Age-old traditions for a new age of hunters

The gravel crunches beneath my Silverado’s wheels as I turn into a small parking lot off the county road. 

I throw a cheerful wave out the window as I pass a couple of folks standing behind another truck — a woman sporting a workwear jacket with hiking boots, and a man clad in camouflage, wearing an orange cap.

I know I’m in the right place. 

Pepper Canterbury and David French both greet me with a handshake and hello. 

Pepper is the Northeast Region Hunting and Angling Coordinator with Colorado Parks and Wildlife (CPW), and she’s the weekend’s Hunt Lead. David is in his mid-30s, decked out in earth tone clothes, and has never been on a big-game hunt. He also has a huge smile.

We chat while waiting for Phil Harbison to arrive. Phil is a longtime volunteer with CPW’s Hunter Outreach program and the other Hunt Lead for this weekend. 

When he pulls into the parking lot, he’s got a grin, salt and pepper beard, and quick wit. It doesn’t take long to tell he loves these adventures. 

We all hit the road in a miniature convoy, winding our way up into the foothills and the property we’re hunting for the next two days. 

On the way up to camp, I’m thinking about David. 

His outdoorsman odyssey is just beginning. After a couple of years chasing small game and turkeys across Colorado, he’s about to experience his first big-game hunt. 

This weekend’s expedition is hosted by CPW’s Hunter Outreach program and offers youth and adult novice hunters the chance to learn about hunting. This weekend’s focus is mule deer.

For David, the next 72 hours depend on months of preparation: applying for the license through the Hunter Outreach program, researching gear, physical and mental training, firearm safety training and practicing at the range. Now, for the 37-year-old first-timer, it’s all coming together. 

Arriving in camp, we find the heavy snowfall two weeks prior left a nice surprise for us. One of the heavy-duty canvas wall tents collapsed under a mountain of snow. 

Access to camp was impossible as the early season snowstorm pounded the Front Range. Steel poles supporting the tent are buckled like bendy straws; a once proud canvas hotel is reduced to a heap of rumpled, frozen fabric. 

We all jump in and make quick work of it, breaking down the former living quarters, and within an hour or so a new tent is move-in ready. 

Pepper and Phil run through a gear list with David before the afternoon’s hunt. 

License? Check. Orange vest and hat? Check. Game bags? Check. After a bit of light banter and a couple of loaner items, the list is complete. 

We all discuss the hunt plan for the afternoon: safety, tactics and areas to scout. The excitement was previously at a simmer, and by now it’s a low rolling boil. Everyone is itching to be in the field.

Phil and I pile into the backseat of Pepper’s truck and David hops in the passenger seat, gear in tow. His cheeks are a bit rosy, and his smile is as big as ever. 

For David, stories of deer hunting have always been second hand, something he’s heard about from friends or read about. 

His bright eyes scan the woods as we bump down the old ranch road. 

Now, the eager novice — dressed in fluorescent orange, gripping the front handle on the dash of the truck and grinning from ear to ear — is about to have deer hunting stories of his own.

We see some animals moving across the hills opposite of us, so Pepper parks the truck and we make haste on foot.

Pepper leads us to the southern slope of a hill overlooking several expansive drainages. 

It’s a quiet place to settle in — tucked away from the reach of nearby cactus — where our binoculars can roam the faraway hills. The evening unfolds slowly here. We soak it in. City lights flicker to life at the mouth of the canyon below us. But turning the other way, there’s a sense of wilderness, vast and rugged.

“There’s one to the left, behind the tree,” Phil says, spotting a deer in the distance. “That might be a spike [young male with short, unbranched antlers].”

“Where are you going? Up? Into all that snow?” Pepper says quietly, as if talking to the distant animal, her binoculars glued to the far side of the ravine.

The clouds have a brilliant, overpowering glow at sunset. Golden light soaks the entire landscape as greens and browns take on a golden hue and the pink turns to purple above us.

