Shooting from an offhand, standing position is can be a very difficult proposition for most hunters. While I don’t have any facts to back this up, I would guess that the average hunter would have a difficult time consistently putting all of his shots inside of a ten inch circle at 100 yards. That being the case, shooting sticks, which have been very common in Africa for years, are becoming more and more popular in the United States.

In preparation for my first trip to Africa, I had purchased a set of Stoney Point Safari Sticks to get used to shooting off sticks. These collapsible shooting sticks had two legs are made out of flexible aluminum. When I practiced with them prior to the trip, I found that the amount of flex in them made them pretty much worthless. Not knowing if all shooting sticks were the same, I brought my much-used Harris Bipod with me to assist my shooting.

On my arrival, my professional hunter told me to take the bipod off of my rifle, as I would be shooting off of sticks. When I explained that I had tried in back home and didn’t like them, he asked me what kind of sticks I was using. After I explained it, he pulled out his sticks for me to take a look at. He had three sturdy fiberglass fence posts drilled and bolted together to form a sturdy tripod. After firing a few practice shots, I found that I could quickly get on target and shoot accurately out to about 200 yards. It was a very different experience than the one I had with the flimsy sticks I had back home.

A friend recently asked me whether two or three legged shooting sticks were better. That conversation led me to do some testing, as I really didn’t know what the answer was. I decided to perform the following test: Firing three shot groups, I shot from the bench (control group), then using three-legged sticks, two-legged sticks, and off of a monopod at distances of 110 yards, 220 yards, and 360 yards. The two and three-legged sticks were made out of plastic-coated metal tree stakes with the ends wrapped with athletic tape and fastened together with a piece of surgical tubing. I used a Stoney Point Polecat for the monopod. The rifle was a Remington Model 700 .243 Winchester and I used handloads consisting of new Remington Brass, 46.5 grains of RL15, Federal 210 primers and 70 grain Sierra Matchkings. Groups were measured from center to center of the bullet holes.

Here are the results. Group sizes are in inches.

The weather conditions were less than optimal for accuracy testing as the wind was gusting from 15-25 mph from behind me between four and six o’clock. It was blowing the hardest when I fired the groups at 110 yards, which I think explains the size of the groupings at that distance. I should also note that for the most part, shot dispersion was latteral versus horizontal. I believe this is a combination both bullet drift, and the effect of the wind on my body.

What surprised me the most about this test is that I was able to shoot better with the two-legged sticks than the three-legged sticks at all distances. I was also surprised at the level of accuracy I was able to maintain using just the monopod. I was able to hold for “minute of animal” out to 360 yards with any of the rests.

One thing I did not track but that I definitely noticed when shooting was that I was able to get on target much faster using the three-legged sticks, followed by the two-legged sticks and then the monopod. In a situation where having to get off a fast, aimed shot at distance is necessary, the three-legged sticks would be far superior to the others.

While I didn’t fire nearly enough groups to consider this test to be scientific in nature, it did give me a much better idea of the increased accuracy potential of the three different types of sticks.

Tags: Shooting Sticks

Originally pubished in Safari, Volume 35, Number 2

“We’ll meet you back here at dark,” I said to the driver as I unloaded my gear out of back of the truck. My guide Alex had already shouldered his pack and was adjusting the straps. With a smile and silent nod Alex, I shouldered my own pack and rifle, and we began the long walk up the ranch road toward the small mountain.

Alex and I had been hunting hard for the last three days. The camp, run by Kirk Kelso of Pusch Ridge Outfitters, was located on a ranch just across the Mexican border southeast of Sasabe. With seven hunters in camp, three hunters had already tagged out, with two of the deer grossing over 110 inches. This was my first time hunting Coues deer. The hunters in camp who regularly hunted these diminutive whitetails told me that I was hunting with the best outfitter there is for finding big Coues deer.

The first morning of the hunt, I was amazed by my guide’s ability to spot game. I’ve been hunting since I was big enough to hold up a rifle and have always prided myself on my ability to spot game. The first morning, Alex was spotting deer all around us as we glassed from the top of a ridge. He would spot deer with his bare eyes that I could barely make out with my binoculars. I was working on getting my spotting scope set up when Alex suddenly got very interested in a deer he saw moving down a draw about 800 yards across from us on the opposite ridge.

