I quietly pushed the door to my Toyota Tacoma shut, put the camo-clad armless collapsible chair in the lower part of the straps to my camo-clad back-pack, somehow got into the whole monstrosity, and made my way south along the first ridge above the western shore of Alder pond. In the early morning light I wasn’t gonna make out any new trail dynamics so I crept along slowly. I did a double take of my pockets making sure I had all my gear. Late summer early fall scouting hadn’t come up with much sign or movement in my area so I was hoping my old honey-hole would give me some action. It was a hunch because I hadn’t done it justice with any scouting this season.
True-Fire wrist-strap release, Bear Archery Whitetail-Master compound bow, arrows in quiver, .357 Magnum in pack, (it is still bear season) camo-clad seat cushion strapped to my belt hanging at my butt, scent killer applied back at truck, my possibles bag (back-pack) stuffed with sundry goodies for the hunt, dominant Buck cover scent applied on boots back at truck, and dang… No digital camera, I knew I forgot something in my opening day excitement. Leatherman on belt and hunting knife; Old Time Sharp Finger w/gutt-hook at the ready. I carefully pulled the Realtree AP HD spandex head and neck sock over my head, straightened out the hole for my eyes and replaced my Boston Red Sox camo cap (in Realtree AP HD of course, to go with the rest of my head to toe Realtree AP HD camo) back to it’s position on top of my head. I slid on my light screen mesh archery camo gloves, took a peak at my bow, nocked a black carbon fiber arrow w/Magnus Stinger Buzz-Cut broad-head, slid on the arrow holder and off I went…
The going wasn’t quiet as we hadn’t had any substantial rainfall in a while. The leaves had already been falling for a week or so and there was enough crunch-factor to make my presence known for some distance. The geese and ducks on Alder Pond were already deep in loud conversation so I had some good cover noise anyway. The echoing trumpeting from the pond surface was like a long over-due welcome home.
I carefully picked my way thru the black and grey blobs of cover and trees until the increasing daylight gave me enough grey haze to recognize where I was and where I was going like the memory of an old forgotten friend. The shrill and mournful cries of the Wood Ducks called to me thru the lower pitched trumpeting of the geese. The occasional ornery old man scolding of the Mallards always makes me want to laugh out loud with it’s random nature. The crows joined the chorus and gave me all the cover noise I needed to hopefully find my way to “my spot” undetected.
I had to navigate thru some newly uncharted grounds as it is apparent that the unseasonal tropical rains of spring and early summer had taken it’s toll on some of the old growth trees along the ridge. As I neared my honey-hole it looked as if a micro-burst had dropped several gargantuan oaks like a child’s pile of “Lincoln Logs” on the carpet. As I picked my way around the upraised root & earthen walls over and around the dead soldiers of nature’s glory, I spied my familiar grounds seemingly untouched within a few mere yards of this wooded carnage.
I snaked toward the waters edge and around some trees to approach my hide from a direction that wouldn’t put my scent plainly in my prospective shooting lanes. “My spot” was perfectly intact and exactly as I had left it from the year before. I gave a quick survey of my surroundings and made sure no monster Bucks were eyeing me queerly during this poignant home-coming. I dropped my pack w/chair, and got down on my hands and knees and cleaned the leaf litter out of the little depression where the root-ball had up-turned when an old oak tree had lain down for a rest and the log of another had laid down right along side it like a mated pair. The 2nd dead-fall giving a natural cover along the front side of the hole the 1st had left vacated in the ground effectively blocking view of me from game along the ridge and game trail Deer-run that passes right by within 5 – 20 yards depending upon the branch of the Deer-run a Buck may choose to utilize.
I opened the folding chair and placed it down in “My spot.” I undid the Velcro strap that secured my seat cushion to my belt as slowly and quietly as I could making use of some trumpeting blasts from my friends on the surface of the nearby lily-pad infested waters and placed it in the chair and settled myself in like a retired veteran in a rocking chair on the front porch of a log cabin in the woods. I was home…
I settled in and grabbed the binoculars to glass my surroundings. I found that the spandex camo face-mask made my breath come up and out the hole for my eyes fogging the binocs so I had to hold my breath when I glassed the cover for evidence of wildlife beyond the sharp capabilities of my normal vision. A slight annoyance, but workable.
Realizing that the 2nd thing I forgot in my zeal to head out on opening morning was my Windicator. (the little squeeze bottle of odorless powder used to test ambient wind/breeze direction) I closed my eyes and let my senses take over. The ambient breeze was in my face, perfect.
Recalling last years experiences from this very spot; my first Bow season ever at age 40, I reveled in the memory of the Buck I played cat and mouse with in this very spot last year. That 2 ½ year old buck between 8 & 10 points should be a fairly matured 3 ½ year old impressive specimen this year if he survived last years hunting season. I had no indication that anyone harvested him out of here last year so my chances seem good that he’ll be back. I’m also excited to see what other Bucks may wish to challenge him for this premium locale that seems to have everything to offer in Deer habitat; water, plenty of feed; acorns, beech nuts, and all manner of browse, and especially Does. I remembered the herd of Does that just about over-ran me here last year on another occasion.
It was too dark to get a good look at sign on my way in so I decided to try and inspect the oak, beech, and hemlock saplings from my position. It took a little getting used to holding my breath not to fog my binoculars, but I managed. I couldn’t detect anything that appeared to be a rub from this year. If my memory serves correct this placed was rubbed all to hell by this time last year. But my summer/fall scouting told me that there was no such Buck sign anywhere in my travels yet this year anyway. Either it will be a late rut or the Bucks have found elsewhere to roam. The early tropical rainfall and late summer drought have made for an interesting off season for the wildlife to say the least.
