Blood on the Snakeroot: My Son's First Buck
Sept 27, 2021 0:40:00 GMT -5
Woody Williams, parson, and 25 more like this
Post by Sasquatch on Sept 27, 2021 0:40:00 GMT -5
We woke up at 4:00 am on the 25th in order to make the 70 mile drive to our hunting area. We arrived just ahead of the rain, and fortunately our stand was a nifty elevated blind, complete with a roof. Our perch overlooked a field of soybeans planted for the sole benefit of the local deer, who evidently appreciated it as the first ten feet or so next to the woods looked as as if it had been mowed.
It rained gently for perhaps 45 minutes, and we were grateful for our light jackets as the early hours were quite cool. With the exception of a fox squirrel that kept climbing up and chewing on the blind’s support structure, not much happened on the morning hunt. With all the recent activity that the field had been seeing, I thought there was a good chance of some shots being fired. We sat listening to the rain filtering down through the leaves overhead and onto the blind’s metal roof, but no deer appeared. We went for lunch at 10:30, as a few cereal bars were all that stood between me and John’s teenage appetite.
We got back in the blind at about four PM. The sky was now blue and there was no need for jackets. The wind was still absolutely perfect, coming right in the blind’s front windows. Aside from a pair of fox squirrels taking turns running out into the field to grab some beans, action was pretty slow to start with.
At around six a doe and two fawns came out of the woods to the North, followed soon by another doe. They fed back and forth at the far end of the plot, but never wandered close to us. Here I was proud of John… Most of the time the deer stayed around 100 yards distant, and occasionally nibbled to the 80 yard mark. Even though John’s 20g Single shot can do it, he didn’t feel comfortable with the open sight sat that distance and whispered more than once, “Not gonna risk it,” or words to that effect.
At around 6:45 I see the old doe peer off into the woods across a wide farm path with her ears cupped forward. I was looking elsewhere and here John say something like “Whoa….. it’s the buck!” Walking into the open of the farm path is a good-sized deer. To be honest, my glasses prescription is showing it’s age, so I could make out a tall, decent rack but that’s about it. (Binoculars were one thing I had forgotten) The deer just sauntered out in the open, something I still associate mostly with hunting videos, not the paranoid critters I usually hunt. I expected him to pull up, snort, and flee for his life.
But he was there. We were hidden. The wind, at least for now, was still perfect. We had a chance.
“You might get a shot, bud,” I said.
But instead of continuing toward us, he began hoovering up soybeans like a loose goat, sometimes going a full minute or more without raising his head! Maddeningly, he would take these tiny half-steps. Munch a little, take a half step. Sunset was nearing, and I feared the clock would run out with Mr. Half-Step still a mile away.
Then, something happened.
The buck’s head shot up and he looked toward the woods in front of him. His tail raised somewhat and then stuck straight out. For a second I thought he was going to bolt, but he turned and began angling toward us, seemingly unperturbed.
“You know what to do John. When the time is right, go for it,” I said. (The deer was coming from the left and since I was in the left chair, I had to kind of scoot back so I would not obscure John’s vision or otherwise be in the way. I knew that even if I could see the deer, I would not know enough about John’s shot angle to advise him.)
I could see the Buck was approaching longish bow range at a steady walk. Somewhere around forty yards he stopped. I leaned further back, praying.
The gun roared and I saw the buck bound away. He did not appear to be hit, though that can fool you.
After a final leap he stopped on a high spot about 75 yards away, almost perfectly broadside. He looked like a calander photo.
“Shoot him again,” I croaked. The chamber clinked shut. I love that sound.
“BOOM!” The buck charged away. Again, he gave no indications one way or the other as to his health.
As the metaphorical smoke cleared, John was sure he missed, and I was leaning that way. “We should check though,” he said more than once. ( Again that feeling of pride.)
I assured him we would, “but lets give it a minute while I text our host,” I said.
