The Mighty Bighorn

 

 

I stood motionless, afraid to even blink let alone breathe.

 

His bulbous eye focused on the off-colored rock sitting before him. His 220-pound frame was sleek and well-defined but nothing compared to what it would be in a few months when he bulked up to begin defending his right to breed. The Rocky Mountain bighorn ram standing before me was already a fine specimen, he was soon going to be a fierce competitor as well. Imagining the thunderous clap resounding from his mighty horns as he beat down his rivals, I had little doubt he would maintain his bloodline this coming breeding season.

So went my first encounter with New Mexico's largest wild sheep. You can imagine my surprise as I learned about this majestic animal and its struggle to maintain a foothold in the rocky and wild places it calls home. As an invited member to a big horn sheep management meeting, my first priority was to gather as much information about the animal as possible. As a wildlife biologist, I have managed numerous species of big game animals, but this was going to be my first foray with bighorns, therefore, I was quite content letting the experts lead the discussion.

Much to my surprise I learned that big horn sheep were a staple in the diet of prehistoric peoples along sections of the Rio Grande gorge in Northern New Mexico. In fact, archaeological records indicate it was the second most utilized large animal behind only mule deer.  Not anymore.

Gone from almost half of their historic range in New Mexico, big horns are struggling against altered and fragmented habitats that leave their populations isolated and more prone to catastrophic events. High on their list of worries is being decimated by diseases that are not naturally known to bighorn populations. Respiratory diseases, especially Pneumonia, are associated with most bighorn die-offs. These tragic events usually occur when wild sheep come in contact with domestic sheep or goats. Unfortunately, all it takes is for one stray lovesick ram to come in contact with a domestic animal. When contact or even close proximity occurs, he can pick up a bacteria that is foreign and fatal to his system. When he eventually returns to the wild herd the entire flock can become infected and it usually spells disaster for the whole population. It may not kill every animal but it may drop their numbers to a point in which they can never recover. Sadly, it has happened all over the west where major die-offs have been reported throughout the bighorn range.

I was relieved to hear however, that there is hope. Thanks to the New Mexico Department of Game and Fish some newly established bighorn populations are gaining a foothold in areas that have been void of sheep for generations. Cochiti Canyon on the Santa Fe National Forest is one such place where the mighty rams once again roam. The recent fires from Los Conchas have left a smorgasbord of food for the sheep while the sheer walls of the canyon provide escape cover for the sure-footed animals. The nearby Dome wilderness also provides sanctuary for the animals should they seek additional solitude. And lest we forget Bandalier National Monument which sits idly by waiting for the return of the majestic bighorn.

These re-establish populations however are still at risk. Feral goats and sheep sometimes wander the forest. One chance encounter with them could be disastrous to the entire wild herd. We need people to be vigilant. We need them to make sure their sheep do not escape and to report any sightings of feral goats and sheep anywhere on the Jemez or Espanola districts of Santa Fe NF. The sheep's existence on the forest depends on it. Without the help of the citizens of New Mexico and those that love all things wild, the thunderous clap of bighorn rams declaring their dominance may never again be heard by future generations. I for one, want my child to see and hear this magnificent animal.

Huntin' Advice from a Tattered Book

People are like books…you never know what they’re about until you open them up and see what’s inside.

People often pass over tattered, worn-out, rough-looking books, yet, within those dog-eared, coffee-stained pages are some of the best stories ever written. Sadly, not only do they often go unread, they usually fade from history as if they never existed. The same goes for people.

I have long held the belief that some of the purest souls and best thinkers are people we often pass by. They are folks that have some of the roughest edges, hence, few ever take the time to “read” them and discover what’s inside. I just so happened to stumble upon one of those “books” in the hunting world. He goes by the name of DH which I’m hoping has something to do with little league baseball, but for some reason I doubt it. Although I’m fairly certain he ain’t the purest soul in the world, he does have a great mind, for he has the mind of a hunter. Not the high-tech, half-spoiled, millennial hunter who quite often wants everything handed to him, but rather the mind of the animal he pursues. That my friends, is one of the rarest, sharpest and most interesting minds you can ever find.

Not long ago, I sat down with DH and asked him about chasing white-tails. Without a doubt he knows more about deer huntin’ strategies than I will ever know. Thankfully, he was more than happy to impart some of his wisdom and before long I was deep into his book, eager to read the next chapter. Recently though, I e-mailed him about a problem I seem to have every season…getting busted by the one deer I am truly after. I asked DH for advice on how to handle this situation and here is what he wrote. It’s simply too good to even edit. (Well…maybe, just a little!)