The Wild Turkeys are shunning Red Brook valley and I suspect it is in large part to the massive explosion in the Birds of Prey population that has taken place in this location this year. There is always fresh Coyote sign to be found, and last evening while sitting by an outdoor fire we heard an aggressive Coyote barking, yipping, and howling from Wolf Hill, moving right along thru the area I’m set up in, crossing Fomer Rd. Northbound and running the valley of the north-most feeder brook to Alder pond up toward Mt. Pomeroy behind the houses along Crooked Ledge Rd. Not to mention the huge Bobcat I saw mid summer near the same location. Between the Owls and Hawks I think the Birds of Prey have done a number on the Wild Turkey young and the adults are staying away.
My skills of stealth and stillness were returning to me as the Red squirrels surrounded me in their existential exercises of foraging and winter preparation tasks. One ran across the deadfall in front of me and across the upturned root-ball that made up the left/east wall of my little hide that blocked direct view of the pond from me. A woods mouse came out from under the log and onto my boot before it realized I was there and scurried back where it had come from. I could hear the tell-tale skittering of the Red Squirrel behind me as it tried to ascertain just what I was. I had to keep still so he didn’t go into alarm mode like the little hit-or-miss engine puttering they love to exhibit when they see something they don’t like in their area. I try to keep track of them because they make for excellent little game alerts if a Bear, Deer, or Coyote come in they’ll quite often give ‘em away, and just as often give me away if I’m not stealthy enough.
The morning hut went by with uneventful natural bliss and I saw no Deer move thru My Spot. I got up around 10:AM and went down to the waters edge and took in the view. I glassed around and watched the Geese and Ducks for nearly 20 minutes of piquant investigation. The Beaver hut on the eastern shore across from me is very large and must accommodate many Beavers in a large family. The wood Ducks are my favorite to listen to and watch, there is something majestic about them that sets them apart from all the rest. The traffic had since slowed to a snails pace compared to the pre-dawn restlessness of the Geese preparing for their travels south. The multitudinous flights taking off in noisy raucous fashion throughout the morning make for good cover noise for turning and inspecting portions of my surroundings I cannot see from my silent, still, and motionless post.
I trekked back out to my truck by about 10:30 inspecting the brush and cover for any fresh Buck sign. I found none. No fresh scat and no rubs from this year that I can detect whatsoever. The only evidence of Deer is the well worn game trails that show signs of constant trampling use to give me hope of an encounter with my Buck. I went back home for lunch and took mental stock of the views, sounds, and natural inspiration of the morning. The coming afternoon's hunt already stirring excitement in my mind…
Did some chores, ate some lunch, and took a nap. Readied myself for the afternoon hunt and packed my gear back up and off I was. I pulled into my parking spot, an old access opening that went into the woods a few yards to a dead-fall that successfully blocked the trail from going any further right next to the posted sign. I am very fortunate for close friends and their family that have given me exclusive rights to hunt this property. I quietly locked and closed the truck door again after making sure I had everything. I realized the temperature had sky-rocketed while I napped and it was almost 70 degrees out now. I was way over-dressed as I had donned some thermals expecting the temp to have dropped with the incoming wind, but it had done just the opposite. This was going to require some careful effort on my part not to get sweated-up on my way in. An actual 67 degrees is no much like Deer Hunting to me.
I pulled my spandex face camo over my head and replaced my Lucky Red Sox cap and started in. I took an excruciatingly long time to cover the distance to My Spot. I would have taken the opportunity to account for any Deer Sign that I might have missed in my excitement of the morning hunt on opening day, only there wasn’t any… Except for the well worn game trails showing a pass-thru travel pattern, there was no fresh Deer sign at all other than the knowledge of their penchant for loving this area when the rut is on and traveling thru it the rest of the year.
The Ducks and Geese were extremely active this afternoon, and I have remembered to pack up the digital cam this time so I figured I’d shoot some pics and even some video. I set up my hide to my liking and grabbed the digital cam leaving the bow behind in my hide. I snuck the 20 yards or so to the water’s edge and had a beautiful panoramic scene to capture and flocks of Geese were taking off and being their general noisy selves. I turned on the camera and… Nothing, stone dead. It wouldn’t even turn on the view screen and shut itself off after failing to initialize. I tried again hoping I had somehow turned it off by mistake, but I had not. My step-daughter had obviously been into the batteries again when her’s had come to the end of their usefulness. She has a penchant for borrowing batteries out of other’s things and returning them chargeless… She had struck again… I smiled to myself as any thought of that little she-devil makes me smile. She is a part of my life no matter where or what I am doing and it’s all good! Oh well, batteries, I’ll have to remember to purchase batteries before opening day next year…
I settled in and got into position after taking a standing scan/glassing of my surroundings. The leaf-litter was still noisy, but not quite as bad as first AM due to the heat softening up things so that frosty moisture of the morning dew could seep into the ground and the leaves. The skittering of the Squirrels and Chipmunks was a little less noticeable and no longer sounded like the stampeding Elephants that it does in the crackling morning frost. My Wood Ducks kept talking to me from the surface of the pond and the Geese would come and go in flights and fits of splashing on the water. The exploding color of the fall foliage was just starting to hint at its pinnacle splendor yet to come.
I toyed with my Primo’s Li’l can bleat call and remembered that I had lost my Buck Grunt tube last year on my last hunt of shotgun season. I had settled down and taken it out of my possibles bag and had it nearby and had left it there in the woods and never bothered going back for it. I’ll have to acquire a new one this year, bummer…
This ambient wind direction was again in my face and perfect for My Spot. I haven’t figured out how it is always perfect here. It always seems to drift down off of Wolf Hill and out across the bottoms of Alder pond. I’ll keep my faith in the answer of divine intervention and leave it at that. Not a great miracle since it hasn’t garnished me Venison in the freezer out of here yet, but a nice thought none-the-less.
