After a wildly successful bow season it was a predictable, if not true, statement that I would make to anyone who cared to listen that "It really doesn't matter if I shoot a buck during the gun season. I've already had a great deer season."
My statement sounded good, but rang hollow. I really wanted to shoot a deer during Wisconsin's gun deer season.
Opening Day dawned with me in a familiar perch in Washburn County. Few shots rang out across the big woods as the morning progressed. I had promised myself and my hunting partner brother that I was going to sit all day in my treestand.
Pre-season optimism gave way to minor despair when by 11:45 I still had not spotted hide nor hair of a deer. All of the deer sign and live deer sightings from throughout the fall meant nothing now; the deer in our area simply were not on their feet.
However, at a few clicks before noon, the telltale crunch crunch crunch sound of a deer walking quickly upon the carpet of dead leaves made its way to my ears. I turned in my stand and spotted a large doe quartering away from my position. Minor despair, meet unexpected joy. I found the left front shoulder of the deer in my scope and squeezed the trigger.
The doe died quickly and just like that I had another deer on the ground. My brother helped me get the deer back to the house and we were back in the woods by the time the first snowflakes started collecting on the ground.
The snow picked up in intensity as the afternoon waned. A perfect afternoon sit. But, no deer sightings.
Back home in the cozy cabin we warmed up and dried out. We prepared venison backstraps on the grill. We went to bed tired and without complaint. It had been a great day.
Sunday morning we were back in our preferred treestands. Again, a slow morning with no deer sightings by 10AM. I texted my brother that we should descend our trees and make some one man drives to each other.
I was driver on the first effort, moving slowly, stopping often, working across oak ridges and thick evergreen swamps. The fresh snow revealed fresh deer sign. But no deer worked past my brother on his stand.
Next we tackled a piece of the property that is more hilly and open terrain, but usually holds bucks during the rut. For this one, my brother did the pushing, and I took up my stand near The Ski Hill, a distinguishing landmark and pinch point where deer from our past have crossed a skinny grown over logging road.
When I had been waiting 30 minutes I grew more aware, knowing my brother would be approaching soon. Deer drives seldom work out as hoped for or planned. But guess what? This one improbably did.
In the exact space I was staring at a large buck appeared, dropping over the lip of a ridge, then plunging down and across the logging road, 40 yards to my left. I attempted to stop the buck with a vocalization of a doe bleat, but he ignored or didn't hear my call. In between a fast walk and a slow trot, the buck moved quickly through the wooded cover. I found him in my scope and he dropped at the report from my gun.
I quickly walked closer to the downed buck to make certain he wasn't going anywhere. A minute later my brother appeared coming down the same ridge edge as the buck. We walked up on the buck and could barely believe our eyes.
Men of action are favored by the Goddess of luck. Good advice from an old deer hunter.
Very nice blog...and very nice deer! Keep on writing!
Fish Cop
http://fishcopoutofwater.blogspot.com/
Posted by: Fish Cop | 01/04/2012 at 04:33 PM