripods using a quick-detach system, I was intrigued. 

Designed specifically for backcountry hunters, the system uses rare-earth magnets to quickly and securely mount rifles and optics to a versatile range of ultralight carbon-fiber bipods and tripods. Built for simplicity and low maintenance, the system is easy and quick to use and ideal for any hunt where you are doing a lot of hiking don’t want to carry too much weight, but might need to shoot from a variety of field positions.

The first step is to attach one of Spartan’s adapters to your rifle. Spartan offers a range of adapters compatible with a wide selection of rifles. They call their system MagnaSwitch, and once you have an adapter on your rifle or optic, you can attach any of the compatible accessories since they all use the same attachment system. 

The Classic Rifle Adapter is a no-brainer to install; I put it on a Remington 700 .25-06 in a couple of minutes. Just unscrew the front sling swivel stud from your rifle’s fore-end and replace it with the adapter, which consists of the rare-earth magnet and a sling attachment behind it (so you can still attach your sling). The adapter kit comes with several different screws; pick the one that most closely matches the sling-swivel stud on your rifle, tighten it up, and you’re done.

Note that the Classic Adapter works on a lot of different types of rifles, but not all. It worked perfectly on the Remington 700, but it didn’t work on my Ruger American. However, Spartan offers a wide variety of different adapters for different rifle platforms, including Picatinny, M-Lok, and Arca adapters, as well as one called the Classic Gunsmith Adapter that will work on my Ruger, but must be installed by a gunsmith. Spartan Precision’s website has a list of rifles that work with the DIY-friendly Classic Adapter.

I couldn’t believe how light the Javelin Pro Hunt Tac Bipod was when I first picked it up. Made of aluminum and carbon fiber, it weighs just 7.6 ounces, and the legs extend from 7 to 9 inches. You can adjust the height easily with one hand. Tungsten tips with tethered rubber boots lets it sit on pretty much any surface without slipping.

Once I’d installed the adapter on my .25-06, the bipod was super easy to attach and detach. You just place it in the adapter and the rare earth magnet pulls it tight. It does take a little practice to slip it in without making a loud click, and that’s definitely something you’ll want to practice before you hunt with it so you can do it as quietly as possible without alerting the game (it will still go click, but more softly). Removing the bipod is just a matter of grasping it and pulling firmly downward. I love being able to have a bipod with me without having it hanging off the fore-end of my rifle all the time. (Spartan also sells a handy holster for it so you can keep it on your belt.)

The bipod has two modes, which you control depending on which way you attach it to your rifle. In hunting mode, the bipod rotates so you can track moving game. In target mode, it’s locked in and won’t move. Even in hunting mode, it’s incredibly steady. I shot better groups with the .25-06 with the Javelin Pro off my prone mat at the range than I did off the bench.

The Ascent Tripod is even more impressive, and to me, more useful for most of the hunting I do. But the best part is I can have both the bipod and the tripod along with me on any given hunt, since they use the same adapter. When I click the .25-06 on the tripod and drop into a sitting position behind it, I feel rock-solid. The tripod has a wide range of elevation and cant adjustments, and four different leg-pitch positions. 

Like the bipod, the legs have tungsten carbide tips with tethered synthetic boots, and I couldn’t make them slip anywhere I set it up, no matter the terrain. The Mountain version of the tripod that I have extends to as tall as 50 inches and can go down as low as 11 inches. You can use the tripod for your spotting scope or binocular as well; you just need to install Spartan Precision’s Heavy Duty Optics Adapter.

No tripod is ultralight, but this one is as close as it gets at just over three pounds. Another neat feature is that you can detach the legs and use them as trekking poles. Spartan sells pole handles with wrist loops that attach easily to the tripod legs. Simply unscrew a tripod leg, screw in the handle, and you’ve got a nicer set of trekking poles than almost any on the market—without having added another piece of gear to your kit.

When you’re shooting at a game animal, you owe it to yourself and your quarry to make a clean kill. The Spartan Precision system is the niftiest and most practical setup I’ve ever seen for backcountry hunting. It has everything you need to get into a rock-steady field position and make that first shot count—without hauling a bunch of extra weight in the process. Learn more at javelinbipod.com.—Diana Rupp

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A group of hunters takes to the sea in search of the ocean’s biggest game.