The first evening hunt is coming to a close, leaving behind an unpunched tag and building anticipation. Several elk make their way up a distant hillside, while deer tracks surround us in the patchy snow — some from days ago, others from just hours prior. 

Light conversation continues to punctuate the evening, everyone scanning for movement or the outline of an animal.

We sit and watch faded blue shadows dash across a steep snow-covered slope. The quickening light plays tricks on our eager minds, but we can still see the movement of deer between the shrubs.

A doe breaks across the clearing we’re watching. Past the shrubs and saplings, back through the clearing and into a dark thicket. 

More deer follow, in a seasonal game of hide and seek. Dark masses bound across the gray blanket and into the abyss of tree cover. Too many hundreds of yards away. Too little light. We sit and watch, amused and curious. 

The rut is on. 

Back at the tent, rounds and rounds of Uno follow a delicious home-cooked meal courtesy of Pepper. 

The soft patter of playing cards on the table chews up the time. Nearly endless gut laughs and snickers fill the tent. A shallow sigh of resignation. No greens. No fours. What seem like increasingly made up rules carry us through the evening. 

The smiles roll on until the final round wraps up, goodnights are said, and we all turn in for the evening. 

“I’m excited,” David says with a smile as he fluffs his sleeping bag and rearranges his boots below his cot.

“We went out scouting today and saw a few [deer] which was exciting. Can’t wait,” he adds.

In the predawn stillness, the slam of a door on Pepper’s truck and low rumble of the engine heading out of camp stirs the heart and flutters the eyelids. It’s close to five o’clock in the morning, which means one thing — time to get after it. 

“Oh I’m bloody cold,” David says with a chuckle after climbing out of his sleeping bag. “Let’s kick this heater on, if you don’t mind?” 

Not all sleep is created equal in hunting camp. 

But soon enough it’s breakfast and coffee. The cold wears off. A kerosene heater stands sentinel in the cook tent, a soft purr kicking out radiant warmth. 

Punching through the top crust of snow, softer ice crystals float off the bottom of our boots and scatter with each footfall. Phil, David and I move at a steady but stealthy pace through the woods, working toward a spot to “sit and glass,” to survey the landscape. 

Hushed tones and ritual wisdom guide our steps this morning. Move quietly and check for scat and tracks. Watch for animals on the edges of the forest. Scan for white rumps or parabolic ear movements. Check the wind. 

David is keenly listening and watching as Phil passes on some hunting insights.

Just below the top of a gentle ridge, we find our spot. We sit among the shadows, nearly as cold and stiff as the granite boulders we see across the valley.

“Moose!” Phil quietly blurts out, all of us freezing in place. 

A spectacular old bull, a leviathan, rises from his bed about 150 yards away. 

What seemed to be an old burnt out log on the edge of the meadow before sunrise is now a wonderfully mature moose. Gray around the edges of his muzzle and on the crest of his mountainous shoulders. Antlers that are nearly 45 inches across by any estimate. 

We watch in amazement as he lumbers to the middle of a clearing and begins working his bulbous nose around the tips of a mountain mahogany bush.

A lone magpie’s rasping call breaks the stillness. Bright golden-orange light rims the fir boughs in front of us. One of the best ways to experience the sunrise — total silence, watching the land come to life.

We watch the moose for a few minutes more before moving on. There are no deer in the area.

It feels like early fall, but winter is only a few weeks away now. The calm of the morning is punctuated by a soft choir of bugles and clacking of antler on antler behind another ridge. 

Two small specks of orange, mere ants among the landscape, wind across the canyon opposite of us. It’s Pepper, who had coordinated an early morning meetup with the weekend’s second adult novice hunter, and they started in on their morning hunt rather than return to camp. 

Phil, David and I wait for the distant boom of a rifle, but only silence meets us. The ants march on. But hope springs eternal, this the hunter knows. 

It’s unseasonably warm — there’s crunchy grass underfoot, an occasional breeze, full sun. The remaining white swatches across the hillsides shrink into themselves with each passing minute.

