The last deer?

By Alan Dubberley
Alan is the deputy director for Wyoming Travel & Tourism. My writings are about my personal experiences in Wyoming. To say he is a little biased towards Wyoming is an understatement. Still, everyone can have the experiences told here. Just get out there and enjoy the Wyoming outdoors.

It was May 2007, my father-in-law called and was going to be traveling through Cheyenne on his way to Denver later that morning. He had asked if we could meet and if I could bring my son so he could see him. I am nothing if not an accommodating son-in-law. So I said sure.

I was headed to pick up my son and called my father-in-law to see where he wanted to meet. My day changed drastically after that. A stranger answered the phone and said he had been in an accident between Cheyenne and Laramie on I-80. He was ok, but banged up really bad. I drove up to the site of the accident, and to the natural mind, there was no way he should have survived after looking at the vehicle.

As a result, he has limited use of his left arm now, which has great bearing on the story below…

After our 2005 hunt, we decided to go back to the Devils Tower place and hunt deer again. The owners were very gracious in allowing us to come out again over Thanksgiving.

We drove up to the ranch on the Friday morning following Thanksgiving. We had spent turkey day with family in Chadron, NE and got up early enough to arrive at the ranch for an afternoon hunt. After last year, we were very excited about our prospects of a successful hunt.

We arrived at Devils Tower and visited with the landowner to make sure we were still good to go. They said get up there and get a big one. So we took off.

We got up to the ranch in the early afternoon and parked the truck. We looked over a few whitetail does in a field. As they spooked off from our presence, we decided to follow them to see if they would lead us to any bucks. They didn’t, so we proceeded to work around a canyon rim looking for bedded bucks. My father-in-law was half way down and I was on the top. He kept working around and I followed. We got about half way down this long ridge and I looked back across an opening and saw a few deer working in the original field where we scared the first set of deer.

I broke off my walk with him to see if I could get a better look at the deer to see if there was a buck in the bunch. There wasn’t, but as I sat on the edge of that ravine, which was sheer cliff and over 50 feet straight down, I saw a buck work his way out of the bottom and up the other side to the does. He surprised me, so a shot was not offered as he worked his way up.

He was across a ravine at this point, probably 250-300 yards and moving with the does so much, it was hard to get on him. I put my crosshairs between a couple of big pines and waited for him to come through the opening. When he did, I shot. I watched him run down into the ravine and out of site with the does. I was sure I had missed. A sinking feeling.

I found a way down through the ravine and over to the field where the buck was standing when I shot and there was nothing. No blood, no hair… a clean miss.

I knew then my chances would be more limited. After taking a shot in the deer field, it is so loud, you feel as if every animal out there can see you, no matter how well you hide.

I sat on the edge of the ravine again waiting for my father-in-law to come around and tell him my story. There was no doubt in my mind that the heckling would be merciless for missing, so I decided to tell him a different story… that the deer I shot at was 500 yards away, on a dead run and so huge I couldn’t pass it up. He would believe that... after all, I'm his favorite son-in-law (his only son-in-law too).

As I waited, luck changed in my direction… a small 3 point whitetail peered over a hill in the field looking down into the ravine in which I was sitting… see, I told you they knew where I was. Thinking I had no chance at anything else, I waited for him to turn broadside and took a shot. He went less than 75 yards and expired.

While he was no trophy, at least now I had a deer on the ground to go along with all the shooting I had been doing. Keeping the heckling at bay.

I field dressed the deer and headed back to get the truck to go pick him up. As I came down the fence row in the truck, there was a beautiful 4 point whitetail following a doe along the tree line not 100 yards from me. I was sure it was the buck I had shot at. He was healthy and chasing the doe with one thing on his mind.

I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t know what to do. I hadn’t heard my father-in-law shoot. Should I shoot the deer and give him the smaller one? That was a hard idea to get out of my head, still is to this day. I decided to do the ethical thing and load up my deer and go see if he had anything down. Maybe we could get a shot at this big fella.

I found my father-in-law as I headed back up the fence. I got him in the truck and took him back down to where I saw the nice buck. He was still there. He got up on him and dropped him in his tracks. He looked at me immediately and said, “That might be the nicest whitetail I have ever shot.”

