Ten days is a long time to go without seeing a deer, much less a buck. Maybe it was the warmer-than-average temperatures. Maybe it was the moon phase. Or it could have been the high winds. Whatever the reason, one fact remained: The bucks were not moving during daylight hours, and I was fighting to stay focused.
I decided to still-hunt that morning along the rim of a canyon where Jon Kayser had previously tagged a tall-tined 12-pointer and where I had shot a 120-class buck last year.
The canyon was surrounded by thick evergreens that made ideal bedding cover, while the bottom of the canyon sprouted a grown-over clear-cut complete with briars and knee-high grasses. A beaver dam was tucked into the north end, draining south along the bottom of the canyon to where it plummeted precipitously over rocks and boulders before joining a roaring river several hundred yards farther south.
I continued slowly along the rim, stopping often to peer through the brush to the clear-cut below. I reached a natural opening and stopped next to an odd-shaped spruce to survey the meadow. Suddenly, I spotted a deer moving in my direction along an old logging road. I raised my binoculars and saw a rack, but the brush camouflaged the antlers to such a
