As I put Morgan to bed this past Sunday night, she sleepily stated that she wished we were still deer hunting. Well, so do I. But I could not be happier with the outcome of this fall’s excursion.

June.

I’ve known that I had this deer tag since June. It’s also well over 110 degrees Fahrenheit on the Kofa that time of year and would remain so until September or later so there was no point in physically spending any time there until the weather broke for the season.

Life happened. School happened. Jason’s work happened. And everyone in this house was getting pretty froggy that no one had been hunting since May and time was running short to prepare for the only tag our family had for big game this fall. Squirrels don’t count.

From awarded tag to mid-October.

I am thankful for people I have know a while and thankful for those who are newer to my DMs. I downloaded a precip-app (thanks Rigo) to keep tabs on where it did and mostly didn’t rain across the unit. I pulled out what I learned on my previous hot deer hunt. And called, text, and strategized with those I trust.

When a free weekend in October came up and Jason called to ask what we were doing, I left no room for negotiation that we would be scouting since it was the only weekend available prior to opening day. Mom took Morgan for the weekend. We tied our tent to the pickup bumper since it was raining and blowing like crazy. We glassed. And never saw a single deer. We saw several bighorn sheep so the scenery was nice. I marked a few locations where I spotted tracks that left no doubt they belonged to a mule deer buck.

And then the waiting became almost unbearable. There were second guesses. Jason and I had different ideas about where to start the first morning of the hunt. We lived through a Tornado. Flooding. Trick or Treating. All important things. More important than scouting.

November.

Then this whole commission workshop thing. I have been called nice in how I reacted to the schedule even after requesting the date be changed back in June. Maybe I was nice, but I have a file cabinet for a brain with several favor and blackmail buckets should I ever need them. I mean, I am nice. Sometimes.  This time, nice was tactical.

My gear had been packed for over a week prior to opening day. 99% of the grocery shopping and cooking, (thanks mom) was also completed well ahead of schedule. The house sitter arranged. The dog and cat cuddlers secured. The new crop of chickens decided to lay their first eggs the day before the hunt so hopefully nothing would go wrong there.

We rolled out of the driveway at 2:15PM with a five hour drive ahead. Enough beer and food iced down for the ten day hunt. And as prepared as prepared folks can be when traveling to the Sonoran Desert any time of the year, enough water to drown a whale. (I’m never forgetting that line Dad).

We hit camp at 8:00PM. Set up. Sort of. Loosely set up the side-by-side for the next morning. Car seat. Optics. Rifle. Cartridges. We’d make lunches in the morning. Coming from the frozen north, the trailer mattresses had us a tad cold that night. It takes them a day to thaw out and let you sink in. Hopped in bed around 9:40PM. Sleep was minimal for me.

November 6, 2026 4:30AM.

I have a strong dislike for the buzzing of a cell phone alarm after a night of less than restful sleep. After 30 seconds of convincing myself to not hit snooze, I sat up in the dark and willed my body to cooperate and pulled on the lucky socks and my favorite pieces to wear on a hunt including a merino jacket that will be with me for eternity. And, an O.G. hat from Canyon Coolers that has sweat stains and germs from several western states including Alaska and Hawaii.

Dad made coffee. I broke out the Hostess. Packed all the snacks for Morgan. We strapped in for the ride. It would be over an hour to a map dot that I had been adamant we would go to.

On the drive in, all my back up plans had tents in them. Who in their right mind camps right in the middle of where they want to hunt? In the middle of prime movement corridors? The traffic was ridiculous in the pre-dawn glow. First day rush. 

I’ve been working on not letting things get to me. It’s been going well. Nothing about what I saw going on raised my blood pressure. I would just find another spot. We were there for the long haul anyway.

By the time we got to my map dot, two guys were already summitting the point and I just looked at Jason and said “well that’s a bummer” and we stopped to look at the map. One of the tracks I marked was just ahead and typographically, we knew it wasn’t ideal but I wanted to give it a go.

When we parked, we sent my father in law across the road to look in another part of a big wash. And Morgan scrambled after Jason with me trailing up a fairly low hill to look in a really small drainage. Staying out of sight, we scaled to the highest point and popped over and sat down. A bobcat sauntered off in the wash below us.

Morgan wanted to see the cat so Jason was trying to show her where it was and made the comment that there just wasn’t that much to look at that we wouldn’t be there that long.

I left my 15s and tripod, and gun bi-pod back at camp wanting to be light should I need to move quickly or try to jump shoot something on a walk about. So while they were watching for the cat, I picked up my 10s and panned across the bowl.

There in the first few minutes of sunrise stood a deer, facing away, head in a Palo Verde. I excitedly stated that I had spotted a deer. While saying it, the deer turned around. I then said, “that’s a buck”, followed by the shining sun hitting the left side of his antlers and then I firmly stated that I was going to shoot that buck. We hadn’t sat behind glass more than a few minutes.