Another run-in with a Red Squirrel foraging almost onto my camo-clad chair and then retreating up the Hemlock tree that was my back cover out on the branch that was mere feet from my head and it finally ventured off in search of more winter stores and left me be to my silent still self. Another victory in my battle to be as stealthy as possible.
Darkness gathered and the bright sunlight dimmed to a grey haze and when I could no longer make out the sight-pins on my cobra sight on my Fred Bear inspired/inspiring bow, I repacked my belongings and took a deep refreshing breath of my hunt. It was good to be back.
And this was just the first day…
10/18/2008…
I had a nice visit from a bird of prey while out in my honey-hole Saturday morning. I had been settled in for a couple hours already seeing nothing moving larger than a grey squirrel, or Canada Goose on Alder pond beside me...
I was deciding on whether or not to play with my Primo's Li'l Can bleat-can/call or if I wanted to glass the brush and cover at the edge of my normal vision limits again when all of a sudden... Some bird of prey whizzed by my head by about 1 foot from my left ear. The root ball of the upturned Oak that protrudes up just over my head height on the pond side of my hide is only about 2 feet from my left ear, this bird banked and sliced right in between my head and the roots and did an air speed killing horizontal turn about 8 feet in front of me to take a slower look at what I was and went by me on my right side with a bird of prey squeak/whistle and back to where it must have been perched behind me about 50 yards away.
The best I can make out by my online research is that it was a female American Kestrel. It wasn't real big, thankfully, but it was very obviously a capable bird of prey that wanted a closer look at what I was. It was very exciting and she gave me a really good look at her coloration and pattern, not to mention and close look at her eyes as she gave me the once-over... It was awesome!
I guess I must be doing pretty good at staying still & quiet when the predatory wildlife wants to get a closer look-see at me like that...
Thankfully the New England tight brush and cover doesn't give enough room for Condors, which thankfully don't reside around here, or the no longer existent Pterodactyls, enough room to pull off such maneuvers or I probably wouldn't be typing this to you... ;)
I also am glad that I would have a far easier time detecting Bears and Coyotes with the Corn-Flakes like newly falling dry leaf cover on the forest floor...
10/22/2008
On the way home from work last evening (10/21/2008) I spotted 2 Deer out in Acus's field on Fomer Rd. They were right near the woods line on the north side of the field near the Beaver swamp dog-leg down in the woods off of Red Brook just a little above it on the eastern slope above the feeder creek that comes out into the field into the little farm/Duck pond.
I didn't see any antlers and in fact it looked to me, as they both had their heads down feeing, that they were the same Doe and last years skipper that have remained true to the area. But I couldn't quite tell. I get home and someone had also seen them and told my wife that one of them was a "monster" Buck. Well, this was more incentive than I could take so I quickly camo'd-up grabbed my possibles and put them in a camo fanny-pack, grabbed by bow and away I went.
Out the back yard, over my little ATV bridge that I recently widened to accommodate a larger wheel-base that the little borrowed Honda Big Red ATC I utilize, across the hay-field/back-yard of my neighbor and into the ATV trail leading toward Red Brook. I got down the slope and found the ATV trail wasn't terribly muddy at this time as I still expected after the lack of real rain we've had, but the slight rains of the day have quieted the going down considerably. Our log ATV bridge across Red Brook is now a 2-log pedestrian bridge after the remains of the last Hurricane that swept thru our area back in August washing the majority of the bridge downstream. I carefully watched my footing, one on either of the two 1-foot in diameter logs, and made my way across the expanse. A fall would hurt more if I landed on the bridge than off. It's only about 2,1/2 - 3 feet off the water. I zigzagged with the gathering of trails and made my way up to the little 1-lane ATV bridge across the next feeder creek. I was striding strong and fast and it gave me a weird perception that I was taller than I am. I felt strong, tall, and fast as I hoofed toward the back side of the field from the woods in a vaguely southeast direction. I must have made it down and over the board bridge across the next feeder creek in mere seconds and then up and around, past the remains of the teenager fort that was now an abandoned pile of defiance.
Along the flat down over the knob more eastward now and across the next little ATV bridge and onto the Delnaro's/Klein's property. Up the hill and past the bird house lying on the ground at a 3-corners convergence of trails bearing right and getting to the next fork. I turned right and down into the little valley across the wet run-off area and up the little pine needle covered knob onto the flat that the main trail leads directly toward the field. I slowed to a hunter pace here. I must have made it out here in 10 minutes or so. My heart was beating furiously and I was breathing a touch hard for my efforts to get here in a hurry. Now it was time to stalk.
I made my way along the trail toward the field at a snails pace listening and watching for movement from just about any direction because I didn't know if the Deer were still in the field feeding or if they had retired to the cover of the woods to move toward a different feeding ground. No signs of life other than an occasional Squirrel and bird. As the evening commute of cars up Fomer road toward the suburban/rural homes settled into a predictable pattern, I utilized the cover noise for my own movements as each car would come into audible range and grow louder I was advance toward my intended location. Arrow now nocked and firmly in the arrow holder that caused me quite a humorous adventure last season, I placed my index finger tip on the arrow holder ready to poke it off of the arrow BEFORE drawing the bow if the situation unfolds to give me an opportunity for a shot. I could see the brighter sky of the open field thru the trees from where I was. I steadied and listened more intently trying to discern any tell-tale evidence of movement of any feeding/moving Deer. My grandiose efforts to reach this position quickly may have been for naught as the daylight was already waning due to the overcast sky it was growing dark earlier this evening than it had been up to now. I was trying to attain a position flanked by the young Hemlocks that resided right on the inside bend in the trail at the corner where it turns east and parallels the back of the field and over looks the little flat-iron on top of the ridge over-looking the dog-leg of the southern most Beaver swamp along my stretch of Red Brook and also over-looks the back edge of the field on Acus's stretch of Fomer Rd.
