The Saddlebag Buck

Everything happens for a reason – that’s a theory I’ve never believed. When it comes to hunting, I’ve always subscribed to the “outwit, outwork, out persist your prey” approach. Once in a while though, something happens to make me question my beliefs. This hunt was one of those times…

In November 2019 I was in Idaho hunting mule deer with my son, Jake, who had drawn the permit. A few years earlier we had each drawn a permit to hunt the unit so we knew the area pretty well. This year was drier and warmer than our past hunts and I figured that meant even more work & more persistence would be required to succeed.

I arrived a couple days earlier than Jake and used the time looking for a good buck to chase once Jake arrived. At dawn on my first morning I was sitting just off a dirt road with a spotting scope setup on the truck window. I was glassing a canyon about a mile away where Jake and I had chased a couple big bucks the year he had the permit. I had located a decent buck with a half dozen does, along with a 6×6 bull elk. It was a good start considering the lack of snow meant the deer weren’t concentrated in their usual rutting areas.

A steady stream of cow elk hunters drove past me, headed for greener pastures, so I wasn’t concerned about competition. About an hour after sunup, a truck pulled up behind me and the driver walked up to my open window. He said hello & asked if I was hunting deer, I said I was and we talked for about 20 minutes. He said he was hunting cow elk and had been there about a week. He also said he had hunted deer on the unit a couple times when he’d been lucky enough to draw the permit. He was unusually helpful as most hunters closely guard their secret spots, even on a unit that is almost impossible to get a permit. Since he was so helpful, I did my best to reciprocate with the areas I’d seen elk in the past. We traded phone numbers and offers to let each other know if we saw the other’s critters. As part of saying goodbye, I offered him my name and my hand, which he shook and introduced himself as Ryan Moore.

I spent the rest of that day & the first half of the next looking over areas that had held deer the last time we’d had the permit. I found a couple more decent bucks and was feeling pretty good about our chances. Friday afternoon I took Ryan’s parting suggestion and rode my ATV around to the backside of one of the peaks overlooking the valley. With no snow, I was able to get to the end of the ATV trail, where I spotted a good 170” 4×4 buck with a few does. He was far up the peak but was the best buck I’d seen. I figured we’d likely be back to chase him.

Jake arrived that night and the next morning we were glassing our favorite canyon. We located the same medium buck and a couple other medium bucks that had moved into the canyon. None of them were big enough to commit a day hiking to get on them, so we left to glass a few other spots. That evening we parked above some wheat fields where we could glass the hillsides and the stubble fields. We saw a lot of deer, including a couple whitetails, but not what we were looking for. We decided to go high and climb the south side of the peak the next day, and if we didn’t find anything on the top, we’d drop over and see if we could locate the 170” buck.

We left the truck at 4:00am the next morning and headed up – straight up. When dawn arrived nearly 3 hours later, we were at about 9200’ with a spectacular view of several deep canyons and the valley below us. We glassed each canyon and came up empty. We kept climbing and glassing, and when we sat down just below the peaks at about 9800’, we still hadn’t seen any deer. We did get to enjoy a dozen mountain goats across the canyon. With little snow on the south face, they stood out like beacons. We had to go around the peak to get on top of the 170” buck we hoped was still there. As often happens, when we got to the ridge where we expected to look down the backside, we discovered we had several more canyons to work across to get to where I’d seen the buck. We were both worn out and knew we’d be hiking out in the dark as it was, so we decided to call it a day and head down.

At dusk we crossed into the canyon that had the best trail and we spotted a few bedded cow elk. I made a mental note to let Ryan know where we’d seen them. Darkness settled in as we cleared the pines and came out into the sage brush. We were about a mile from the truck when I noticed something odd, laying on the ground, in the beam of my flashlight. I walked over to it and found it was a set of saddlebags. They were leather and clearly hadn’t been there for long. I checked inside hoping to find a name or number, but only found a couple water bottles. I debated what to do with them since I had no way to get them back to their owner. I decided to carry them out and hang them on the barricade at the end of the paved road. That way there’d be a chance the owner, or someone who knew the owner, would find them.