“Muy Grande!” he whispered quietly. After looking at the deer (which I still hadn’t spotted) a few seconds longer he asked to use my spotting scope. The deer had moved out of the draw and was now moving across the side of the ridge. “Look,” he said gesturing to the scope. I immediately picked out the deer and cranked up the magnification. His wide 4X4 rack went past his ears and had good length. “I think he is 110, maybe 115,” Alex said, still examining the deer with his binoculars. “What do you think?” I was barely an hour into my first Coues hunt and was being asked if a Gold Medal deer would be adequate for me. “Let’s go,” I said as I picked up my rifle.

We headed straight down a very steep slope on a faint cattle track with Alex confidently leading the way. When we reached the bottom, we jogged several hundred yards across the flats separating us from the opposite ridge before reaching a dry creek bed. Alex stopped and began studying the slope in front of us, the glassing difficult as the sun was just coming over the top of the ridge. “There he is!” Alex exclaimed. I quickly extended the legs on my bipod and moved up behind him. “Where,” I asked, desperately trying to pick out the deer in the thick brush. “By the ocotillo,” he replied. I couldn’t help a sarcastic smile as I looked at the slope in front of me, covered by hundreds of ocotillo stalks. “Show me,” I said as I moved closer behind him. “There, by the ocotillo,” he said again, pointing about half way up the side of the ridge.

Looking through my binoculars, I suddenly spotted the deer moving parallel to us. I quickly ranged him at 345 yards. Knowing that the shots could be long, I had my 7mm Remington was sighted in dead-on at 300 yards. Moving ahead a few yards, I was able to use the creek bank to position my rifle correctly to shoot up the 45-degree angle to the deer.

Taking a couple of deep breaths, I tried to steady my breathing and pulse. As the deer suddenly stopped, I held the crosshairs about four inches below his back and squeezed the trigger. “You missed!” Alex exclaimed. “Where is he?” I asked, panicking, as I tried to find him again in the scope. “At the top,” Alex said as I began scanning the skyline with my scope. Thinking I would never see him again, I was relieved to see him at the top of the ridge looking down at us. I was just about to squeeze the trigger a second time when he turned and disappeared over the mountaintop.

I looked over at Alex, who while still smiling was obviously disappointed. Every hunter wants to impress his guide with his hunting and shooting skills, and I was suddenly feeling like I had a lot to prove. Not being used to shooting up and down mountains, I hadn’t accounted for the steep, upward angle of the shot and shot over the deer’s back.

We hunted hard for the next three days, seeing a lot of deer, but nothing like the one from that first morning. The nights were cold and the rut was heating up. Everyone was seeing a lot of deer. As Alex and I got to know each other better, I felt more comfortable speaking my poor rendition of Spanish. This allowed us to communicate a lot better and I was starting to feel like we were a team.

On the third night as we were gathered around the fire waiting for dinner, I noticed Alex talking with the ranch cowboy. Later that night, he told me that the cowboy had suggested we try a specific mountain that had oaks on top of it.

As we walked toward the kidney-shaped mountain, I realized that while the lower parts were covered with ocotillo, mesquite and cholla, there were oaks stretching for several miles across the top.

We slowly worked our way up the road, stopping frequently to glass. In between the brush at the bottom and oaks at the top, thick grass covered the sides the mountain. Surprisingly, we had only spotted a couple of does and a javelina when we came to the end of the road. Finding a cattle trail, we continued to gain elevation. After hiking for another hour, we finally reached the oak-covered top.

I was surprised to find that top of the mountain was actually fairly flat. After pausing for a few minutes to glass the area we had just come through, we decided that we would work our way around the edge, making a big circle that would bring us back to where we were supposed to meet the truck.

For the rest of the morning and into the early afternoon, we slowly edged around the mountain, stopping to glass any place where we had a good view of the slopes below. It was early afternoon as we crossed a small saddle leading to the point of the mountain farthest from where we had been dropped off. In the shade of the oaks, we noticed a small spring had created an area of lush, green grass. In that grass was a scrape. As we looked at the scrape, I saw what to me looked like a fawn track. Alex saw it at the same time that I did and got very excited. “Muy Grande!” he whispered. “I think this buck is very close.” Looking at the small track, I honestly thought he was kidding. I grew up hunting deer in Minnesota, where a mature buck will usually be over 200 pounds. This track looked like a small fawn’s to me.

