Chance of a Lifetime

By: James King

Within the first four hours of my first Coues deer hunt, I was on my hands and knees, crawling to a vantage point overlooking a bedded trophy Sonoran Coues deer. To even find myself in that position was pretty remarkable considering the obstacles I had to overcome to even get there.

It all started in February of 2006, when at the advice of a friend I made contact with Chad Smith of Vaquero Outfitters in Arizona. I originally called Chad looking for a mule deer hunt in Old Mexico for January 2007. Since there were not many openings, I just told him to let me know when he had anything at all, even something in the States. He got back to me in May to discuss the possibility of a Coues deer hunt. I ended up booking an early December hunt for four on a ranch that had not been hunted in over a decade. Usually, I’m accompanied on my hunting trips by my father, James King Sr., and brother-in-law, Harry Galloway. My dad decided to sit this trip out, so I found two business associates to take the other two spots.

The construction business in Atlanta was booming in 2006, so as luck would have it, as the hunt date got closer, my responsibilities started mounting. Seriously considering backing out, I began working on my father to take my spot, so that I could stay behind to manage things at home. Three days before departure, while I was still trying to convince him, I received a call from the other two hunters (who were in the same industry) who said they were not going to be able to make it. There was just too much work going on. I called Chad and told him the group of four was down to two, my dad and brother-in-law. Chad urged me try and come down, even if it was only for a couple of days. He assured me that it would be a great hunt. So my dad and brother-in-law left for Old Mexico on a Saturday with the understanding that I would follow on Monday.

It was dark when I arrived at camp on Monday night, but even by the headlights I could tell that this part of Sonora was very different fro the flat desert where I had hunted mule deer. Dad and Harry had already turned in for the night, so I got unpacked and ate a little supper before doing the same. Rising on Tuesday morning to the smell of a Mexican breakfast and coffee, I started to hear about the difficulties my companions had encountered over the two previous days. For openers, the terrain was rough and rugged and the little grey ghosts were hard to spot.

When the sun was up, Chad and I glassed some of the foothills near camp. I very quickly determined that I was at a disadvantage in spotting the diminutive animals. While I was concentrating at 300-400 yards, Chad was looking out at one mile plus with a set of binoculars that looked like they had been made for King Kong. We spotted a few deer, but nothing worthy of a stalk, so we spent most of the morning easing around and glassing trying to find an animal to pursue. It was late morning before Matt and Brian, Chad’s other two guides, made contact with us and said they had a good buck bedded outside of a canyon and we should take a look.

Not knowing exactly where this buck was bedded, Chad and I spent the next 45 minutes crawling and working our way to a point where we could see it. The buck was still bedded, so there was nothing left to do but wait him out. As we sat there, Chad made the comment that I must have a great family for my dad and brother-in-law to allow me to work in for a shot on this great trophy buck. I agreed. Looking across the canyon, I thought to myself, “I do have a great family and two super hunting partners.”

After what seemed like an eternity, the buck finally started to stir. Once he was fully up, I settled in for the shot. The deer was facing me straight on, so if he moved the wrong way there wouldn’t be a chance for a shot. I settled the crosshairs on him and gently pulled the trigger. Looking through the scope after the blast, I fully expected to see him piled up on the spot. What I saw, I couldn’t believe—the deer had never moved he was still standing in the same position. Chad stated the obvious: “You missed.” At that point, the deer went down on his kneed and bedded back down.

We decided that we did not want to wait him out in the midday sun, so I prepared for a shot in his bed. This time, the .270 Weatherby found its mark, but again to my surprise, the deer popped up from his bed. While I was re-chambering a round, a shot came from across the canyon. It was my dad. Apparently, he couldn’t stand it anymore and decided to make it a true Mexican shootout! Fortunately, I got in another round and finished the deal.

The deer was all that Chad said he was. He was heavy throughout and gross scored 122 inches—a real trophy Coues deer. Harry went on to take a neat deer with a drop tine that scored 113 inches. Thanks to Chad, Matt and Brian of Vaquero Outfitters, it was a great hunt despite the difficulties. I also have to thank my dad and Harry for giving me the opportunity of a lifetime.