When we finally made it to camp and I climbed in bed, I had 3 charley horses at one time in my legs – a new record. There was no debating the plan the next morning – we were going to glass from the truck and rest our legs. We saw a couple nice bucks, but still not the size we hoped to find, so we spent midday napping. That evening we drove around checking some new spots, but didn’t see any deer. We were just about to head back to camp when I got a text message from Ryan, with a grainy picture of a big, heavy horned buck. He said he had a friend who was hunting moose on the unit and had seen the buck that morning. He told me the area where the buck had been, and it was an area I knew well. While locating a particular buck during the rut is always a longshot, we were thrilled with the info and excited to look for him the next morning.

After grilling Ryan for every detail he could tell us about the buck’s location, I told him where we’d seen the cow elk the day before. He mentioned that he had been at the base of the mountain 3 days earlier and had seen elk near the peak, but decided they didn’t have time to get to them, even on horseback. When he said “horses” a light turned on in my head, and I asked Ryan if he had lost some saddlebags. He said he had saddlebags on his horse, but didn’t think they’d fallen off. I told him we’d be driving past the area on the way to camp and would check to see if the bags were still hanging on the barricade. Thirty minutes later, I had the saddlebags in hand and from a photo I sent, Ryan confirmed they were indeed his. Ryan was shaking his head as he said, “I can’t believe you found my saddlebags before I even knew they were missing!” I had found a set of saddlebags, a mile off the road, in 4’ tall sagebrush, in the dark, 20 miles from where, five days earlier, I’d met Ryan for the first time. I believe in karma – but in my experience she works very slowly. I knew even finding the buck would be a longshot, but if we did, this would be a great story.

The next morning we were in position well before light hoping to find the big buck. As light dawned, it became clear that there was no way the buck had been where Ryan described. We started driving the nearby roads looking for any sign of deer. An hour after sunup I figured we were out of luck. I drove down a little dead-end road that we’d already glassed from a couple times. This time when I put up the binoculars I immediately spotted several deer in a sage clearing across the canyon. I grabbed the spotting scope and it only took an instant to know I was looking at the buck in the picture. From the picture I knew he had a big, heavy frame, but now I could see he had 3 points on his right side and more than 4 on the left. He had 5 does and a little buck with him. I also knew we had less than an hour before they would all slip into the pines and bed. Jake & I decided to go up the road, cross the canyon to the top of the ridge and try to sneak down on top of the deer while they were still out feeding.

Ten minutes later we left the truck and headed cross country as fast as we could. The change in perspective threw us off and we ended up sneaking down the wrong ridge. When we realized what we’d done, we knew it was too late to attempt another stalk. The wind had picked up and was blowing straight out of the south, right over the top to where the deer would have been. Maybe we were lucky that we hadn’t been on the ridge above them.

We headed back to the truck and drove back to where we’d originally spotted the buck. No deer, but that wasn’t a surprise. A couple hours later Jake spotted the buck and a single doe standing in a small, snow-covered clearing. We watched them feed for about 10 minutes until they disappeared in the thick pines. At least we hadn’t blown them out of the canyon. We still had a chance.

We spent the afternoon easing around our side of the canyon looking for a spot that put us within shooting distance from the snow patch & the sage clearing. We settled in a spot about 400 yards from the snow patch and 500 yards from the sage. We’d done enough shooting that summer that I was confident in Jake making a 400 yard shot. Though if the buck showed in the sage, we’d have to get closer. We sat there for 4 hours with no sign of any deer until, just moments before dark, I spotted a doe standing in some sparse pines several hundred yards up the canyon from where we’d last seen the buck. Before I could explain to Jake where the doe was standing, I saw another doe run through my field of vision – with the big buck hot on her tail. We were about 600 yards away so we grabbed our gear and hustled down the hillside toward the deer. We got to within 400 yards and watched as the buck chased the doe, never once standing still, until the last light left the canyon. We’d had our chance and didn’t get it done.

