Steve’s start to his 2010 hunt was not an ordinary one by any means; in fact it was filled with trials and tribulations. After a good start to the opening weekend he got a call no parent ever wants to receive. Steve learned one of his sons was involved in a serious accident and had been rushed to the emergency room. Thankfully, many hours of prayer and surgeries brought Steve his own blessing his son would make a full recovery. They say bad news comes in bunches but in Steve’s case good news was now coming in bunches. Not only was his son going to be okay Steve still had three days left to hunt.
As it often seems to unfold the hunt was coming down to the last day. The previous two yielded nothing Steve was really looking for and as we waited for the first rays to reveal the awesome beauty of the badlands we both looked at each other and said, “We’ve been here before!”
There is a unique feeling of excitement coupled with hopelessness when you are down to your last day. But when things come together, the eerie feeling quickly turns magnificent and sure enough, during a mid-morning glass session Steve found a buck worthy of pursuit. Closing the distance to within 405 yards Steve's 7mm made the canyons rumble like never heard before. One shot, one very nice buck down! The usual cheers, high fives and moments of reflection carried through as the muzzle echoes faded. The hunt was over but little did we know that minutes later my 2011 hunt would be begin.
It was decided Steve would make his way down the ridge to his buck and I’d return to the pickup in hopes of making it an easier pack out. As I approached the pickup’s door my phone rang with an excited voice interrupting my tired “Hello?”
Steve said, “You are never going to believe what I am looking at.”
Without allowing time for me to guess Steve quickly added, “I’m staring eye to eye at a buck with stickers coming out of everywhere!”
“How many,” I said. With a little pause Steve replies, “I think all together…twenty-two!”
Thoughts began running through my head: I felt bad Steve had moments earlier shot his buck, I was mad I hadn’t had a tag since 2006 and especially mad I didn’t have one now and I wondered how many hunters in Steve’s shoes would have put the crosshairs on the buck and shot him anyway?
Interrupting my own thoughts I asked, “Is he still there?”
Steve fired back, “Yup, he’s just across the ridge from where I just shot mine maybe 150 yards away.” 
Seeing a buck like this is something you don’t see often; or ever, so I thought about dead-heading back to Steve but then asked myself what the chances were this buck would still be there when I got there. My own answer decided against the deadhead and I let Steve know I’d continue on with the plan and meet up with him later. That was the last time I had cellular reception.
While parking the pickup I glanced down at the seat to see Steve’s Zeiss spotting scope with all the bells and whistles perfect for capturing a photo of the buck. Gently fisting the steering wheel I said under my own breath, “Dangit, I wish I could see that buck.”
Looking at the scope one more time as I locked the door I wondered if I should carry the scope. Talking to myself again I murmured, “Nah, it would just be dead weight for the pack job and no way is the buck still there anyway.”
Big mistake…
Approaching where I figured the orange glow of Steve’s jacket would give his whereabouts I was startled to see him up on a ridge line not terribly far from me. I figured he came up to give me a reference point as it did take me nearly two hours to get to the pickup, drive it around and then hike back to Steve. But then I realized Steve was actually hunched over motioning for me to stay low.
Two hours ago I believe the last words I spoke to Steve were “Is he still there?” and now 30 yards from Steve like a broken record I asked that very question. Steve responded, “It’s unbelievable...he’s straight across from us!”
Seconds later all I could muster was, “Holy….are you kidding me!”
Never had I seen a deer even close in stature and there it lay, motionless, sunning itself without a worry in the world. I should have been exited right? Well, I was but all I could think about now was the spotting scope sitting in the pickup and how was anyone to believe what Steve and I were looking at without a photo? But then something else caught my attention. It was Steve’s 7mm and across from us the buck we seconds earlier named Kicker Nuts continued to mock us. I asked Steve how many hunters would have kept the same faith, honesty and sportsmanship with such a temptation across from them. “Nate, next year, he will be even bigger!” was all Steve said.
I proudly replied, “It takes a strong willed man to just snap photos!”
After a few poor quality desperation zoom photos Kicker Nuts decided he had enough majestically disappearing over the ridge. A rare combination of excitement and sadness filled our insides but then my feelings were replaced with pure sadness as two hunters broke the horizon. Steve stood to my right opposite of my view and all I could do was tap him on the shoulder and say in a disgusted tone, “Sooner than we hoped we’ll get a closer look at Kicker Nuts.”