Mature ponderosas watch over us, just travelers. We tread so lightly that our visit barely registers on the land.

But we’ll likely have a small impression among the resident deer herd — at least that’s the goal. 

In addition to providing an educational experience and introduction to the sport for novices, this weekend’s hunt also plays a larger and more important role in mule deer herd management. 

“Hunting is a tool,” Pepper says. 

This mule deer hunt specifically is an important tool in the work belt of wildlife and land managers.

Harvesting an animal from this herd informs county land managers and wildlife biologists of the herd’s health. Chronic wasting disease prevalence, male-to-female ratios and population size data can all be drawn from the weekend’s hunt. 

“When we can come in here and provide a little bit of pressure [on the deer] in a safe and ethical way, that [disease and population] information gets passed on to the land manager,” Pepper adds.

All of those metrics are critical for informing biologists on how to best manage herds in the area.

Phil, David and I are driving back to camp after a quick early afternoon outing, bouncing down the road and scanning the hillsides for any deer. 

We’re laughing about an assortment of topics. British humor. International cuisine. Spending the weekend in the woods. 

“Deer!” I exclaim, catching a glimpse of two does.

“Where?” Phil asks, slowly coming to a stop and leaning over the center console to get a better look. 

David’s eyes continue scanning the hillside. 

“There on the hill, immediately to our right. Maybe 50-75 yards off to the side, between those trees, in the opening,” I say, hoping there isn’t anything blocking Phil’s or David’s line of sight.

“Okay. Oh yeah, three or four of them. Let’s drive up a little ways and then put a stalk on them,” Phil says.

“Get your rifle ready,” he adds, looking at David, who is trying to keep an eye on the deer upslope of us.

Go time. 

The three of us slip out of the truck, careful not to slam any of the doors. We work our way up the hill behind the cover of some smaller ponderosas, and turn to see the deer busting through the trees about 120 yards to our right. 

They’re dashing up and down the hill and now we see there’s four or five of them. Several deer bound across the slope and around a large rock outcropping. 

“They’re getting pushed by a buck. That’s why they’re doing all this running,” Phil whispers to David.

We do an about-face and make our way down the slope while keeping an eye on the deer. Once back on the old ranch road we use the cover of the hill and swiftly move past a cluster of trees. 

The herd is now working around the rock outcropping and then, sure enough, a buck pushes a doe into a small clearing. Right into a perfect shooting lane. 

David is kneeling, shooting sticks deployed in front of him with his rifle on his shoulder. Phil is at his side, watching the deer through binoculars. 

The buck steps out into the clearing and stops, broadside.

“Eighty-three yards,” Phil says in a hushed voice. 

What’s normally a modest crack from the rifle feels and sounds like a small cannon has gone off. The rifle’s muzzle break makes sure we know David took his shot.

David can’t have placed his shot any better. The buck drops in his tracks, and at a second glance he could be a modest brown boulder on the hillside. 

Phil keeps watching through his binoculars. The buck is down. 

David pulls back from his scope after a few moments, and Phil reassures him of his shot. A huge smile breaks across his face. David’s heart is still pounding, but relief and pride take over now. No more nerves, just pure excitement with a splash of adrenaline.

The rest of the deer herd has moved on. Some of them stotting away, a rhythmic two-beat jumping gait, and some of them dashing — like they were just a few minutes ago as a young buck corralled them on the hillside. 

We approach the buck — it’s as still as the forest floor. 

David kneels down, running his fingers delicately across the hide. 

“Oh that’s cool,” David says quietly, wrapping his fingers around the base of the buck’s antler. A single three point antler adorns the deer’s forehead, missing its twin that would otherwise be positioned above the right eyebrow.

Silence. 

David takes in the beauty of the deer. 

Soft cream-colored curls of hair inside the large dish-shaped ears. The smooth feel of antler, lightly scarred and dirty from the season’s battles with other bucks. A grainy brown hide, perfectly matching the mountain landscape around us. 

Now the real work begins. 