The next morning we were parked on the same dead-end road. The spotting scope was setup on the truck window, trained on the sagebrush clearing across the canyon. Hoping the universe was willing to help us cross paths with the buck one more time, I kept my eye pressed to the spotting scope as little by little, I started to make out shapes across the canyon. As I tried to make one of the shapes grow horns, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. I lifted my head from the spotting scope and there – 20 yards from me – the big buck popped out from behind a cedar tree. Twenty. Yards.

I stammered at Jake “HE’S RIGHT THERE!” When Jake couldn’t locate him I hissed “PUT DOWN YOUR BINOCULARS!” The jolt of adrenaline was unbelievable. I don’t remember the last time I had buck fever hit me like that. I finally came to my senses and started scrambling in the back seat to get the rifle out of the case. When I finally got the rifle out of the case I turned back in my seat to find the buck standing on a little ridge 50 yards from the truck. I could have easily leaned out the open window and shot him left handed. Instead, I handed the gun to Jake and said, “Good luck”. I swear all Jake did was raise his hand toward the door handle and the buck knew it was time to go. He didn’t run, he just trotted over the ridge out of sight. Jake and I both clambered out, trying to be quiet, but failing spectacularly. We were in tennis shoes, no coats, no gloves, no gear, and it was frigid. Not that we noticed the cold as we walked as fast as we could in the dim light to where the buck had last stood. As we crossed the ridge, there was 300 yards of sagebrush in every direction, but there was no buck. Jake headed uphill toward some pines and I headed down towards some quakies. We met up 15 minutes later, neither having seen a glimpse of the buck.

Now I was depressed. The kind of depression you only know if you’ve had a huge buck taunt you at 20 yards and get away. Our shaking switched from adrenaline to freezing. We knew we’d been beat and headed back to the truck. Not only had we let the chance of a lifetime escape us, the buck had left his does and was alone. That made things much worse. A lone big buck during the rut would likely be 5 miles away by the end of the day. We solemnly put on our coats, boots and packs then headed into the canyon. We spent the morning glassing and didn’t see a single deer. I figured we were done – not even the universe could keep a rutting buck in that little canyon once he’d left his does. We went back to camp to sulk and wait for evening. Late afternoon found us back in the same spot, this time sitting in a pretty good snow storm. We didn’t see anything that evening, but were encouraged that we’d have some fresh snow in the morning.

The next morning greeted us with 2” of fresh snow; not much, but it’d have to do. We were back in the same spot before light. This time with boots on, gun out of the case, gear ready to go – just in case the buck tried his luck next to the truck again. Naturally, big bucks know when you’re ready and never show up when you are. We sat in the truck until it was light enough to glass the canyon and determine there were no deer out in the open. Our plan was to go straight across the canyon and meet in the sagebrush opening where we’d first seen the buck. With fresh snow on the ground, we’d be able to see all the deer in the area by their tracks. If we cut a big buck track, we’d take up the chase.

An hour later, Jake and I stood on the ridge above the sagebrush clearing comparing notes. We had both seen a handful of tracks, but none the size we’d expect for the big buck. I was disappointed, but not surprised. I figured that buck to be courting does in the next county by then. We decided to cross the next canyon, again looking for big buck tracks. We both cut more deer tracks than the first canyon, but the end result was the same – no big buck tracks.

The country in front of us had been burned and a quick scan showed no critters and no tracks in the fresh snow. We talked over our options, and Jake opted to head for the highest peak we could see, about 2 miles away as the crow flies. We could see a big clearing in the pines that had a lot of tracks crossing it. I figured they were probably elk tracks, but it was still early and I agreed we should be out moving while the snow lasted.