“Be very quiet,” Alex said as he began moving out of the oaks to a small finger of rock that looked out over a long draw. Slowly, he moved out further and further out, gaining a better view of the draw as I followed close behind. When we reached the end, I realized that we were at the edge of a small cliff that dropped about 75 feet below us. I was scanning the far reaches of the draw through my binoculars, when Alex suddenly grabbed my arm and urgently whispered, “My grande! Shoot!” Right as he said that I caught the flash of a deer at the far end of the draw. Thinking that was the buck, I dropped into a prone position and tried to find the deer in my scope.

This didn’t seem to make Alex any happier, as he was trying to yank me to my feet. “Muy grande, you must shoot now!” he said even more urgently. Still thinking that the deer was at the far end of the draw, I tried to get back into a prone position. Finally realizing that I was looking at the wrong deer, Alex pointed to the huge buck walking into the brush below us about 30 yards from the base of the cliff.

I stood, hoping to get an offhand shot at him, but he was completely concealed in the bushes. “Muy, muy grande!” Alex again told me. “Very big deer! Very, very big deer!” Seeing him that excited told me that this deer was something special. I could have shot him at bow range if I had been paying attention, and now he was lost somewhere in a brushy draw. I couldn’t help but feel that I’d blown it for a second time.

For the next few minutes, we intensely glassed the draw below us. A flash at the far end caught both of our attentions at the same time. The flash was the buck’s antlers in the sun. I dropped prone again, and found him in the scope just as he moved into a small clump of bushes about 400 yards down the draw.

We had a clear view of any exits from the clump of bushes with the exception of the east side. If the buck decided to leave the clump of trees and head east, it would take him over the spine of the ridge, put him in the next draw and we would have no way to see it. We waited for another 45 minutes for the deer to come back out. Alex assured me that the deer was still there and was bedded down in the brush. However, as the sun began to set, the wind would change direction, putting our current position directly upwind. He suggested that we change our position and wait for the buck to come back out into the open. We gathered our gear and began working our way to the west, hoping that the winds would stay in our favor.

On the next ridge to the west, the best vantage point was covered with sharp stones and cactus. I got my rifle and spotting scope set up and we began the long wait for the deer to make his appearance. After lying on the uncomfortable ground for another two hours, I asked Alex if he thought the deer was still there. “Si,” he said. “I think he will come out when the sun goes down.” He then reiterated that this was a very big deer and I should make sure that I didn’t miss him when he came out. Talk about icing the kicker!

The sun was just dropping below the horizon, when Alex spotted the deer. Looking through my scope, I saw him standing exactly where he gone into the small clump of bushes. He was now standing broadside and nibbling on some leaves. Trying not to look at his rack, I centered the crosshairs just behind his shoulder and squeezed the trigger. “You missed!” Alex exclaimed. Cycling the bolt, a feeling of panic was joined by a racing heart. The deer hadn’t moved at the shot. Finding him in the scope again, I held for the same spot and fired another round. “You missed again!” Alex said, the panic and frustration also very clear in his voice. My stomach tightened into knots as I cycled the last shell into the chamber. I had completely lost my sight picture and was trying to find the deer in the failing light when Alex nonchalantly said, “Oh, you got him. He just fell down. He’s dead.” I have never heard sweeter words.

By the time we worked our way to the deer, we only had about 15 minutes of light left. My hands shook as I slowly closed my fingers around his antlers, which had five points on one side and four on the other, plus eye guards. “He is very big!” Alex exclaimed. “Yes he is!” I replied as I gave him a big hug. Looking at the deer, I found two holes about an inch apart just behind his shoulder. How a 90 pound deer takes two shots through the chest from a 7mm Remington and doesn’t show any signs of being hit amazes me.

By the time we had a picture of the deer and had him gutted out, it was completely dark. “Do you have a flashlight?” Alex asked me. “No, I left it in the tent,” I replied. “Do you have one?” I asked him. “No,” he said as he shook his head. After briefly discussing the situation, we decided that instead of taking the curving five-mile route we had taken to get to our current location we would take a short cut, hopefully cutting the distance down to about two miles.

