Beginning with early explorers and goldseekers, and continuing on to modern times, the blacktail has provided tasty table fare. Now this deer is coming into its own right as a sought-after trophy. Locating areas that consistently produce top trophies means combing the record books, making calls to game departments and taxidermists, and generally doing a lot of leg-work and research. For those of us who live far from blacktail country, finding an honest, hardworking outfitter is just as important.

Three years ago I began my quest to take a better-than-average Columbia blacktail buck. I read all I could find about the species, which didn’t take long. Blacktails have not received the attention that whitetails and mule deer have commanded in sporting journals and hunting books. I even rented some videos that featured footage of blacktails; I was disappointed at the deer for which these photographer-hunters were settling.

Next I went to the record books, including those of the Longhunter, Pope and Young, and Boone and Crockett. To effectively use this information, I outlined the species’ range on a large scale map, then pushed in colored pins representing record-book heads. I used a different color of pin to denote big bucks taken within the last 10 years. While overall records give insight into a population’s gene pool and potential to produce large heads, current trends are more apt to pinpoint areas where deer are growing old enough to show their genetic "stuff."

Of particular concern was the official line between blacktail and mule deer range. While such lines appear arbitrary, they are realistic. In the case of overlapping ranges some differences in physiology, such as metatarsal gland size and tail-hair colors and patterns, are not evident in head mounts. It takes a practiced eye to discern the more subtle differences in antler structure. The fact is, in the case of some crossbreeds found in areas of overlap, there really is no practical way to tell mule-deer antlers from those of blacktails or crossbreeds.

In the end, borderline cases hinge on the honesty of the hunter. There will always be people for whom seeing their name in a record book will be more important than knowing the trophy taken was truly a blacktail. While that sort of activity is not something upon which I wished to pass judgment, I did want to be sure there was no question about my deer’s classification.

I found that much of the outfitting activity in blacktail country was centered on private ranches in the lower latitudes of the species’ range. There are plenty of hardworking, honest outfitters there, but I kept glancing back to my map and its pins. In the southern reaches of blacktail habitat, a big forked-horn buck is considered the best that a hunter can expect. I wanted a reasonable chance at a better buck, so I shifted my focus northward.

From where had the biggest true blacktails been coming? It appeared that they were pretty well distributed overall. However, in terms of big antlers, harvested recently, my pins bore bristling evidence of the location where my chances would be best. I zeroed in on Jackson County, Oregon. This area of the Rogue River drainage looked a likely choice to hold "my" buck. With extensive public holdings including Bureau of Land Management land and portions of the Siskiyou and Rogue River National Forest interspersed with private land, most of it in agricultural use. I suspected I had found "blacktail heaven."

When I decide to hunt new country and can’t do the scouting work, I hire a good outfitter. The difference in the cost of a guided versus non-guided hunt is often not great; the difference in hunt quality can be very significant. I do not refer here so much as to what game is harvested, but rather the secrets to access and local deer knowledge that a good outfitter provides. Access and knowledge is what’s purchased with an outfitter.

Three of four outfitters operate in the general area I had decided to hunt. I wrote those that appeared active, checked their references, and talked to the agencies with which they dealt. I finally sent a deposit to an outfit called Southern Oregon Game Busters, operated by Janet and Doug Gattis of Medford.

These hardworking folks live and breathe blacktail deer. They live on the outskirts of Medford. Deer browse around their home and the dust in the driveway exhibits a mosaic of deer tracks. On summer evenings when the rest of the world is mowing the lawn or riding herd on the barbecue, Doug and Janet are up in the hills along the Oregon-California border with their spotting scopes, searching good blacktail habitat. They know the individual bucks in the area. Come the fall (bow season begins in September) they know with uncanny accuracy, borne of hard work and diligent scouting, where the deer are.

During one of my first telephone calls, Doug suggested that, if I wanted a really big deer, I should put in for a late season muzzleloader controlled-hunt tag. "You can’t go wrong," Doug counseled. "There are always more tags than applications." Buoyed by the thought of a "guaranteed" tag to hunt during the rut, I carefully approached the next hurdle-I’d never even held a muzzleloader in my hands, much less fired one.