It was growing steadily darker and I could see the headlights of vehicles traveling along Fomer Rd. now as they passed by giving me the final cover-noise to cross the distance to the spot I wanted to be in. The traffic volume had dropped considerably and I had made it with barely minutes to go of shooting light. I closed my eyes and took mental stock of my surroundings acclimating myself to nature and getting in-tune with the wilderness. I heard long-legged footsteps retreating away from me at some distance. It seems as if I hit the spot just barely too late as the movement seemed to be headed off about as far away as I could possibly detect such movement with my human ears. It, whatever it was, made distinctly 4-legged steps, not the constant skittering noise of a squirrel, or even the trotting constant flowing motion of a Coyote, and certainly less rambling and oafy as a Bear would be not knowing of my presence. I was certain it was a Deer, but it went out of hearing in a southwesterly direction toward the Beaver swamp, Red Brook, and the 4-corners of Fomer and Crooked Ledge Rd. It was traveling more or less toward my Honey-Hole over on Alder pond...
I stayed put and listened for the off chance that a stray Coyote might turn it back toward me or another one might come from or to another direction, but it was almost completely dark out now and there was no moonlight tonight to light my way home. I had about a half mile to go in the darkness.
Arrow back in quiver, as I couldn't even slightly make out my sight-pins any longer. And hunting knife in my front pocket at the ready of my right hand as I had left my pistol home in my haste to get to this potential circumstantive spot. I began hoofing my way back as certain of these trails as I am anything. I travel the distance not as quickly as I did on my way out, but briskly none the less. Eyeing the grayness for any large dark blobs of movement that might betray the presence of a Bear or the more lithe graceful movements of a lighter grey form of what might be a Deer, and the ever present alertness for any possible roving pack of Coyotes that might be looking to make a meal out of me if offered an opportunity I most assuredly won't give them.
As I crested the little knob in the ATV trail and turned to my left descending the slope back toward the little 1-lane ATV bridge, I settled into a sense of security seeing the light of my neighbors house thru the woods still across the Brook and up the other side, when suddenly...
A crash, then another... I froze in my tracks and picked out the tell-tale white flag of a Deer that was moving along parallel to Red Brook on this the east side headed in a southerly direction. It bounded across the feeder creek that the little bridge crossed and passing to my left within about 8 yards of me. It was so dark I couldn't even make out a head or body at this short distance and all I could see was it's flag like a ghostly merry-go-round bobbing along as it bounded by. I pursed my lips and drew in a breath making a kissy noise and it stopped dead in it's tracks not just out of sight in the darkness. I reached into my possibles bag and retrieved my Primo's Li'l Can bleat call and gave it a couple quick turns so as to not alarm the Deer in such a way as to make it not wish to move thru here normally. I heard it begin to walk away in less alarm and rather tentatively, and that's when I smelled a stench that seemed to me like something rotted or a dead animal. I quickly snapped my head around trying to detect a dark blob that would betray the Bear I thought surely must be chasing this Deer to be the source of this smell, but no sound of movement and no visual cues of a big dark blob in the night. I started off toward the log bridge not wanting to stick around and investigate further at this time and the stench grew stronger as I crossed the spot the Deer had bounded across the trail.
I quickly came to the bridge and allowed my vision to focus on it's location and placed my feet one on each log and shuffled across to the other side. As I trudged up the slope toward the hay field behind my house, it dawned on my that the smell was either this Deer being a Doe in Estrus or a Buck starting into Rut with his scent glands working over-time. I chuckled to myself out loud at not realizing this at first, but my first instincts on such smells are always to survey for the presence of a Bear when I'm alone in the woods.
The 2 things I took with me back to the house as I walked joyfully back across my little ATC land-bridge over a culvert-pipe, was that;
A) The Deer are again, since this latest cold-snap that dropped to 25 degrees a night ago, moving thru the area that they return to every year about this time, meaning the action is about to pick up, and,
B) If either the Does are in Estrus and/or The Bucks are going into Rut, the remainder of Bow season should prove to be fun!
I suspect this is an immature Doe that has gone into Estrus early or an immature Buck that is starting to Rut early and there is still quite some time before we see evidence of the core of The Rut, but it is coming surely enough and the Deer are coming back to the area again...
It's all good!!!
10/24/2008 Morning Hunt
Another Saturday morning into the 2008 MA Bow season for Deer and I wasn’t even sure if I was going. I didn’t feel so good and chores required to prepare for winter were weighing heavy on my mind. But it was a Saturday morning and these were the opportunities I have to hunt so I decided to make the most of it.
Got myself all prepped, 40 degrees out, no frost, and still no rain to speak of. The going was going to be crunchy and loud until I got to “My Spot.” The last time out I carefully trimmed numerous branches on my way out so that the going on the way in when dark would be more clear and traversable without the distraction, delay, or noise of pushing thru such branches. It paid off as I made really good quick time getting into place. I sprayed the same nearby hemlock branches with my little pump bottle of Dominant Buck Lure that I use as a cover/masking scent in addition to the Autumn formula (fresh earth) Scent Killer spray that I coat myself and my equipment with before leaving the truck.