Jason, still looking at the wash the bobcat went in said where? And then I was trying to describe where and finally got Jason to see him. We then called Dad and told him to turn around while Jason was breaking out his 15s to get a better look.

I went to range him, and well, the battery in my range finder was dead. I will never not check before going out now. Jason ranged him at around 750 yards out. So, Jason handed me his ranging-binos and I made sure I was ready to go. Then we tried to get Morgan to quiet down as we were wide open to this buck.

Finally, after much longer than we wanted, anxiety building around whether another hunter would disrupt this hunt like has happened before, the buck slipped behind an ocotillo and I made my move. There’s been enough rain that this ocotillo was fully leafed out and obviously brushy enough to hide my movement.

I slipped down through the wash the cat has been living in and much against Jason’s budding anticipation, stopped to pee and take another long drink. Something about the moment I decide to stalk a specific animal, nature calls. Every time. Without fail.

Then as quietly as possible, the morning still as could be, I slowly walked up a ridge that concealed me from this buck. After reaching a saguaro Jason wanted me to get to, it was clear I was still hidden from this buck so I moved to the next bit of vegetation Jason thought would make a good hiding spot for me.

I took my rifle off my shoulder, chambered a round and carried it at my side. As I was about to crest the next hill, the buck came into view. I took a deep breath and just kneeled down, ranging the buck as my knee hit the gravel. 277.8 yards.

Stella, my 7mm rem mag, is zeroed at 300 yards. I’ve practiced this shot thousands of times. I wanted to use my backpack as a rest but lowering myself wasn’t going to cut it.

So, I firmly sat on one flattened foot, propped my triceps over my kneecap, and located the buck in my scope. I lifted my head and took a few breaths while increasing the magnification on my scope, checked the turret for zero, clicked the safety off and settled my crosshairs on the buck. No hold over. Breathed in, and on the way out, pulled the trigger.

The buck dropped instantly.  Watching this happen through the scope and my open left eye at the same time is a sensory marvel.

And then the shakes began. I immediately told Jason over the two-way that if I don’t shake like this on a hunt to make me quit. Morgan piped up back over the two-way that we had a lot of beer to drink. Her radio communication skills are excellent.

The buck had his head down feeding when I shot. I had hit him in the shoulder and the bullet had severed his spine at the base of his neck. Fatal, but not immediate.

Dad met up with me as I made my way to him. He was upside down and drowining. So we moved his head, his eyes not tracking us, and I followed up with a vital shot letting him die with dignity.

And then the tears flowed.

Look. I cry at the moment of success.  It is what I do. It is not sadness. It is not regret. It is the release of emotion and tension and anxiety that resulted in the very immediate and ethical finality of taking a life.

After a few breaths, photos.  I knew Jason and Morgan were making their way towards us. And then some more happy tears. And the unbelievable realization that my hunt was over at 8:05AM on opening day.

A bittersweet moment. I wanted to experience this hunt fully. I was prepared to be there every day. I was not prepared to sit down, glass up a deer, let alone a buck, a good one at that, and accomplish my goal in under an hour.

Watching Morgan run across the desert and then hug me was awesome. She’s honestly our biggest champion.

There were some more photos. Some snacks. The tag affixed. The gutless method of field dressing. A very short pack out. A long drive back to camp. And then a bunch of text messages when we regained service.

The rest of the afternoon and following morning would be nothing but stories and visits in camp from a long list of familiar faces celebrating one of the shortest hunts I have ever been on.

We were home Saturday evening before dark. The buck was butchered and made into steaks, roasts, and summer sausage by dark on Sunday. Monday by 4:30PM, his head was at the taxidermist up in Utah.

And I did not post until today because I did not know what to say to do this animal justice. The gravity of my stroke of luck still beyond my comprehension. The awe of the magnificence of this animal still leaves me speechless.

I have shot a nice deer on the KOFA before. I was much more agile and did not have a four-year-old in tow. I had no expectations for this hunt other than I wanted to shoot a mature and respectable deer.

What a privilege it is to do this with my family. To take a photo with three generations in it guaranteeing a love for wildlife and the lifestyle. To grow a human that will be fully aware of where food comes from and who hopefully won’t be afraid to live her life with the same fervor as her father and I for securing her own nourishment.

To Jason for begrudgingly following me to hunt hot deer. (He secretly likes it don’t let him fool you.) To Dad for coming along, bringing good food, entertaining Morgan and helping Jason field dress while I fully embraced being Mom and wallowed in my elation.

To Chad for letting me pick his brain. To Jon for updating me on the current status of range health and water. To Bryon and JC for the encouragement, thank you. To everyone who stopped by camp and said hello, had a beer and gave hugs, thank you.

I love hunting. And I still haven’t done this animal justice. I’ll share how he tastes in another post. Everything about this hunt is still surprising me.