I had done the right thing… but I was conflicted. If I had waited just 30 minutes, I would have shot that nice deer.

But I know why God had me do the right thing … it is now November 2007. A couple of months ago, before this year's hunting season started, I realized that George might not be able to hunt again after his accident left him only partial use of his left arm. That nice deer might be the last one he ever shoots. And he shot it with me.

I’m glad I was with him when he shot it. I’m glad I was the one who showed it to him. I’m even more glad my father-in-law is still alive… it was a very nasty wreck.

But he lived… and as my dad told him recently, “The Lord isn’t through with you yet. He has more for you to do.”

2005 Devils Tower deer hunt

By Alan Dubberley
Alan is the deputy director for Wyoming Travel & Tourism. My writings are about my personal experiences in Wyoming. To say he is a little biased towards Wyoming is an understatement. Still, everyone can have the experiences told here. Just get out there and enjoy the Wyoming outdoors.

Devils Tower, the nation’s first national monument… it is a stunning site. It was to be our backdrop on our Wyoming deer hunt in 2005. Between Devils Tower and the Wyoming Black Hills, it is hard to come by a more beautiful setting for any type of trip.

Every year at Thanksgiving, if I have a deer tag left, I can always go to the Black Hills of Wyoming and hunt. The season is later than all the rest in the state and it is still open for those holding general deer tags.

My wife’s parents both grew up in the heart of Wyoming’s Black Hills. (Her dad in Upton and her mom in Newcastle.) The stories of their younger years are quite good because the two towns were, and still are, bitter sports rivalries. My father-in-law was quite the athlete back in his day in Upton and took pride in whipping Newcastle’s teams in every sport. My mother-in-law was a cheerleader for Newcastle. So she saw him perform all the time. Her 8 Clap cheer is still pretty good.

Enough of that… back to the deer hunt.

A good friend and tourism board member was able to allow us access to his family’s beautiful ranch to hunt at the last minute. His brother runs the ranch and was very gracious. I was extremely excited. The deer should just be finishing the rut and allow us an opportunity at a good deer.

We made the trip up and stayed the night with my wife’s grandmother in Upton. This lady is pretty remarkable. At 80 plus years of age, she still gets out and works her own flower garden and hangs her Christmas lights. She gets a little help from the great-grandkids every now and then, but she stays on top of things.

We got up early the next day and made it up to the ranch. We saw lots of deer on the ride up. Whitetails, muleys… they were everywhere. It was hard not to be extremely optimistic. We topped the hill up by the ranch, made our way up past the ranch house and looked out across the natural grass hay fields and deer were everywhere. I don’t think I have ever seen more deer in my life in one place. We looked out over acres and acres of land and there were pockets of deer on all of it… all muleys.

Off in the distance, I saw one decent buck and thought I better take a closer look at him. We drove up the two track and I got a good look at him, a decent 3x4. I thought about it… then he went over a hill. We drove up to look over the hill and there he was, only 75 yards away. I decided this was the deer I wanted.

I got my rifle scope on his neck so the field dressing would be less messy… pulled the trigger and the buck dropped. Tag filled. We drove up to where the buck was laying, he ended up right beside the two track road. My father-in-law says, “Well there’s his antler over there.” Sure enough, I had blown off his right antler. Haven’t lived that one down yet. Even had to hold the antler on for pictures.

Then I remembered, before leaving for the hunt, my rifle had dropped and bumped on the ground. My shot had hit a good 4-6 inches higher than where I aimed. Needless to say I was bummed. But I still had a good deer down, now it was George’s turn.

I stayed and dressed the buck while he continued to hunt until it got dark. He drove back up a few minutes after I finished and we loaded the buck, took a few pics and headed back to Upton for the night.

We got the deer hung and visited with family for a while that night, had a good dinner and got a good night sleep so we could finish our hunt the next morning.

We had picked up another passenger the next morning, my wife’s cousin’s boy… if that makes sense. He and his brother are born hunters. They love it like I do and are great kids. Our new passenger had not shot a deer on his annual trip with his dad, brother and friends; so he piled in with us and we took off.

