13 Mile Muley: A Mule Deer Hunting Tale

I think most hunters have a spot, or spots that they visit in their mind often. Maybe it’s a place where their best hunt happened. Or maybe it’s a place where one got away and they can’t stop ruminating on it. For me, there is a place that my mind drifts to any time I think about mule deer, but I’ve only ever actually been there three times. 

Let’s take it back to 2017. It was the first year of living out of a school bus for the fall and my hunt plans carried me west. First for antelope, then elk, then finally mule deer when the rifle season opened in later October. I had marked 10-12 locations on OnX maps as starting points for the opening weekend. Spots 1-6 I had marked were busts. Either not how I thought they would look while I had been e-scouting, or there were other rigs that had beat me to the location. So on to the next pin on the map. As I arrived to the road that was supposed to get me and my bus back into a chunk of BLM land, the gate was locked. Multiple “No Trespassing” signs. Now, this in itself isn’t uncommon. There are plenty of places where the “easy” access to a piece of public locked up or just out of reach across a piece of private. 

But daylight was burning and I wanted to be hiking, not just driving around a 36 foot school bus hoping to stumble into something. I had just enough service to look up the land owner’s info and gave them a call to see if they would allow me to hike the road that would lead to access on the public land. 

Denied. 

Now, that isn’t uncommon either. I’ve been turned down for permission plenty of times. My batting average isn’t that great when it comes to big game access on private lands. So, I did the next thing, moved on to the next pin on the map. Eventually I caught up with a small buck a couple of days later after putting on a few hundred miles in the rig and a few dozen on the boot leather. 

But for some reason, this spot I couldn’t get to kept eating at me. I just kept going back to what might be beyond the horizon there. I studied the maps and figured out that although it would not be easy, I could in fact access the piece I was trying to get to, it would just be a hell of a hike to make it happen. 

Fast forward a year. I’m back on the bus for another fall, and this year I have a good friend and camera guy with me. It has been what will most likely be the best season of my entire life. But as I looked ahead to October on the calendar, that rifle mule deer tag in my pocket kept me day dreaming about a place I had never set foot. Season finally came and on opening day, I still opted out of making the hike. Did I really need to go in 6.5 miles one way just to find a mule deer? But as the sunlight faded away on day one of the hunt, no tag had been filled, and it seemed like it was time to give it a shot. 

2 am wake up call. 60 minute drive from camp. And  then began the long walk in the darkness. Did we walk past a bunch of deer on the hike in? Certainly possible. But I had a pin on the map for a glassing knob and that was the mission. We were working up to the knob just as the earth rotated far enough to give us a view of the landscape around us. I pulled out my binoculars to scan a 360 around us just to give a quick glance, and almost immediately spotted a group of bucks working across a long sloping sidehill together. I ranged them, about 1800 yards away, but from what I could see through 15 power binos, there were a couple worth giving it a try.

 I took off using the terrain to stay below their line of site and closed the distance as quickly as I could. The deer were walking/browsing my direction and looked like they were moving towards a spot to bed for the morning so at least they were helping me close the gap a bit. About 15 minutes later I was belly crawling down a small crease in a rather open knoll, but it was just enough cover to let me close the gap. I had been archery hunting so hard all fall that I kept pushing in and pushing in and was getting very frustrated at how little cover I had left to try and make a move. When I finally ran out of terrain and grass tall enough to hide my movements, I pulled the range finder out. I couldn’t believe the reading. The deer was only at 225 yards. 

I quickly got the rifle set up in front of me. Heart pounding. Knowing this was an easy shot I just had to settle in and make it happen. I got in behind the gun, slowed my breathing best I could, just in time for that deer to bed down in a small cut just deep enough where I could just see his head. So now, we wait. 

I won’t bore you with the details of laying there waiting. But a couple hours later, that buck finally stood up and I made the shot. Over a year of thinking, planning, dreaming had come to fruition. The hike out sucked. No way to sugar coat it. But wow did that feel like an accomplishment. 

Let’s fast forward another year. Fall 2019. This year, when October rolled around, the pull of that same place kept nagging at me all fall. This time, I would have to attempt it solo. The morning I hiked in I awoke on the floor of a Chevy Express van recently converted to 4x4. The wind was howling, and the temp had dipped down into the high 20’s. Windchill hovering around 0. But still, it seemed worth the try. I wore as few clothes as I could to not overheat and started the hike in. This time I got on the glassing knob before daylight, put on all the clothes I had, and waited for daybreak. 

I spotted a couple of groups of deer, but nothing of any substantial size. I scanned and scanned through the spotter, racing my mental strength to stick it out and keep searching. Finally, I put eyes on a group of three buck feeding across a hillside. One had a huge frame but looked like a 3x3. Big enough for me. I made the stalk, got to 200 yards, crept over a small ridge, and the deer were gone. I frantically searched for where they went and quickly realized they had shifted quite a ways to my right and were still standing there calm, but I had to make a shift to get the shot. Once I got settled in behind the gun, two quick shots and the buck ran down into a small ravine and tipped over. 

This pack out, even worse. Whole deer, all my cold weather kit, water, food, rifle. But a few hours later, I made it back to the van and more or less collapsed through the side door and dumped the heavy pack on the floor. 

It took me 6 years to finally make an attempt to hunt in there again. I was close fall of 2023, but a big snow storm thwarted my attempt at making it happen. Finally, in 2025, I hired my same friend and camera guy that went with me in 2018, and we were going to make the hike in on opening day. 

Stoke level was at an all time high. We camped the night before, prepped all of the gear, had the packs ready to roll, and got a little bit of sleep. We even hit the road 10 minute early to drive to the parking spot for the hike in. We hiked and talked and hiked and talked and about 30 minutes before first light, we found ourselves on top of the glassing knob I hadn’t been to since 2019. 

Does. Small bucks. Antelope. More does. It felt very sparse. Scanning all directions just hoping a good one might pop up into somewhere we could see. Then, I hiked to the edge and spotted movement a whole lot closer to us. Down below at about 300 yards was a good framed buck all by himself. He was working down a long shallow drainage away from us so we made the call to loop down around and cut him off to try and get a closer shot. 

After about 10 minutes of quick walking down off the other edge out of sight, we crept down a saddle between two clay hills. He had covered more distance that I would have thought, but was right out in front of us at 280 yards. I set up the spotter with the Ollin to film the shot, and Shawn was over my shoulder. He turned broadside, I squeezed the trigger, nothing. I hadn’t pushed the safety all the way off. Safety off, he turned straight away and started walking. Not fast, no idea we were there, just doing his thing. He finally slowed, about 300 yards now, and turned to quartering away. In the scope it looked like he was far enough broadside to make the shot. I squeezed off the trigger, heard the hit, and he disappeared. Thought I had just tipped him over right there. Turns out, I had pulled just right and my bullet sailed safely over his neck by about an inch. 

Long story short, we got back on him, but the buck had moved onto a tiny piece of private land and couldn’t get a shot. 

The last two hikes out with full packs were not easy by any means. But this hike with an empty pack and an unnotched tag felt the heaviest of all. 

Until the next time I can get back there, I’ll be thinking about that place.