Linda Shroufe help bring a four year quest to an end. We had hunted this buck for four consecutive years with a couple of near misses. She was pretty upset with me the night before for not letting her shoot a decent buck but I told her she wont get a big one if she shoots a little one. She was a great hunter to take. Good ole Larry Iverson was along to help me on this hunt. She was able to have her pictures and story published in the MuleyCrazy Magazine and below is her story. Thanks to MuleyCrazy for letting her show off her buck which was a massive 5x7 that scored 220"
The trail cam pictures were from 09 and his drop tine had traded sides. In 07 when we started hunting this buck he had double drop tines, where he got his nickname "double dropper"
Panic is not what a hunter should feel when one draws a trophy mule deer tag for Unit
13A on “The Strip” in northwest Arizona between the Grand Canyon and Utah. My husband,
Duane and I had been applying for this treasure for 11 years with 12 bonus points. It really did
sound more appealing 5 to 11 years ago but as I approached my 60th birthday, memories of
long ago strenuous muley hunts in wide-open, rugged country reminded me of the daily rigors of
long days where I never even saw a muley during season, let alone one with antlers!
Admittedly I was in pretty good shape for having consistently gone to the gym for aerobics and
strength training for over three years, but then there was the idea of often necessary long shots
and well, I simply lost my confidence over the years. Thus, the panic.
Duane, on the other hand, had discovered his fountain of youth after three years of
retirement as Director of Arizona Game and Fish Department for 20 years. He was as excited
as a three month old pup. He didn’t lose all of his good sense, though, as after a successful
Goulds turkey hunt in Mexico, he heeded the advice of Brad Fulk of Rio Sonora Outfitters, who
told him if he ever drew this tag, hire a guide immediately. After a few phone calls, Clay Bundy
Outfitters rose to the top as the most reputable and honorable choice and the call was made
and the challenge accepted. Really, you pay money to hunt with a perfect stranger? Now that
was totally foreign to my thinking and experience. I mean usually friends and mere
acquaintances come out of the woodwork offering to share in your good fortune for free! This
added to my unease.
It was time to suck it up and prepare. After all, as a former Oregon Fish and Wildlife
Commissioner and former editor of The Oregon Hunter magazine, I had a reputation to maintain
and I really didn’t want to be the one to dampen Duane’s high spirits. So I insisted on sighting
in my .270 at the shooting range---a rare concept for Duane who shot his 7mm Mag a few years
ago and it shot just fine. But he dutifully took me to the range more than once so I could make
adjustments on my shooting... and attitude. Even then, 200 yards were as far as one could
shoot and the distance of my confidence, knowingly not far enough. My spirit was further tested
upon the arrival of the Terms of Agreement contract from Clay, but I swallowed my pride as I
signed my life away to everything but horses. Been there, done that with no excessive
permanent damage but a lesson well-learned and not forgotten. Wisdom comes as one of the
few benefits of age.
The time had arrived. I could not fully enjoy the beauty of this Arizona Strip country and
the intoxication of the smell of sage. My anxiety was running high. I couldn’t sleep nor eat and
Duane was so surprised at my silence, a rarity seldom experienced. We were greeted at the
outfitters’ headquarters by the skinning of a nice buck shot by a previous client---always
heartening and uplifting to note the success. That evening was full of laughter and bantering by
all the family and friends as antlers were measured and assignments were made. Duane, of
course, got Clay and I got the son-in-law, Trevor Hunt. He was young, confident and cheerful,
announcing that whoever wanted the biggest buck would hunt with him, but I knew he drew the
short straw.
Morning arrived too soon and too cold---14 degrees. I was mildly surprised when Larry
Iverson joined Trevor in the endeavor of my hunt. I was soon to find out what a perfectly
dynamic duo they are. Trevor began with all the right questions: what was I shooting, what was
my comfort zone (I bet he choked on that), and what were my expectations. Duane had earlier
instilled upon me to answer with no less than a 30 inch buck. It was dark and cold and I was
sleepy and not at all a great liar, so I said my buck needed to be bigger than a grocery bag.
Trevor actually stopped the truck. I knew an explanation was due, so I explained that in all my
previous mule deer hunting experiences, all the antlers from all my bucks fit in a grocery bag
and they were referred to as my grocery bag bucks---not something that made me really proud.
Surely we could top that. My guides were totally amused and Trevor assured me that we could
find one to fill a grocery cart. Although I was usually skeptical and wary of the exaggeration of
male hunters, I found myself moderately relaxing and enjoying the points of interest and stories
shared by my guides, who both knew this country intimately. Their wisdom and knowledge
quickly made me realize the importance of guides in this vast country. On our own, Duane and
I would be constantly worrying about where we were, where we were going and where we had
been. All I had to do is go with the flow and warm up with the sun. We saw a few does, no
antlers and by 3 pm it was getting cold again. We hiked up to the top of a butte, which quickly
warmed us up and set up spotting scopes and binoculars. It was amazing to see all the deer
and hunters, including really nice bucks. I was shaking so badly, I could barely focus my
binoculars. Since Trevor had the range finder, I kept asking how far. He kept saying too small.
