I sit here, bored with cleaning, tired of tillering, waiting for my monday (tomorrow) to roll in. Not enough snow to snowmachine, barely enough ice to ice fish. But I keep going back...........
I remember the day dad came home and asked if I wanted to become a bowhunter. He wasn't a bowhunter at the time but some family members were. With that, I saved up and bought my first bow, a forked lightning jennings from my cousin David. At the time a top of the line bow, by the time I bought it, she still had a ton of life. Every day went by I shot, and by fall I was in the woods. Home made tree stand you'd gasp today if you climbed into.
The woods was a dairy farmers land I helped out on during the summers and before school and after football practice. Family owned for over 100 years. As a young guy, hunting became more important and the landowner knew to let me go to the woods. The bucks, to this day that tract of woods only I and another older fella had permission to hunt...oh the deer. It was heaven. If you could sit back and imagine the perfect place, you'd be sitting right beside me, on the last fence line looking at the last field between us and the big oak ridge. Oak and maple hard ridges bordered to the east by water, swamp to the west with the 'little ridge' as it affectionatly became known adjacent to the swamp. 20 or more deer a nite wasnt uncommon. That summer every evening before milking or after when I had the time I'd sit in the middle field and even then knew what I was looking at, had my stand hung, but still really didnt know how to deer hunt. Opening day I convienced dad to come along...he brought my next younger brother along. I told him of the big bucks. Even had an old birch tree picked out along the fence line along a major trail for my stand. Dad and my bro sat in the corner brushed in by some tall grass.
That picture..that nite etched bowhunting forever, and the high's and more currently lows to follow.....missing that button buck, man what a rush...missing him twice after I called him back as he sniffed my first arrow was hillarious. Toting a 3 arrow quiver I knew to save number 3 for something bigger or dark. And bigger came by..... He walked within 30 yards of my dad...a HUGE 10, extremely tall, wide and massive...which later was shot during the gun season by an adjacent land owner...a booner, which the fella shot 3 more of in 3 more following years. Did I mention there was a huge amount of big bucks on this place. And big would be an understatement!
The next year the switch happened to stickbows and it wasnt long after that Uncle sam caught my attn and off to basic I left...but before my depart day came..I had one hunt left, opening weekend. I found the funnel that year and opening morning missed a nice 6 pointer. Seeing quite afew does, but even then not knowing how to hunt, that old herters bow treated me well, with still no deer meat accounted for, off to basic I left. Dreaming of big bucks, xmas leave, and things to come.
We turkey hunted some in the spring there..but Alaska had my full undivided attention, and strapped what little pocket book I could dish out for hunts, fuel and gear. Not to mention the land around my familys new place I'd managed a few small bucks, one the year I was home for grandmas passing. A 15 minute hunt that ended up having a nice forky walk by at 5 steps as I sat crossed legged beneth a spruce tree in the corner of our property. A perfect heart shot and a huge blood trail. A hunter she was, I knew she was there that year! Another buck my youngest bro had scouted out for me...another one nite on the stand and a short blood trail. Times were good. But shooting these deer kept me from the big woods I 'had' to get back to.
This woods has long since haunted, if not taunted me to come back. The fall of 07 I did, 13 years later. That first morning the last week of nov. was prime time...the nite before I spooked a big body deer in that back field as I came in late trying to hang a stand. The family reunion, getting gear together, ensuring my tags had indeed arrived at my familys house and were ready....that nite was long anticipated. That back field full of scrapes as usual. And the old crumbling deer stands I knew all to well were still there guiding the way to the secret spot. The funnel is where I sat, in that very tree I missed the last deer I shot at in these woods. Up to that point I hadnt told a sole about the funnel, other then it exsisted.
It was a quiet morning...sun shining, and the wind, perfect for once. The funnel running east to west between two HUGE hardwood ridges, one being the adjacent land owners place, and the funnel the route these deer moved through to travel back and forth. The same one those 4 connsecutive booners were shot off of not 100 yards away. The leaves had changed color...I even saw a turkey for the first time deer hunting in that woods, which was still odd. Did I mention the black squirells...this woods is FULL of them and this morning was no exception. The morning had come and gone, and eggs and bacon for brunch started filling my nose when I heard him coming...a unmistakable crunch crunch crunch.....a coyote?!?! Never have we seen songdogs in this area, well I hadnt to date anyways. He ran by to fast spooked by the adjacent land owner who musta have been chasing squirells that day, for me to get a shot. I sat back down in my stand, enjoying the warmth of the mid day sun, and thought about all those years....milking, the lake, my 'log home' I started building, and those bucks, the horde of huge deer this place housed, seemed empty now. Minus the squirells and the longbeard that walked by. It was 10:40am when he came. I knew immediatly he was big, wide huge necked buck this woods produces. Coming in from my right, head on and fast I had to turn 180 degrees for the shot. 9 yards, no time to be nervous, pick the shooting lane and the arrow was off....He just about jumped the fence to the neighbors place when he turned back the direction he came...staggered and ran off. I waited a good hour, the shot was good tight to the shoulder angling down. It was a long walk back to the farmers house...mixed emotions I usually have after shooting an animal, excited, sad, confident, yet unsure. I had found the arrow, a complete pass through, it had fallen out the opposite side 50 yards up the trail he took on departure which happened to be the same trail I walk out on for a short jaunt..and the arrow almost taunting me at my feet.