Photo above: Steve McInnes, owner of the Strictly Business with a good striped marlin. On this unusual day, everyone on board boated a striped marlin. As soon as this photo was taken, the marlin was released.

Like most hunters, I also like to fish. I’m neither avid nor expert, and fishing is generally not what I write about. I might as well write about do-it-yourself brain surgery. However, if you must know, one of the first articles I ever sold was a fishing story, to Fur-Fish-Game magazine, for $35. Real cash money!

There are very few fishing stories among thousands of articles that have followed. I don’t fish as much as I did when I was young. But I still enjoy it, and I love bringing home fresh fish. For years, I’ve done an annual salmon trip with my friend and hunting partner Jim Rough, owner of Black Gold Lodge in Rivers Inlet, BC. I call it my annual “meat hunt.” Here’s what I like most about it: You don’t fish passively for big salmon. You hunt them. I’ve learned a lot from Jim Rough. And, since he’s a hunter, while we’re hunting for big salmon, we talk about hunting.

I figured a big salmon would be the pinnacle of my limited angling career. But other prizes await. Billfish lurk as an ultimate adventure. Part of this is because of fishing/hunting literature: Ernest Hemingway was an avid hunter of marlin. So was great Western writer Zane Grey. Hunting a marlin became a bucket-list thing for me, which I accomplished on a 70^th birthday soiree with Morgan O’Kennedy’s Big Blue Vilankulo off coastal Mozambique.

In hunting, the outcome is somewhat controlled by the decision to press the trigger. In fishing, although we bait and hunt specifically, we have little control over which or what size fish takes the bait. My black marlin wasn’t big, but I loved the experience, and I wanted to do it again.

Last year, while I was hunting in Alaska, my wife, Donna, was in Mexico’s Cabo San Lucas with a lady friend. They went fishing on the Strictly Business and slammed ’em: blue and striped marlin, dorado, big tuna and wahoo. I had FOMO (Fear of Missing Out).

Fast forward a year. I joined Donna on the Strictly Business in early November. Our group also included my friend JR Inman, his brother Roger, their adoptive brother Rick Eldredge, and Strictly Business owner Steve McInnes and his family. The whole group consisted of seasoned hunters, mostly with African experience. The rest of the group were experienced deep-sea anglers; I was the novice. The discussion on the main deck was mostly about hunting and firearms: best cartridges, old and new, favorite handload recipes. They were on home turf (water); I was on unfamiliar ground (water). Wanting to learn, I got polite answers to questions about fishing. Then the conversation swung back. An audio tape would suggest we were standing around a campfire in game country, not grinding through swells in the Sea of Cortez.

As with forest and plains, the water looks much the same in all directions to you and me, but not to the creatures who live there. Hunting for salmon, I learned to look for the nuances of currents and tide lines, and watch for birds diving on bait fish. Even with no land in sight, there was little difference. Out there, we are not the only hunters. Dolphins aren’t jumping for our pleasure; they’ve found something tasty near the surface.

Most of this falls on experienced captain and crew, who have a better vista from the upper decks, and understand what they’re seeing. I couldn’t influence the action, but I wanted to understand the process. Much hunting can be described as “hours of boredom, spiced with moments of extreme excitement.” Ocean fishing is like that. Patience is not my virtue, but I don’t find waiting for game boring. Sometimes it’s agonizingly tedious, but those adrenaline-fueled moments are worth the wait.

Our first morning, we followed dolphins to tuna, and caught some dandies for bait, for lunch, and to take home. Then we got serious about hunting marlin. Serious DIY hunters look askance at guided hunters as little more than trigger men. I follow both routes; with no apology, I accept some truth in this. Deep sea fishing from a modern boat is not The Old Man and the Sea. The angler more is reeler than artist. It’s a team sport; success is unlikely without a good crew. In my case,as  an aging beginner, I needed coaching: “Rod up. Keep tension. Let him run. Now reel.”

I fought my fish from the fighting chair. That’s hard enough, but I haven’t yet hooked one likely to drag me over the transom. On our second day, while Donna fought a nice striped marlin in the chair, we had another hookup. Roger Eldredge fought it freehand from the gunwale. It was the biggest marlin we hooked—it took 500 yards of line. I’m not sure I could have handled that, and I was happy to use the chair.