While John sat in the blind I walked to where the deer had been standing at shot number two. As the last light faded I found some big, fresh tracks but no blood. My heart leaped at the sight of a red leaf, but it was one of those yellow leaves with red splotches that looked just like blood. I walked around as we waited for Steve to arrive, feeling sicker by the minute. Soon I heard the rumble of Steve’s polaris UTV, followed by loud honking, which turned out to be one of his crazy, hostile neighbors.
As Steve and John searched the sight of the first shot (eventually finding the wad) I walked to the edge of the woods again where John had said the buck entered. I stopped dead when three nickel-sized spots of slightly darker dirt caught my eye. Daring to hope I bent over and peered, soon spotting a splotch of foamy blood and some hair. Several smaller droplets surrounded it. “GOT BLOOD!” I called, trying not to shout and failing.
Soon we were following a trail of similar drops through the woods. Not a ton, but some was on the snakeroot pretty high up, which made me feel good, and they were bright red, which made me feel even better. The trail was also going in a straight line--another thing that promoted positive thoughts.
Eighty yards or so in, my flashlight beam illuminated a big, dead buck. I don’t remember what I said but I couldn’t keep it secret. Soon we were celebrating.
We drug the deer down by the creek for John dress it out and give it a rinse. I decided the best way to get a good angle was to wade into the water barefooted and volunteered to do the rinsing. It was cold, but at least it was September and not December!
It looks like he lost a brow in velvet, as the base around the missing point is discolored and lacks the beading of the other side. I'll let you all guess how much it weighed. It sure felt heavy. For reference John is about six foot and 190lbs. ** edit: Forgot to mention that we think it was the second shot that hit. High toward the back of the lungs. The first, for whatever reason, went awry. Also, I had a camera running through the whole hunt but due to getting out of the way and making sure to direct John the deer walked right out of frame at the shot. Got some recovery footage too. **
A number of things made this hunt special. We were hunting a friend’s land, a place he had poured hours of effort into and was certainly under no obligation to share with us. He has always insisted that John try for a buck there. Other than helping him string some fence I had done nothing as far as helping or improving the land goes. John was carrying a gun given to him by the same man, a gun that he and his children have all taken deer with. On his belt was a knife given to him weeks ago by the man’s son, in a sheath skillfully made by another friend. Last but certainly not least, I was hunting with my son, a smart, decent and healthy sixteen year old, enjoying the greatest of freedoms in the best country on Earth. I wish you all many such moments.
It rained gently for perhaps 45 minutes, and we were grateful for our light jackets as the early hours were quite cool. With the exception of a fox squirrel that kept climbing up and chewing on the blind’s support structure, not much happened on the morning hunt. With all the recent activity that the field had been seeing, I thought there was a good chance of some shots being fired. We sat listening to the rain filtering down through the leaves overhead and onto the blind’s metal roof, but no deer appeared. We went for lunch at 10:30, as a few cereal bars were all that stood between me and John’s teenage appetite.
We got back in the blind at about four PM. The sky was now blue and there was no need for jackets. The wind was still absolutely perfect, coming right in the blind’s front windows. Aside from a pair of fox squirrels taking turns running out into the field to grab some beans, action was pretty slow to start with.
At around six a doe and two fawns came out of the woods to the North, followed soon by another doe. They fed back and forth at the far end of the plot, but never wandered close to us. Here I was proud of John… Most of the time the deer stayed around 100 yards distant, and occasionally nibbled to the 80 yard mark. Even though John’s 20g Single shot can do it, he didn’t feel comfortable with the open sight sat that distance and whispered more than once, “Not gonna risk it,” or words to that effect.
At around 6:45 I see the old doe peer off into the woods across a wide farm path with her ears cupped forward. I was looking elsewhere and here John say something like “Whoa….. it’s the buck!” Walking into the open of the farm path is a good-sized deer. To be honest, my glasses prescription is showing it’s age, so I could make out a tall, decent rack but that’s about it. (Binoculars were one thing I had forgotten) The deer just sauntered out in the open, something I still associate mostly with hunting videos, not the paranoid critters I usually hunt. I expected him to pull up, snort, and flee for his life.