Phil guides David through tagging and field dressing the deer before taking it back to camp. 

Once back at base, the lessons continue. A metal rack with a winch on it holds the deer up, hooves slightly above our heads, as David learns how to separate the different cuts of meat and remove the hide. 

Soon enough, two large white cotton game bags are weighing down the stout branches of a tree on the edge of camp.

Phil coaches David through processing a deer and explains the steps in properly caring for the meat and how to best prepare it for dinner. 

Dusk is turning into deeper twilight when Pepper and the group’s other adult novice hunter, Nick Barnes, arrive. Pepper hops out of her truck, and the tailgate slams down with a celebratory cheer from everyone in camp. 

Nick stands near the tailgate; a mature mule deer buck lays in the truck bed. Four points on one antler, and a nontypical club with some smaller tines clustered above its right eye.

Nick and Pepper are all smiles as they retell the afternoon’s hunting story. 

More game processing lessons continue well into the night. Headlamps and a small propane heater keep us going until nearly 8 p.m. as Pepper tutors Nick.

The next morning, white cotton bags full of deer meat are loaded into coolers, which are then two-person lifted into truck beds. 

Everyone helps break down camp — it’s the end of the hunting season up here so everything must go. Metal poles clang against each other. Plastic totes are neatly stacked inside the camp trailer. Any loose items go back to their respective owners. 

A couple weeks after the hunt I reach David on the phone. He’s just touched down in Denver after returning from a business trip. 

“I just look back at it now as a really special experience and opportunity, from start to finish,” says David, who grew up on the outskirts of London, England. 

Experiencing the outdoors on this level hadn’t been part of his life until the past decade, once he moved to the United States. Hunting wasn’t on his radar until he was nearly 30.

“In England there was nature, for sure, like parks and birds and stuff like that, but not like what you have,” he says. 

“On this hunt there were herds of deer, and we heard a cow elk mewing and the antler clashing of two bull elk, and then climbed over a ridge and saw like 20 [elk],” David adds. “And this huge bull moose. … Being able to experience the outdoors like that is a really special thing.”

His introduction to big-game hunting was a huge success, certainly bolstered by harvesting a buck, but with or without an animal, he’s hooked. 

“I’ll stick with it,” David says. “Probably a deer or a pronghorn next year will be on the cards for me.” 

For the next few weeks, David will be working on processing his deer at home.

It’s a true field-to-table experience for him and his family. David will be researching proper cuts of meat and equipment like meat grinders as he turns his harvest into home-cooked meals.

Along with the memories of a first deer hunt and a season’s worth of game meat, he had some additional takeaways — important lessons on conservation, community, safety, ecology, tradition and wildlife management.

By any measurement, Pepper considers the weekend to be a tremendous success. While safety is most important, a lot of other factors make it a well-rounded experience for new hunters.

“Camaraderie is one of the best parts,” Pepper says.

“Playing Uno and just hanging out at the table and getting to know each other and sharing our stories is important,” she adds. “And sharing that excitement when we get a harvest – I’m just as excited as he is. [Everyone] is just as excited.”

Beyond a harvest, the success of a Hunter Outreach hunt for Pepper lies in what makes the experience whole — the community, the knowledge and traditions being shared with the next generation of sportspersons.

“It’s not about the [harvest],” Pepper says, “It’s not about the big gun going ‘bang.’ It’s about sharing an experience, learning how to be outside, learning how to provide for yourself and your family.”

---

Written and photographed by Forrest Czarnecki. Forrest is a Colorado hunter and angler, and he is a Digital Media Specialist for Colorado Parks and Wildlife.

---

New to Hunting?

New hunters can find many different learning resources through the Hunter Outreach Program. Explore hunting tips through videos, review past Learn to Hunt Webinars, listen to the local wildlife officers share tips and insights from the districts they manage, and register for seminars, webinars, and skills clinics. The program even has opportunities to apply for limited mentored small game, waterfowl, turkey, and big game hunts! Visit the Colorado Parks and Wildlife website for more information!