But as if God was listening, the hunters caught glimpse of us before Kicker Nuts turning to where they came from. What a relief and from that moment forward I felt lucky in committing myself to the pursuit of Kicker Nuts.
The next year’s archery season couldn’t come soon enough but to make things short I scouted and hunted hard hoping to turn up Kicker Nuts if even for a photo session. The anticipation of seeing him nearly made me sick and to my disappointment I could not find him. When you put in the time I did you begin to have doubts whether the winter got him, a cat or maybe some rogue poacher? Luckily, time was on my side where the last time I drew a mule deer tag was 2006. Normally, that would be considered bad timing but to me, it was perfect and sure enough, I drew a 2011 rifle tag.
Remember above I said sometimes good luck comes in bunches? Well, if there was one way to get my mind off the buck of my dreams it was what happened to me not long before rifle season. In recent years the mountain lion population has exploded in the state. Run-ins with cats were not near as uncommon as they use to be but still, I never believed I’d see one let alone see one when armed. However, one fall day I ended up taking what some in North Dakota consider the other once in a lifetime trophy. Joking with my wife I said, “Wouldn’t it be something if I get Kicker Nuts mounted with the cat chasing him?”
Of course, I further explained this wouldn’t fit on the wall; it would have to go on the floor. “Oooooh you’re not!”
We’ll just leave it at that for now…
Whether or not you have been fortunate enough to be in my shoes probably doesn’t matter because we all anticipate the season to open. Finally, it came and at 12:00 noon I was well toward the quest for Kicker Nuts. But as overwhelming my excitement was it also meant I had a long way to fall. Glassing canyon after canyon, looking over ridge after ridge and being extra cautious to not bump him or any deer for that matter I couldn’t fight off the same old thoughts of doubt. A week had gone by and I was questioning if he was still in the area, was last year just a fluke territory move by him, did he winter kill, did someone else get him, did a cat make him dinner and the list went on.
I wouldn’t let my doubts turn to negativity because to do so would just end my season two weeks early. As sincere as I can be it was a very difficult task to stay positive especially for a mule deer hunter. The winters had been tough, wet springs and predator population booming deer numbers across the board were down. In whitetail country their numbers were in decline and the mule deer population was the lowest I or generations before me could ever remember. In fact, I hunt in an area where elk are not always plentiful and could argue I seen more elk than mule deer! Luckily, I had put in extra ordinary hours and knew where a few isolated pockets of mule deer were. A rule to big game hunting out west is to stick to your game plan, no matter what. Hunt what you are familiar with and stay the course. Never could a plan be truer when it comes to mule deer hunting. Let me tell you, it was a task because with numbers so low you felt you need to sprint to each hill and fly to never before seen areas.
As long as it took for the opener to arrive it took milliseconds for the final week to approach. It’s always difficult to stay motivated when things aren’t going right but today, something felt right. Perched at the start of my slow and meandering walk that awaited me I felt; silly enough, at peace. Of course it helped I was working a well known location to me where finally I was turning up a few deer including other bucks that realized their biological clock did in fact have a ticker. The morning hours turned up familiar deer but again no sign of Kicker Nuts. Approaching late afternoon my walk steered me back toward the pickup which would soon offer a differing angle upon a canyon ridge I’d seen eleven deer earlier. I had glassed them hard to no avail but being active and by that I mean a doe in heat with a small buck trailing, I was not against glassing them again.
Glancing at the horizon I estimated there was about an hour left. After watching the deer below me for about ten 
minutes it seemed what I had seen earlier was what I was going to get to see. But then a group of six or seven was hurried from behind a cedar and deciduous ridgeline. With my binoculars now viewing the last doe I do believe I nearly fainted.
I had glassed this very area twice and had been watching it specifically for nearly 15 minutes. But now, below me at about 300 yards I could make out the dark chocolate silhouette of a kicker riddled mass of antlers. It was evident this belonged to one deer and one deer only…I had finally found Kicker Nuts. “Holy crap, Holy crap….HOLY CRAP” is probably the most classy way I can explain the rush of emotions. I began talking to myself, “Nate, you have plenty of time…focus on the task…breathe…you’ve been here before with big bucks…yeah but this is Kicker Nuts…this is just not ordinary nice buck…will you JUST calm down!”
All this emotion and just from seeing only his right side!