I hadn’t planned to buy another firearm, but since the tag was guaranteed, I began shopping for a muzzleloading rifle. Members of our local club, the Midnight Sun Muzzleloaders, were eager to share their knowledge. Though many of these folks were traditionalists, I made it clear that I was embarking on this endeavor purely for the added opportunity.

I have hunted with the same centerfire modern rifle and scope for almost 30 years; this old 7mm Remington Magnum is in its third stock (synthetic this time). The rifle and I work well together. The closer I could come to duplicating the feel of this familiar firearm, the more hunting accuracy I could expect. With this concept uppermost in my mind, I finally selected Modern Muzzleloading’s BK-92 Black Knight in .54 caliber. Its double safety system was a selling point, as was the trigger assembly, which is the same kind as what’s on my contemporary rifle.

Harder to adapt to for me was the conversion to open sights. Oregon does not allow the use of scopes during muzzleloader-only controlled hunts. An injury to my right eye some years ago has left me with a terribly fuzzy view of the world when I close my left eye. Efforts to learn left-handed shooting have been comical to observe. Using a scope for all these years had precluded me from having to face this problem. Now, with a big blacktail at stake, I went to the optometrist and bought a pair of glasses.

Before the hunt, I had a muzzleloading rifle, a pair of new spectacles, and a virtual guarantee of a controlled hunt tag. What could go wrong?

That fall, for the first time ever, Oregon had more applicants than tags in the unit for which I applied. I called Doug Gattis and lamented this unfortunate turn of events. "Not to worry, " he consoled me. "Come hunt the last few days of the general rifle season. You’ll probably see some nice bucks and you’ll get a feel for the country and conditions." So, during late October and early November 1994, I roamed the hills overlooking the Applegate River with Doug and Janet. I looked at a lot of deer. I got tired. I got wet. I turned down a few bucks. I returned to Alaska with my cooler stuffed with crisp apples and juicy pears instead of venison, but I had a lot of newfound knowledge about blacktail deer - and an invitation to come back.

That new Knight rifle didn’t stay in the closet either. I used it to take a black bear in Alaska and a whitetail in New Jersey. I had become hooked on muzzleloading! For an excuse to shoot, I spent time over the summer working toward an accurate load. After some experimentation, I went back to my original combination, a 260-grain Modern Muzzleloading sabot over 100 grains of Pyrodex RS. In my rifle, it was more accurate than I was with the open sights. More importantly, I was confident of both its power and my ability.

On Thanksgiving Day, I boarded an Alaska Airlines jet in Fairbanks and flew to Medford. The 50-degree temperature was a welcome break from the 35-degrees-below-zero weather at home. Doug and Janet welcomed me back into their residence and lives.

With a front moving in, the next morning dawned windy enough that Janet suspected we would have limited luck glassing the open slopes. Her guiding experience and premonition were accurate; the more elevation we gained, the windier it got. We put in minimal time with the spotting scope before deciding instead to still-hunt the timber. Before the morning was over I had passed on a young 3x3. It was a good morning’s hunt. For the afternoon, we again climbed to a favorite glassing point and spent several hours, but did not see a deer even after the wind dropped off.

The following morning dawned and the weather as upon us. We still-hunted the timer again as drizzle set in. Even the light rain made a big difference; it was much quieter underfoot. While we didn’t see deer, Janet pointed out the site of a harvest made by one of her modern-rifle hunters two weeks before. She reassured me that the buck wasn’t one which would have met my standards.

At lunch we conferred with Doug and the hunter he had been guiding. They had seen a couple of small bucks, but more importantly, had noted that the bucks were tending does. By 2:00pm, it was raining pitchforks and hoe handles, but I elected to go out, buoyed by the rutting behavior that Doug had observed and ever-mindful that you never get deer while sitting in the house.

