October 26th 2023 found me standing in near zero degree temperatures in a massive ponderosa grove. Primo deer hunting conditions. Alas I was not that lucky but I was lucky enough to be standing as the best man for my friend Dylan’s wedding. I did however have a doe tag burning a hole in my pocket for my unit back home and would have only a couple days to hunt once I got back. Same as 2022 my dad and our friends Brad and his son Charlie would come down to hunt. Being the consummate guide that I am Charlies doe was the first on the list and we rolled out early. Dawn found us on a small BLM road looking at a pair of does. We had to get off the road so I guided Charlie off into the sage brush and tried to set up the sticks for a shot. Charlie is still a new hunter and last year was his first doe so I wanted to make sure he had the easiest shot possible. Unfortunately the does picked up some bad vibes and skedaddled. Fortunately there wasn’t a lack of deer. Two more stalks on groups of deer didn’t result in a shot. One because I didn’t feel like dragging one out of a steep canyon and the others never stopped moving for a shot. Dad and Brad rolled up after the third stalk and pointed to a group up the hill. We all piled back into the truck and took a road that would put us just above the deer. As we were getting out my dad looked to the left to see three does staring at us from the trees only 50 yards away. Since Charlie was on that side I told dad to take over guide duties and they proceeded to push off after the deer. Brad and I decided to see where the original group we spotted had gotten to. While waiting to hear a shot we spotted the group a couple hundred yards down the hill. I had just posted up to watch them when Charlie and Dad reappeared deerless. What I had considered a done deal was actually making me work for it. Cant say I was disappointed. Charlie and I headed off down the hill after the original group. We had only gone a hundred or so yards when all the does trotted out and lined up in front of us. Charlie quickly got on the sticks and whispered to me that he had one in the scope. “Fire when ready” I whispered back. “Boom”. When the commotion had cleared there was a dead doe laying on the rocks. Charlie had made a stellar neck shot.
As im a firm believer that kids need to understand the value of hard work I handed Charlie a length of rope and told him to get dragging. My dad had moved the truck down to the main road at the bottom of the hill by this point so Charlie had a few hundred yard drag ahead of him. I decided to not have him gut it so that it didn’t get its cavity full of dirt and snow. It was a heavy load which Brad and I helped where needed. After the drag Charlie was given a lesson in cleaning a deer by my dad and we loaded up and headed back to my house. After propping the deer in the shade to cool and a lovely lunch provided by my wife we all piled back into the truck for round two now with my wife in tow. My turn.
As I enjoy a bit of a challenge I would once again be using an old rifle. This one a No1 Mk3 Lee Enfield produced at the Enfield factory in 1918. For discerning readers this sounds suspiciously close to the rifle I used the year before and they would be correct except for the year and one particular difference. It was “sporterized”. The forend had been cut down and the butt plate removed cutting a significant amount of weight from the rifle. I was stoked with this because at some point my grandfather Harry had done the same thing to his rifle. I was now hunting/hunted with two Enfield’s in the two configurations my grandfather had used in back to back years. I fully understand why they did this. The military config was bloody heavy. Great for the durability required for the world wars but a real shoulder killer when humping up a hill after deer.
Ill admit I went into this one with more confidence than I should have. We hadn’t gone more than 10 minutes up a BLM road when we spotted a group of deer through the trees. I bailed out and loaded my rifle before beginning a stalk. Sneaking to within 70 yards I posted up on a tree as a rest and waited for one to give me a broadside shot. The does were rather weary and kept wandering in circles with deer stacking up or stopping behind cover. Not a shot I could take. After what seemed like an eternity a doe hit a clear patch and gave me a good slightly quartering forward shot. “Boom”. I watch the doe practically levitate a few inches before they all scattered. Being confident in my ability I was fairly sure I had hit her. After looking for blood for the better part of 20 minutes my dad and I came to the conclusion that I had missed. Surely It wouldn’t happen again. We trundled along another road and quickly found another group of does. After bopping around the edge of a small draw littered with pinion pines I finally was able to draw a bead on another doe. Perfect broadside at maybe 80 yards. “Boom”. To my dismay I watched dirt fly over her back. I worked the bolt and aimed again only to watch dirt fly from below her with the shot. What the heck? Having come to the conclusion the 180 grain .303 round would put a hurt on a deer even with a bad hit I still did my due diligence and went to look for blood. Nothing. Clean misses. After another stalk on what turned out to be the three dumbest spike bucks I’ve ever had the pleasure to hunt I got back in the truck and we headed for another spot.
We trundled up another BLM road looking for more deer. My pride was pretty much smoked at this point but still had a tag to fill. And in my hubris had elected to leave my nicely scoped .270 Remington 700 at home. We were slowing rolling up the road in a shady timber patch when only 40 or so yards off the road was a few bedded does. I rolled out of the truck, got off the road and lined up on a broadside doe. “Boom”. “You missed!” my dad shouted as I worked the bolt and aimed at another doe that had stepped into the gap. Settling my breathing and being sure I was lined up I pulled the trigger and dropped her in her tracks with a double lung shot.
As I was right by the road Charlie brought up the sled and we quickly got her gutted and loaded into the truck. I love hunting with old school rifles and the one takeaway from this hunt is that sporterized and military config rifles shoot differently. The weight loss exacerbates even the smallest misalignment of the sights perpetuated by rough terrain and things like breathing and heart beat. Word of advice is to practice more. As I have said before hunting with antique firearms is a novel and fun way to connect with the hunters of generations past and I highly recommend it. Get out there!
Hunt with History 