Follow along as the author attempts to harvest arguably the hardest animal in North America to spot and stalk with a bow on a solo backcountry hunt in Arizona.
by Josh Kirchner
January is a month of new beginnings. Goals are made and motivation is high. I’m no exception to this. Along with eating better and staying fit, my goals for the new year often concern a small animal I’ve come to cherish. The Coues deer is undoubtedly one of my favorite animals to pursue with archery equipment. And the month of January in Arizona is teeming with opportunity and rutting bucks.
Usually, at least one hunting partner accompanies me on this backpack hunt into the high desert. With schedules not lining up right and a burning desire to still go bowhunting, I added a goal to my checklist for 2025. I wanted to pull off a successful solo backcountry archery hunt for the deer best known as the “gray ghost.” A hunt where everything was on me.
Adapt & Overcome
It doesn’t matter how often I load up a backpack and plan on living in the dirt while hunting. I still get butterflies in my stomach. As the mountain I was about to crest over came into view, those butterflies sank, and so did my heart. I saw the tip of a tent peeking over the skyline at me. I had never seen someone camped off the trail like this in the spot I’ve called home the last half-dozen Coues deer seasons. After a quick pity party, I adapted and headed off somewhat mindlessly in a different direction. There was plenty of country and plenty of deer.
Going off of my map, I picked out a ridge that would put me in a good position for camping and glassing. On these backpack hunts, I honestly don’t do a ton of traveling. Coues deer hunting is largely about long hours behind optics, so your glass does most of the walking for you. And upon my arrival on the said ridge, my assumptions were correct. It looked fantastic.
Bucks & More Bucks
With my camp ready, dinner was cooking, and I was finally sitting behind my binoculars. This is the best way to locate Coues deer, and it didn’t take long. Deer were sprinkled throughout the entire sea of high desert in front of me. There were many does, smaller bucks, and a few great-looking bucks. It was too late to make any plays on them, but knowing they’d be waiting for me in the morning was lovely.
One Stalk, Two Stalk, Three Stalk, More
Mornings in the backcountry are always the most quiet. The loudest thing out there is likely the thoughts racing through my head of what the day will bring. Judging by what I saw the previous night, I knew I’d be going after at least one buck today. In no time after breakfast, I had a shooter buck located. He was a big mainframe 3-point glued to a doe. I watched the pair go into a brush pile and not come out. It was game on until it wasn’t.
Solo hunting comes with many challenges; not having someone spotting for you while stalking a deer is one of them. The twists and turns through the cacti, oaks, and boulder-filled bottoms led me to the wrong ridge. What should have been a 20-minute stalk turned into 2 hours. In short, the buck was no longer where I had left him.
Later that day, 500 yards below my camp, I noticed a group of does with a basket rack 3-point. This attempt ended with him pulling a Houdini on me. The following morning, the same thing would happen. I put killer moves on the empty bed of a beat-up old 2-point with a broken G2. This is what I wanted. It was all on me. With almost no water left and my inReach informing me of a snowstorm coming, I decided to head home and regroup.
Take-Two – Back Into The Backcountry
My hike into camp and overall attitude was much different upon my return. I had enough water with me to last a week. And there was no longer the tip of a tent saying “nana nana boo boo” to me from my usual spot. There were also no other people anywhere, which is not what I experienced on my first trip. Folks were out trying to do the same thing as me. Bless them, but I was happy to be alone on this one. Because of this, my confidence was high, and the smile on my face didn’t leave the entire way into camp.
An Old Friend
Another battle of solo hunting is loneliness. Solo hunting is not for you if you’re uncomfortable with not having people around. I know people like this, and that’s fine. As an only child for most of my childhood, being alone doesn’t bother me. With that noted, I didn’t feel as alone as I normally do solo hunting. The camp I was in, and the country I was set to hunt was like an old friend. I was surrounded by memories. It was nice to be reunited once again.