Janet dropped me off at the top of a long, timbered draw and left to do some glassing between rain showers. I had just started down the logging road when I noticed Janet’s pickup backing rapidly toward me. "Buck and doe about 100 yards ahead!" she said as she reached me. I mopped off my new glasses and walked along through the long grass on the roadside. I spotted the doe first, then the buck. He was standing almost straight away, looking alternately at me and then lovingly at his girlfriend.

I flicked off the safety, put the head on his spine between the shoulder blades, and studied his antlers. With a 14" spread, three long points per side, and 3/4" eye guards, he was not the buck I was looking for. I lowered the rifle as both deer eased off into the fog. I saw this buck again the following day on a road 1,000 feet further up the mountain, but he hadn’t grown larger antlers and my standards hadn’t dropped, even though he unwittingly made his way past me at 11 yards before winding me and deciding he had made a big mistake.

The next few days blended into one another as I hunted hard and glassed diligently. Several more bucks were spotted as the weather grew colder and rutting activity picked up. I remained optimistic.

A strong wind blew through southwest Oregon on the night of November 31. Doug’s other client had finished up his hunt and was due to leave the next morning. The changing weather promised even cooler and wetter conditions; our luck was bound to get better. Janet had to work the morning of December 1, so Doug and I set out in a driving rain. While not ideal muzzleloading atmosphere, the affect of the moisture and temperature conditions was obvious at first light. Today would be different.

There were deer moving everywhere. By 9:00am we had hunted several miles of logging roads, seeing 11 does and four bucks at less than 100 years. One deer had really gotten my attention. With heavy, dark antlers and a very gray face, he peered at us confidently from beneath pin oaks less than 50 yards away, no doubt believing he was completely concealed. I had the bead on his chest while Doug evaluated him through the binoculars. The next-to-last-day pressure must have shown; Doug decided the buck was too small and jokingly proclaimed that, if he saw my finger on the trigger, he would "slap that rifle barrel skyward!" Reluctantly, I lowered the rifle. In less than 10 minutes, I would become eternally grateful for the coaching.

As we eased up the logging trail toward a likely-looking blackberry patch, a harried doe crossed about 30 yards in front of us. We froze in place and Doug needlessly reminded me to watch the brush behind her. Within seconds, the blacktail buck that dreams are made of stepped slowly out of the brambles. He stood facing away, paying attention only to the doe and oblivious to our motionless forms in the misty forest. "Wait until he turns broadside," Doug whispered, and the next five seconds lasted an eternity.

Finally the buck turned, and I began to squeeze the trigger. Doug’s terse and unnecessary hint - "You can shoot now" - was punctuated by the roar of the .54. The buck leaped high and disappeared under the cover of smoke and fog. I took a deep breath of deliciously sulphur-tainted mountain air and began to get the shakes. It probably took me two minutes to reload, even with the prepackaged charge and sabot.

Trying desperately to ignore my knocking knees and shaking hands, I played the picture over in my mind. Buck in open. Range less than 30 yards. Front sight nestled comfortably in rear V and solidly on the deer just behind its shoulder and halfway up its body. "He won’t go far," I assured Doug confidently, while my brain screamed for an answer to the dreaded question, "Did you blow it?"

Together we moved to where the deer had stood just moments before. A few body hairs lay on the ground where he had turned. Within two jumps of the big splay-footed tracks we had additional evidence of a solid lung hit. Doug started down a heavily used animal path into the oaks while I kept on the blood trail. Twenty feet further on, the spoor turned uphill. I looked down the line of tracks and spotted the deer only 20 yards away. I motioned Doug over and we moved to the deer together.

No doubt about it, this magnificent deer was the one I had been waiting for; actually, truth be told, I had not even dreamed of having an opportunity for a buck of this stature. With 23-inch main beams, four long points per side, stout eye guards, and an outside spread of 20", the buck gross-scored 145 points. Sure, he may have one shallow fork, but I still don’t notice it!

Now I’ve been to blacktail heaven, and I want to go back.