I could not believe that he would not allow me to shoot at three different nice bucks and I gave
him the raspberries all evening long. I must admit I was a little disappointed but my guides were
not the least bit discouraged.
It was dark when we got back to camp and Duane and Clay were not back yet. As time
passed, they said Duane must have gotten his buck or they would be back by then. Sure
enough, Duane walked in with a huge smile on his face. He had gotten a typical, beautifully
symmetrical, 30 inch buck green scoring 204 Boone and Crockett points. Everyone was
excited, stories were told, plans were made for my next morning hunt and all went to bed.
Back in the camper, Duane was all wound up. He generally does not show a lot of
jubilancy and he had held in his excitement long enough. He was totally animated by the
events of the day and how he rode on the back of a quad with Clay who drove so fast downhill
on an old two track and it was cold and Duane was thinking about how he was going to hike
back up that steep hill but they went out a different way. They glassed from the top of buttes
and finally at the end of the day, they snuck up on the last tank and there was his buck with six
does. They ranged him and discussed how big he was and if Duane wanted to take him and
Clay thought he should so Duane took him with one shot at 310 yards. I enthusiastically and
enviously listened to him but I finally had to tell him to be quiet because I had to get up way
early to hunt for my buck.
Duane dutifully got up with me the next morning and sent me on my way. I knew he was
going back to bed. My guides were up and ready to go, showing no signs of discouragement
but they did ask if Duane was happy with his buck because they really couldn’t tell. I relayed his
version of the story and they laughed and said, “Yup, that’s Clay.” It had warmed up to 16
degrees. We were chatting along, enjoying the sunrise and cloudless skies when I spied a
beautiful coyote. My guides thought it would be good if I shot him but by the time I got out, put a
shell in my gun and found him in my scope, he was gone. Then he reappeared and just as
quickly disappeared. I was unloading my gun and just about to get back into the truck when
Trevor exclaimed, “There’s a buck.” He whipped up his binoculars and said, “You’re going to
shoot him.” My first words were, “How far?” He replied, “426 yards!” My heart sank. Then
Trevor continued with how he was standing right out in the open broadside with a single doe
and if we tried to get closer, he would probably move. Take a rest and shoot. The ballistics
were going through my mind: 6 inches at 300 yards and 18 inches at 400 yards. I had them
memorized. It would be fruitless for me to go farther than that. So I aimed high, shot and
missed. The buck just stood there as I quickly reloaded and Trevor calmly told me it was too
high, aim lower and shoot again. I did. Trevor yelled that he thought I hit him as the buck and
doe trotted off and soon disappeared. We found their tracks, no blood, and started trailing them
for a couple of miles. Up until this point, I had no time to be nervous or shaky. Now I was
questioning myself: what if I missed? what if he’s wounded? what if he gets away? I was just
heartsick but we saw them again in the trees. We couldn’t tell if he had been wounded and we
could only see his head and neck. By this time I was shaking and couldn’t find him in my scope.
Now Trevor is starting to get excited but not noticeably as frustrated as I was. He took his
binoculars off the tripod and told me to use it as a rest, which I did. I finally scoped him and
asked how far. Trevor replied 354 yards. What did I have to lose now? I shot and missed.
Too high again. Trevor then said he didn’t care what the ballistics said, aim right on. The buck
moved forward so I could see more of him. I aimed and shot and we could hear the thwop of the
hit. This is the first time I am positively excited! We both ran up after him and the doe was just
standing there. The buck was 100 yards away, piled up against a juniper. He was an oh my
gosh buck! He was lolling his head, eyes open and all of the stories of the big ones that got up
and ran away went through my mind as I made a probably unnecessary killing shot. Trevor and
I were jumping up and down, hugging and yelling and Trevor kept saying that I got Drop Tine.
My gosh, they even had him named!.
Trevor left to get Larry and the truck. I wouldn’t leave my trophy. I didn’t want anyone to
steal him! I took my own pictures and examined him closely. He had a protruding backbone
and his teeth were worn down to the gums. Later I was told he was at least 8 or 9 years old.
He may not have made it through the winter. When they got back , we repeated all the hugging
and yelling. Then Larry looked me right in the eye and told me he had hunted all last year for
Drop Tine. I truly meant it when I said I was sorry but he said, “No. If I couldn’t have him, then
you should.” A true gentleman. I can’t say enough about my guides. Although I only got to
share a day and a half with them, I will remember them always and fondly. They showed the
utmost patience, tolerance and encouragement. I never for a moment doubted that they wanted
me to get a trophy buck as much as I did.
Of course the celebrating just began. We took many pictures and relived the story again
and again. We couldn’t wait to get back to camp to show everyone, especially Duane and Clay.
Drop Tine was a 5 X 7 non typical green scoring 220 Boone and Crockett points. It was a
heavy, massive rack with 5 inch bases. I had to thank Trevor many times over for NOT letting
me shoot any of those bucks the first day. by Linda Shroufe
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