This hunt all started in 2024 when I wasn’t able to pull an Utah tag, however one of my best buddies pulled an Utah late muzzleloader tag. We hit it hard in the summer trying to turn up a next level buck! July 18th of 2024 I laid my eyes on this buck and was absolutely wowed at the frame on this guy. I ended up watching this buck the rest of the summer trying to pattern his every move. Well as luck would have it Come October this buck was no where to be found. My buddy and I ended up spending weeks trying to turn him up. With no luck at all, I knew he had probably moved areas to his rutting zone. We continued to search and search and never did find him again in the season of 2024. The spring of 2025 comes around and I was lucky enough to pull a dedicated tag on the unit this buck lived on. Come early July I went right back to work trying to turn him up, 8 trips in there and no luck on finding him, however I did see a couple other big bucks in the area from the year before that gave me hope that he was still in there. On trip number 9 in there on August 4th, I spent the whole morning glassing and continued to find the same bucks with no sign of the buck I was after. As I started to pack up my scope and pack i noticed a deer beneath me feeding in some thick oak at 175 yards, I thought no way would that be him. He then pulled his head out of bushes and my heart absolutely dropped when I noticed it was the buck I had been searching for. I was shaking like no other just trying to get him on video through my scope cam adapter. After realizing it was 100% him I knew it was game on come opening day. I watched him as much as I possibly could for the next 2 weeks. When opening morning finally rolled around I knew I had to do everything I could to put an arrow in him. Opening day a big rain storm rolled in and I used the storm to my advantage to put the first stalk in. As I got to 86 yards from the buck he was bedded and I couldn’t get any closer. As the storm rolled out the wind changed and as a big old smart buck would, he got my wind and took off. I was completely heartbroken knowing he was smart enough that he wouldn’t make many mistakes. As the next few days went on the search to turn him back up went on. On day three I was able to find him again and put in another stalk and yet again the wind shifted within 100 yards and I was busted. As the hunt went on the story continued the same, this ole boy just kept outsmarting me but luckily never did bust me and blow out again. As the last week of the archery hunt came upon me I knew it was now or never with the muzzleloader hunt coming and knowing he would strip velvet and become that much harder to turn up. It was Tuesday and the hunt ended on that coming Friday, I was able to turn him up before I had to leave for work and put him to bed. As I went to work that day It was eating at me that it was that day or never. Luckily having an awesome boss that wanted me to kill him as bad as I wanted too he said go for it and get him killed! I made a few phone calls and my brother was on his way to help spot for me. I ended up putting in a stalk mid day on his bed, he ended up getting up middle of the day and I could not believe it and he got up and started feeding right towards to me. I could then hear him walking towards me through the rocks. I had already ranged everything in my sight, knowing my farthest shot was 60 yards. He fed into the opening and buried his head in the oak brush just like the first time I had ever seen him. I got a range of 48 yards and took a couple deep breathes to control my breathing, I stood and drew back and settled my pin in and let it rip. All I heard was a whack and immediately knew it had drilled him, but knowing how big bucks were I couldn’t get too excited. After sitting in the dead heat of the sun for hours on hours I was extremely dehydrated, I backed out and made my way to my brother to get water. As I walked up on my brother his smile was from ear to ear and I told him I wasn’t going to get too excited until I knew he was dead. His smile only got wider at that point and he said “well look through my scope buddy” as I looked through the spotter all I saw was 4 legs upside down in the oak brush, it was such a bittersweet feeling knowing the saga of “Fourty four” was over! As we went over to him I found my arrow as a perfect pass through laying in the brush behind where I let it fly, one perfectly placed arrow double lunged him and put him down in a matter of seconds. His name came from my uncle who had also seen the buck the year before and said he was the biggest framed 4x4 he had ever seen! As I walked up on this buck I was completely speechless! His frame only continued to grow, I was so unbelievably grateful that I was able to execute the shot and put down the buck of my lifetime!

2025 Colorado mule deer hunt.  Burned a few points for a 3rd season muley tag in an area we have never laid eyes on before.  Did the research and the unit looked promising.  Once we drew the tags I really started mapping and digging deeper into migration routes, elevations, etc.  We arrived the day before season and quickly set camp and starting burning up roads to learn the area as fast as possible.  The weather was unseasonably warm and dry so 50-60 for daytime highs were not going to make this easy.  A couple days in and we were seeing alot of deer,  does and smaller bucks most in one elevation so we just kept grinding and every day was getting better.  I think we were on day 7 of being in Colorado we were hiking in to  get eyes on another buck we had seen when I glassed a shaded canyon and found him with a smaller buck and 4 does.  He was lip curling and putting on a show.  Before I could close the distance though they made in into some timber.  With the deer in the shaded timber and sun in my face I was struggling to make out which deer was the big buck.  My partner eventually came down to where I was at and set up a spotter and was able to make him out.  2 shots across canyon and he was down.  We have been traveling and chasin muleys for about 14 years to different states and it never gets easier.  I believe hard work and luck sometimes just puts you where you need to be.  Every day I tell myself (if its meant to be then its meant to be).

