O’Connor in Arizona: Misplaced, Set off Glad, and Tagged Out

THIS STORY REALLY STARTS a great a few years in the past. I used to be dwelling in northern Arizona then, within the midst of pretty much as good mule-deer nation as will be present in the USA. It was a case of being embarrassed by riches, since there have been so many looking spots that I might by no means get round to all of them. Some had been well-known throughout Arizona. Others, simply pretty much as good, had been celebrated solely domestically.

One among these is the Slate Mountain part—an space of excessive volcanic peaks, cinder cones, large parks knee-high with wealthy yellow gramma grass. Turkeys vary on the mountain slopes, antelope wheel and maneuver, flash their white rump patches within the parks. However primarily it’s mule-deer nation. The animals feed clear up into thick fir and spruce of the excessive peaks in the summertime, then drift progressively down earlier than the nippiness of approaching autumn. Their winter vary round Slate Mountain is thinly timbered, nevertheless it abounds in canyons the place they’ll get out of the wind, and it has loads of winter feed within the form of dwarf juniper and cliff rose—or buck brush, because the natives name it.

Virtually from the primary, I used to be conscious of Slate Mountain’s native fame as buck nation, however I all the time bought a buck elsewhere earlier than I bought round to looking there. It took some plain and fancy tales to attract me in there-and I bought them. A cowboy advised me how he had ridden into a little bit canyon one windy day and jumped out a bunch of fifteen or twenty massive bucks. A woodcutter advised me how he noticed deer there each time he went in. The supervisor of the nationwide forest advised me a dozen tales calculated to make any hunter’s mouth water. And thru all these tales, an account of 1 explicit massive buck ran like a theme track.

One hunter who had seen him in grey daybreak thought for a second that he was an elk and didn’t shoot till too late. Others had grown so excited at a glimpse of him that buck fever made their bullets go wild.

The upshot was that I made a decision to research the part the place this massive buck ran. It was the primary day of the 1933 season, and as I drove on the market I felt a bit silly. Within the first place, the tales of the Slate Mountain space sounded too good to be true. Within the second, trying to find one explicit buck is often about like trying to find the normal needle within the conventional haystack.

Effectively, my first Slate Mountain hunt was fairly uneventful—besides that I bought misplaced and that I’m satisfied I noticed the patriarch himself. Alone, I pulled up into a little bit canyon, modified to hobnails, took a quart canteen, a sweet bar, and my Springfield, and set out. I circled the mountain excessive up the place a lot of the canyons headed, edging alongside on slippery pine needles. I noticed numerous deer signal that day and in addition some deer, principally does and fawns and some small bucks. To the north, over tawny grasslands noticed with purple patches of juniper, I might see the scarlet gash of the Grand Canyon overlined with the blue of the well-known Kaibab. To the northeast lay the pink and mauve and yellow vacancy of the Painted Desert.

Nightfall was gathering once I began down the mountain. I had been in sunshine, 1,500 ft above the plain, however as I went down it grew swiftly darkish, and once I got here out of the canyon I had chosen I discovered it wasn’t the one through which I had parked the automobile. I’ve by no means been inside a cow, however whether it is darker there it’s a lot darkish. I might see my hand earlier than my face, however that’s about all. Additional, I used to be in nation strewn with volcanic bowlders and reduce with attracts that dropped straight for fifteen or twenty ft.

Afterwards, when my buddies twitted me in regards to the expertise, I maintained that I used to be not misplaced. It was the automobile that was misplaced. Dimly within the starlight I might see acquainted mountain peaks bulking black towards the horizon. I knew inside 1 / 4 of a mile the place I used to be, however I might have handed inside ten ft of my automobile with out seeing it. So I constructed a hearth on the lee facet of a lifeless pine, made myself a mattress of pine needles, and caught some sleep.

When the primary grey of daybreak got here, I picked up my rifle and went again to the automobile, which I positioned with out bother. I used to be hungry and I used to be thirsty, so I opened an iron ration and took a drink from the canteen.