We got to the ranch at the perfect time. As we drove in, we spotted a deer walking in a field close to the road. It was a small whitetail buck, exactly what my father-in-law was looking for. He got out, got on him and dropped him. It was right at first light. We got the deer dressed and loaded into the truck and headed on up the ranch to see if we could find one for our new passenger.

We drove around for a while, looking over small bucks in the distance. Enjoyed the beautiful morning and then found a decent muley our new passenger decided he wanted. Four shots and one semi-interesting chase later, he had his deer. It just wouldn’t go down. We don’t know if it was a tough deer or his poor shooting that led to this little caper, but it was interesting. The deer came to rest on a small hill, which if he had made it 10 more feet would have put him at the bottom of a 200 foot canyon, straight down. He got his buck cleaned and loaded in the truck and we were off for home.

One very interesting side note to this hunt is the fact that the agency working for our tourism office had a production crew up at Devils Tower shooting a TV commercial the very weekend we were hunting. I was able to take my father-in-law by and meet some of the folks working on the commercial and watch them shoot a little of it.

It is the best commercial we have ever done, in my humble opinion. It really grabs you and stirs the emotions, all while branding Wyoming as Forever West.

As for the hunt, it was really special. It was the first successful deer hunt I was able to go on with my father-in-law. We hunted right next to Devils Tower. We hunted his old stomping grounds. Places he tells me about all the time. Places he hunted with his dad. Places he created special memories. He is proud of his home and he should be. It is a special place.

But the next year... the 2006 hunt… that was even more special.

Holding up horns

By Alan Dubberley
Alan is the deputy director for Wyoming Travel & Tourism. My writings are about my personal experiences in Wyoming. To say he is a little biased towards Wyoming is an understatement. Still, everyone can have the experiences told here. Just get out there and enjoy the Wyoming outdoors.

“Dad, can I hold up the horns?” If I heard this once last week, I heard it a hundred times.

For the first time ever, ever, I hunted deer with my dad. We have hunted birds often, but we never hunted deer together. Not sure why, just never happened until last week.

My dad (who lives in Kansas) drew a deer tag for Region E in Wyoming which includes my old stomping grounds of Lander, WY. This would be our base camp. The problem was that one of our annual state meetings was scheduled to start on the very day my dad’s deer season opened.

I am fortunate enough to have a boss that is understanding about family time and I actually missed the meeting (one I haven’t missed for 8 years) to go on this hunt.

Oh, the quote above; for the first time ever, ever, I hunted deer with my four year old son. Talk about a treat… my dad, my son and I hunting deer in Wyoming. It was a magical time. What more could I ask for than to have my two best hunting buddies with me enjoying the outdoors.

The laughter of my son as he fumigated my truck on more than one occasion was infectious. Watching him use the compact binoculars I brought on the trip for him was precious. Teaching him about deer hunting and enjoying time spent with family was extremely rewarding.

Regarding the horn holding… After watching hundreds of hunting and fishing shows together, my son has figured out that after you shoot a deer, you hold up the horns for a picture to capture the moment for a lifetime memory. We have definitely created a few memories.

About the hunt… the first day, we hunted a small piece of property near Lander hoping to find a nice whitetail buck moving through or a muley buck headed for the high country. We found neither. But the sunrise was magnificent, the air was crisp and the walk wasn’t too much for my dad’s 65 year old legs. He only had to stop a couple times due to altitude… I gave him a hard time about getting old and living almost at sea level, but all in all, he did well.

One of the interesting observations was that we saw a bunch of deer during the hunt, what I would consider a normal amount. By my dad’s standards it was staggering. He saw more deer on this 4 day hunt than he sees all year hunting back in Kansas. Mule deer does were everywhere (of course, the tags we had excluded us from shooting a mule deer doe). That was ok, we were after a buck anyway.

The second day, at a different location, we experienced another exceptional day… but no deer. We saw a few small bucks and thought we could do better. Still saw tons of does and enjoyed watching them. Saw a few pheasants (yes we have pheasants in Wyoming) and ate a tailgate lunch in a beautiful red-rimmed, cedar-filled canyon.

The third morning was the day… we were heading home the next afternoon and needed to make something happen. As we drove up a small canyon behind a friend’s house, we came upon a muley buck working up a hill side about 240 yards away. After re-positioning, he was only 165 yards and my dad got his shot. He put him down with one shot right in his tracks.

