This season has been my most challenging that I can remember here in my home state. I killed a fairly decent buck in Iowa and I'm blessed beyond belief to have had that opportunity. However in my resident state, (Mississippi) I had some opportunities; but they all failed either by just plain dumb bad luck…...or me just being plain dumb. I have taken a deer here every year since 1983 with a bow; but this year was just awful. Except for one hunt with a friend in a deer utopia, I had seen less than 5 deer in about 85 sits in nearly three months of hunting.
I was thinking about all of that this morning as I drove the predawn to a small place I own about an hour from my house. I rarely hunt on Sunday in recent years; but with a good wind and a front passage I decided to go. It usually has a few more deer than the other places I hunt; though I hadn't seen much there this year.
The morning started very early just a few minutes after legal shooting light with a coyote working around me. Passing to my left where I had the advantage of the wind, he passed by me never offering a shot. It was but a few minutes thereafter and I heard running hooves beating on the damp ground coming to me from the direction the coyote had went. A small buck came running straight to me; cutting behind my stand at the last moment and jumped in a swollen creek behind me; a 15’ drop! He hit with a great splash and started jumping downstream in the knee high fast running water. He reminded me of a deer running in deep snow as I have seen on film as he heaved up and down with each jump in the water. He ran aside my 18’ stand on the creek, just a few yards from my stand; but better than 30’ below me (ladder height and creek bottom). I usually shoot best when I don’t think too long about it. I just lead the buck, snapped a shot off, and watched the arrow head seemingly in the right direction. I never did see exactly where the arrow went but the buck continued on down the stream and climbed up the steep bank about 60 yards from me. It was there I heard “it”. A gushing of air. The buck ran to the top of the bank, his tailed rotating wildly…and he just fell over!
I stripped to my merino wool base layer and grabbed my orange vest and a knife from
my pack. The water in the creek was running really fast after the 2” rain. I crossed it without difficulty until I hit a deep run in the middle. My makeshift staff saved me. I climbed the bank only to realize my “knife”.... was a flashlight. (It’s really bad to get old and senile:)) Regardless, I dragged the deer down the bank only for the deer to catch in the swift current and drag me down with it! My knees eventually hung the bottom and I struggled on across the current only to face the 15’ bank up the other side. Let’s just say it was extremely hard and difficult. I was muddy and very wet. There are no hero pictures on this deer:) A rapidly balding old guy that was dressed only in skivvies...wet and muddy from top to bottom...well the world isn't ready for that picture.
What about the 60 year buck? I killed my first game animal (a squirrel) with my father in 1964 here. Not many people get to hunt a place for 60 continuous years. This buck, killed on the 60th anniversary of my first hunt here on this creek, isn't lost on me. Very few people have this type of opportunity in their lives. I'm very blessed.
Topic: The 60 Year Buck (Read 654 times)