Then I appeared up—and there was the largest buck I’d ever seen.

Truly he appeared as massive as a horse, and his antlers had been so monumental that they confirmed plainly despite the truth that he was greater than 200 yards away and within the gloom of timber. I dived for my rifle, however the buck disappeared simply as I threw off the protection. I spent an hour that morning looking for him, however his massive tracks confirmed that he was lengthy gone. So I went again to city, and to espresso and scrambled eggs and the reproaches of a frightened spouse who didn’t like her husband to remain out all night time with out telling her about it prematurely.

The reminiscence of that big buck haunted me, and two days later my spouse and I had been again there with meals and mattress rolls and hope in our hearts. As we drove by a giant open park east of Slate Mountain we noticed a herd of forty or fifty antelope, so when my spouse stated calmly, “An enormous buck simply bumped into that draw!” I assumed she meant a buck antelope and paid no consideration. Afterwards she stated she thought it unusual that I confirmed so little curiosity, however being a well-trained spouse she didn’t remark on the time. We drove on as much as the slope of a cinder cone, stopped, and bought out our rifles. Then I occurred to lookup, and there, about 400 yards away, had been three deer trotting by the junipers, grey towards the purple cinders.

Eleanor, who’s an optimist in addition to a great shot, went into motion. They had been bucks, I noticed as quickly as I put the glasses on them, however they disappeared into thick juniper unhit so far as I might inform. Then one thing drew my consideration to the saddle between two cones, and I noticed a sight I had by no means seen earlier than and have by no means seen since—a herd of at the least twenty massive bucks, all on a lifeless run. They had been in sight however an on the spot, and with all these antlers towards the horizon they appeared like movement footage I’ve seen of a herd of migrating caribou.

Figuring that they’d skirt the cinder cone to our left, I made a decision to run excessive and catch them as they crossed an open park to the west. The cone was about 500 ft excessive, and once I topped out I used to be winded. Eleanor had fallen someplace by the wayside.

Cautiously I circled; and once I had gone about fifty yards, three big bucks got here bouncing out, nice brown antlers laid again towards grey hides. The most important was really a monster, and I reduce free at him. The three disappeared right into a clump of combined oak, pine, cliff rose, and juniper on the foot of the hill, simply as I bought off what I assumed was my finest shot. Solely two got here out, and once I bought down there I discovered my big buck, hit thrice from my six-shot fusillade as soon as within the left ham, as soon as within the stomach, and as soon as, alas, proper by the ear.

For a second I assumed I’d bought the patriarch himself. Once I appeared throughout the open park to the subsequent hill slope, nevertheless, I started to moan. The entire hill was alive with deer, however I had eyes just for one—an unlimited buck that appeared as massive as a medium-sized elk as he stood there. I knew then that I might need bought one of many patriarch’s sons however I absolutely hadn’t bought the patriarch.

I WISHED my spouse had been there to take a shot at him, however she wasn’t, and by the point she discovered me the entire herd had melted into the timber. Leaving her to see if she couldn’t hunt certainly one of them up, I reduce throughout the cone to convey the automobile round from the place we’d left it half an hour earlier than. A number of yards from the place the deer she had shot at had disappeared, I heard the comb crack. Once I investigated, I discovered a buck with each hind legs damaged. I’d have sworn Eleanor hadn’t touched one, however there he was. So we had our bucks, each of us, after as brief, as dramatic, and as astonishingly fortunate a hunt as I’ve ever been on.

 As typically occurs, the top of the top of the buck I bought appeared higher when it was on the transfer than it did within the hand. However, for Arizona mule deer anyway, the animal was a whopper. He weighed 176 along with his head and neck off, his conceal off, and half of the left ham reduce away. I didn’t in all probability the heaviest buck I’ve ever shot.

Destiny moved me 300 miles away into southern Arizona the subsequent yr, however I nonetheless remembered that nice patriarch I’d left behind. So the tip of the season discovered me as soon as extra within the Slate Mountain nation. With me had been two College of Arizona professors, Waldo Waltz and Neil Houghton. Each had been authorities on political science, however their training had been uncared for, as neither had shot a buck. Our information and horse wrangler was one Slim, an area vaquero and an previous pal of mine.