We crossed the creek and made our way through the thick willows and up the hill to the deer. I was able to video my dad and son walking up to it together. A great moment. After some pictures of horn holding (one of which already graces my office), we proceeded to clean the deer and get ready to get him to the truck.

In the mean time, my son decided to play around, throw some rocks, sit on a cactus… yep, he sat right on the sucker. I’m not sure what he was doing; I just heard the yelp and another memory was made. We got my son settled, pulled out a few thorns and proceeded to drag the deer down the hill, through the willows, across the creek, through more willows and up to the truck.

When we got to the truck, my dad got a little revenge on his fishing and hunting buddy back home with a phone call. “I told you I would call you when I got a deer down,” my dad said. Repaying his buddy Joe for calling him at work one day and saying, “Well, that is number 5 bass caught today,” as my dad sat in his office chair a helpless working man that day. My dad and Joe have had numerous memories fishing and hunting together. If you hunt and fish, you know what it can be like to have your buddy call and say he is outdoors taking advantage of precious resources as you sit in an office. Revenge was sweet for my dad that day.

We got the tag on the deer, got him loaded in the truck and were off to find my deer. Which we never found after hunting that afternoon and a short venture the next morning. I had shots, just not at the deer I wanted.

I must be reaching a new stage in life… How can I tell? Normally not filling my deer tag would have bugged me until the next hunting year. I still consider myself a novice deer hunter, so having an unfilled tag is hard for me. But this time, it wasn’t so bad. My goal was to spend time with my dad and son, hunting, and to get my dad his first ever Wyoming deer… and it was a bonus because it was his first ever mule deer as well. I can’t explain it. I think it comes with getting older. You realize the important thing is the time with special people. I’ve always known this, but this time…

The memory is more than sufficient.

Hunting with a son

By Alan Dubberley
Alan is the deputy director for Wyoming Travel & Tourism. My writings are about my personal experiences in Wyoming. To say he is a little biased towards Wyoming is an understatement. Still, everyone can have the experiences told here. Just get out there and enjoy the Wyoming outdoors.

Wow… too much reflection in that last post. Sorry, but I am new at this and love writing about my experiences.

Like this one… have you ever taken a young boy hunting? Better yet… ever told him 3 days in advance that he will be going hunting with you on the upcoming Saturday? Last fall (2006) I took my 3 year old son on his first ever hunting trip. A proud moment as a father… extremely proud.

We went dove hunting near Wheatland, Wyoming with a fellow staff member and his buddy. My son talked about these two for months following that trip. They were his new life long friends.

The trip was relatively uneventful, other than poor shooting by my staff member (he knows who he is). But the doves were everywhere. It was incredible wing shooting. I haven’t had a dove hunt like that since living in Nebraska. The first bird that came by was definitely within range and I steadied my son so he could watch, took aim and dropped the bird with one shot. “You got him!” was the cry from my son, as though he never thought I would hit it. He was so excited and he gets this proud look on his face… until I say go pick him up. “No way,” he exclaims. He didn’t touch a bird all day.

Well, Sept. 1 is only two days away and my boy is again chomping at the bit (as am I). We won’t be able to go back to Wheatland, but have other spots that should hold plenty of birds.

Which they didn’t… my initial stop was a futile effort in public land hunting. It was a State Recreation Area with a nice lake, which was half empty due to irrigation needs. That wasn’t a big deal, but where I wanted to hunt ended up being private land. Who knew?

So my son and I spent the next 4 hours driving around southeast Wyoming looking for doves… much more time, and fuel, than the normal hunter would spend looking for doves. But it was a hot afternoon and beat sitting around the tube watching something we both had seen hundreds of times.

So in our travels, we passed a spot that seemed covered in doves. After the second pass, I decided I needed to find out who owned it and see if we could hunt it. Come to find out, it is a bird farm and the membership dues are $1000 annually. But the owner just happened to come up the fence row where I was talking to a couple hunters trying to find out who owned the place so we could get permission.

