After a slow first week of November, the building pressure of the rut yielded an exciting encounter with a thick, eight-point buck on the 12th. While the circumstances played against me and I was not successful, I thoroughly enjoyed the experience. It was a great reminder of why I hunt and a real boost to my confidence.
Saturday morning was preceded by a substantial cold front. The forecast showed lingering rains which would clear away to a crisp fall day with a slowly dropping temperature. I decided to hunt in a new area that morning. I had e-scouted what I thought would be a good pinch point to target cruising bucks. In a frustrating but somewhat vindicating twist, I bumped a deer off a nearby oak flat as I struggled to access my spot in the dark. It snorted and cleared out, presumably taking all the other deer in the area with it. As the sun rose, I also discovered that my pinch point wasn’t quite what I expected, and there was a mildy travelled human trail through it as well.
So far I have bumped a handful of deer in the dark this season, which is really making me reconsider my access. I’m beginning to think that if I don’t have prisine access routes, I should either a) hunt somewhere else, or b) sacrifice the first 30 minutes of daylight to creep in with precision while avoiding animals. It’s a good feeling to know that deer are in the places that I’m choosing on a map, site unseen. But so far, any time I’ve bumped a deer before daylight, I haven’t seen deer in the area for the rest of the morning.
After riding out my original position for a couple hours, I decided to try a different pinch point for the afternoon. If a deer had come through, it really would have been a great setup. But there wasn’t an overwhelming amount of sign, and the old fields around the pinch point where mostly filled with brush. If the deer wanted to get around me, it wouldn’t have been that hard. I didn’t see any deer throughout the day.
For the evening, I decided to make my way to an area I was more familiar with. I was confident there would be acorns, and I had seen deer there often. The wet leaves allowed me to still hunt into the area without too much noise. Once I got to the spot I had in mind, I sat down with my back against a large tree to wait it out. In front of me was a network of old, broken creek bottoms. I expected the deer to feed along them, giving me a decent shot. The wind was in my face.
With 45 minutes of daylight remaining, I heard a slight brushing noise directly to my left. I peered over to see the horizontal outline of a gray deer, 40 yards away. Just as soon as I saw him I lost him again in the bushes. I resolved not to move until I could see where his eyes were at. Instead of shifting and alerting him of my presence, I wanted to wait until his head went behind a tree, and then adjust and raise my crossbow in a single motion. Soon I caught sight of him again, and this time I could discern a muscular body and a well developed rack.
While I like to think that I’m focused on meat when I’m hunting, I’ve definitely been itching to kill a buck this season. My expectations for a buck aren’t high, either. On the public land that I hunt, I had never seen a buck with more than three points, and even those seem rare. Really any buck would do, though I might pass on a spike.
Needless to say, this buck shattered all my expectations. I could hear the blood pounding in my ears as the buck walked towards me, closing the distance, but now behind my left shoulder. I craned my neck as I tried to keep an eye on him, waiting for an opportunity. He was well within range, but there was no cover to obscure his vision. Finally, he hung up behind two trees, his shoulder completely hidden. At this point, the buck was behind me, and I knew the game would soon be up. I could see the wheels turning in his head as he started to sus me out. The breeze picked up a little and he struck the classic “I see you” pose, quartering towards me, one foot lifted. But instead stomping, he did what any smart old buck would do and hightailed it out of there.
I bleated at him to no avail. After visually confirming he was good and gone, I laid back against the tree, eyes closed, feeling the tide of adrenaline washing over me and then receding. My heart was beating so hard that my binoculars were bouncing on my chest. I felt like I had just ran the 200, all while sitting completely still.
Though I would have loved to kill that buck, I could hardly allow myself to be disappointed. I never expected to see a buck that size, much less come within 16 yards of him. (I ranged the tree he stopped behind after the fact). He was a magnificent creature, and I feel blessed to have had such a special encounter. Those tense moments felt primal and innate, as if I was entering in to a ritual as old as time. It is the lot of the predator to lose his prey, and I am no exception.
Persistence Outdoors 