Before all that, I take a quick shower with Hunter’s Specialties Scent-A-Way body-wash/shampoo combo and apply the Hunter’s Specialties Scent-A-Way anti-perspirant/deodorant and get out of the house as quickly as I’m dressed so not to sweat up in my hunting clothing. I’ll even go so far as to put my hunting clothes on the front seat of my truck and dress in only my thermal underwear inside the house and finish dressing in my hunting camo out in the darkness of my driveway if the house is too warm from the wood-burning furnace or if I’m in too much of a rush and libel to sweat myself up rushing around like a mad man if I’m running a little late for what I think should be a good time to get going.
I mocked a Buck making a fresh scrape and cleaned all the leaf litter out of the little depression of my hide and settled in on my borrowed camo chair and my camo foam insulated seat pad. I also had some great cover noise again this morning from the flights of trumpeting Canada Geese their surface splashings and general carrying-on. As the morning time passed into light I marveled at the little details I get to tune into; like the wispy whistling of the wings of the Canada Geese when they fly that is so prevalent when you are so close to them and in between their honking flight checks you can hear the barely audible wisp, wisp, wisp whistle of their flapping wings as they go by in a familiar V-formation flight gradually gaining altitude and speed.
On one of my less alert for Deer moments I actually watched a group gather up into formation on the pond surface and listen to the honking flight-check prep and the splashing efforts as they all took flight in unison to hear the drastic change from watery wing-tipped splashing efforts to the smooth almost silent grace of their aerial progression gaining speed, altitude and attitude as their honking and trumpeting seemed to increase with their gain in altitude. As they flew out of sight I marveled at the miracles of God’s creation and the epic wonder at what life holds in every little nook & cranny.
Speaking of nooks & crannies, I was starting to have visions of English Muffins and biscuits-‘n’-gravy, I was having hunger pains from skipping breakfast and itching for a large coffee in the worst way. I had only tossed down 1 cup of coffee as the entirety of my breakfast to wash down the cocktail of my blood-pressure meds and off I went…
I snapped myself back to the task at hand with the loud protestations of what must assuredly be a herd of Wildebeests in the crisp crunch and crackle of the now drying out recently fallen layer of Autumn discarded leaves covering the forest floor with a uniform golden beige color of movement noise enhancers… I found the impending stampede that was sure to over-run me was nothing more than my faithful friends; the Squirrels as they foraged for more hidden food-stuffs to store away for the winter. We are in grave need of some rainfall to quiet that nonsense down and the gray overcast sky seemed to hold some promise which was giving me mixed emotions as I wasn’t keen on the idea of getting soaked in my quest for The Mystical Flight of the Arrow.
Then a different noise caught my attention. Moving along the waters edge in the few yards of reeds and cattails that layered into the water from the shore, something was moving along in and out of the water. I could hear an oddly measured/timed movement in the reeds, then some splashing, then some movement in the reeds, then some more splashing. It didn’t figure that the Squirrels would be jumping in and out of the water and as the noise drew nearer excited me with anticipation of the prospect of a Buck trying to outwit me and bypass me on the waters edge to my blind-side which was entirely possible. Yet the willingness of whatever this creature was to let itself make so much noise led me to dismiss the wishful thinking of it being my Buck of locale. I could hear whatever it was passing by me in a northerly direction along the shoreline merely 20 yards at most from my position. Yet I could see nothing even where I could clearly hear the movement. The noise was now directly opposite me at it’s closest point to me along the shore and I could even see the parting and swaying of the reeds and cattails as it moved along the waters edge. I grabbed my binoc’s and carefully peered into the reeds, yet I could see nothing. My mind raced to fill in the blanks; could it be Geese searching for a likely nesting spot, or maybe my fond friends the Wood Ducks keeping their wary selves out of open sight to something they didn’t want to let see them skirting the reeds along the water’s edge. I suppose it could be the Beavers in search of some brush and fallen trees to carry off to their hut or dam, maybe even a stray Mink or something. It seemed too loud to be my Wood Ducks and moved too fast on the land portion of it’s route to be Either Ducks or Geese. As it moved of with increasing splashing as it moved out of view I surmised and supposed that it must have been Beavers in search of something that it wanted. It seemed to be the only explanation I could apply to the facts of the noises and movements for the time being…
I settled back in and pondered with annoyance for not having been able to see whatever it was from only 20 yards away with binoculars even though I was back in the woods-line a bit. I settled back in and took a hard glass of the Deer possible area hoping that my standing and gawking toward the waterline hadn’t spooked any incoming Deer away, which I’m sure it most certainly would have if there were any Deer close by, but I was careful to keep my ears perked and listen for any sounds of a Deer bounding off behind me while surveying the movements of the yet unidentified creatures at the water’s edge.
As I settled back down, the temperature seemed to be dropping and I was eventually growing a touch chilly. I donned another layer of my Realtree Hardwoods camo sweatshirt and zipped up the top quarter-zip over the base of my Realtree AP HD camo head covering so the slight upturn of the spandex wouldn’t reveal the white of it’s inner side in stark contrast to my otherwise camo’ed from head to toe self. I then pulled a camo fleece neck-gaiter over that which came up and covered my now chilly ears and I pulled on my thin wool gloves over my mesh camo bow hunters gloves and settled back into my endeavors of stillness. I scanned the entirety of my area’s brush and cover glassing for any tell-tale signs of Deer and found none. I studied the hardwoods saplings and the hemlock trunks for any evidence of fresh rubs and found none.
The Deer activity levels and movement patters were definitely on the increase from the local sightings and fellow hunter’s info. I am hoping this Honey-Hole of mine will soak up some of that new activity and my Buck’s historic haunts will come back into play as the pre-rut seems to be getting under way.