 WE pulled into our rendezvous with Slim late one night time after the lengthy drive from Tucson. Neil and Waldo had been each pop-eyed with anticipation, as I had been feeding them on my finest Slate Mountain tales; however once we met Slim by the glow of his camp hearth, he tossed a little bit chilly water on our enthusiasm.

“It ain’t snowed a mite but,” he advised us, “and them dad-blamed deer is scattered from hell to breakfast. A lot of the massive bucks continues to be excessive up.” Then he added piously, “I positive been a-hopin’ for snow since I heard you boys was a-comin’.” He glanced up on the sky then, nevertheless it was blue-black, completely clear, blazing with ten thousand stars.

“Has anybody potted that massive previous buck since I used to be up right here?” I requested.

“Not that I’ve heard of,” he reassured me, “however that ain’t no signal any person ain’t knocked him over for meat.” Slim, as I’ll have hinted earlier than, isn’t precisely an optimist.

Nonetheless, the Slate Mountain patriarch, although he was destined to stay solely a reputation throughout the journey, did lead us to good looking; for we noticed our first deer inside 1 / 4 of a mile of camp the subsequent morning. We had been driving alongside the sting of a large, pretty shallow canyon once we noticed a motion in some cedars. Deer, all proper; however at first we thought they had been does and fawns. Neil dismounted and pulled his borrowed .30/30 out of the scabbard simply in case. After they ran presently, we noticed one was a buck, a small one; and on Neil’s third shot it went down-a two-year-old, three-pointer that had nonetheless been hanging across the does. The professor had performed his stuff.

We cut up then. Waldo and Slim headed a technique which Neil and I rode for the excessive nation, the place the larger bucks must be hanging out. We hadn’t gone greater than a mile once we heard the heavy report of a .30/06. 5 pictures, roughly repeatedly spaced, then a sixth shot.

 “Sounds as if Waldo has related,” I advised Neil. “Let’s journey again and see what luck he had.”

 A couple of minutes later, on the other facet of a hill, we discovered Waldo and Slim bending over a buck, one other three pointer that will costume at about 130 kilos. Waldo had hit it along with his third and fifth pictures. It went down, and a bullet within the neck had completed it once they got here up. We ate an early lunch then and deliberate the stability of the day’s marketing campaign. Slim and Waldo would pack the 2 bucks again to camp whereas Neil and I pursued the prospect of getting a shot on the patriarch himself.

 It was so darkish once we returned that night time that we needed to give the horses their heads to make it doable for us to seek out camp. We had lined at the least twenty miles and had hunted in tough nation greater than 8,000 ft in elevation. We had seen bucks, too, however nothing to make a head-hunter’s mouth water, so we handed them up.

The second day was very like the primary. We spared neither ourselves nor the horses, and noticed our ordinary quota of does, fawns, and younger bucks, however I didn’t hearth a shot.

The final day of the hunt began out even worse. Through the morning it clouded up and rained a little bit. We noticed not a single deer, nor even a single monitor made for the reason that rain. If deer had been there, they had been bedded and never shifting. By midday the gloom was thick sufficient to chop with a knife. Slim and I swapped halfhearted tales in regards to the previous patriarch his monumental head, his nice weight. By three o’clock we had all turn out to be reconciled to our destiny. The subsequent morning we’d have to depart with solely two bucks, neither of which had a great head. We had been twelve or fifteen miles from camp, and it was time to show again. For a number of minutes we sat on the sting of a canyon, smoked cigarettes, and cursed the climate, the deer, and our luck.

I stood up, floor my cigarette underneath my heel, and ready to mount. Then, virtually 300 yards a approach, down towards the underside of the canyon, I noticed one thing move-something that grew to become an ideal buck going out from behind a cedar in lengthy downhill bounds. He had evidently been mendacity there, aware of our presence, hoping we’d move him by, however getting increasingly nervous. Once I bought up he couldn’t stand it any longer and ran.