Kylee Atwood, 14 drew ever first ever youth deer tag. We live in North West New Mexico in the four corners area. 
We head out opening morning. We came across a decent 2x2 smaller buck with couple of does. We passed him up and pushed further into the unit off of the highway. We had some friends out scouting around in the unit. One of our buddies glasses up this buck breeding on a couple of does in a small canyon. We make a move and work our way to put a stalk on. The buck and some does end up going over a hill and head on into another little canyon. We end up working both ends of this canyon. We had him spotted in a sage brush flat then he disappears. We gather back up with our help and make a plan to go to a hill top that over looks the canyon. We make our way to the hill top and spot those same deer and stay put. A couple of hours later after waiting the buck out hoping he is still down at the bottom,  he shows his cards! He moves to stay in the shade and the set up couldn't be more perfect. He lays down facing away from us just to the side of a small juniper tree at around 172 yards. We all get set up, get kylee on her rifle. Her step-dad has her set up on a tripod with her rifle dialed in. She has buck fever and take a few minutes to gather herself. She finally loads a round and punches his ticket. Perfect shot! He doesn't even get up out of his bed. She did such an amazing job! We scored the deer and he measured out at 203". Just an awesome public land giant and for her first ever buck she couldn't have been more happier!

I grew up in Kremmling, Colorado—a place most people just pass through on their way to somewhere else. For me, though, it’s where I learned how to breathe thin air, hike steep mountains, and fall in love with hunting. Around here, the mountains start where the pavement ends, and the wind never takes a day off. Anyone who hunts these ridges has to really want it. 

My hunting education started early. At twelve, I completed hunter safety and immediately began following my dad through the same woods he once followed his father. My lessons weren’t taught in a classroom—they were learned one boot print at a time. From field-dressing on frosty evenings to waiting out elk storms with shared jerky and quiet jokes, the mountains became our place.

Dad has hunted these ridges his whole life. Elk, mule deer, antelope, bear, mountain lion—you name it, he’s tracked it. He’s guided for Bear Mountain Outfitters for nearly a decade, and to me, he’s still the best teacher I’ve ever had. When he tells you a buck is special, you listen.

Spotting the Buck

A week before my season, Dad sent me pictures of a buck he spotted, photos that instantly grabbed my attention. Grainy spotting-scope shots—were all I needed. Even blurry, the buck’s frame stood out.

From that moment on, every free hour was spent glassing. Dawn. Dusk. Lunchtime. Whenever the mountain let us sit and watch, we were behind the glass. The buck had a routine he stuck to almost religiously: easing out of the timber with a group of does, feeding through the sage, disappearing again once the morning warmed, and doing the whole thing again near sunset. He even had a magpie that seemed to consider his back a personal taxi.

Watching him day after day made the anticipation almost unbearable.

A Windy Start

Work kept me off the mountain until November 13, and by then the weather had fully settled into winter mode. A stiff 20–30 mph wind swept across the ridges, making it nearly impossible to keep our optics steady. Anyone who hunts Colorado in mid-November knows that kind of wind changes everything.

It threw the deer off their usual patterns and left the mountain looking emptier than they had all week. But we stayed patient, checking every pocket we’d seen him use, every drainage he’d crossed, every piece of cover that made sense. Hunting teaches a certain type of stubborn faith—believing the animal is still there even when all you’re seeing is wind-blown sage.

Late afternoon came with that sinking feeling of maybe not today. But just as the light started to soften, Dad spotted movement.

There he was.

The Closing Window

He stood 660 yards away—technically within my capabilities, but not the shot I wanted to rush. We waited, hoping he’d drift toward a group of does nearby. He didn’t. Not fast enough, anyway.

So we moved, using whatever breaks in the sage we could find. And then the buck helped us out by feeding closer. We stayed put while allowing him to close the gap.

Five hundred yards. Then four hundred. I was watching him through the scope on my rifle. Then he stopped… broadside at 400 yards. 

I settled behind the rifle, slowed my breathing, and gently squeezed the trigger. 

He stumbled, and before I could send a follow-up, he tipped over. We watched for several long minutes to make sure he stayed down. He did.

In the Sage

Finding him in sagebrush that high isn’t easy, but his antlers finally showed themselves through the gray-green tangle. Pride, relief, gratitude—they all hit at once. I knelt beside him and offered a quiet thank-you for the meat and the moment.

That “old wound” we had thought he carried? Turns out the magpie had simply plucked the hair down to a soft fur. Unique.

We quartered him by headlamp—our familiar routine of Dad handling most of the knife work while I held a leg and the light. I hauled the meat down the hill one quarter at a time while my dad continued to cut. 

The next day, after some cleaning and a good night’s sleep, we taped him at 203 inches. A deer like that doesn’t just go on the wall—he becomes a story retold for years.