The target fish is one thing, what hits is another. When I asked what fish we might catch, JR told me “everything but dorado; they’re just not in.” Guess they all didn’t get that memo; on the second day I fought a fish we didn’t know was a dorado until it got close to the boat. It was a great-eating fish, and I was happy to have caught it. Everyone was surprised.

The wahoo is sort of an incidental catch, a long, fast torpedo of a fish, hard fighter, also great eating. In the late morning, Donna caught a big wahoo. Just an hour later, we had an even bigger one at the boat when the leader broke, bitten through by sharp teeth. Two hours later, it was my turn, and we got a monster wahoo on board. While filleting it, something deep inside flashed in the sun. It was our lure–bitten off two hours earlier. There is so much under the surface we can’t know. Clearly, this fish followed us for two hours and many miles, contemplating another bite.

Where we were fishing, black, blue, and striped marlin all occur in descending order of size and numbers. All the marlin we caught on this trip were striped. It’s the smallest variety but the most plentiful there at that time, still an awesome and athletic fish. My striped marlin gave a heroic fight. With good coaching—and my arms and back aching—we got him to the boat. I put a picture on social media, and got an instant response from a troll: “Not very big. I hope you released him.”

Striped marlins aren’t ever as big as the giant black marlins Papa Hemingway caught ninety years ago. In hunting, you can back off the trigger when a smaller animal is in your sights. In fishing, you cannot prevent a smaller fish from taking your bait. Regardless of size, billfish are handled gently. They are never gaffed; they are hauled up by hand for hook removal, a quick photo is taken, and then they are released.

Regardless of size, it is an amazing experience to haul in such a legendary fish. It’s a thrill to watch them jump and tail-walk. Sometimes it’s close, other times it’s a silvery flash a quarter mile behind. On our second day, taking turns, everyone caught a marlin–an amazing day. 

It happens like this: baits set, lines out, we languish, talk guns and hunting. Then one of the rods twitches, bends, the reel screams. “Fish on!” The designated hitter makes his/her way to the chair. Other lines are brought in or cleared to avoid fouling.

You can’t know the size of the fish, even be certain of the species, when you take the rod, but then you feel the power of the fish. Then, controlled panic sets in. Everyone has a job. The most critical skill lay with our excellent young Captain Reuben, working the boat with or against waves and current, backing to gain line, maneuvering to ensure the fish didn’t get under the boat and foul the propeller. For a lifelong hunter, albeit casual angler, big-game fishing is an amazing and altogether different experience.

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South Africa is now one of the top places to find a big sable antelope.

This past June, in big, brushy country in the western Limpopo Valley, my friend Bryan Pettet took one of the most beautiful sable antelope I’ve ever seen. It was 48 inches-plus on both horns, secondary growth six inches up the bases. I never thought I’d get a chance to run my hands over sable horns like that, and especially never thought it would be possible in South Africa. 

The magnificent sable has always been a premier animal, for much of my career ranking just behind the Big Five in desirability and value. Hippotragus niger has a large range, from South Africa north through most of Mozambique, Tanzania, Zimbabwe, Zambia, and into southern Congo; west across northern Botswana, northern Namibia, and into southeastern Angola. In the north, sables end in southeast Kenya.

The sable is an edge antelope, both a browser and grazer, typically found in savanna woodlands interspersed by grasslands. Sable are herd animals, typically a dozen to thirty females and youngsters, usually with one dominant herd bull. Males are often found singly or in bachelor groups up to a dozen. Large and dark, sables are highly visible when caught in the open, although in shadowed trees they disappear like ghosts.

I don’t consider them especially wary, certainly not to compare with the spiral-horned tribe. If you can locate a good bull, chances of closing for a shot are pretty good. However, densities vary widely and rarely are sables plentiful. Hunting them isn’t usually difficult; finding them in big country can be the real trick and, in woodlands, almost impossible. Against this, sables are somewhat habitual: A group seen in an area is likely to be seen there again. First, however, you must find them.

In 2010 I did a three-week safari in the Rungwa region in central Tanzania with Michel Mantheakis. Rungwa is one of the best areas in Tanzania for a big sable. We were trying to get Ron Bird a lion, which we did on the 21sr day. Before then, we rolled tires for countless miles, looking for tracks and hunting lion bait. We saw a lot of game, but never one sable, which was surprising.

