SFTS #2: The Halloween Half-Eight
For the first time in four years, I shot a buck. I’ll tell you right upfront, the deer is no monster; however, he made me just as excited as if he had been! The story you’re about to read is true. If you’re a hunter, you’ll be excited just as I was this past Halloween Saturday.
Here’s the story.
Friday night my dad and I were planning our hunt for the following morning. The next day was October, 31st, Halloween. The weather was supposed to be cold and the forecast for deer movement looked promising. We had decided on two stands that would have good wind to hunt: The Red Gate and The Big Jamey. I didn’t know which stand I should choose. I’ve seen plenty of deer at both stands and really didn’t have a preference on which stand I sat at that Saturday morning.
My four-year-old son, Charlie just happened to be in the TV room with us. I looked at Charlie and asked him, “Charlie, what stand should I hunt in the morning: Red Gate or Jamey?”
Charlie looked directly in my eyes and replied, “Jamey”.
The decision was made. I’d go to Jamey and my dad would venture to Red Gate.
My dad and I woke up around 5:45 AM to get ready to go to the stand. We put on our clothes, an extra layer taking the colder weather into consideration, and loaded up in the truck for the morning hunt.
We parked at The Red Gate and I took the four-wheeler through the water and through the woods to The Big Jamey. I let the four-wheeler rest at the entrance to the lane, walked to the box blind, and got prepared for a cold sit. Thankfully, I had worn enough clothes to withstand an arctic blizzard, the cold was not a factor for me that morning!
The weather was great. The view from the blind was beautiful. The morning was off to a great start.
Before I could begin putting the doe bleat and buck grunt calls to use, two does decided to join me in the lane that morning. The first appeared out of nowhere, as deer normally do, at the back of the lane looking directly at me in the blind. As she made her way to the feeder, another young doe followed her same path, walked to join her fellow lady. They ate their, comfortable, for about ten minutes.
Both of the does picked their head up and looked off into the woods to my right.
All hunters know what that means.
There must be a buck in the woods. This time of year, normally referred to the rut, is often time some of the most exciting time a hunter will have in the woods. The does, most likely, were on high alert not wanting to be suprised by a buck while eating corn.
They continued looking in the woods and so did I. I was looking hard. If there was a buck, I was going to spot him as soon as possible. The does and I had one thing in common: we wanted to spot that buck. My rifle found its way to my hands. I had it resting on the blind. I knew that a buck could pop out of the cover at any moment. Being that the lane is at most about ten feet wide, a buck could be in and out of the lane in just a matter of two steps.
Suddenly, the does were gone. They ran out the back of the lane in a hurry. The hair stood up on my neck.
I know what that meant.
And just as I expected, a buck popped out of the brush directly where the does had been staring. There was only one problem with this buck: he was a little button buck.
Through my rifle scope I could see the smallest of antlers on his head. Antlers may have been a little too gracious for this little buck, his rack was more like two little knobs. I watched this little buck take a few bites of corn, look around the lane for any other ladies, and then head on to the back. He exited the lane through the back, into the woods and I listened to him walk through the swamp.
And just like that, the lane was clear and all the activity had come to a stop.
My rifle found it’s resting place in the box blind and I text my dad and wife to update them on my hunt. It had been exciting so far.
The time was 7:56 AM.
As I looked up from the text, I saw a deer entering the lane to the right of the feeder. The deer looked directly at the blind. I had to stay frozen as to not spook the deer. My first thought was that it was one of the does coming back for some more corn. The moment the deer looked toward the feeder, I was able to get my binoculars up to get a closer look.
The deer had horns. It was a buck! In just the quick look I gave the deer, I could see the horns were outside his ears.
That meant he was a shooter.
I dropped my binoculars to my chest and reached for my rifle that I had just put down moments before. As I tried to find the buck in the scope, he excited the lane to the left as quickly as he stepped in it.
Immediately, I grabbed the doe bleat call from the floor. I hit it twice, letting out two bleats, hoping like crazy the buck would step back in the lane.
He did just that.
He walked back into the lane behind the feeder. I had no shot. His curiosity lead him to the back of the lane, following where the does and young buck exited before him. All I could see was his rear end. He was walking with a purpose to the back of the lane when, out of nowhere, he decided to step into the woods to my left.