But the real treasure was the time. The challenge. The shared quiet. The piece of mountain that became ours for a day. I’m grateful for all of it—this buck, the experience, and especially the privilege of hunting with my dad in country he knows so well. And I’m also incredibly thankful to Brad and Kelly Probst with Bear Mountain Outfitters for giving me the opportunity to chase a deer like this on their land—and for letting me do it with the guide I trust more than anyone else.

Every hunter dreams of that one deer — the kind that haunts your thoughts all year, the kind that might only come around once in your lifetime, or maybe not at all. On October 11, 2025, I met mine. And it all happened faster than I ever could’ve imagined.

It was a cool Saturday afternoon in Northern British Columbia — the kind of day that makes you grateful to live where you do. Crisp air, golden leaves, and that unmistakable quiet that settles over the bush in mid-October. I was heading out for a quick solo hunt in a familiar area where I’d seen quite a few deer over the last few years.

I was just about to stop the truck to start my walk — hadn’t even shut it off yet — when I saw movement. Two deer exploded out of a patch of thick buck brush no more than 60 yards ahead, and I caught one flash of antlers as they bolted. In that instant, I knew exactly what I was looking at: a giant. Heavy beams and two sticker points off one side — that’s all I needed to see. My heart started racing.

But he wasn’t alone. Running just ahead of the big buck was another deer — a clean, wide 4x4. A classic-looking muley. Any other day, he would’ve had all my attention. But not today. I barely registered him as the big non-typical bounced through the trees and disappeared into the brush.

I didn’t have time to get out quietly. I grabbed my rifle — a Kimber Mountain Ascent .280 Ackley Improved — and took off running. The truck door stayed wide open behind me.

I didn’t know where he was going, but I knew I had to move fast. I sprinted about 150 yards, heart pounding, trying to get to a small opening ahead where I thought I might catch one last glimpse of him. The cover was brutal — thick brush, young poplars everywhere — but I found a tight gap just wide enough to see through. I shouldered my rifle a few different times, trying to find a shot opening through the timber.

Finally, I found a good enough lean on a branch I’d snapped off a poplar tree— just steady enough to make it work.

And there he was. The buck had made a mistake — one of the few he probably ever made in his life. He’d stopped to look back. Just for a second. Maybe he wasn’t sure what had spooked him. Maybe he didn’t catch my wind. Whatever the reason, that pause gave me a chance.

I found him in the scope and took my shot — 180 yards, threading a bullet through brush and timber. No hesitation. Just years of practice boiled down to one second of calm inside the chaos.

Then it was quiet. I stood there, out of breath, not entirely sure if I’d connected. The whole encounter — from seeing him run to pulling the trigger — couldn’t have been more than two or three minutes total.
That’s when something unexpected happened.

I started making my way in the direction I’d last seen him, not sure what I’d find. As I crept through the poplars, scanning for blood sign, I suddenly noticed movement off to my right — away from where I thought the deer had gone.

It was the 4x4. He was just standing there, maybe 40 yards away, alert but not running. I eased closer, and instead of fleeing, he just stood there — and that’s when I saw him. My buck.

Lying just behind some tall meadow grass. It was as if the 4x4 had led me straight to him — he refused to leave his fallen partner. For a moment, all I could do was stare.

Even after seeing the antlers for that brief moment when he ran, I still wasn’t prepared for what was lying in front of me. A non-typical mule deer, 8x7, with great mass and character. Heavy dark beams, deep forks, long tines, and those same stickers I’d seen bouncing through the trees. He was absolutely massive. A true giant. I took one good look and just stood there in disbelief.

I couldn’t believe what I was looking at. I didn’t count points. I didn’t pull out a tape. I didn’t even take a photo. I just looked at him, shook my head, and turned around. I needed to make some calls. I started walking back toward the truck, grinning like a kid on Christmas morning. Repeating in my head “ I can’t believe this, I can’t believe this is real” My first thought wasn’t about antler score or how many people would ask for the story. My first thought was sharing the moment with my best hunting buddies and my parents — the people who understand exactly what a deer like this means.

It hadn’t been a long backcountry hike or a multi-day sit. I’d barely even made it into the spot. But that’s hunting. Sometimes it’s the grind. Other times, it hits you in the first few minutes, when you least expect it. I truly believe the wind is what saved this hunt. It was in my face from the time the deer ran until I pulled the trigger. I don’t think he ever caught my scent. If I’d approached from a different angle, that buck would’ve vanished — and I might have never known just how big he really was or maybe never seen him at all, Instead I got the full story. A clean shot. A mature, once-in-a-lifetime buck. And a memory burned into my mind for the rest of my life.

Hunting means everything to me. It’s not just about antlers or pulling a trigger. It’s about being out there — disconnected, focused, present. Over the years, I’ve committed to pursuing mature deer. I don’t measure a season in tags filled, but in experiences earned. This buck was the result of all of that — the learning, the patience, the drive to do it right.

He came out of nowhere, and it was over in seconds. But those few seconds held more meaning than words can fully capture. When he stopped and looked back, everything that had ever gone wrong in past hunts — every mistake, every missed chance — led to this one going right.