Using a small piece of string to tie the deer’s legs together, Alex slung the deer over his shoulder like a purse and took off down the side of the mountain. Carrying both of our packs and my rifle, I did my best to try and keep up as we bushwhacked our way through the cactus and mesquite. After about forty-five minutes of battling our way through brush we were tired, sweating, scratched and bleeding. Stopping to take a breather and pick some of the cactus spines out of our flesh, we began discussing whether or not we were going in the right direction. The moon was not yet up, so the only light we had was from a few stars above. After discussing the issue for a few minutes and not coming to an agreement on which way we needed to go, I decided to trust my guide’s judgment even though he wanted to start going uphill.

Picking up our loads, we walked about twenty yards up the next hill and were rewarded with finding ourselves on a ranch road! We were a long way from where we were supposed to be, but decided that eventually someone would find us. Alex laid the deer down in the road, then reclined back, using the deer for a pillow. Joining him, I lamented the fact that we were out of both food and water.

Smiling, Alex asked me to hand him his pack. Rummaging around inside of it, he produced a single can of Budweiser. “I save this for celebrating,” he told me as he opened the 100-degree beer and handed it to me. Taking a swig and looking up at the stars, I couldn’t help but think that it was the most satisfying beer I’d ever had.

Tags: Coues Deer Hunting, Mexico, Sonora

Let’s face it, with the exception of certain new technology products, most things generally get more expensive every year. Ammunition is no different. Over the past few years, the cost of both factory loaded ammunition as well as reloading components has skyrocketed due to increased commodity prices and increased demand. While I knew that prices have rising the past few years, I didn’t really realize how much they’ve gone up until I found Cabela’s 2005 Master Catalog while cleaning out a closet the other day.

Looking through the catalog made me long for the “good old days” of 2005! I went through and compared the pricing on a couple of common calibers and loads from 2005 to what was on Cabela’s website today.

As you can see, the price of ammunition has gone through the roof. It makes me glad that I handload all of my centerfire ammo. Everyone knows that you can handload centerfire ammo for pennies, right?

I paged forward in the catalog to the reloading components section and priced out the components I’d need to load the same ammo. When I did the same comparison, I found that reloading components have actually increased in cost (from a percentage basis) more than factory ammo.

In 2005, assuming that a person already had reloading equipment, the cost to load 100 rounds of 30/06 ammo that would be similar to Remington’s Express product would have been around $50.89 or $10.17/box. Use your own brass instead of buying it new and your price drops to $31.40 or $6.28/box. Since you could buy it loaded for $11.99, taking the time to load it yourself wasn’t putting much of a value on your own time.

Today, to load that same ammo would cost you $77.62 ($15.52/box) if you had to buy the brass or $45.63 ($9.13/box) if you have your own brass. That’s still not much of a cost savings. So does it still make sense to load your own ammo?

With a single-stage press and weighing out each charge individually, it takes me about three hours to load 100 rounds of centerfire ammunition. So, taking the time to load standard, non-premium ammo doesn’t make a lot of sense unless you’re doing it because you enjoy it. Where handloading can provide a significant cost savings is when you want to use premium bullets. This is especially the case in magnum cartridges and when you have your own supply of used brass.

For example, one box of Winchester Supreme .300 Winchester Magnum cartridges loaded with 180 grain Nosler Accubond bullets will cost around $39.99. Those same cartridges can be loaded for $15.87 a box if you have your own brass, or $25.06 a box if you buy it new. Either way, this is a significant cost savings.

So when does it make sense to load your own? From a pure cost standpoint, most people will be better off just buying ammunition off the shelf. Here’s my reasoning:

1. The average hunter probably shoots less than two boxes of centerfire ammo a year.
2. You can buy ammo for the most commonly used centerfire cartridges (30/06, 270 Win, 308 Win, 30-30, 243) just about anywhere. If you watch, you’ll probably find it on sale
somewhere for less money than you can load it yourself.
3. The most commonly hunted big game animal in the United States is the whitetail deer. The average whitetail weighs about 150 pounds and is typically taken at ranges under 100
yards in most places. They aren’t bullet-proof and do not require premium, heavily constructed bullets to kill them. Ammunition manufacturers know that most of their centerfire
sporting ammo is going to be used to hunt deer, and they construct their bullets for optimum performance on deer-sized animals. When was the last time you heard about
somebody experiencing bullet failure using a 30-30 with factory ammo on deer? Cup and core bullets have been killing deer for a long time. They work just fine at non-magnum
velocities.
4. The quality and variety of factory ammunition available today is much higher than even ten years ago. While it’s hard to beat a finely tuned handload in accuracy, I’ve seen a lot of
people shoot very respectable groups with even the non-premium lines of ammunition available today.

