Bear with me and I'll spin you a yarn:
Chapter One:
Traditional Bows garner my attention, to the point that years back I enthralled myself building board bows, primitive self bows, sinew backed bows and fiberglass laminated recurves. I could shoot them pretty well, too, but just couldn’t connect on a deer. Then life changes of various types drew me away from that fine activity for the most part. I’ll pick up a bow on occasion but am not practiced enough to confidently hunt with it.
My oldest has gotten into mechanical archery heavily and has tried to lure me into that arena. I’ll shoot with him here and there, but if I am pulling a trigger to make the projectile fly it needs to BOOM loudly to warm my heart. He equipped an older compound and urged me to go hunting with him this Fall. OK, for my son I’ll slip into the dark side.
Early November in a stand on a small property a young buck came quickly trotting by, only stopping from the grunt out of my mouth. Dang arrow went astray, dropping him with a spine shot further back than the aim point was. A comedy of errors ensued when the second arrow in the quiver lobbed off the string as I was reconnecting the blasted release mechanism, falling harmlessly on the ground below. Thankfully there was an old Bear two blade, freshly sharpened left to pierce the heart, ending that debacle quickly. My son was happy. He pulled it out of the woods and helped load it in the vehicle. I had meat but little else to feel excited about. They are such efficient machines that I just cannot find myself giddy with accomplishment using the contraptions. (I know, ol geezer here)
Chapter Two:
Gun week in Bushveld of SW Ohio arrived as usual, the Monday after Thanksgiving. The Remlin 1895 45/70 CB was wearing a Leupold 1.5X4 scope for the first time in its career. The eyes aren’t getting any younger to take advantage of what this rifle and the cast boolits are capable of at range with the aperture sights. Fully expecting to see a fat doe to fill the second tag was on the menu. The fields I have access to on a couple places are open and large, for this part of the country. Something is going to come out.
Oddly enough, the other fellows who hunt this farm didn’t show up any of the times I did. Neither did any deer. Nothing about this scenario made sense. Extremely few gun shots were heard, as well. I only hunted squirrels on this place in late September and hadn’t been back since. What did the other guys know from archery season that I didn’t? Walking out that evening the beauty of the full moon caught my eye.
It was at the end of that fruitless week of seeing only one deer at multiple properties, a buck at that, that it dawned on me that the tracks in the mud were from all the night feeding due to the abundance of moonlight. Season ended without a shot fired.
Chapter 3:
The Mid December two day gun season Mother State graciously granted fell on this past Saturday, the 16th. The moon was just a sliver in the sky. The temperatures in the 30’s with a touch of ESE breeze as I pulled the Marlin from the case well before legal light. Perfect for this small property near Dad’s place, same property the buck came from. Though nothing was seen in Gun Week here, and the feeding patterns had changed since the evening I arrowed the buck, the small woodlot and tall grassy slope was deemed my best option to go to. I’m not much of a tree stand hunter, but the Son and I had put a low hanging one up early on, and it allowed a better view of the more open grassy area than my normal stool, so I strapped on the safety harness, climbed up. A grey squirrels stirred at first light. Eventually more were foraging in the leaves on the ground. Took a while before the birds started singing and flitting here and there. There was enough activity to keep a fellow entertained. Finally, in the distance before 8 am came around, a gun shot was heard. It would be quite a while before a second shot sounded, a long way off from the muffled sound of the boom.
The foam cushion bought another 45 minutes of endurance in the uncomfortable little seat. Too much time to think. Frustration was beginning to mount over a past slight from a once dear friend. No, don’t go there, no future in bitterness. I prayed that the Lord bless that person, no curses from my lips or mind need to be sent their way. Move on and enjoy this opportunity in the woods, free from the past wrong.
Alright, sat long enough. Time to stand up, give the legs and butt a break. Ah, leaning against the shagbark 10’ high was much better after an hour and half of being scrunched up with cold feet at the same height. Possibly five minutes in this position my glance caught the unmistakable form of an antlerless deer passing through a narrow opening about 70 yards to the south. It was lost in the trees and tall grass in an instant. Another doe also crossed swiftly from right to left, moving up the slope from the cedars. Bits and pieces were all they offered through the tree limbs and tan grass, but it was obvious that they were moving away rather than straight up the hill, or back toward the wood patch I was at the edge of. Needing them to turn back, at least far enough to bring them into the open for a shot prompted me to bleat as if a fawn in distress was looking for Momma. After a few seconds my mouth cords emitted another series of distress deer sounds, then tapering off in a few calmer vocalizations. There, there she was standing in the tall grass looking my way, intently searching for the yearling calling after the group. Quickly the crosshairs rested on the grass below the neck toward the left shoulder that wasn’t seen but had to be there by her body position.
At the crack of the shot she disappeared in recoil, but at least three other bodies and tails were jumping and leaping in the pandemonium caused by pulling the trigger. Another round was racked into the chamber, but not knowing which deer might have been her, or if she had fallen on the spot, out of sight in the ground cover, I held off on trying to shoot the lone doe that hopped my way before veering east, into the neighbor’s property at the top of the hill. I was a bit perplexed. It is common for the wide meplat soft 420 grain boolit to punch such a meaty, boney part of the body and respond with a distinct audible impact. Yet I heard nothing immediately after executing the shot except deer bounding off in flight.
Texted my son, who encouraged me to notify him of a kill, for help tracking and dragging. Requested he bring his new lazar range finder, too. I was certain she was well within the round’s PBR, but confirmation would be nice. After fifteen minutes of waiting, it was time to climb down and go over to ascertain the situation. I walked straight to the impact sight and was rewarded with the tuff of hair from the entry. Looking a few feet to the right revealed the hair from the exit wound. A leaf with blood on the corner was pleasing, as well. Perfect. She may not be DRT, but she was hit well, in and out. The grass appeared that she ran back from where she came when I called her to out to investigate. It didn’t take too many steps to begin seeing the blood smears on the tall grass, and following the trail was simple to decipher. Up the slope toward the neighbor’s tangle of woods and honeysuckle she had gone. Approaching the old line fence the copious amount of hair stunned me. Sure enough, in her wild dash to escape the danger she when headlong through one of the woven wire fence squares, expanding it from 6” to about 14” wide. I had a big coyote do that years ago and recognized the spoor.
About this time my Son showed up. He used the range finder to determine that the shot was 105 yards from tree to deer. I calculated in the few seconds it took to aim that this was a responsible shot, and his information was encouraging to know that my mental range finder is still working properly.
Together we blood trailed her into the neighbor’s property (known this couple well for many years, having rabbit hunted his place many times with their full permission). Incredible how far a deer can travel and lose so much blood/oxygen in the process. The spay and stream were only getting bigger and wider.
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Originally Posted by CastingFool
