My First Montana Deer

Our move to Montana seemed perfectly timed for summer trout fishing. The cutthroats were feeding and, even in the clear creeks, not wary of my shadow. However, my July arrival meant I wouldn't qualify for a resident hunting permit for deer or elk that fall.

-  Noah Davis

We were living on my wife, Nikea's, grad student stipend and my freelancer's pay, so it didn't seem like the time to splurge on a nonresident big-game tag. Instead, I spent my first fall in Montana walking up grouse in the mountains and hunting ducks on a river.

While fishing the next July, I discovered a square mile of public land locked on all sides by private land. The creek bisecting it seemed large-enough for Montana's stream access law to make it a public right-of-way. The local game warden confirmed this but added that while the law granted me entry to hike, fish, camp, or pick berries on the public land, it did not allow me to walk in and hunt because I was accessing the creek from a county bridge and not a designated public access. I needed a landowner to grant hunting permission.

When I knocked on the rancher's door, he bit his cheek and said I didn't need to ask his permission. When I relayed the warden's interpretation of the law, he smiled and gave me permission, perhaps appreciating that I had taken that extra step. He also added that the cows would be off by opening day.

The resident deer license was so reasonably priced I grabbed two extra over-the-counter whitetail antlerless tags. Combined, they cost less than a cheeseburger and fries. I also bought a new scope for the rifle and spent much of August and September shooting at the range. In the open country east of the Continental Divide, I needed to be sure I could hit a deer's vitals at ranges beyond 100 yards, a skill I had never needed growing up in Appalachian hill country.