In 2006, at Mahimba in coastal Mozambique with JP Kleinhans, we did a long filming safari. Sable don’t grow big horns there but they aren’t uncommon. Early on, producer Dave Fulson missed a fine bull. No shame, his rifle had come disastrously out of zero. We had time, expected to see Dave’s bull again and he’d achieve redemption. Weeks passed before we saw that bull again, bedded in open grass two hundred yards from where he’d been shot at.

Three races are generally recognized: Common sable (H. n. niger), most plentiful and widespread; Roosevelt’s sable; and the giant sable. The giant sable, H. n. variani, is isolated in small areas in east-central Angola. The giant sable is larger and its horns start where common sable horns end, potentially into the mid-60 inches. Endangered and protected, the giant sable has barely been hunted within hunting living memory.

Slightly smaller in body and horn, with mature bulls typically having a reddish tinge, Roosevelt’s sable is found from Kenya’s Shimba Hills south along the coast. Named in honor of Kermit Roosevelt, it was long thought the Roosevelt sable stopped in Kenya. Recent DNA research proved Roosevelt’s sable continues south through coastal Tanzania, including Selous Reserve.

Roosevelt’s sable probably progresses into Mozambique. Her coastal sables are smaller, with reddish tints. I believe Roosevelt’s sable persists at least as far south as the Zambezi, but that DNA research has not been done. When I shot “Fulson’s sable” at Mahimba, I gave myself credit for having a roosevelti, but it wasn’t technically true. Later, I shot a big sable in the Kilombero Valley, so can claim I have a “proper” Roosevelt’s sable.

I’ve taken good common sables, in Mozambique, Tanzania, Zimbabwe, and Zambia, but never a monster. Both sexes grow similar horns, curving up and sweeping back to sharp tips that sables know how to use. Males are larger in body, with horns that are usually longer and always thicker. Young sables are tan, darkening with age. Some females get very dark, but only mature bulls achieve that jet-black coat, offset by white belly and brilliant white face mask.

Sable horns continue to grow, but growth slows with age, and at some point tip wear exceeds growth. Maximum horn growth is probably about seven years. Older bulls show a smoother “secondary growth” at horn bases, below the well-defined rings. Male mortality is high from fighting; in the wild, old sable bulls are uncommon.

At full maturity, a sable bull’s horns may be just 34 inches. In most areas a mature bull with 38-inch horns should be considered good. The Holy Grail is a bull with 40-inch horns; the Rowland Ward minimum for common sable is even bigger at 42 inches. Both are tough marks to meet, depending on area. Where I hunt in coastal Mozambique, the Marromeu complex, sables have prospered, now among the more common large antelopes. The quota is large, but horn length rarely extreme. Years back, a young PH brought in a 45-incher, unheard of in that area, just one out of hundreds taken. Every year, the skinning shed sees a handful of bulls with 40-inch horns, but in this region, good mature bulls are usually in the 36 to 38-inch class. Those are nice sable bulls.

They do get bigger in some areas. Rowland Ward lists an astonishing thirty-five sable bulls of 50 inches and larger. Of these, twenty-six are recorded from Zambia. Of the rest, three from Zimbabwe, two from RSA, one from Zaire, and three of unknown origin.

Throughout my lifetime, western Zambia has been the best place for big sable. My personal best came from Mumbwa in Kafue in 1984. At 43 inches, it was a great sable. Hunting in Kafue in 1996, Bob Petersen took a huge bull. Not 50 inches but close. Wish I’d put a tape on it.

Western Zambia clearly has the genetics. However, it’s iffy. Big country with ideal habitat, sables present but not common. Not every hunter will get a monster, and many won’t see a shootable bull. Northwest Zimbabwe, especially Matetsi, is also known for big sable (one 50-incher in RW, taken in 1978). I saw gorgeous sables there back in the 1980s, but no monsters. Par for the course when hunting sable, even in great places.

