6:00 a.m. on October 17th I’m approaching my
stand. I access the ridge through some of the thickest growth the hill had to offer, finally hitting the rocks instead. I emerge from a hollow on the
south side of the mountain; I follow a diagonal path left unmarked. A few unique
trees I have memorized let me know where I’m at in the darkness. I over walk
the stand and cross the ridge back tracking to it. It’s calculated but always a
gamble, you never know from where the deer might come. The wind is also a
fickle beast as changing degrees ever so slightly it can go from steady to a spinning
whirlwind. Having hunted this ridge for several seasons now I knew it wasn’t a
matter of if, just a matter of when…”why not today” I thought? Enough deer
encounters in that area made me a believer, enough to have not one but two
stands up there. In the complete darkness and with temps trying to get out of
the 30’s I spot the faded camo ratchet strap around the trunk, home sweet home.
Finding the stand and making an inconspicuous approach is a
must up there. Deer follow the thermals up, bucks starting to chase would be
cruising the place for doe, they’re on the move, they’re sniffing, and they
will bust you. The first thing I noticed was how much fresh green growth was
illuminated by my headlamp. Being as tall as I was this brush concerned me,
upon further inspection I realized my 100% knock em’ dead shooting lanes were
reduced from about 6 to a paltry 2. Didn’t seem that bad on a September walk
through, but with decent rain and no killer frost yet, this stuff was
problematic. Dropping my bow and gear at the base of the ladder I created two mock
scrapes with attractant in locations that would hopefully get a deer stepping
into a line of fire.
Nestled in my seat at 6:45 a.m., I was downing a sandwich
before dawn’s first light. A few moments later the first rays of sun would top
the opposite ridge and start to shed light on my little piece of paradise. I
call it that because truly it is not only one of my favorite places to hunt,
but one of my favorite places to BE. Downed trees, rocks and the turning fall foliage
makes this spot among the prettiest I have ever been, seeing deer pass through
on occasion just makes it even more special.
It had rained the day before; the damp leaves were like a
carpet, even in my huge boots I didn’t make much noise in my approach. It was
going to be one of those mornings, “be still” I thought to myself “because you
don’t stand a chance at hearing them approach.”
No surprise then that the first movement I detected was not
accompanied by a single sound, the buck came in like a ghost.
I first sensed movement to my left. I saw the rear end of a
whitetail stepping into the thicket, when the head moved beyond the growth I immediately
felt a surge of adrenaline, like an atomic bomb went off in my gut and the heat
just surged through my whole body. What happened next happened quickly. The
buck walked behind several trees as he approached, every time his vision was
obscured, I made a move.
He’s behind a tree, so I stand up, behind another tree, I grab
my bow off the hook, behind another tree, and I draw back. I felt the wind in
my face…he was beat. He stepped to 20 yards directly in front of me. Bobbing his
head he quartered slightly to his left and the arrow was let loose. The last
thing I saw was the fletching blur with the color of my pin at a spot where I imagined
his lungs would be.
He kicked and jumped and walked off. He headed in the
opposite direction from where I came in. He moved slow but steady over the next
shelf and disappeared. This was 7:30 am.
I decided a solid 30 minutes would pass before I even
budged. It’s amazing what you do to pass the time. I saw the shot with my own
eyes, so there was no need to replay it in my mind.
I resolved to think of my family for a while, my wife and
two children, the love and support I get from them and how I hoped to honor
them by harvesting this animal.
I soaked in the beauty of the moment and the
place. I reflected upon what had happened. The nervousness, the fever as they
call it….in that split second you’re deciding you are going to take a life. But
as an ethical hunter you’re taking responsibility for that life and your food. You
tap into something primal, something instinctive. We practice to make a clean
kill, we scout, we shoot, and we come to grips with it all… raging against
trepidation. You won’t find these feelings on your iPad, there isn’t an app for
that.
At 8:03 I climbed down and quietly inspected the area the
buck stood. Blood and flesh splattered on brush, hair on the ground, but the
arrow was nowhere to be found. After a few more minutes of toiling I decided I was
confident enough in my shot to proceed with tracking, so on the blood trail I
went. The 10 point didn’t make it easy on me; the blood trail was merely a
fleck here and there, amidst an army of yellow leaves turning red on the ground!
At one point I had even lost it and found myself looking for upturned leaves
left disturbed by limping hooves.
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A very grateful hunter and his quarry. |
After quite some time and effort I of course began to worry,
the idea that I hadn’t found the arrow because the shot hadn’t passed through
entered my mind. What if the arrow was still in the deer and clogged the exit
wound? My heart began to sink, the deer was going to die and I may not find it,
a hunter’s worst nightmare. A beautiful animal, a source of nourishment for
family and friends, left to waste.
In a moment of ultimate frustration I looked
to the forest and too the sky and pleaded to see SOMETHING, anything. I was
rewarded in that moment, for the next thing I saw was blood, more of it than I
had previously seen, it lead to more upturned leaves and eventually a glimpse
of white fur in a gully not far in the distance…finally I found him, he was
down.
I approached cautiously but knew right away he had expired.
I knelt down beside him, took off my glove and felt his slightly still warm
neck. All I remember from that moment was repeatedly saying 'I didn’t give up on
him,' and that 'I would have drug him out of hell if that’s where I had to track
him to,' I also of course thanked him.
You can buy moments like that, but you pay in determination
and hard work, the deer of course pays in blood, it’s certainly nothing to be
taken lightly.
The arrow is still missing, let it be gone. A friend came and grabbed my gear after I field dressed the deer. I started to drag the
buck the long way down the mountain. Me and the ghost moving over rocks, logs
and ferns, crossing creeks, his 150 plus pounds reminding me I had to earn him
every step of the way…a lesson I will be glad to learn as often as one can.
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I'm not one for "Trophy Pic's," but I did want to show the uniqueness of this 6 x 4 rack. Of those in our little hunting troop, no one ever spotted this buck before or got trail camera pictures of him. |