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