-----------------------------------------------------------------

Advice from DH….

(Straight from his e-mail)

Ideas and philosophies in the world of whitetail hunting are as abundant as the very deer we hunt. Myths and legends of do’s and don’t’s span back to our grandfathers and are passed on to us. After all, Grandpa said it, so it must be true! The tales told by old-timers were not always true no matter how well-intentioned they were. Remember, they didn't have the info or the free time we have today and deer were a heckuva lot more scarce back then.

I wasn't raised in a huntin’ family and it wasn't until my stepdad took me at ten years old did I know what I had been missing. He was a hunter of the 80's. Looking back now he was like most guys then. He didn't know the first thing about hunting by today's standards and just about everything he taught me was udder horse crap save for two things, how to pull the trigger and that deer like white oaks acorns. Knowing those two things is all you need to know if you just want to "kill deer," but I wanted more.

Keep in mind, info on deer huntin’ in the mid-90s in middle Tennessee was hard to come by. Most guys were in the same frame of mind.... if it's brown, it's down. It wasn't until I was old enough to get out of this area and visit other states that things started to click. Low and behold I found other parts of the world where the state wasn't so liberal with its bag limit and people didn’t kill the first thing they saw. They spent more time watching and learning the animal than shooting the first one that got within range. That’s how I ended up learnin’.

In today's world, information is at our fingertips and there’s plenty of deer to watch and learn from so we can begin to knock down some of the wive’s tales of yesterday. One of those tales is the old saying "Well I shot and missed… I guess I scared him off for good." This is rarely the case with whitetails.

Listen...I've messed up on plenty of mature bucks, sometimes numerous times, and still wound up knocking them down. You do this through persistence, understanding the behavior of the animal, not psyching yourself out of it (that's the hard one), and of course, a little luck. I fell victim to all of the above when I was young.

But back to what we are talking about…killin’ that deer we buggered up.

I remember exactly where I was the day this myth got busted for me. I had made friends with a guy my age from Kentucky. One day while at his house admiring a 150-inch 9-point on his wall, I asked him to tell me the story about that deer. He laughed and said, “Yea, I shot him in the leg three weeks before I killed him… outta the same tree stand too.” My jaw dropped! What? How did it not scare him off? How could such a mature deer be so stupid? He then proceeded to tell me his story.

That story was told to me somewhere about 1998 and never will I forget it. I was guilty of doing something we all do. I was giving animals human qualities like thinking ahead and reasoning skills. A perfect example of this is with turkey hunters. Every year I hear guys say, "Yea that ol’ bird is call shy." Think about it. Like turkeys have the ability to think it out and say, “Oh hell no! Not today buddy. I know you’re a person.” I don’t believe this one bit. After all we are dealing with an animal with a brain the size of a nickel. All that's in that turkey brain of his are survival skills God pre-programmed such as eat, breed, fly up to sleep, and question everything, because everything is about to eat you.

It's the same with deer. Once we take away the human qualities we have given them, we actually see them for what they really are. And here’s what I think…it's is in my non-expert opinion that it’s really hard to run a deer completely off. It is, however, very easy to turn them completely nocturnal. After all, God made them mostly nocturnal anyway.

A good example is a deer I was hunting a few years back. I found him in the summer on a mineral lick and he was nothing to get excited about, especially in July. But then, in August out of nowhere, he took off. When all was said and done he was definitely a shooter. As soon as the acorns were dropping the hunt was on.

My first encounter was October the 7^th. About 7:30 in the morning, he followed a nice three-year old out the ridge, feeding as they made their way to me. They got to within 30 yards and the younger of the two turned and started going below me. Trying to read the body language of the big deer while watching the next move of the smaller deer left me with a decision to make. All I had was a quartering away shot and it was going to be a stiff one at that. He had his head down feeding and was calm so I put the pin in between his last rib and his flank and touched it off. He bolted tail down like I had gigged him good. The other deer just stood there bewildered.

When I got down, much to my dismay, I only found blood on one fetching. I had pulled my shot four measly inches. But four inches on a deer quartering that hard meant I had only grazed his neck. Talk about a let down. All that work for nothing.

My next camera pull, however, showed something amazing. He was back…sporting a four-inch muzzy gash on the side of his neck. Even with a near-fatal scare, he was programmed not to leave his territory. On October the 14^th he went home with me. And yes, I shot him from the same stand as the week before. That proved to me that deer aren’t likely to abandon an area, especially one they call their own.

