Not much of a story for this one, but what there is follows:
Thanksgiving evening I stopped over to Cousin Phil's home for after dinner pie - a family tradition. He is an avid hunter and shotgun editor for Field & Stream. Apple crumb and a piece of pecan both smothered in fresh whipped cream (there ya go Vance), his wife Pam can really cook!
So, there I am unable to move from my chair - fully sated and Phil mentions that his writer friend MD Johnson has a holiday gun doe tag and his hunting spot fell through at the last minute.
"Have MD call me. Plenty of does on my place." I volunteered.
MD called the next day and he and his wife Julie came over that afternoon. I put them in my two person ladder stand and carried my self bow to another stand not far off.
Beautiful sunny 45 degree day and everything is perfect but no deer offer shots to MD & Julie's muzzle loaders and I see no deer from my bow stand. Most unusual to not see any deer on my place in 3 hours, but they agree to come back Sunday afternoon. They are looking for winter meat and have no deer yet.
Saturday my son mentions that a neighbor stopped by after we had gone afield on Friday. The neighbor said he had wounded a deer and tracked it through the middle of my 40 acres just before we went out. No wonder the deer pattern was off. I have a feeling the wounded deer might be a nice 4 year old 8 point that I have seen but not got a chance at, dang!
Sunday we have our first snow on the ground, about an inch and still slowly falling and cool but not bitter out. MD and Julie go to the two up ladder again and I take a long still hunt to stir up the deer and look for the wounded one. I plan to make a large figure eight along the creek woodlots and go everywhere but near their stand.
About the crossing point of my figure eight I am getting pretty tired and wet, watching ahead for moving deer and trying to remember, "move a little, look a lot" (Ishi), when I realize that I am looking at a deer just 10 yards in front of me laying down. Its a buck, the big 8 I have been hunting. He's surely dead. Killed but not found by my neighbor. Then I notice he's breathing!
I had been moving quietly, but not that quietly. No way. His head comes up slowly and my arrow finds his heart without me even thinking about it. He never gets up, just expires right there. He's on the edge of the field where I can drive my truck and so I leave him and continue my stalk pattern. About an hour later, after jumping another nice 4 year old buck - next year's quarry if he survives the gun season - I am on the final leg of my stalk and hear a distant gun shot. Good! MD and Julie have freezer meat.
We loaded up our deer and brought my buck to the home shop where I skin him to check for other wounds. There are none and the deer appears healthy but with no fat reserve. Most bucks are pretty skinny by the end of the rut here and have to quickly put on the feed if they are to survive the winter. MD and Julie stayed and helped skin as I had offered them the buck meat to help fill their freezer - mine is well stocked.
I was sure this buck had either been wounded or hit by a car when I shot him, but could find no evidence of prior damage. There were no holes, no bruising, no infection. Its a strange one, but that's my story.
Topic: Home place 8 pt (Read 578 times)