So when does it make sense to handload?

1. You shoot more than a couple of boxes of centerfire ammunition a year and:
a. If the cartridges you shoot are anything “magnum” or require the use of premium (match, bonded or mono-metal) bullets to perform properly
OR
b. You shoot an uncommon caliber for which commercial ammunition is not commonly available.
2. You enjoy handloading.

If you don’t fit into either of the categories above, watch for sales on ammunition, as that’s going to be the cheapest way to keep shooting.

Tags: Centerfire Rifle Reloading, Handloading

We spotted these two impala mixing it up one morning at Lemco. It still amazes me how fast they can move.

Tags: fighting, Impala, lemco, rutting, zimbabwe

If you drive through Ripple Creek for a day, you will see hundreds, if not thousands, of Impala. These sleek antelope travel in bands of five to five hundred. On the first few days of the hunt, I harvested eleven antelope for baits. As Impala rams age, they hit a point in mid life where their horns are as long as they will ever be. As they continue to age, they wear down the tips of their horns. While their bodies get larger and their horns gain mass, the overall length begins to decrease. These large-bodied, stubby horned rams are ideal for bait as they are typically past prime breeding age and provide the most meat for you money.

While hunting bait impala on the first day of the hunt, we spotted an exceptional trophy impala at dusk. He was about four hundred yards from the road in a large flat. The second we stopped the truck, took off at a run. “Tricky bugger,” George said as we watched the ram sprinting across the flat. “He’ll be here again. Impala’s are territorial.” For the next nine days, we looked at thousands of impala, none of which were the size of what we started referring to as “The Big Impala.” We returned to the same flat every night at dusk for a week looking for him, but he eluded us. On the ninth night as we sat glassing the herds of impala trying to spot him, I asked George if there was a possibility that he might have moved out. “Maybe Pete,” he replied. “But more likely he’s out there somewhere in the brush and we can’t see him. Or maybe the cheetahs ate him yesterday.” The day before, the flat, which usually teemed with different species of impala, had been completely empty with the exception of a few giraffe. We later found the tracks of two cheetahs crossing the road.

“Let’s try him in the morning,” George said as the sun set. “He’s not used to us seeing him here and we might be able to surprise him.” The next morning, we began glassing the flat as the sun was just coming over the horizon, painting everything with a golden glow. As we were driving to a new glassing point, we heard a tap on the roof. George immediately stopped and pulled out his binoculars. “There he is!” he exclaimed. “Is it The Big Impala?” I asked. “Yes, let’s go!” The Big Impala was with a group of females and moved into the brush. Taking Absent and Tyge with us, we slowly moved into the brush after them. After stalking them for several hundred yards, we spotted them in an opening, feeding away from us. George set up the shooting sticks and I quickly found him in my scope. “Two-hundred eight-three yards,” George whispered as I steadied the cross hairs on his shoulder. As the rifle went off, I saw him flinch before he bounded into the brush. “You missed,” George said quietly as we watched the rest of the herd bound off. “No,” I replied. “I hit him. I saw him flinch at the shot.” “I don’t think you did, Pete,” Tyge chimed in. “I didn’t hear the bullet hit.”

“Well, if you think you hit him, lets go make sure you didn’t,” George said as we began walking to where they had been standing. After searching for over an hour, we were unable to find any sign that I had hit him. No blood, no hair, nothing. “Don’t worry, Pete,” George said consolingly. “He’ll be back again.” “I could swear that I saw him flinch when I shot,” I insisted. “But, even if I did, it doesn’t look like we’re going to find him.”

We returned that night and again started sorting through the hundreds of impala milling about. “Is that him?” I asked pointing to a distant brown dot across the plain. “That’s not him, but he’s pretty good. You have two on license; I think we should go after him.” Once again we were sneaking across the plain, using the occasional trees for cover. The impala knew we were there, but didn’t run. They began feeding away from us into thicker cover. After slowly following them for a few hundred more yards, we finally had a clear shot at the big ram. I set up on the sticks and centered the cross hairs on him. He was facing directly away from us with his head down feeding. “Wait until he turns,” George instructed me. I took a deep breath and slowly released it to calm my heart. The distance was about 150 yards. The ram suddenly stopped feeding and looked directly back at us as I felt the breeze on the back of my neck. He took one step to the left, giving me a strong quartering away shot. I placed the cross hairs on his flank, aiming through him for his off-side shoulder.