 RSA produced the RW world record (55 3/8 inches) in 1898, and another 50-incher in 1980. Genetics are thus present, but until recently I considered South Africa a poor choice for sable. From the late 1970s South Africa’s game ranching industry took off slowly, then accelerated like a freight train. Exceptional breeding bulls existed, but sables were found on few properties. Available bulls were scarce, quality mediocre, and prices exorbitant. Safaris have long been costly in Tanzania and Zambia. Combining availability, cost, and success, Zimbabwe was the best place to hunt sable. Then Mozambique came back, since 2000 also a good choice for a sable safari. In Namibia, numbers were similarly low and prices high, but quality was excellent. A decade ago, I considered Namibia a better choice for sable than South Africa.

South Africa’s sables were sort of like her buffalo: I missed the sea change. Under my nose, game ranchers have been hard at work for decades, breeding valuable sables for both quality and numbers. It didn’t happen suddenly, but a tipping point was reached. Sables are now widely available in South Africa, quality has increased, and prices have dropped. Right now, South Africa offers Africa’s best opportunity for a great sable bull. Yes, it’s true that most aren’t strictly free range, also true that extra-large bulls are costlier. It’s still the best and most affordable destination for sable.

In June 2024 I was hunting in western Limpopo with Jose Maria Marzal’s Chico & Sons. We were mostly hunting buffalo, with several hunters coming in sequentially. Along the way we saw sables, including one exceptional old bull. Just because I didn’t want him doesn’t mean I didn’t appreciate him. We saw him twice and took photos.

A couple weeks later, my friend Bryan Pettet took his buffalo on that property, and then he suggested he might be interested in a big sable. We knew where such a sable lived. The two times we’d seen him he was alone, and we knew he might not be easy to find. He wasn’t. But on a hot midday, we glassed down from a rimrock and there he was in some brush near a small waterhole, one of the places we’d seen him before. The stalk was on, Bryan made a fine shot, and I was able to run my hands over those wonderful horns. The fable of the sable has changed.

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This unusual cervid may be the world’s weirdest-looking deer.

Photo above: A big bachelor herd of Pere David’s deer at Woburn Abbey in England, photographed in January with deer in heavy velvet. A nucleus herd gathered at Woburn by the 11^th Duke of Bedford saved the species, and the estate still manages one of the world’s largest herds.

Pere David’s deer is a large-bodied, semi-aquatic deer, considered a primitive deer that’s an offshoot of the round-antlered deer family Cervidae, genus elpahurus, one extant species, Elaphurus davidianus. It may be the world’s weirdest-antlered deer. Main beams point nearly straight up, and it is the only deer that has the longest typical tines pointing backward. Antlers are thick and heavily pearled, but there isn’t much apparent symmetry to their racks. Unlike most antlered animals, Pere David’s deer sometimes shed and regrow antlers twice per year.

If the antlers are odd, so is this deer’s appearance: Long tail, long face and neck, big hooves, tall, stout body. Its proper Chinese name is milu. It entered Chinese folklore during the Ming Dynasty (1368-1644) as sibuxiang, the mount of mythical character Jiang Siya in a classic Chinese fantasy. Translated, sibuxiang means “four not alikes,” described as: The tail of a donkey, the head of a horse, the hooves of a cow, the antlers of a deer. Not a bad description.

Aside from unique appearance, the milu has an interesting conservation story. It is believed to have been widespread across China, scarce by the nineteenth century. The milu is not especially wary. It’s a calm, phlegmatic deer. They can run, but rarely do. Hunted to near-extinction, a herd of milu were kept within the walls of the Emperor’s hunting gardens in Beijing (then Peking).

In 1866 French missionary Father Armand David (Pere David) sent the skins and antlers of three milu to Europe. Until then, the species was unknown, so it was named in his honor. Over the next decade a small number of milu were exported to zoos in Europe.

In 1895 a flood breached the Emperor’s garden walls. Deer escaped and were eaten by hungry peasants. It’s said that thirty remained in the garden. Fortunately, this tranquil; deer breeds well in captivity. It’s unknown how many might have been in the gardens of the Forbidden City when the next calamity struck five years later: the Boxer Rebellion, aimed to drive “foreign devils” from China.

On June 20, 1900, rebels surrounded the Legation Quarter, housing diplomats of eight nations: Austria-Hungary, France, Germany, Great Britain, Italy, Japan, Russia, and the United States. Each nation had a small contingent of soldiers, sailors, and marines, just 409 troops, against thousands of rebels, soon joined by elements of the Chinese army. The siege lasted 55 days.