The owner said we could, I think he actually gave my son permission, and he left. I asked the hunters I had been talking to and it turns out one of them was the ranch foreman on the place for the past 30 plus years. He said it was very unusual to get permission on the place. I took it as a God moment and thanked Him for me and my boy.

Now, not every day do you drive over 100 miles, some of that on the same roads more than once, only to end up closer to your starting point than you originally planned on a $1000/year bird farm shooting doves. I am nothing if not determined.

To be able to hunt and fish with my son is one of the most important things in my life. I hunted with my dad, and it remains some of the most important and vivid memories we had together. Hunting gives us time together, doing something we both love. This time is irreplaceable, I cherish it always.

Eating my words...

By Alan Dubberley
Alan is the deputy director for Wyoming Travel & Tourism. These writings reflect my personal experiences in Wyoming. To say he is a little biased towards Wyoming is an understatement. Still, everyone can have the experiences told here. Just get out there and enjoy the Wyoming outdoors.

I told my girlfriend once that I really didn’t know much about Wyoming and that I never planned to live there, much less wear cowboy boots, or a cowboy hat. That girlfriend hung around to see me eat those words. She married me in 1990 and we moved to Wyoming in 1998. She grew up here, I didn’t.

She also loved it when my new boss at the tourism office in Cheyenne told her that I would need to have cowboy boots and a cowboy hat and the wardrobe to fit my new position as Deputy Director of the Cowboy State’s tourism office. I have to say, it ain’t half bad. The hat is great, the boots are comfortable (for the most part), and who can complain about wearing jeans to work sometimes (at least when its not 100 degrees out).

What does this all have to do with fishing? Not much, just thought it was a funny story even if I tell it on myself. But, it does help to understand who I am and why I am passionate about this state as well as fishing its fine waters.

I grew up in a military family and lived in 6 different places before graduating from high school. My folks? They were raised in Georgia, so far south, it was almost Florida. We visited every single summer and Christmas and fished there as often a possible. Some of my best fishing memories are from those visits. Freshwater, saltwater, bass, flounder gigging (another story, another time), seining for mullet, cast nets for shrimp, speckled trout, red bass, the Withlacoochee River (true name). Incredible fishing. Still you ask, how does this relate to my passion for Wyoming and fishing?

I watched my granddaddy wave at every car we would pass when riding through town in his little green 1976 Toyota pickup. He knew everyone in his little town of Quitman, Georgia. It impressed me so much that my granddaddy was so popular as to know everyone and they would know him. I longed for that kind of life, slower, knowing people, having friends who didn’t move every three years because of their dad’s job. Little did I know, military or not, people move and leave and life goes on.

But in Wyoming, everyone knows everyone, or at least someone knows who you know. Know what I mean? Wyoming has been called the biggest small town in the world. I love it that I have friends all over this state. People I have met through my awesome job of promoting Wyoming to the world and others I have just met. It doesn’t get any better than Wyoming.

Sorry for the digression, I just feel it adds to the story. Now you know a little more about me and why I want to write about Wyoming and why I call it home after making such stupid teenage remarks.

A little fishing now… earlier this summer, I had the pleasure of fishing Boysen reservoir near Shoshoni, Wyoming on a trip to see my in-laws in Lander. The absolutely, 100% best malts in the world at Yellowstone Drug, by the way. Burgers are good too.

Since I am boatless on this trip, I fish the dam at Boysen in the evening on into night for walleye. The walleye were slow this night, I caught one early, about 7 pm then a couple more later in the evening. But at 9 pm it was like someone turned on a rainbow switch. Boysen has a nice population of rainbow trout from 2-4 pounds and they went nuts on me. I caught six between 9 and 10 pm. Each going aerial at least 3 feet as soon as hook planted firmly in flesh. It was fantastic. Fishing memories are, without a doubt, unscripted. Very rarely does a plan work exactly how you work it out in your mind.

I ended up catching 2 walleye and a sauger (a 23 inch sauger mind you) that night for the frying pan. But the true memory was the trout and the acrobatic circus they put on for me that early July evening at Boysen.

Nothing better than watching a Wyoming sun set over the bluffs around a gorgeous body of water, catching fish and having all of your senses alive, but feeling totally relaxed.

