My bow hunting career is young, the obsession was born no more than four years ago. In this short time I have experienced countless defeats, as well as a few small victories. But I don’t consider any hunt a failure, I consider them lessons that provide unmatched experience. And these strengthen any successes, a feeling all hunters know. It took me three full weeks of hunting nearly every day to harvest my first animal, a whitetail doe, but you would have thought that I had just killed the buck of a lifetime by the look on my face. I remember every detail of that hunt, I felt emotions that I never knew existed. I was hooked. Within a couple of months I had a few more animals under my belt. I was not particular about what I shot and although I am extremely proud of every animal I have taken, it wasn’t long before I needed something more. Something more challenging, a specific target, something that I could proudly hang on my living room wall and feed my family. Something that I thought I could never get. A goal is only as far out of reach as you put it. I was beginning to feel that my goal of taking a trophy mule deer was out of reach, but I was determined.

As I started into the 2014 season in Alberta, I had elk on my mind. I planned and scouted for months, trained mentally and physically, practiced calling and shooting my bow every day. I was ready, I was going to kill an elk, or so I thought. After countless trips scouting and nine days on the mountain chasing these amazing animals the hunt turned out to be an “experience builder.” When the short season ended and I didn’t have an elk on the ground I quickly shifted my efforts. I had found what looked to be a great mule deer spot a few months prior. I hadn’t put much effort into the area due to my over-confidence in my elk hunt, however it was now time to make up for that.

Within the first hour of being in the new area I knew that I had my work cut out for me. The terrain was intimidating for a rookie bow hunter, wide-open pasture bordered by steep coulee cliffs and littered with thick bush, trees and cactus – terrain known in Alberta as “The Badlands.” After I set up, I quickly spotted deer out in the open. I watched them come and go for some time before they all disappeared into one of the larger coulees. By the end of that first day I had noted three potential shooter bucks, all big, mature deer, true legends. There was a reason why these deer were all so big and old: there was no cover to attempt a stalk and they were very aware. I decided that if I were to make this happen, I needed to set up some sort of interception, catching them on their way to or from the open fields they spent evenings feeding in.

I spent the next few days observing, trying to pattern at least one of the three mature bucks. It was almost impossible to keep a line of sight on them for any period of time; the terrain did not offer a good vantage point, and the hunt almost seemed pointless.

By the third day, I felt like I hadn’t accomplished anything. I began to feel discouraged.

I knew I would have to change my tactics to even observe these deer. Two days later and many hours of belly crawling with my binoculars, I finally knew exactly where these bucks were going to be every morning. And I had an idea where they would exit to bed for the day. Still, the terrain would not make it easy to catch one in transit.

The next morning I woke to my blaring alarm at 3 am, I grabbed my bow and set out. I ran through my plan over and over in my head during my hike in, under the cover of darkness. I set myself up behind a very shallow draw anticipating that my buck would travel his normal route that morning and potentially set me up for a shot. I spotted him in the distance, feeding a couple hundred yards away. He was slowly closing the gap, traveling in my direction. The wind was good, my spot was okay, and the buck was where he should be; my confidence soared. After two hours he was less than 100 yards away. As he slowly picked his way towards me, my heart began pumping. I knocked an arrow. I raised my range finder; he was 60 yards and closing. It wasn’t long before he stopped at 40 yards, perfectly broadside. I was shaking like a leaf. I paused for a moment, closed my eyes and told myself to calm down. Just before I was about to draw my bow I heard the crunching of dry grass behind me, I slowly turned my head to find a doe heading straight towards me. She nearly stepped on me and immediately caused a scene. All I could do was watch my buck bounce away and disappear into the big coulee. I was crushed. After five full days of effort and not even coming close, my one and only encounter was just blown.

I knew it was just bad luck, but I still felt awful. I headed out for the rest of the day to go sit in one of my reliable whitetail stands. It was good to sit in peace, to think about some things and forget about others. Three hours later a buck showed up, he was no trophy but a good deer nonetheless. Between my mid-season slump and the empty freezer back at home, I decided to take him. A 15-yard shot and a 40-yard recovery was all that it took. And it was just the boost I needed to keep pursuing the elusive mule deer.

My pestering alarm woke me once again the next morning at a ridiculous hour. Today I was meeting up with my good friend, Rye Johnson. He wanted to come along and check out these big “un-killable” mule deer that I had been telling him about. We arrived at the spot a bit later than usual and I didn't have very high hopes, Rye could sense this. He stopped for a moment to talk some sense into me; his words of encouragement were what I needed. I bucked up, and we continued on. We arrived with our faces in the wind, to the same spot that I was set up at the day before. We found my buck in his usual spot, only this time I continuously checked behind us for any stray does that might try and ruin the party. Rye and I hunkered down expecting a long wait. But it wasn’t more than ten minutes later that I looked up to see my buck on a steady course straight towards us!

I quickly but quietly scrambled to hand Rye my rangefinder and nock an arrow. The buck closed from 250 yards to 60 yards in a matter of minutes. Thankfully he slightly changed his course paralleling us, offering a perfect broadside shot. Rye quickly ranged him and excitedly whispered in my ear “53 yards, draw your bow!” We had little cover so I drew my bow laying down on my back with my knees folded to allow me to sit up to a kneeing position while at full draw. I looked at Rye one last time as he still had eyes on the target; he gave me the nod. It took all of my strength to raise myself from that awkward position to my knees. Once up from my back, I had a clear line of sight of the big deer, but there was some grass blocking my arrows path. The buck was looking away from us so I made the split second decision to go all in and stand straight up. I put my 50 yard pin slightly high on his vitals as quickly as I could, I thought my bow was going to rattle out of my hands I was shaking so bad. Pin settled, the buck turned to look at me at the exact moment that I squeezed the trigger on my release. I watched my arrow make a perfect arc and disappear through his beautiful gray coat before he had the chance to move. I watched him run about 60 yards before he wobbled and fell down to his final resting place.

I looked at Rye and saw that his eyes were as big as mine. We immediately jumped up and hugged each other. I couldn’t believe it. A trophy that I thought was out of reach was lying on the ground right in front of me.

Bow hunting is full of extreme highs and lows. It takes determination, patience and sometimes encouragement from a couple buddies to achieve those highs. And it’s those highs that fuel the addiction. Once I realized that, I knew nothing was really out of reach.