On Sunday, November 3, after all the
ruckus of getting in Chet's buck, I was fired up to hunt in the
afternoon. Back at the ranch, I got my camo on and drove Chet and
Taryn back to their vehicle on the ridge and walked to a tree stand
in the Corner Woods. The sky was turning gray in the west and it was
windy as heck. I left the truck by what we call the downed barn (a
derelict granary long fallen down) and I was walking as quietly and
quickly as I could in the middle of the Corner Woods, almost to my
stand, when I spooked a doe that leaped, whitetail flashing and
vanished into the neighbor's woods, of course blowing out the
obligatory shrill warning to all that the jig was up in this area.
Rats. Anyway, I stuck to my plan and got in my tree and tied on my
safety harness and hauled up my bow and knocked up an arrow and hung
the bow from a hanger and sat back to contemplate the day and
situation. Chet has two deer in one week. What kind of luck is
that, and for us to almost run over the dead buck, on the road no
less? The bucks are rutting hard and running all over and I just
kicked up a warning to every deer in miles that I was hunting here.
Such is life I guess. Wait, what is that noise . . .
I wasn't in the stand ten minutes when
I heard something behind me. I slowly turned my head right and could
just make out a walking deer on the edge of my peripheral vision. My
heart started to speed up and my breath came quicker; I moved in
increments to reach my hanging bow and hook my release on the bow
string. I didn't see the deer again; well, eventually I could see it
or at least a deer clear over by the edge of the trees, checking out
the field beyond. I tried my grunt call. I don't know if that
helped or not, but the deer started meandering toward my area. Out
of the corner of my eye I saw movement. Two other deer were ghosting
quietly by along the woods on my right, way too far to see what they
were even, but adding fuel to the engine that was making my temples
pump. I could see now that the deer coming toward me was a small
buck, a spike or maybe a fork. Of course it turned and headed away
down into the hollow. I tried the grunt call again. The deer had
disappeared. Okay, I started to relax. I tried a the grunt call
again. The sun was fast fading over the Mississippi. The woods was
quiet and getter darker, and the wind had died to a whisper. I
thought I saw a shadow moving far down the hill in the woods.
Something was coming up out of the hollow right on the path I took
into the stand - headed right for me. It was the little buck. Now,
I had the debate with myself whether to let this buck go and hunt for
a trophy. One side argued it was small and would grow and the other
countered with I haven't taken any archery deer since the last
century, 1999 in fact. I decided to take the shot if it was offered.
The buck took its time, nibbling on leaves, testing the air, staring
in different directions for what seemed like long periods, but it
kept coming. When it finally stepped into a shooting lane, I
realized that there were too many new tree shoots for a clear shot.
Of course it paused there, perfectly broadside. I figured it would
pick up my scent or turn away, instead it walked into the next lane
and I drew back, aimed, and squeezed the release. I saw the arrow
drive deep. The buck whirled and I could see maybe a foot of the
arrow protruding from it. It ran a few steps, started trotting then
walking, it stopped turning its head back, walked on a bit, seemed to
look back again, walked a few more steps, and dropped over on its
side some fifty yards away.
After I relaxed a bit, I tried texting
Ellen and then Eli and Chet. Eventually, I called the house and
muttered to my wife that I had one down and that I would come home in
awhile. I didn't want to make too much noise or get down too early
and possibly spook the wounded deer into a panicked run deep down
into the hollow. I eventually stalked out away from what I hoped was
a downed and finished deer and drove home. Ellen had made me a
toasted cheese sandwich and I relished the food and chance to settle
my nerves a bit. My cell dinged with a text from Eli saying that he
and Pat and Brad were back to the truck and they would wait for us by
the corner woods. Ellen had already gathered some lights, and we
took off up the ridge in the Ranger. Since I had seen the deer fall
over, the boys were eager to get on the track (Pat and Brad also had
to drive all the way back to Fond du Lac that night.) I took them to
the stand and pointed out the target area. Pat picked up blood right
away. We had a rare thing: a walk-along blood trail. I found my
arrow, most likely pulled out by the wounded deer. Then Brad or Pat
said, “You got him. Here he is!” I did and there he was. It
was a three-point buck. After congratulations all around, I marked
and zip tied my buck tag to an ear, and got to the bloody work of
field dressing. Having three twenty-something athletes around helps
when it comes to dragging a deer to the truck. Thanks Ellen and
Guys. The next day, my neighbor Greg Sikora and I registered the
deer at ACE in Shelby and got about the job of butchering it up. The
ticks were amazing. As I started skinning the critter, wood and deer
ticks fell in droves from the hide. I got some bug killer and
sprayed under the carcass. Anyway, I kept a back strap and made
three roasts out of it for grilling, wrapped in bacon, some cold
evening this winter, and gave the rest to Greg.
The excitement goes on. It didn't end
with my buck. Remember last Friday morning? Frosty and 22 degrees
and no wind? Pat and Eli had awakened Scout at some time after 5 AM
when they pulled in the farm yard - brrrr! Around 7 AM, Ellen and I
were just having coffee, planning our day of maybe car shopping, when
we got a text from Eli that Pat “hit one.” A little while later,
Pat showed up and readily took the cup of steaming coffee that Ellen
handed him. He appeared to be in a bit of a daze, a happy daze. He
said he hit a good one. “I am sure I got it. The shot was from
seven yards.” He added with a smile that the morning was perfect.
“When I first got in the tree stand and got settled, I thought this
could be what heaven is like, all quiet and clear.” It was a
heavenly morning for a bow hunter for sure. (Still, I hope the real
deal is a tad warmer, but not quite like the other place.) Anyway,
he said the buck came by his tree stand and he was pretty sure he
double lung'ed it. It ran away uphill, so I wondered. Anyway, when
Eli showed up, he was pretty upset with himself. He had “the one”
buck - a high tined 9-pointer, he had been hoping to get a shot at
all season at some fifteen yards away, but he couldn't take the shot
because he had hung his quiver in such a way as to make it an
obstacle and when he raised his bow, the buck picked him up and
vaporized. It returned later, but not close enough. After awhile
the four of us went out to pick up the trail. I have been on many
tracking jobs, but this was the most impressive blood trail I have
ever been on, including firearm wounded critters. He was using a
Rage broadhead. We found it within two hundred yards. It was a
dandy 11 maybe 13-point buck (depending on your point sensibilities)
that was thick necked and heavy of body. After high fives, congrats
all around, and a round of photos, the boys set about tagging and
field dressing the critter while Ellen scoped out a path through the
downed trees and brush to the field below, and I went back to the
farm for the four-wheeler and trailer to retrieve it.
Back at the ranch, Ellen asked if
anyone wanted lunch and Eli suggested we eat some buck tenderloins,
so I was elected to do surgery and remove the huge morsels of meat
from inside the body cavity. Our neighbor, Gregg had joined us by
now and he volunteered to grill the meat over an open fire across the
road. While the boys hung the deer, I trimmed up the tenderloins
and cut them up and Ellen started some raw fries and biscuits. Gregg
and I grilled the medallions over some oak coals in his fire pit,
adding a dash of Pleasoning. We took them back in a roaster and,
well, I've said it often enough, it don't git no better.
Congratulations Pat.
Until next time, get out - check out
your blaze gear, boots, etc. and if you haven't, shoot your
gun-season weapons soon and make sure they work. I can't emphasize
this enough after the last couple years when my rifle misfired while
sighting it in and needed gunsmith work. Anyway, I am done with bow
hunting. On to turkey hunting and fishing and the Big One close upon
us. Enjoy.
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