9:30 rolled around and It was time to still-hunt my way back to my truck. I had chores to do and some errands to run. The splashing on the water’s surface seemed to be increasing and the honking and trumpeting of the Geese had ceased for a little while now, so I snuck down to the water’s edge to investigate. I caught movement and watch a couple Wood Ducks swim and meander their way around the patches of Lilly pads and the underwater deadwood and logs that dot the bottom of Alder Pond. That’s when I heard some real noisy splashing from the eastern shoreline area almost directly across the pond from my position. I glassed over and spotted movement, it looked a little like a Beavers head as it progressed in a southerly direction near the opposite shore. Then I saw another behind it. Then I saw a tell-tale rolling dive/swim style that was nothing like the way the Beavers ease thru the water flat and calm. These things were splashing, playing, diving, and swimming along. Then I saw the tail and that clinched it… 2 Otters having a ball rolling, diving, splashing, and just basically rousting about. These had to be what came down the shoreline past me earlier and why I couldn’t see them. They were slick and rubbery in their flexible movements and never rose to a height that would have allowed me to see them even though they were so close to me in the reeds. They were fun to watch and they seemed to be a pretty big couple of specimens of Otter. Up close they would have been impressive in size. I’m just glad they aren’t Fishers! That was another possibility that had crossed my mind in trying to figure what they were before getting to see them.
It was a pleasant experience in contrast to the sadness at finding a mated pair of otters road-killed in and on the side of the road on my way to work about 3 weeks ago out on route 10 near the Home Depot Distribution Center just past the intersections of routes 10 & 202 north in Westfield. They weren’t too close to any water sources I know about except for a small beaver pond/creek across the open grass field across from the DC.
Seeing these 2 Otters alive and well made up for it and gave me a more positive outlook for my area. It could have been more than 2 but their movements were so radical and quick that I was never able to see 2 of them on the waters surface together at once. I suspect they are probably a mated pair.
I headed back to my truck and attended to the errands and chores I had to see to, and then the rains set in. I gave up the idea of an afternoon hunt seeing the gusting swirling winds and driving rain showers that came and went. The winds would have been enough to ruin the afternoon hunt even without the rains. We got some good hard rainfall that evening and night and if it were legal to hunt on Sunday it would have been a good quiet morning hunt… Oh well, I’ll just have to wait until evening after work come Monday…
10/30/2008
After work I hurried into my my hunting camo and made my way out my back yard. I pack light on hunts after work because I know I only have about an hour and a half at best of hunting and I won’t be sitting. These after-work hunts are a ballet of hurrying to a spot behind my house and being stealthy as I get to an area I intend to find a spot to hide in the cover hoping to intercept a Buck during his dusky movement pattern.
Generally I hoof across the land-bridge over a culvert pipe, over the ancient stone-wall into the old farm/hay field that was a corn field in my youth, that is now the back yard of my neighbor of my hunting clan, and over the ancient stone-wall on the opposite side of the field, along an ATV trail, down a slope from the ridge to a brook crossing spot that a good log ATV bridge that was built early this year to be washed out from the remains of a hurricane that came up the coast from Florida, and now all that remains of it are 2 logs side-by-side that work well as a pedestrian bridge.
As I got to the logs I saw a flag and heard a crash. About 40 yards downstream and on the opposite bank I could see a nice sized Deer body lazily bounding away from me in an easterly direction. It wasn’t moving in a terribly alarmed fashion, but it was obviously now aware of my presence. I was busted before my hunt even began…
I did my best to hunker down and confuse my outline and image, and crossed the log bridge in haste, I spied it again taking a few more lazy bounds away from me at about 65 yards out and 30 yards over. It was getting more directly in front of me headed away. I suspected this Deer to be a 3-point buck, the funky fork-horn that has been identified and even shot at with a bow by the patriarch of my hunting clan this season already. This area is their regular movement pattern now that the temperatures have dropped to a more seasonal norm.
I zig-zagged with the ATV trail convergence in a basically eastern direction and kept low to do my best to keep from being seen. I utilized the little feeder-creek that bubbled along down toward Red Brook behind me now for cover noise and as long as I had the splashing and bubbling of the fairly well moving creek waters at my feet I moved quickly to try and cover the gap. I caught another glimpse of the Deer making a couple more lazy bounds as I passed the little 1-lane ATV bridge that our hunting clan’s patriarch had installed across this little feeder creek when they made this little connector trail in this ATV trail convergence spot. I made a hurried crouched charge up the slight hill and over the rim to a flat-iron swampy area on the other side of a ring of pines.
I kept to the darker cover under the pines and moved slightly southward to put myself a little closer to the Deer and in a different area than my approach direction would make the Deer think I was. I utilized the seasonally discarded pine needles under my feet to keep my movements quiet as I ventured onto a little knob that had some good hemlock trees for cover and gave me a couple good shooting lanes where the Deer just might approach from as I was pretty certain it was looking to cross my path to get to it’s normal run. I settled in to be as still as I possibly could.
Several times I heard what certainly seemed to be a Deer’s tentative footsteps, but never close enough or loud enough to give me any hope or certain identification. In fact I didn’t see anything but squirrels again as darkness settled in on me.
Close, but no cigar. It left me pondering whether I would harvest this young buck or if I would let him go and grow into something bigger and better if I had indeed been given a good possibility at taking him, it in fact it even was him as I had never seen the head and didn’t even know if it was indeed even a Buck I had seen this evening.
I had even hoped that maybe a bigger Buck was pushing the little guy and might come up behind him giving me an opportunity to harvest something a little bigger and better than the odd little fork-horn, but nothing came that I was able to detect before shooting light was gone and I was left to make my way back, pondering my tight-rope walk of rushing in after work to get to a spot and letting too much time pass as if I employed too much stealth in my stalk into a spot for a hunt in the waning daylight.
Again, the positive outlook is that now I am seeing Deer during the hunt in one of my hunting spots that is close to my house that up until the recent cold-snap seemed completely barren of Deer life. They are settling into more historically normal movement and area patterns and that in and of itself is a good thing.