I bought off my first shot earlier than the others noticed him. It was a miss, behind and under. My second kicked up mud simply over his again, and my third rolled him in foot-high sage.

NOW that I had him down I started to shake. He was an unlimited buck, little doubt of it. He would possibly even be the patriarch himself, and the thought was an excessive amount of for my none too secure nerves. Once I had reloaded I began down the hill towards the spot the place he had fallen. At a little bit over 100 yards he got here out, one entrance leg dangling however making good time however. I missed with a too hasty snapshot, He was going up the opposite facet of the hill now. In a second he can be behind the cedars. So I took a deep breath, sat down, and held on his brisket. He got here down on the shot—down like a ton of brick—and I knew he was mine.

A minute later I stood over him.

 “He’s the massive ‘un, the massive ‘un himself,” Slim was shouting. Certainly he was a powerful creature: fats, heavy, lithe, with the large, symmetrical head the collector goals about. An Easterner would name him a 13-pointer, however within the West he can be a 7-pointer, as he had six factors on one facet and 7 on the opposite.

“You shore bought him!” Slim saved saying.

“That’s the dad-blamedest greatest previous buck I’ve ever seen.”

However the longer I checked out that buck the surer I used to be that he was not the patriarch. His enamel confirmed him absolutely mature however not previous, despite the record- class head he carried. “It’s certainly one of his children, Slim,” I stated lastly. “It isn’t the previous one.”

“Effectively, if I bought a buck like that,” Neil interrupted, “I’d be darned if I’d kick about him.”

I nonetheless am pleased with that head, because it is likely one of the three or 4 largest that I’ve ever taken, however I’m now sure that on that red-letter day again in 1934 I didn’t get the patriarch. For I noticed him once more final yr, and that’s when this story correctly ends.

My spouse and I had been coming back from the Kaibab with two bucks, once we noticed a truck turning into the freeway from the route of Slate Mountain. In it had been two bucks, and certainly one of them was the largest I’ve ever seen lifeless. I signaled for the motive force to cease.

“You absolutely have a giant buck there! The place did you get him?” I requested, understanding the reply earlier than I heard it

“Slate Mountain nation.”

I EXAMINED the nice buck’s enamel. He was very previous. “I’m type of a semi-pro biologist, notably considering recreation,” I advised the hunters, “and I’d absolutely recognize it for those who’d meet me in Flagstaff so I can weigh and measure that buck. He’s the most important I’ve ever seen, and he has among the best heads.”

They promised, however they didn’t present up. Why, I have no idea. Presumably they had been looking illegally. Certainly they should have had responsible consciences of some kind.

And that, I’m satisfied, was the tip of the Slate Mountain patriarch. When he was killed he should have been ten or twelve years previous, as once I first noticed him he was absolutely mature and already had a repute. I nonetheless remorse that I didn’t measure that head on the spot, as I had a tape with me. My guess is that it could have proven an expansion of near 45 inches and a foremost beam of 32 or 33.

His weight? Effectively, I’m a conservative and pretty correct weight guesser. I’ll admit that the largest Southwestern mule deer I ever noticed on the scales went 240 kilos and the most important I’ve any genuine file of went 261. Admitting all this, I’m however going to stay my neck out and guess the Slate Mountain patriarch at near 400, dressed.

It’s too unhealthy that the previous fellow couldn’t have fallen to a head-hunter, so these magnificent antlers of his might have been mounted. But at that he has achieved immortality of a form, as he’ll lengthy dwell within the hunters’ tales of northern Arizona. Moreover, he helped populate the Slate Mountain nation with a powerful breed of greenbacks, and his descendants will vary there, I hope, without end. I’ll all the time be grateful to him, as he lured me into nation which yielded me one of the prized trophies I’ve.

This story initially ran within the July 1939 concern of Out of doors Life as “The Slate Mountain Patriarch.” Learn extra OL+ tales.