I slowly changed hands laying my optics down replacing them with the scope mounted atop my .338. During that time, Kicker Nuts disappeared in a deep wash comprised off trees and brush. Un-noticed I made a move 50 yards behind me hopefully providing one last angle. Nothing…I waited…still nothing.
“Dangit!” Here I sit, with one of the biggest decisions I’ve made in a long, long time. Do I push the envelope or do I back out and return tomorrow morning assuring I do not spook him or the 12 eyeballs accompanying him? Nonsense…the time is now.
I crept back to the outer end of the draw for a second peek. Nothing! I retreat back again a few yards and sit for what seems like an eternity finding it harder and harder to fight emotion. After a few deep breaths and emotions somewhat contained I returned yet again to the outer end finally realizing the once softened sunlit snow had cooled resulting in crunching echoes being cast throughout the area. I now know I’ve most likely exposed myself and the reason I haven’t seen the deer is because they stand alert searching for the echo’s source. I’m committed now and the only spot I can fully reveal myself and hopefully the rest of the bottom is a little plateau to my right. I make the dangerous move and whisper, “Lord, let there be does.”
He listened but man was I pegged.
As expected they were standing at full alert but had not sought escape. However, when it became dead silent they must not have appreciated not hearing danger. Three moved up toward the tree line but suddenly the anchor stopped to look behind her. If you have deer hunted enough you know what can follow and as my eyes slid down her line of sight out stepped Kicker Nuts from a little clay point. He was consumed by the rut and had no idea I was there as he peered toward his exiting mates. He stood broadside offering the perfect shot and after 5 years of waiting the time came for me to squeeze the .338’s trigger. It was a good hit.
I know everyone ends their story with “it happened so fast” or a similar anecdote but you know what, they are right! It literally took a few moments for me to realize what had just unfolded. The hunt was over but there was so much left to do including calling my wife, kids and friends. Lots of congratulations and I couldn’t wait to show them the deer I had been obsessing about for over a year. But first, I had to get him out and fortunately Steve and his son Gary were scheduled to arrive tonight and hunt the rest of the week. The timing couldn’t have been more perfect.
Steve and Gary were not far from the farm and wouldn’t take them that terribly long to get to the general area I was. They were pretty versed in the terrain but with the light now fading fast is was best I stayed up high to meet them instead of them trying to find me tucked in the bottoms. That meant, I had to refrain from walking down to the trophy of a lifetime. It was difficult to say the least but it was indeed more exciting walking down with them to Kicker Nuts. Well, let me rephrase that, I think it took me less than a minute to slide down the ridge! I’m not going to even attempt to say what went through me as I grabbed a hold of his antlers. I’ll just leave you with the word…special.
It was late and due to the possibility of wanting a full mount the conventional ways of field dressing and skinning weren’t going to work. Instead we loaded him up to assure the cape would go undisturbed by both ground and knife. After many heaves, grunts and rests we had Kicker Nuts in the back of the pickup around 4:30 a.m. I’m forever indebted to such great friends in Steve and Gary because without them I’d have never done it.
Stories upon stories were told as we skinned the deer the next day. Some ventured about the past, others about the present. It was 361 days since Steve and I had last seen him and since then many hours and days were invested by me without so much a glimpse. We joked wondering if he was able to transform into a badger and dig himself into a hole because I shot him just one ridge away from where we saw him nearly a year ago. Grasping his jaw to advance the joke looking for badger fangs we took note of the deer’s teeth. We were taking guesses at age and one would think a deer of this size would be all of six years old. However, with a glance at the teeth he either was a careful eater or a young deer. Could it be he was only four or four and a half years old? We all had our opinions but that wasn’t the talking point of the day. Upon reaching the bullet entries I found two still intact. What I was surprised to find was the second was an older looking wound and not near the size of my .338. We measured it and it came out to around the equivalent of either a .17 or .20 caliber. My fears earlier of another hunter or poacher were w
ithout cause. If I hadn’t been lucky enough already this was the icing on the cake. It is saddening this deer could have been lost to a poacher and I’m grateful the Badlands didn’t lose a monarch to such a means.
It was a year filled with events I’ll never forget. But let me take these last few sentences to thank all my family and friends for making me the person I am. And what would the world be like if we didn’t have the wonders of the world we do? Call me sentimental but I must thank the big man upstairs for the beautiful creation he made in the Badlands of which he bestowed to me one of his greatest creations…ole Kicker Nuts.
Lead photo of Nathan with his 2011 mule deer. His good friend Steve proudly holds his own mule deer.
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