Among the small US Marine contingent were some of our Corps’ great heroes. Daniel Daly, then a private, won the first of his two Medals of Honor by holding his position on the Tartar Wall—alone—with rifle and bayonet. In 1918, at Belleau Wood, First Sergeant Dan Daly is credited with rallying his troops to charge German machineguns by shouting, “C’mon, you sons-o’-bitches, do you want to live forever?” Also present in Peking was young Lieutenant Smedley Butler, “Old Gimlet Eye.” Wounded on the relief column, Butler fought in countless actions, served to Major General, and was the only other Marine to receive two Medals of Honor.

Despite high casualties and appalling conditions, the Legation Quarter held, an eight-nation relief column fighting its way through on August 14, 1900. The milu in the Emperor’s Garden didn’t fare as well. As a Marine, the way I like to tell the story, it was hungry Marines who killed and ate the last of them. In truth, it was probably German Imperial troops, since they held that sector. In any case, no Pere David’s deer survived the fighting in Peking.

After 1900, the only Pere David’s deer left were in captivity in Europe. Herbrand Russell, 11^th Duke of Bedford, maintained a large deer park on his Woburn Abbey estate southwest of London. A hunter and pioneer conservationist, he had already experimented with various species, including Chinese water deer and muntjac. The significant free-range populations of both species in modern England descend from escapees when another storm broke the brick wall encircling Woburn. The Duke recognized the perilous status of Pere David’s deer and gathered a nucleus herd from European zoos.

At Woburn Abbey, they thrived. All Pere David’s deer in the world descend from these deer. Although uncommon, they are found on numerous Texas ranches, also in Argentina’s Patagonia, and in several English deer parks. The best part of their story: Reintroduction to China began in 1985, five males and fifteen females, followed in 1987 with eighteen females, all from Woburn Abbey, donated by Robin Russell, 14^th Duke of Bedford, Herbrand Russell’s great-grandson. There have been other reintroductions, from various sources. The population in China is now estimated at 8,000, so the Pere David’s deer is stable, protected, and back in China to stay.

Current hunting opportunities include Argentina, England, and Texas. Again, let’s get real: This tranquil deer does not offer a sporting challenge. In most situations, the term “free range” does not apply. I have seen them in Argentina where they are not fenced, thus technically free-range, but happy in well-watered valleys they are unlikely to leave. In the purest sense, taking a Pere David’s deer is a collection, not a hunt. But within that context, there are valid reasons to harvest them: To apply value, to manage a herd, or to enhance a display of deer. Because Pere David’s deer are like no other antlered animal.

I’ve seen them at Woburn Abbey, still one of the largest single herds. Awesome to appreciate their history, conservation, and survival saga. My lifelong friend, Sports Afield publisher Ludo Wurfbain, took one in England. For years I was somewhat jealous, eventually accepting I could die happily without adding a Pere David’s deer to my life experience.

I’ve seen and photographed these deer on Texas ranches, as well as in Argentina and England. I don’t know what they were like when they had to worry about being eaten by tigers; my experience is they are placid and much too trusting.

Still, I was curious, because these deer are so different. I’d never seen one up close, never had the chance to wrap my hands around an antler. Several years ago, during one of daughter Brittany’s She Hunts camps on Record Buck Ranch in Texas, son-in-law Brad Jannenga decided he wanted to take a Pere David’s deer. Which, after all, is why game-ranching properties allow wildlife to drink their water and eat their grass.

We caught a small herd drinking and mudding-up at a waterhole. I had a catbird seat, watched him creeping and crawling. Brad was carrying a Krieghoff open-sighted double in .30-06. Perfect, gotta get close. He did, maybe 70 yards, pasted a big buck well and then again. Awesome bull, and I got to wrap my hands around the antlers and help load it. A blocky animal, they are heavier than I thought. References suggest 470 pounds for males, but I’m sure his was much heavier.

Since then, I’ve seen a couple more taken. Depending on feed, a big bull is likely 600 pounds, bigger than a cow elk, smaller than a mature bull. Estimation based on limited experience, but never accurate scales. Having seen this uncommon animal up close, I’d accepted that I would never take one. There are lots of animals I haven’t hunted, many that I never will.