We had just started off the ridge when Jake spotted a couple hunters walking along the trail below us. I asked if he wanted to keep moving or talk with them, he opted to wait and see if they would climb the ridge to talk with us – which they soon did. The hunters were after bull moose and hadn’t seen any since their hunt had opened nearly 2 months earlier. We told them we’d seen a lone young bull 2 nights earlier, just down the ridge from where we were standing. They told us where they had seen a decent 4 point buck about twenty minutes earlier. We knew from the description it wasn’t the big buck we’d been chasing. The moose hunters headed off toward the young bull and I asked Jake if he wanted to go up on the mountain or try to find the buck they’d seen. He wanted to check out the buck.

We backtracked the moose hunters, and everywhere they had stopped, we also stopped and glassed. After about an hour we were near the road and hadn’t seen any deer. As we were now an hour later and a mile further from the mountain, we decided to call it a day, head back to the truck and regroup. We started down toward the road when I suggested we should take the straight path to the truck through the pines instead. There was a little snow left and this was the canyon where we’d been seeing the buck. I asked Jake if he wanted uphill or down. He chose downhill and we split up, separating by a few hundred yards. This part of the story I’ll share as Jake later relayed it to me.

“I had walked about 200 yards into the pines when I jumped a couple does out of their beds. I walked off the hilltop to check out their tracks and make sure I’d seen all the deer. Their tracks were clear and definitely only 2 does. I followed their tracks for about a hundred yards down into the pines when I cut some bigger tracks. I spent a few minutes sorting out the new tracks and decided they weren’t a big deer. From there I followed the contour of the hill, working through the thick pines and downfall. About 30 minutes from when we’d separated, I stepped into a small clearing. I took a quick look around and… standing in the pines 100 yards to my left was a nice buck. I didn’t think it was THE buck, but the moment I got the glasses on him I saw that big 3 point right side. It was THE buck and he was still standing there! I lowered my binoculars and took my rifle off my shoulder, every moment expecting him to bolt. I raised the gun, easily found him in the scope and squeezed off a shot. The buck jumped and ran to my left. He stopped after about 50 yards and I figured he was done for. I debated shooting again, and in hindsight I probably should have. But within a few seconds he started stumbling and went down.”

I heard the shot and while I hoped Jake had run into the buck, I knew the odds of getting a buck in the pines were about the same as winning the lottery. But, hey, Idaho has a lottery, and you only win if you play! I whistled, yelled and even tried my cell phone but I couldn’t locate Jake. I knew he would eventually head for the truck one way or the other, so I headed that way, too. About a half hour later, Jake came out of the trees. When he got close, I asked if it was him that shot. He couldn’t hide the smile any longer as he admitted the buck was down. I was stunned. Heck, I’m STILL stunned!

A few hours later we were headed down the mountain with the big buck in the back of the truck and an incredible story in our pocket. I called Ryan to tell him the story and let him know we would be driving past his town and would drop off his saddlebags. Ryan responded with, “By the way, the moose hunter who took the picture of the buck made those saddlebags for me!” I told him Jake’s Grandpa Dave & Uncle Kip lived in the same town to which Ryan exclaimed “You’re kidding! Kip is my neighbor!” One final act of providence.

Upon seeing the buck, Ryan was just as stunned as us that we were able to get him. We told the story in great detail, and Ryan hung on every word. He was clearly as excited about our success as we were. There was a lot of head shaking and back slapping. After we finished reliving the hunt, I asked Ryan – “Why did you stop and talk to me that first morning?” He responded, “I honestly don’t know! It just seemed like the thing to do. I had been hunting there for a week and you were the only hunter I talked to the entire time.”

I’ve never experienced anything like this hunt. There were endless reasons we shouldn’t have gotten this buck, yet at every obstacle, our steps seemed guided. This hunt forced me to again question my beliefs, and while I haven’t decided whether they’ve changed, I guarantee that I will continue to pick up every set of saddlebags I find.