Montana Muley - Fair Chase Magazine -In Pursuit of Legends Outdoors

As seen in November Fair Chase Magazine

The first time I saw a massive-racked muley with its enormous body bounding over a hillside, I knew it was something I had to hunt. Born into whitetail country where I was lucky to see a spike buck, I couldn’t get over that sight. I started filing through my pile of mag- azines for overlooked articles thinking that if I was going to hunt them one day, I better start reading up. 

 Life got in the way and 20 years passed. I knew I was going to need to do my research, especially for a guy who had never seen any thing west of t he Mississippi. If I was going to do t his right, hours of research was the only way to get there. I would learn that find- ing a place where a true trophy animal lives is almost as hard as finding the animal itself. 

I started my research with the Boone and Crocket record book looking for historical data on places I might find a trophy. Having the means to hunt in any state, I chose Montana. I sought advice from outfitters and found a reputable, third-generation rancher and outfitter named Eric Albus. From my first impression of our call, he seemed honest and straight for ward about my prospects and the hunt. He offered advice on the best way to submit my application for a tag. At the end of t hat hour-long conversation, he convinced me he was the right guy for the job. His advice on how to apply for a tag was right on the money, and I pulled a tag for the November rut rifle season. 

When I arrived at Eric’s camp, those Canadian winds were howling. There was one tree within 100 miles. I met t he family, and t hey were quite welcoming, putting me right at ease. The family was exactly what you’d imagine a cattle ranching family’s life to be. Over a cup of coffee, Eric explained his daily hunt routine. It was simple but practical. Our days consisted of driving ranch roads and picking apart every piece of brush and rock in search of a deer to stalk. In five days, we covered more than 100 miles by truck and spent count less hours hi k ing deep ravines through some of the most awe-inspiring country that I could have ever imagined. 

On one occasion, we climbed to the top of a butte for a better vantage point. As we came over the top, there were stones arranged in a 10-foot circle. We were right on top of an old Native American camp. I was so caught up with finding a deer, I almost missed out on an amazing piece of our heritage. As we moved on, we came across deserted one-room schoolhouses in the middle of nowhere. We covered miles of rolling high plains plastered against a never- ending yellow-gold autumn skyline. I was so mesmerized by its beauty that I couldn’t help just staring at the horizon to make sure I drank it all in. 

At dinner one evening, Eric spoke of his bygone days of hunting mule deer on horseback. That’s what I wanted to do. The following morning, we set out on some of the best open-country horses I ever rode. It was the quintessential western hunting experience and a gift I greatly appreciated. We weren’t successful that morning, but one of the memories I took with me was sneak ing up “cowboy style” on a herd of grazing deer while walking behind the horses as cover. I never would have tried that, but Eric laughingly assured me t hat deer couldn’t count horse legs as we walked within 100 yards of them. 

The last day of my hunt was unseasonably cold and quiet. While cruising the last canyon before we returned to camp, I finally got my moment with 10 minutes of light left. In the dull reflection of the setting sun, Eric sat up straining his eyes in the binoculars , and piked out the yellow-white rump of a beautiful barrel-chested buck with antlers as dark as chocolate. 

“I’ve been seeing this deer on and off for months,” Eric said. “He would disappear for days and miraculously pop up miles away.”   We bailed out of the truck and hustled a bout 300 yards dow n a deep ravine in a race against sunlight. About 4 0 0 yards away was the unsuspecting buck. There was no cover left, and we had to take a position for a shot. I was prone facing downhill with Eric on the glass behind me. 

I tried to control my excited breathing and eased off a shot. The recoil from the .300 magnum and the awkward angle knocked me off my sight plane, and I lost the buck in the scope.  At almost the same instance, I heard, “ You rolled him!”  

We ran down that ravine in an all-out sprint like a bunch of school kids. When I ran up to the deer, I couldn’t believe his massive body. His back was as thick as a horse, and when I picked up his head I couldn’t believe my eyes.  He had trash growing from his brows and every bit of 13 or more points. It was an awesome sight and felt even better to have those antlers in my hands. It took a minute but I finally allowed my self to brea he a sigh of relief.