So, last week, Brad and I were sitting in a deer stand on his Aspire Wildlife ranch in Texas, hoping for a management whitetail. Because it was the most interesting rifle in camp, I was carrying the same Krieghoff double in .30-06. Brad has a growing herd of Pere David’s deer, and they showed up at the end of the meadow, dozen cows tended by an old bull with poor antlers.

“Hey, that’s my last original bull; I don’t want him inbreeding. Let’s take him if he gets close enough,” Brad said. I demurred…but I didn’t protest too much. I thought this weird deer would a nice addition to our little wildlife museum in Kansas.

These days, I have sharp limits with iron sights. For an hour, the deer languished at 110 yards, too far. Then, slowly, the old bull made his way toward a waterhole. Just at sunset, he was within 50 yards when I took the shot. I needed both barrels and a spare. In my limited but consistent experience with these deer, like moose, they aren’t tough, but seem impervious to bullet shock.

Naturally, he went down in the mud, so we had to get the tractor. We had no accurate scale, but I’m still holding to my guess: around 600 pounds, a big animal. He was very old, antlers probably on the downhill side, but that was just fine with me. It’s still one of the world’s most unusual deer.

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From one of the nation’s earliest seasons, in coastal California, to one of the latest,  in Kansas.

Photo above: Dan Guillory shot this Kansas buck while it was tending a scrape sixty yards from his stand. When a buck like this shows up, don’t hesitate.

I split my time between California’s Central Coast and southeast Kansas. That puts a big spread between what I think of as “deer season.” On the Central Coast, archery season starts in July, and rifle season starts on the second Saturday in August. It’s one of earliest deer seasons in the United States.

Our short Kansas rifle season lasts for twelve days starting the Wednesday after Thanksgiving. Since Turkey Day slides, that Opening Day slides back and forth. In 2024, it starts on December 4, the latest the calendar allows. Although preceded by three months of bowhunting, plus a youth hunt and muzzleloader season, that makes it one of the latest primary deer seasons in the country.

American hunters number about 12 million, the largest hunting public in the world. Among us are big-game hunters, turkey hunters, waterfowl hunters, small-game hunters, upland hunters, varmint hunters, more. Many of us take advantage of multiple opportunities and hunt a variety of game, but deer hunters are the single largest group, possibly 10 million of us. According to surveys, few Americans travel to hunt. Most of us pursue game close to home. So, we hunt our deer. In the West, mostly mule deer, although Arizonans love their Coues deer. On the Pacific Coast, the blacktail is king. Across two-thirds of the country, the whitetail reigns supreme. Doesn’t matter what your local deer are. They’re your deer, and your deer season is important to you.

I don’t follow the normal pattern of only hunting close to home. In most years, I hunt in multiple states. Even so, both of “my” deer seasons are important to me.

Camp Pendleton, California, was my first post in the Marines. My tattered Hunter Safety card is dated from the base natural resources office, 1975. Deer hunting on base was by drawing. In those days, the Kansas deer herd was still building. Deer hunting was for residents only, all tags by drawing. I discovered the California Coast Zone deer hunting. Over-the-counter tags, two-buck limit, six-week rifle season. Close enough to dash up for a weekend.

Although mornings are pleasant, midday temps often exceed 100 degrees F. California’s Central Coast has the biggest average low-to-high temperature swing in the Lower 48. Evenings eventually cool, but the afternoon hunt is short. If you get a buck in late morning, it’s a race against spoilage to the cooler. It’s difficult hunting for bucks of modest size, but I embraced the Coast Zone, and for many years it was “my” deer season. During the years I worked in Los Angeles, I’d often run up to the Central Coast, and I settled there after I left the editorial office.

At first, August deer hunting in the blazing coastal hills seemed crazy but, like most North American seasons, there’s method in the madness. Our coastal blacktails have no winter stress. Winter is the mild rainy season, plenty of food and water. Their tough time is the long, hot, dry summer. By mid-August, most bucks are in hard antler. And they rut early, so that fawns can be dropped in late spring and gain strength before the harsh summer.