Granny, the new boat, Wyoming home

By Alan Dubberley
I am the deputy director for Wyoming Travel & Tourism. These writings reflect my personal experiences in Wyoming. To say I am a little biased towards Wyoming is an understatement. Still, everyone can have the experiences told here. Just get out there and enjoy the Wyoming outdoors.


Earlier this year, I purchased a new boat. Many of you will now start thinking 19 foot Lund, 250 Merc Verado, 100 pound thrust trolling motor, 9.9 hp kicker, Lowrance on the bow and dash, dual livewells and all the other fancy stuff that will come with... my next boat purchase. I know I think that way when I think boats.

This one is built a little different. It was built some time in the 70s and sports a 46 pound thrust stern-mount trolling motor and the moniker… Amy (which is stickered on both sides of the boat). I didn’t name her, don’t know who did, but I will change the name. My wife, after first telling me to keep the name, has now agreed with me that I should name the little 14 foot Starcraft “Granny.” This is after my often times cranky but otherwise well intentioned… ok, I can’t lie, just plain old cranky grandmother. I do love her still.

The reason for the name Granny? Well, the boat is kind of old, kind of creaky… well you get the picture.

I fancy myself a pretty serious fisherman… but there are times when it is not so fancy or serious (like when I fish out of Amy, um, Granny)… like when taking the 4 year old apple of your eye out to make sure he picks up this hobby for life. Developing your own fishing partner is much harder than I ever expected. During these trips, you’re not watching a stimulator float past that sipping trout or flippin’ jigs in heavy cover or throwing topwater baits awaiting monsterously, eruptive strikes from bass. Instead, fishing gets much simpler. My 80 pound tackle bag stays home in favor of a couple small boxes, a pair of pliers and two poles, one of which is red, like Lightening McQueen, as my son would describe it.

He loves to fish, which is fortunate for me and him. We spend a lot of time together, but as 4 year olds can often do, he gets bored quickly. To keep fish on the hook, I often times rely on the old garden hackle to keep him and the fish interested which ends up getting worm dirt all over the place. That wasn’t the case on our latest venture.

Our latest venture took us to Crystal Lake in Curt Gowdy State Park between Cheyenne and Laramie, Wyoming. We had a beautiful evening to fish, low winds, perfect temps and the fish were biting too (which is great for 4 year olds by the way). Now, I’m not much of a trout fisherman, I grew up on bass, bluegill and crappie mainly (thanks Dad)… and really got into walleye since college too (thanks Samp). But I have been fishing for trout since 1994 and enjoy the fact that they start biting much earlier in the year than other species. Gives me something to do until the other fish are biting.

On this perfect mountain evening, the trout were cooperating, at least from my perspective. We caught 8 little rainbows, up to 10 inches, trolling Panther Martin spinners around the lake, mainly black and gold in color. I also used another technique to catch a few fish; one that I am not ready to disclose until I experiment with it a little longer. Trust me, most of you are probably already using it, but I will say it doesn’t involve anything called Powerbait, which seems to be the bait of choice at many mountain reservoirs.

I was even able to convince my wife it would be nice to have her along. Normally, my fishing excursions are way too long for her. But this time, she was in the mountains, the weather was perfect and she read her book on the bank for a while just enjoying the fresh air and scenery. After our first pass around the lake she jumped in and brought along her little digital camera and we got some great shots on the lake. Sharing time like that is priceless.

Spending time like this with family is irreplaceable and no monetary value can be placed on it. To see my son’s face light up as he reels in a fish. To see him laugh and have a wonderful time in a pristine setting. To watch my wife’s face as she watches him and see her pride in the boy she is raising. Can anything replace that? Not in my book.

I keep hearing how we are losing our future generations of outdoorsmen and women to the indoors. (I don’t want my son to be one of those). We need to help our kids understand how important the heritage of the outdoors is to Wyoming. It is who we are… It is what we do… It does make a difference. It makes Wyoming special. Yes, Montana and Colorado and Utah and Idaho all have similar offerings, but you ask any of the folks living in or visiting Wyoming what makes it special and it is the outdoors, the wildlife, the endless miles of streams where you don’t need combat tactics to fish and, of course, the people.

Wyoming holds a special place in my heart… it is home.