The wait was long anticipated, my first deer, and a BIG buck at that, ever from this property. The land of the ghost bucks.... This happened to be the biggest buck I had loosed an arrow on. Three years home...three first morning bucks, but this, the first in many many years on this property.
We took the trail and sure enough he was off to the back the way he came. It wasnt long before we knew something wasnt right...the blood was good, albeit getting sparse rapidly, but by now he'd traveled a long ways. How, was my concern. I was 100% of my shot, the same 2 blade eskimos have never failed me yet...but here he kept going. We knew this big bucks hideout. A fine strip of woods with a water on one side and another small 200 yard long cattail swamp full of water on the other to the west and the big oak ridge west of that. The youngest of brothers, a upcoming bowhunter came along, and bringing his Dale Arner bow, just in case. This little strip of woods was packed full of scrapes, rubs, and thick briars no man could penetrate without spooking every mice vole and buck inside, this big bucks home, as it had been for many big bucks before him. And that's exactly where he was. We decided, knowing the escape route, to put my bro in it's path...a very very tight funnel of mere yards with a trail cattle could use. Dad and I trailed that buck...the master woodsman he is never ceases to amaze me, almost a conductor of an orchestra bringing to life music that raises goose bumps, he can see things in the woods most will never see. We walked right up to that buck, still ALIVE!!! And off he went. The wind was whipping up and my lil bro knew nothing of the events...and getting ready he wasnt....but he did manage a shot as the buck passed at almost feet from the end of his arrow....shooting behind that deer as I'm sure I would have. He showed up talking about how big he was, almost shaking. That year I spent the next 3 weeks trying to find that buck to no avail, even extending my leave a week. I just wanted to see him one more time before I left. Thankfully it wasnt a week after I flew Back to Alaska Sean called with news of his sighting..that big deer was indeed still alive. How.... I'll never know. Another ghost had eluded me.
2009 rolled around and found me home a week earlier then my normal fall routine had the last 3 times. That back field was alfalfa again...but no deer sign what so ever filled it. Empty, I meandered around lost, almost confuzed. The swamps almost dry from the years of lack of rain had deer moving everywhere and yet no where at all. I was amazed at the amount of trails in the swamp, yet the lack of deer. The main funnel full of blown down trees held a very faint trail. The muddy crossing was still there and handn't been walked upon in what appear like weeks. I knew this year was time for change. The lil ridge always held promise though I never did much but squirell hunt this ridge. It was an odd piece of land, bordered to the east by a swamp with a super thin strip of hardwoods running adjacent north to south. To the north the swamp came around in a sliver, fading to potholes of old tameracks, and running between there and the adjacent property line, another thin strip of huge oak trees. To the west, another swamp, some more houses..and that little old ridge of spruce trees tucked way in the back..the one where the pheasants always came once snow arrived...now had a house, evolution ugg. I knew the trails and bottle necks well... but 2 weeks later still no deer. The first nite out a 8pt with 4 does came around but nothing close enough for a shot, and then nothing for days. The big ridge along the lake held no scrapes...no rubs. Evidence of all the old rubs around...along with all the old treestands. Some that have hung for so long the trees were consuming the steps and stands themselves. Since I left the land owners parents had passed...and the doors opened to an amount of people who never were there before..and it showed. NO deer.... Till one nite, in the middle of that swamp on a spit of land 30 yards long and 15 yards wide, I rattled in a couple small bucks. Promptly shooting over the larger 8 pointers back I had seen the first nite out. Alaska game doesnt jump the string..ugg!
A few more days went by and I had found a new funnel, bumped a few deer there chasing those infamous black squirells trying to get one to take home with the longbow. Finding the perfect deer spot, I put my small game heads away taking a couple steps there goes two more deer...odd how that works. The next morning I was in before sun up and it wasnt long in came a nice buck again. Not to long after shooting time. He stopped at a mere 18 yards...another deer jumping the string.... And here I am..seasons over, back in Alaska dreaming of the big bucks my family is seeing this past week, calling me nitely.
It's been 18 years since I've started shooting sticks. I've been fortunate to travel some, been lucky here and there. But I live in those woods...grew up in them....The farmer is still kickn, though in 60's I'm not sure for how much longer. There is no heir to the woods, I can only hope they dont become houses.
It's been a few years of little hunting here in Ak. Even for a resident, Alaska is not cheap and without a hunting partner..well you get the idea.... Maybe someday I'll shoot one there. But for now, they remain ghost bucks, I'm bound to hunt that place again....the woods where the bucks dissappear as fast as they show up.......
Topic: the ghost bucks...... (Read 353 times)