That evening, as I ate dinner, I saw many deer, but there was no time to do anything about it. Again, deer were scattered throughout the area, but this time, I knew these areas intimately well. I knew the wind patterns and vantage points to close the distance. I was home.
Today Is The Day
Nights during January are long. Don’t tell my wife, but I spent about 11 hours in the tent and got some much-needed rest. She’d be jealous, as this sounds like gold when you’ve got a four-year-old demanding your attention back home. I missed my girls but grew increasingly excited, drinking coffee and watching the sunrise. “Today is the day,” I said to myself. I just had a feeling.
I saw three bucks throughout the morning that caught my attention. Two crested a far-off ridge, but one put himself in a cut I know well. I killed a great buck there years back and knew the stalk. It felt like I was retracing my steps on my way over there. As the rut would have it, this buck had moved on before my arrival.
During the rut, deer movement can occur on and off throughout the entire day. It was about 12:30 p.m., and I noticed several groups of does feeding, followed by a few small bucks. Then I saw a familiar buck on a distant hillside. It was the old 2-point with the broken G2. He was moving slowly down into the bottom of a draw. I knew how to close the distance on him, and in no time, I was shouldering my pack with my bow in hand.
The plan was to get to the ridge across from him and have the advantage of elevation above him as he went to the bottom. Slowly peeking my way over the ridge, I caught him. He was still doing the same thing and reading the script. One hundred fifty yards is all that separated us. My pack lay on the ground; I marked a waypoint for it and descended the hill to set up on him. This was going to work out.
Another Buck?
Sliding through the shadows of Manzanita, I saw the body of a deer beneath me across the draw. Only it wasn’t the buck I was going after. It was a different buck. One that I’d happily wrap my tag on, given the opportunity. Without the original buck in sight, I decided to shift my attention to this deer. The buck was fixed on what I believed to be the old buck I couldn’t see. For whatever reason, he slowly started crossing the drainage onto my side before losing sight of him. It seemed my “old friend” was trying to throw me a bone.
The sun was at my back, which gave me plenty of shade to hide my approach as I inched my way down to head off the buck. Sure enough, I soon saw a body moving up the hill in my direction. Ninty yards, 73 yards, 50 yards, 40 yards. While gathering these ranges, I had no shooting lanes through the thick vegetation. After getting pushed away in a different direction from something he didn’t like, the buck was soon standing at 40 yards once again.
At 40 yards, the buck stood frontal, and I took the shot. I was lucky it was windy, because I missed. But, because of the noise from the wind, the deer didn’t know what happened. He just turned slightly, giving me a broadside shot at 45 yards. Going through my shot process, I burned a hole in that deer with my sight. “Relax, pull, don’t stop aiming,” I told myself. The shot broke, and the deer jumped straight in the air, throwing two big kicks with its back legs. Twenty yards down the hill, I saw him flipping.
I took a deep breath and scurried up to my pack. My insides were bursting with excitement, joy, and relief. I wanted to scream. I wanted to call my wife, brother, and dad. With no service, I’d have to wait for those. And with a deer just hit, I’d have to wait to scream. I settled for a snack.
Thank You, My Old Friend
Finding this buck didn’t take long. It was the shortest but most prominent blood trail I had ever followed. I found the buck 23 yards from where I’d shot him. As bowhunters, this is how we all want it to go down—a quick death followed by a short, sweet recovery. My cup was full and soon my pack would be too.
With some not-ideal weather coming the next morning and a loving family waiting for me at home, I packed this buck and my entire camp in one go through the night. My daughter didn’t have school the next day, so surprising her when she woke up in the morning felt perfect.
That same smile I had walking into camp was bigger as my headlamp guided me through the catclaw jungles beneath my truck. It could have been raining, snowing, hailing, or a windstorm, and my smile wouldn’t have waned. These moments are one of a kind and never lose their potency.
The sight of my truck soon came into view, and a special feeling of accomplishment washed over me. Thank you, my old friend. Our next meeting can’t come soon enough.