The season carries on through the third week in September. By then, the rut is on, and temps have dropped a bit. So, if one is patient, the end of the season is best. When I was a California resident, I fought the brutal August heat with relish. I took some nice blacktails early (and raced to the cooler), but my better coast bucks came toward the end of the season.

Today, I buy the basic licenses to hunt birds and hogs, but I don’t spring for a nonresident deer tag every year. When I don’t, I miss it. Last September, I was in Kansas working on food plots and Donna was back on the Central Coast. She got an invite for a last-chance deer hunt. She bought a license, gathered her .270, and shot a nice buck on the last day of the season. Central Coast buddy John Sonne has a ranch north of town. Since that’s his deer season (and his ranch), he hunts hard from start to finish. This season was tough, very hot, no deer moving. He just sent me a pic of his last-day buck, a monster for our area. That buck had never been seen; it showed up on the last day.

For most of us, deer season lies ahead. In most states, October and November is prime time, while “my” Kansas rifle season is still two months away. Kansas opened a modern deer season in 1964, and it was residents-only for thirty years. Today, the state offers 30,000 nonresident permits. They are by drawing only, specifying unit and season. When we bought the Kansas farm, I could initially buy a “nonresident hunt own land” whitetail permit. Now that I’m a Kansas resident, I buy an “any whitetail” permit that’s good statewide from September archery through the end of rifle season, then again archery to the end of the year. Pretty good deal for a kid who grew up with no deer season.

I (mostly) wait for rifle season. With a blown shoulder, I no longer bowhunt, although I occasionally go out with a crossbow. I have no excuse for not participating in the muzzleloader season. Except that I’m fascinated by rifles, however limiting the season, and have trouble getting excited about other launching platforms.

At least in theory, states set seasons based on management goals, with archery seasons commonly set before firearms. Our Kansas rifle season was set decades ago, intentionally a post-rut hunt, the idea for our few bucks to breed before primary deer season.

We have a lot more deer now, but seasons have changed little. Most serious Kansas whitetail hunters do at least some bowhunting. We see good pre-rut activity (rubs) in October, with scrapes and rutting activity in early November. The biggest buck I’ve taken on my place, with a crossbow, was rutting hard. It’s easy to remember the date, November 12, because it was my birthday. I figure the rut in southeast Kansas peaks about November 20. This year, that’s two full weeks before rifle season.

Well, seasons are when they are, unlikely to change, and Kansas rifle season is my primary deer season. Whitetail hunters talk about the peak of the rut as if it was set in stone. Fortunately, it is not. Timing varies, and the whitetail rut is not a one-night stand. Since our rifle season is based on Thanksgiving, it moves around. When it starts at the end of November, the peak may have come and gone, but we still see good rutting activity. Weather matters. A couple years ago, a warm front moved in, 30 degrees F warmer on opening morning than the evening before. Understandably, our deer shut down. Few sightings and no bucks on opening day, or the next. Friday morning was cooler, and deer started moving. Lee Newton shot a great buck, and all camp tags were filled by sunset Saturday.

Hunting our coastal blacktails is quite different from hunting thick-timber whitetails. On the Central Coast, all hunting is glassing and stalking; in Kansas, with a foot of oak leaf litter, stand-hunting is the only option. There’s also a difference in mindset. With a six-week coastal season, patience is possible. Don’t like the August heat? Don’t like the moon phase? Wait until the weather cools or the moon wanes. With our twelve-day Kansas season, we have no such luxury. We can’t change the weather—or wait it out—and the moon phase is what it is. There’s no choice but to go for it, whatever the conditions.

This year the calendar puts Opening Day as late as it can be. With luck, it should be getting frosty, which will help. I haven’t even looked at the moon phase, can’t do anything about it. I expect the primary rut to be almost over. 

There is good news. The secondary whitetail rut, as unbred does recycle, is pronounced in our area, probably because of a high buck-to-doe ratio. Early December is when I expect to see a beleaguered doe pursued by multiple bucks. Not all our hunters see this spectacle, but it’s not uncommon. One opening day—the last time our season started this late–I shot a fine 8-pointer, one of six bucks pursuing a lone doe. Sometimes they sneak through, other times dash past without offering a shot. You must be on your toes and ready. It’s unlikely you’ll see a buck more than once, and you probably won’t see him for long.

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