Five Years in D3-5: The Season That Broke Me, and Built Me
Five years. That’s how long I’ve carried the D3-5 tag in my pocket, chasing California’s high-country muleys through dust and snow. This year, I told myself it was the one. I put in the days, burned the miles, and studied the maps until I could see every ridge and drainage in my sleep. But after this closing weekend, I’ve come to a hard truth, the deer numbers in these zones are painfully low.
Over the years I’ve hunted at least fourteen different spots across D3, D4, and D5. This season alone I hunted nearly four full weekends, logging about a dozen days in the field. For the closer, I brought in my good friend and favorite hunting buddy, Hendrik. One of the sharpest woodsmen I know. If there’s a track, a rub, or a bed to find, he’ll find it. But even with him, the country felt empty.
We covered everything from 6,000 feet down to 2,000, bouncing through five different areas in two days. We found old tracks, no fresh sign. Just endless miles of ridges, thick draws, and dry drainages that should have been full of deer, but weren’t. By the time the weekend ended, we had driven over 1,000 miles in 48 hours. It was a wild goose chase through some of the most beautiful, frustrating country California has to offer.
I’m done with these zones for now. The deer numbers just aren’t there, and it’s time to chase new country.
But it wasn’t a wasted season. My woodsmanship has come a long way. I’ve learned to read new ground like a book, pick apart a hillside, and move through the woods like part of the landscape. I’ve seen sunsets that lit up the Sierras in gold and mornings and amazing sunsets, the kind of moments that make you forget about notching a tag.
Hunting will humble you every time you think you’ve got it figured out. Sometimes the mountain gives, sometimes it doesn’t. This year, it didn’t, but it left me sharper, hungrier, and more grateful for the chase. Heck, still harvested a bear which was no small feat.
Next tag, new country, same grit.
Happy trails,
Chuck