But he was there. We were hidden. The wind, at least for now, was still perfect. We had a chance.
“You might get a shot, bud,” I said.
But instead of continuing toward us, he began hoovering up soybeans like a loose goat, sometimes going a full minute or more without raising his head! Maddeningly, he would take these tiny half-steps. Munch a little, take a half step. Sunset was nearing, and I feared the clock would run out with Mr. Half-Step still a mile away.
Then, something happened.
The buck’s head shot up and he looked toward the woods in front of him. His tail raised somewhat and then stuck straight out. For a second I thought he was going to bolt, but he turned and began angling toward us, seemingly unperturbed.
“You know what to do John. When the time is right, go for it,” I said. (The deer was coming from the left and since I was in the left chair, I had to kind of scoot back so I would not obscure John’s vision or otherwise be in the way. I knew that even if I could see the deer, I would not know enough about John’s shot angle to advise him.)
I could see the Buck was approaching longish bow range at a steady walk. Somewhere around forty yards he stopped. I leaned further back, praying.
The gun roared and I saw the buck bound away. He did not appear to be hit, though that can fool you.
After a final leap he stopped on a high spot about 75 yards away, almost perfectly broadside. He looked like a calander photo.
“Shoot him again,” I croaked. The chamber clinked shut. I love that sound.
“BOOM!” The buck charged away. Again, he gave no indications one way or the other as to his health.
As the metaphorical smoke cleared, John was sure he missed, and I was leaning that way. “We should check though,” he said more than once. ( Again that feeling of pride.)
I assured him we would, “but lets give it a minute while I text our host,” I said.
While John sat in the blind I walked to where the deer had been standing at shot number two. As the last light faded I found some big, fresh tracks but no blood. My heart leaped at the sight of a red leaf, but it was one of those yellow leaves with red splotches that looked just like blood. I walked around as we waited for Steve to arrive, feeling sicker by the minute. Soon I heard the rumble of Steve’s polaris UTV, followed by loud honking, which turned out to be one of his crazy, hostile neighbors.
As Steve and John searched the sight of the first shot (eventually finding the wad) I walked to the edge of the woods again where John had said the buck entered. I stopped dead when three nickel-sized spots of slightly darker dirt caught my eye. Daring to hope I bent over and peered, soon spotting a splotch of foamy blood and some hair. Several smaller droplets surrounded it. “GOT BLOOD!” I called, trying not to shout and failing.
Soon we were following a trail of similar drops through the woods. Not a ton, but some was on the snakeroot pretty high up, which made me feel good, and they were bright red, which made me feel even better. The trail was also going in a straight line--another thing that promoted positive thoughts.
Eighty yards or so in, my flashlight beam illuminated a big, dead buck. I don’t remember what I said but I couldn’t keep it secret. Soon we were celebrating.
We drug the deer down by the creek for John dress it out and give it a rinse. I decided the best way to get a good angle was to wade into the water barefooted and volunteered to do the rinsing. It was cold, but at least it was September and not December!
It looks like he lost a brow in velvet, as the base around the missing point is discolored and lacks the beading of the other side. I'll let you all guess how much it weighed. It sure felt heavy. For reference John is about six foot and 190lbs. ** edit: Forgot to mention that we think it was the second shot that hit. High toward the back of the lungs. The first, for whatever reason, went awry. Also, I had a camera running through the whole hunt but due to getting out of the way and making sure to direct John the deer walked right out of frame at the shot. Got some recovery footage too. **
A number of things made this hunt special. We were hunting a friend’s land, a place he had poured hours of effort into and was certainly under no obligation to share with us. He has always insisted that John try for a buck there. Other than helping him string some fence I had done nothing as far as helping or improving the land goes. John was carrying a gun given to him by the same man, a gun that he and his children have all taken deer with. On his belt was a knife given to him weeks ago by the man’s son, in a sheath skillfully made by another friend. Last but certainly not least, I was hunting with my son, a smart, decent and healthy sixteen year old, enjoying the greatest of freedoms in the best country on Earth. I wish you all many such moments.