I heard the bullet hit as I squeezed the trigger. After a sprint of about thirty yards, he piled up in some brush. “Good shot!” George exclaimed as he slapped me on the back. As we approached to fallen ram, the first thing I noticed was that while his horns we long and sharply pointed, he was not nearly as large bodied as the other rams we had taken for bait. “The ones with the biggest horns typically don’t have that big of bodies,” George explained to me. “They’re usually very average sized. The really big-bodied impala tend to have shorter, thicker horns. We moved the ram into a more open area and took some of the best pictures of the trip with twilight sky as a background. “Now we just need to find The Big Impala and you’ll have two for your trophy room!” George said as we carried the ram back to the truck.

The next night, we again returned to the flat behind camp to look for The Big Impala. As the sun was setting, we spotted him with a group of females as they moved into a patch of thick brush. The winds were swirling, so there was no way we could make the stalk. The thick brush was at the base of a large Kopje. Kopje’s are very similar to the buttes you find in the United States, except they’re typically solid rock. The face of the kopje rose straight up a hundred feet before leveling off at the top. “If you can climb, I think we can actually get up the back side and come across the top and get a shot at him. Are you up for it?” George asked. I said that I was and we took off in the cruiser making circle around to the backside of the giant rock. When we got to the back side, I noticed that it also rose almost straight up to the top. “Let’s go!” George said and he and Absent and I began climbing up the side of the face. Climbing require both hands and I soon fell behind, trying not to smash my rifle scope, binoculars and rangefinder against the rocks while climbing. Noticing that I was falling behind and that the light was fading, George and Absent began climbing back down to assist me. George took my rifle and range finder, Absent my binoculars and we again headed up the side of the rock.

When we reached to top, we were able to quickly cross to the other side. In the fading light, we spotted The Big Impala and his harem of females feeding about a hundred yards from the base of the Kopje. While he had been spooked and running every other time we had seen him, he was now relaxed and feeding, feeling secure in the thick brush. Using a tight sling, I laid prone at the edge of the rock and dropped him with a single shot. “Finally!” George exclaimed. As he took off down the side of the nearly vertical slope like a mountain goat. I looked at Absent with an uncertain expression on my face. “Let’s go, Boss,” he said with a grin. “I take your gun for you.”

Handing my rifle to Absent, I began working my way down the steep face. Surprisingly, I managed to get to the bottom without breaking anything. “Nice, eh?” George commented as we looked down at The Big Impala. His lyre-shaped horns were shiny-black and sharply pointed. “He’s a fantastic impala.”

As George and Absent posed the impala for pictures, taking advantage of the setting sun for a backdrop, I looked him over. There was a spot on his back where the hair was shaved off in a straight line. When I reviewed the footage from when I thought I hit him the first time, you can actually the bullet crease him right over his back.

Tags: Impala Hunting, lemco, Safari, zimbabwe

After trying both the 140 grain Sierra and the 130 grain TSX, I decided that I needed something in the middle. Ideally, a bullet that would hold together better than the Sierra, but that was soft enough to expand at the lower impact velocity of a longer range shot. With that in mind, I decided to try the 130 grain Nosler Accubond. I also bought a bag of Norma .270 WSM brass which replaced the Winchester brass I had been using and switched to a Federal 210 primer. My hope was that going with a standard rifle primer versus a magnum might give me a little less pressure while still giving consistent ignition and velocity. It turns out, I was right! Using Retumbo and loading the cartridges to an OAL of 3.132 inches, I got the following results:

62 gr – 3284, 3267, 3228 – group size 1.2 inches
63 gr – 3292, 3286, 3280 – group size .7 inches
64 gr – 3300, 3315, 3300 – group size 1 inch
65 gr – 3308, 3325, 3325 – group size 1.1 inches

None of these loads showed signs of excessive pressure. While I don’t claim to be an expert, I think that going from a magnum to a standard rifle primer made a lot of difference. I decided to go with the 63 grain load, now it was time to try it on game and see how the bullet performed.

The first animal I took with it was a whitetail buck. He was broadside at 350 yards. The bullet passed completely through, taking out the top of the heart. At the shot, the deer reared up on his hind legs and fell over backwards. Since it was a pass-through, I have no idea how much weight the bullet retained, but the exit wound was about the size of a dime.