The second time I shouldn't have killed a deer but did was one that would turn out to be a real special deer to me although I didn't know it at the time. I had this deer come by me twice the year before. The first time I saw him I laughed at him while he paced a woven wire fence trying to figure out how to cross it. Once again this shows their brains aren’t deep thinkers like us. Needless to say, he wasn't too smart but his rack was unique and had potential so I wanted to see what he’d become.

The second encounter with him was when he came by me one evening in late December while bow hunting and I thought, “Well you've got it made now ol’ boy I will see you next year.” And I did. I found him in the same area. This time he had blossomed.

He still had the long brow tines and six point frame, but he had matured, gained mass, and was carrying a lot of trash. Twelve unique points altogether. I hunted him hard and wanted him bad. On October the 16^th, right at last light I got my shot. Unfortunately, I dropped my arm and hit him low. I thought he was heart shot until he stopped and started blowing at me. That's when I knew I had screwed the pooch. After that he vanished I couldn't buy a picture of him all through the rut. I was sick.

Then one day in December I shifted my camera slightly and there he was. Did I mention I run a lot of cameras? Anyway, on December 20^th at 3:30 in the afternoon, I catch antlers coming through a thicket. He stops behind a tree and makes me hold on him for what seemed like an eternity. When he finally stepped out I put two more holes in him. I was low again expecting him to react to the string. He didn't. Strike two.



DH must know a little somethin'
about deer huntin'.

The next year, in August, my dad has heart surgery. Driving every day to St. Thomas was a chore and knowing I needed a break, my dad says. “Why don't you go see if your deer showed up.” That’s all I needed to hear. I had waited all summer to see him. Sure enough I found him and this year he was an 8-point with even more trash. It took me until November 12^th that year but I got one in him and finally made it count.

-------------------------------------------------------------

All I have written above explains how you should never give up on any deer during the season. So how about giving up on a deer the same day he busts you? Don’t do that either! Remember, persistence…and of course, a little luck.

A Golden Rule of deer hunting is if you find a deer you want, it doesn't matter how regular he is, you have to be prepared to hunt him four consecutive days to have a legitimate chance at seeing him. After missing out on the weekend on one particular deer I wanted, I knew I had to take off of work on Monday because that's what responsible adults do…at least during deer season. I explained to my boss in great detail what was at hand and told him about the Golden Rule and he completely understood the severity of the situation.

That Sunday night while sitting at home thinking about my deer and where he might be in the morning my phone rings. It's my girlfriend that lives an hour away. She convinces me I should come see her against my better judgement. Deer and turkeys aren’t the only thing with small brains sometimes.

Anyway, I hop in the truck to go meet her and when I see her I explain I have a hot deer I’m after and I have to get up by 3:30 the next morning. Well guess who doesn't wake up until daylight after taking off work?!? I jump up, grab my things, and drive an hour home, the whole time thinking if I could kick my own ass I would. I run in, grab a shower, and head off to my hunting spot.

At 7:30 I enter the edge of the woods near my stand and immediately spook two deer. Right before they bolt, I identify a doe and the buck I've been waiting for. All my effort was blown to pieces and smashed to bits by the temptations of a woman and a small bit of lazy on my part. I was horrified. I thought to myself, “Go ahead and get in your stand you dumbass. It's over now. The doe ran one way and the buck went the other.”

So I climbed up and immediately called my buddy on the phone. I told him the story and he just laughed at me and said encouraging stuff like, “Well... you should've known a girl would screw you over.” At that point I wanted to wrap my bow rope around my neck and swan dive from the tree stand. Then out of nowhere, I catch movement on the ridge in front of me while I'm still on the phone. I told him to hang on a sec, I have a deer walking, and I need to glass. Dadgummit it's him!! 

Exactly one hour later he came back to the exact spot I spooked him. I killed him there on the spot. After all that, if I had of got mad and went home he wouldn't be on my wall right now. Persistence and of course, a little luck.

So the moral of the story is deer are like people. Each one is as different as you and I. They all react differently to situations, but we should never give them human qualities. They don't have the ability to think like we do. They only react to things like pressure and react the way they are programmed to do.

Why do you think these deer reacted so calmly to being shot and scared off? Simple… I do not hunt like most people. I do not pressure my spots. I hunt clean. I don't let deer see me climb in or out of my stand, even if it means sitting an hour after dark. And most of all, I do not go into their safe zones. I believe it makes all the difference in the world. Those deer that were shot never associated humans with what happened to them. And the one I ran off from his doe was just a rut crazed spaz with better stuff to worry about. Kinda like I was the night before.