10/31/2008
I came home from work and hurried in the front door to get to my camo and walking in I looked down the hall and out thru my dining room, out the sliding glass doors and across my deck into my back yard to see this…
The little guy on the left is a button buck from this early spring and the not much larger girl on the right is his Momma, A small Doe that is apparently quite comfortable in and normally from my/our area.
Realizing that my hurried attempts to dress and then blast across my back yard to go hunting would invariably send these two off alarmed and in fear which would do me zero good in my attempts to put myself in a position to get a possible shot at a Buck of legal shooting stature.
I resigned myself to the fact that since daylight savings was coming this weekend, this was the end of my after work Deer hunting for the season. I accepted this fact with a touch of sadness, but understanding that this is the truism of every year at this time when daylight savings reverts and I loose an hour of daylight after work to exercise my Deer hunting endeavors.
I made the most of the situation and took many digital picture of the two of them including some digital-cam video footage. I used the opportunity to practice so stealthy skills and actually carefully open the slider and creep slowly out onto the deck and up to the railing to take better and closer pictures and video footage. The two of them looked at me a few times in this process but never saw me move when they did and never went into alarm mode, nor did they ever tear off or even raise their flags in alert. They went about their business feeding around in my back yard for about a half hour or so and allowed me to watch them in complete security and harmony while all the while hoping that my dog Cheyenne, whom I had let out when arriving home, didn’t venture around to the back yard and that she kept to her front yard surveying from the front steps, fortunately she did...
If this little Doe is dropping Bucks for fawns, I hope she lives to a ripe old age and continues to do so for years to come…
I enjoyed the experience and set my mind to Saturday’s hunt that would come after I had to work a morning shift on my 1 Saturday that I have to work a month, which furthered my agitation at losing my after-work hunting to the seasonal daylight truisms of life, but still gave me the contented absolute knowledge of the Deer and their population dynamics in my core hunting area.
11/1/2008
Working Saturday morning with the annoyance of wishing I were in the field hunting, pushed me down into a funk that made me scrutinize life as it flies by and the things I haven’t done and how many hunts I have missed in my life. Spilt-milk for sure, nothing I can do about any of it other than be vigilante about not making the same mistakes again for the rest of my life.
I made a quick trip to Wally-World and picked up a few hunting season supplies and an accessory or two. New grunt tube to replace the one I left afield last season. Some Scent-A-Way body wash and shampoo, and a Scent-A-Way antiperspirant/deodorant to replace the one I had finally used up before my last outing. A few other sundry items and back home I went. I had stayed up too late on Halloween night and was feeling a little spent. I ate some lunch and took a little nap. A quick half-hour cat-nap later and I was ready to get after it.
I camo’d up, got in my truck, and headed for my honey-hole parking spot. It was fairly bright with some passing cloudiness but enough sunlight to make the outdoors comfortable with a modicum of gear/clothing.
I set out and really stalked slowly to “My Spot” taking in all the sights and sounds and trying to minimize the crackling crunch of the even deeper layer of newly fallen Oak and Beech leaves that covered the forest floor. Still no sign of new rubs or scrapes on my way in.
I applied several pumps from my newly acquired Dominant Buck cover scent to the hemlock bow ends as they waived and fluttered in the slight breeze that came and went with lazy indecision. The prevailing breeze direction was in my favor yet again, so I took solace in that fact for increasing my odds that I will remain undetected to any Deer that would venture into the area so I could at least see a Deer in my honey-hole.
The squirrel activity was once again sporadic enough to get me to attatch my Tru-Fire wrist-strap release on my string-loop in hopeful anticipation of seeing a Deer, but it wasn’t to be. I glassed with eager hopefulness and became sadly aware that the area of “My Spot” was being completely bypassed, ignored, or possibly shunned by the Deer this year. It is becoming apparent to me in waves of melancholoy, that my Honey-Hole is barren of Deer activity this year.
The scores of Buck rubs plainly evident from the past 2 years plus have not been refreshed one time this year, when last year they were so prevalent as to not be able to see less than 3 rubs from any position one stopped at all along this first ridge above Alder Pond above it’s western shore. I will travail to remain hopeful that my Honey-Hole might garnish some Deer activity as the rut deepens and intensifies. I will keep my fingers crossed as it is truly one of my most favorite hunting spots, but I will avail myself to the areas I know the Deer are frequenting currently, and put my Honey-Hole on the back burner...
The Deer sign and sightings have exploded out behind the house since the first real cold-snap, and I myself am seeing Deer regularly/frequently behind my house in our little triangle on the back side of Little Mountain.
As daylight waned into dusk, I traversed the ridge back in a northerly direction heavy in my heart knowing I wouldn’t return until some of my scouting gave me better reason. I expect that time may yet come this season, but for now I need to refocus my efforts in a more productive locale. I climbed into my truck and backed out of the parking spot and made my way back. I drove around the block checking the dim open spaces of the hay fields on “Acus’s Stretch” along Fomer road ever hopeful of the tell-tale dark splotchy shape of a Deer feeding in the fields. I couldn’t make any out so I drove up High street and then made the left hand turn onto Maple street and up and over that part of Little Mountain and back toward the homestead.
I bumped into the youngest my hunting clan and we made plans to shoot tomorrow on Sunday to sight our rifles in for the out of state rifle hunt we are planning in the high country of New Hampshire near the Canadian border. Shooting always makes me happy so the day ended on a good note.
