This was my biggest muley, Public Land, Northern California, DIY. I had watched him the evening before I shot him moving out into a small clearing, so I put up a tree stand so I might get a chance to ambush him the next day.
I got in the stand in the early afternoon, and I was hanging on for dear life as a mid-day storm blew through. When the storm clouds passed, it got very very quiet. No wind at all. Soon after, I heard soft footfalls advancing into the clearing. I didn't get too excited, I thought it might be a doe, but you can imagine how my pulse rate quickened when I saw this guy feed right out in front of me at 25 yards!
I reached for my bow, and the buck looked my way, hearing the movement....that's how quiet it was! Every time he would move, I would make another move to get the bow drawn. We played "cat and mouse" like this for what seemed like an eternity, until I finally got to full draw. He put his head down to feed, and I had a good, steep, quartering away angle on him, so I let fly. I heard the arrow smack him, and he immediately turned and trotted off, with the arrow side away from me. I had no idea if the shot was good, the only "clue" that he might have been hit, was the fact that he sort of tripped over a sage brush a little bit on his way to the treeline.
I waited for my Dad to come and pick me up at Dusk, and I told him I had hit a "big buck", so we walked over to where I had hit him. Good, bright red blood sprayed everywhere! But, since it was dark already, and I still wasn't sure where I hit him, I told my Dad I wanted to sneak out of there, and pick up the blood trail in the morning. I didn't want to take a chance on bumping him if he wasn't good and down!
I found out sleep does NOT come easy when you have hit the biggest buck of your life! I kept playing the shot over and over in my head, hearing the "smack" of the arrow, seeing him enter the timber. Just not knowing for sure is the worst feeling!
Next morning, we walked over to where I saw him enter the timber, and immediately picked up his blood trail. A short while later, I found him, just 150 yards from where I shot him! He was a beautiful Muley buck in his prime, almost exactly 29 inches wide. The arrow had hit a little further back than I would have liked, but it buried all the way up through the liver, and caught the tip of the far lung, so he had died quickly and calmly. It was one of the best eating bucks I have ever taken.
It was an amazing experience, and I was so happy I got to share it with my Dad. I will have the picture on my mantle until the day I die. Thanks for reading
Best of Luck,
Jeff
Shot this buck on the third day of the hunt. Had watched him a few times, and every time we bumped him he would take the same escape route. The next day my dad set me up in the escape route and pushed him to me. I was so rattled my arrow was bouncing off the rest. My first shot hit him far back and low, thought I had blown it. Then he turned and came straight at me, giving me a ten yard shot. I double lunged him and he went 20 yards, turned around to look at me, and fell over. Could never repay my dad for that one, he was always great to put us kids in the right spot. Would have loved to see him shoot that buck. If your lucky enough to have the very first issue of Eastmans Bowhunting you can read the full story in there, called a fathers sacrifice.
Nice bucks guys!