Quickly, I let out a doe bleat with my mouth, hoping to stop the deer in his tracks.
He stopped just one step into the woods out of the lane.
I put the crosshairs just behind his shoulder.
I squeezed the trigger.
BOOM!
I watched the buck run off. He stayed on the left side of the lane, exited out the back, and turned right into the woods. I continued listening to the sound of him running, leaves and branches breaking. I never heard the tell-tell sound of him ‘crashing’; however, I knew he had to go somewhere to the right of my blind.
I text my dad and my wife about the turn of events. My dad and I both agreed that we should give the buck some time to do his thing. We didn’t want to rustle him up and make him run any farther.
Both of the texts basically said this… I did not feel good about my shot.
See, a few weeks before I had shot three times at a buck and missed all three times. My confidence was shaken a little; however, this time I had my dad’s rifle. The 25-06 don’t miss according to him! The buck was also a step in the woods. There were a few small limbs, briars, and brush in front of him when I shot. I knew that I put the shot behind his shoulder in the clear; however, that creeping doubt of the after-shot still crept in.
One text to my wife literally said this: “Long story short: I shot at a buck; but, I don’t feel good about my shot”.
I got down from the blind, went to get my dad at The Red Gate and told the story all over again. Together, we went back to the The Big Jamey and started looking for blood. I showed dad where the buck was when I shot and we could see marks on the ground that looked like where the buck kicked up. The hunt for blood began.
After about fifteen minutes of searching, my dad walking seventy yards into the woods to a laydown he wanted to check, and me losing all hope; an idea came to me. I went back to the kick up spot where the buck was when I shot. Instead of looking for drops blood on the ground, I looked for (what I thought) were his tracks. I began following a pretty good size set of tracks that had the measurements between them that indicated a running deer. I followed those into the woods, and into a bog near the right of the stand. My dad eventually caught up with me and agreed that those tracks looked to be the right size for a buck and looked as if a deer had been running.
My dad slipped and fell on some high ground in the bog. He joked that now that he’d fell and gotten dirty, we’d definitely find the buck. Honestly, both of hopes had dwindled.
We’d found zero blood. Usually when a deer is shot, they bleed. This one didn’t appear to be bleeding at all.
As we stood there together, looking through the woods, we both started to discuss the fact that maybe I had missed this deer as well. After all, he was in the woods a step and there was a little bit of brush between him and I. Anything could cause a bullet flying through the air to ricochet and lose its desired path.
Just then I saw something to my right. It looked odd. It wasn’t a log or a laydown. It was brown and had a sheen from the sun shining though the trees. I crouched down, looked harder, and took a few steps closer to it. The closer I got to the shape the faster my steps became.
It was the buck.
He had broken one side of his rack in half during, what my dad and I believe, was a fight with another buck. The buck I shot had several puncher marks on his neck and behind his right ear that looked to be from the antlers of another buck.
Without a drop of blood to trail my dad and I had found him! In fact, there had been blood. In the ten foot radius around the deer there were several pools of blood. I had double lunged the deer. He was bleeding through his mouth and nose. The bullet didn’t exit out the side to leave a blood trail.
The buck had also traveled the path that I heard him follow after the shot. His path took him about a hundred yards out the back of the lane, curving to the right and bedding down in a ridge of the swamp. As the crow flies, he was probably fifty yards from the box blind that I sitting in that morning.
We tagged the buck, drug him to the lane, and loaded him on the four-wheeler. When we arrived at my parents house, my mom, grandma and my kids were excited to see the buck that I’d shot. Everyone wanted to hear the story. It made my heart happy to have my family there with me to celebrate this occasion.
It had been almost four years since I’d shot a buck. Without my dad’s help and his continued belief in my shooting ability, I seriously doubt we would have ever recovered that deer.
Pop, thanks for your help and putting corn out at all the stands throughout the season.
Also, huge shoutout to my wife for letting me chase those whitetails and my mom for watching my kiddos so I can hunt when I venture down to the Frye Farm.
Finally, a special thanks to my son. Without him telling me where to hunt that morning, I would not have been able to experience that exciting hunt!