The next day, I wanted to shoot a doe for some extra meat. I spotted a nice one at the edge of the woods at 250 yards. She was quartering away at about 45 degrees, so I held for the offside shoulder and squeezed. She ran about 25 yards and piled up. When I got up to her, there was no exit wound, but she did have a bump under her skin on her offside shoulder. After making a small cut, the bullet popped out.

It was a nice day and I had plenty of time, so I did a little digging in the gut pile after I dressed her out. The bullet entered her flank, went though her stomach, tore out a big piece of liver and went through most of the front shoulder, but didn’t hit the main joint.

The recovered bullet weighed 81.6 grains, which is 62.7% of the original weight. The total penetration was somewhere between 1.5 and 2 feet.

Tags: 130 grain Accubond, 6.5 WSM

Years ago I was dating a young, very pretty, very girly, city-girl named Jordan. We had been seeing each other for about four or five months, when one night she told me that she was interested in trying hunting. She only said it in passing, but my mind immediately started planning out how to introduce her to my favorite pastime.

With our six month anniversary coming up, I had to act fast. I was in a local sporting goods store looking for a rifle for her and noticed that they had a Remington Model 7 Youth Model in .260 Remington on the clearance rack. I bought the rifle along with a 3-9 Leupold and gave it to her as a gift to celebrate our six-month anniversary. (I also gave her diamond necklace to make sure that I didn’t end up sleeping on the couch for a few weeks.)

Over the next couple of months, I started teaching her how to shoot with my old Daisy BB gun. While she wasn’t Annie Oakley, she did OK with it. After she got comfortable shooting the BB gun, we moved up to a .22 rimfire, which gave her a chance to start using a scope. I developed a nice mild load for her .260 using a 120 ballistic tip. After thinking about it, I decided not to have her practice with the .260. Her form with the .22 looked great, and I didn’t want her to develop a flinch. I just told her that the .260 worked exactly like the .22 and she didn’t need to bother practicing with it.

Where I hunt in Minnesota, the deer are very plentiful. This is where I fill my freezers with venison every fall. Most years, I have all of my tags filled in the first half hour of the season. I had a stand that overlooked a small clearing that I hunt on opening morning every year. Unfortunately, this stand wasn’t big enough for two people, so two weeks before the season I drove up north with $300 worth of lumber and built a stand for the two of us to use, complete with walls, a roof and a nice bench.

Jordan worked as a bar maid in a German bar in Minneapolis and had to work until close the night before opener. To get to our hunting property from where I lived was about a three hour drive, so I picked her up from work at 2AM and drove through the night to get us there by first light. As we drove through the snow, I was both excited and apprehensive. I really wanted to make sure that she had a positive experience. I hoped she wouldn’t get bored, cold or feel bad about shooting a deer. While this was just another weekend adventure to her, it meant a lot more to me.

She was sound asleep when we arrived at our hunting shack. I gently shook her awake and told her that we needed to go. When I opened the door of my truck, I was hit by a blast of very cold air. It had stopped snowing and cleared up, but the temperature was dropping. She didn’t say much as we got our gear together. I don’t know if she was just tired or nervous.

I love sitting in my deer stand waiting for the sun to come up. This was actually the first time I’d ever shared a stand with another person. As we sat there in the moonlight, we could hear deer moving around in the woods; the leaves crunching beneath their feet as they fed on acorns. The deer kept on getting closer and closer. While I couldn’t see them, I knew that they were within a couple hundred yards of us.

Crunch
Crunch
Crunch

Something changed. Instead of the sound of deer meandering around, it sounded like they were all moving on one direction. Checking my watch, it was three minutes before legal shooting light.

“Get ready,” I whispered. “They’re coming.” Jordan picked up her rifle, rested in on the wall of the stand for support and peered through her scope.

“I don’t see any,” she said. “Just wait, they’re coming.”

Then I saw the first deer, a doe. She was walking down the trail about thirty yards in front of us. “I see one!” she whispered. “Don’t shoot, it’s a doe.” I whispered back. Behind that doe came another , and another, another. In all, ten deer walked right in front of us in a single line. None of them had horns. As they passed by, I thought I could hear one more following them.

“Just wait, I think they’re might be a buck following them,” I whispered to her. As I peered into the woods, I saw another deer. It was big bodied and following the same trail the does had been on with its nose to the ground.

“That’s the buck. Shoot him when he’s right in front of us.”

