Montanan Dyrk Eddie stalked this huge blacktail on the second day of our hunt near the Pacific Coast in California.

Dyrk later reported a similar opening morning treestand experience -- lots of deer sighted but no shots. A large buck did pass close behind his stand, creating some momentary excitement, and another big 4x4 in the distance further fueled Dyrk's optimism that it was simply a matter of time before he'd get a chance.

When Butch picked us up about 10 a.m., we went searching for bedded bucks. Dyrk tried a few stalks, but the land was so dry and noisy underfoot that sneaking within bow range proved nearly impossible. At midday we called it quits and headed back for lunch and an afternoon nap during the heat of the day. Back in our stands by early evening, Dyrk and I again saw deer but had no shooting opportunities.

THE MORNING OF DAY TWO was a replay of our first: Up at 4 a.m. to shower and pull on our camo, grab breakfast of coffee and bagels, in the truck by 5, and in our stands before dawn. This built high hopes but little action, and when Butch picked us up in late morning, we decided it was time to make something happen.

As Butch, Dyrk, and I bounced along a ranch road near a cluster of pines, we sighted a band of five bucks. Four of them still wore velvet headgear, while the lone hard-horned blacktail was a forky. As the Bronco clattered past, the deer casually moved away. Once out of their sight, Butch braked and I stepped out to circle back and stalk within shooting range.

Easing through the pines, I tried to get a good look at the five bucks milling just ahead. Finally getting a clear view of a tall-racked 3x2 just before he disappeared behind a tree, I couldn't help but recall what Butch had said during one of our pre-season scouting drives.

"Most any buck with tall antlers and deep forks will make the Pope and Young record book," Butch noted.

Okay, I thought, let's see.

The object of my attention finally stepped back into the open and, at about 40 yards, moved clear of the other deer. Studying his velvet antlers, I decided, Good enough, and drew my bow.

An instant later my arrow flashed away and sliced through the quartering-away 3x2. All of the deer moved off, and I watched the buck for several minutes before backing away. The hit was solid but perhaps a bit far back. Rather than push him, I figured it best to give the deer time to bed down.

On the drive back to the cabin we spotted a big 4x4, accompanied by a 3x3, bedded in a brome grass ditch.

"Man, I'd like to get a crack at that buck," Dyrk muttered. "Maybe I could try a stalk when you guys come back to recover Mark's deer?"

Butch and I agreed with that plan, so after a late-morning meal and brief rest, we headed out again. Dyrk parked his truck not far from where we'd last seen the big 4x4 as Butch and I continued on to search for my buck. Quickly we found my arrow but little blood and no sign of the deer. As we widened our search, the scorching afternoon sun grew more stifling by the minute, and soon I was sweating hard -- literally and figuratively. Still, I remained stubbornly confident that the buck was down and dead.

Continued -- click on page link below.