As the deer got closer and closer, I strained to see its antlers. When it was finally right in front of us, I realized that it wasn’t a buck, just a very big doe.

“Wait!” I hissed right as she squeezed the trigger. At the shot, the deer dropped in its tracks.

“Shit, that wasn’t a buck.” I said to her. “It’s ok though, I have a doe permit we can use on her. Good shot honey!”

“Is it dead?” she asked.

“Yeah, it’s dead. You center-punched it.”

“That’s good. I was afraid it might suffer.”

“Nope, you killed her dead on the spot.”

As we were talking about how dead the deer was, I saw its leg twitch.

“It’s moving,” she said.

“Yeah, sometimes they twitch a little after they’re dead. It’s no big deal.”

No sooner had I said this when the doe raised its head. A second later she hauled herself up with her front legs, her back legs dragging as she started pulling herself away from us. Grabbing the rifle out of Jordan’s hands, I centered the crosshairs on the doe’s neck and squeezed the trigger. At the shot, she went down again.

“Is it dead now?” she asked me.

“Yup. Now she’s dead.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah. Your first shot was a little high. You hit her through the spine. She’s dead now though.”

As I sat there hoping that Jordan wasn’t too traumatized at my having to shoot her deer again, I saw it’s leg twitch.

“Oh, shit.” I thought to myself. “Please be dead.”

It wasn’t.

And it proved that it wasn’t as it started bleating. Very few things sound worse than a dying deer. It almost sounds like a baby crying.

Jacking a fresh shell into the rifle, I realized that the only shot that I had would be right through the head. My mind started racing. “OK, first the deer gets up and I shoot it again. No problem. Now is laying there bleating, and if I shoot it in the head, its head is going to explode. She’s going to be so traumatized that she’s never going to want to go hunting again.”

Time to make a plan.

As fast I could, I climbed down out of the stand and ran over to the downed deer. I had my .44 in a shoulder holster, which I quickly drew and fired a round into the deer’s heart from about three feet away. The bleating stopped.

As I got back into the stand, I just about wanted to cry. I felt horrible for the way we’d killed that deer. Granted, it was a better death than Mother Nature ever gives a deer, but it was still not very pleasant.

“Is it dead now?” Jordan asked, looking straight into my eyes.

“Unequivocally, yes,” I said looking right back at her.

“That’s good,” she said. With that, she leaned her rifle in the corner, leaned her head against my shoulder and went to sleep.

“Huh, that’s interesting,” I thought to myself. “She should be crying her eyes out right now.”

A couple of hours later my dad showed up to see how we did.

“You guys sure did a lot of shooting this morning,” he said as he walked up. “Did you get anything?” Without a word I pointed in front of us.

We got out of the stand and walked up to where it was laying. As the three of us looked at the dead deer, the first words out of Jordan’s mouth were “Wow, they have really pretty eyes.”
I thought about the look in those eyes as I had fired the last round into it from point blank range. “Don’t tell me how pretty their eyes are,” I replied rather crossly. “Let’s get her dressed out.”

My dad is a doctor and always used to give my brothers and I anatomy lessons when we’d clean game. Since this was Jordan’s first deer, he did the same with her. She seemed fascinated by all of the different parts of the gut pile, and even got some blood under her manicured nails as she helped me with field dressing.

As we were driving home that night, I had to ask her. “So what did you think of deer hunting?”

“Well, deer hunting kind of sucks. It’s really cold, kind of boring and you have to get up early. But shooting deer is fun!”

“I thought that you’d probably cry when we killed the deer,” I said. “I cried when I shot my first deer.”

“Why?” she asked, truly puzzled.

I should have taken it as a sign right there. In the end, she ended up showing me even less compassion than that deer!

Tags: Deer Hunting, First Hunt

Here’s a sample of what you will see in our new DVD, “30 Days in Zimbabwe.” If you like what you see, you can order the DVD at our online store by clicking here.

Tags: hunting, Matetsi, Sable, Safari, zimbabwe

The Bushbuck is one of my favorite animals to hunt. On my first safari, I actually had three opportunities to take a bushbuck before I finally connected. This video shows my first encounter with a bushbuck, in which I missed the shot. I had two more chances after this one, but both times I was unable to see the elusive animal in the thick brush in which it lives.

Tags: bushbuck, hunting, Matetsi, zimbabwe