11/2/2008
Sunday was a day of chores and projects. I got a couple things accomplished and in the colder than anticipated winds I decided to fire up the wood burning furnace to raise the comfort level of my house. My shooting partner this day came over on his Quad and set a time. I rounded up my Remington 760 GameMaster pump rifle in .300 Savage of an early 1950’s vintage in pristine condition and the rest of my target shooting gear, fired up the old Honda Big Red ATC and puttered across my back yard, over the ground bridge over culvert pipe that I widened this fall and into the old hay field and back yard of the oldest son in my hunting clan where the youngest met me for some shootin’.
We spent the remainder of the afternoon spending cordite and smokeless powder killing a paper target. His .30/06 from the Remington 7600 pump carbine had quite a thump in the chest every time he fired it. The ball of flame at the end of the barrel with every shot is always impressive. My .300 Savage isn’t quite as powerful, but is rather stout none the less. The slightly deeper toned thud of my rifle is the report of the fun this gun is to shoot. I don’t even notice the recoil at all. I put some good groups on paper peering thru my Redfield Widefield 2-7 variable power scope. I probably should shoot it one more time before the hunt, but I am confident in my odds of scoring if I can get within range of a nice Buck in NH.
I returned my rifle and gear to their proper positions in the gun closet and places I keep such fare. I settled in to watch some NFL Football and my step-daughter piped up and asked if we could go for a ride. She loves going on scouting rides with me on the ATC around Little Mountain… I didn’t hesitate long since any time she wants to get out into nature and on endeavors surrounding or related to hunting, I try to accommodate any such requests. Sometimes the timing just isn’t right, and sometimes she wants to go after dark just to go for a ride even though we can’t see anything that isn’t squarely in the middle of the trail in the headlight beam of the little ATC, but such bonding times are more valuable to me than just about anything so I try not to say no very often, to which she will argue that point fervently.
We got dolled up for the cold evening air and climbed on board the little Honda Big Red ATC and puttered out the same way, across my recently utilized hay-field/shooting-range and plunged into the woods on the other side and headed out toward high Deer traffic areas. We were hitting the woods at exactly the right time as dusk was settling in and we had just enough of the waning light to see into the woods around us. I hurried us toward the back side of the fields on Acus’s Stretch hoping to intercept some Deer as they fed or moved from the fields into the forest for some nocturnal feeding.
We rounded the last bend and could make out the field thru about 15 yards of woods-line. I crept along in 2nd gear just motoring at a slow putter. As we crested the slight rise and made our way along the straight level stretch that ran parallel to the field edge from about 10 yards within the woods, suddenly we saw flags…
It was either 2 Does or that same Doe & Button Buck that had fed in my back yard 2 nights ago. They bounded off, but not in panic mode. They ran up to the corner above the lone ancient apple tree that stood like a silent sentinel up in the corner of the main field, and stood looking with flags at full mast. This was an event for my step-daughter because while together doing such scouting we have had terrible luck getting her to have nice clear wildlife encounters and our endeavors usually turn into just another contented bonding ride thru the pristine woods.
I slowed down into 1st gear and barely crept along, this slowing of movement can either panic the Deer as now they know they’ve been seen, or calm them because I’m not rushing closer to them and they can better gauge my direction and if I’m a threat. Fortunately this time around, they calmed and stayed put giving my step-daughter a nice look at ‘em.
I crept up and into the next trail that bordered the far field where the Deer feel safer in the greatest distance from the road; the normal direction of human contact. I was hoping that maybe a wary Buck was up in this corner not wanting to venture out so far into the open as the Does had. No such luck appeared to befall us, if there was one there, he wasn’t waitin’ around while we looked over the Does to see what we were.
I pulled a U-turn at the far corner of the far field on the trail within the woods-line and made our way back along the field-edge/woods-line. The Does remained with flags at full mast as we returned but let us get a second look at them. The one I could clearly see was larger than the Momma Doe that I had observed with the Button Buck so I am fairly certain these are 2 Does that just might be the Momma and Skipper Doe I watched last year during my first ever Bow season at age 40 in 2007. It is certainly within their normal range of movement and her size and the tactics she employed of running interference; flag on full display standing out in the open, for her offspring seemed familiar as the smaller Doe skulked in the grass hedge-row cover between the two fields.
I was happy as hell having given my step-daughter a full on close an’ personal wildlife encounter that she’s been so desiring when we go on our scouting rides. She seemed full of contentment as we puttered about the ATV trails and eventually made our way out to Maple street and back to the house on the dirt road. On our way out of the woods I made a note of the tree-stand locations that my hunting clan’s patriarch has erected so that I don’t walk up on him accidently while hunting nearby portions of the woods. He certainly has a knack for putting stands in really good spots!
Now I have a new strategy and plan for the next couple of weeks of Bow season weekends, now that Saturdays are my only opportunity with the onset of the reversion of daylight savings and my work schedule. Two weeks from now I will be in the wilds of Pittsburgh, NH nearing the end of a nearly week long rifle hunt near the Canadian border, but next weekend, I know where I will try to intercept a Buck that may be sniffin’ out the Does…
11/8/2008; Morning Hunt…
Things are heatin’ up!!!
During my hiatus from afield, since the time change I have no work-week time to spare, the pre-rut has gotten into full swing and Deer are moving in my home location at a greatly improved rate/volume.
I set out in the rain soaked morning toward the foot and slopes of Little Mountain out behind my house, down across my back yard thru the woods-line, over my little creek bridge and into the hay-field/back yard of my neighbor; the eldest son of my hunting clan, when it struck me, as I patted down all my pockets and realized I had forgotten my True-Fire wrist-wrap release. A number of 4-letter epithets passed across my lips as I dropped my pack and the little camo folding canvas chair at the edge of my home side of the field and hurried back to the house angrily rummaged around until I found where I had put it on the little table in the front hall so I wouldn’t miss it while I went out the door, and hurried back to my awaiting gear.
Reset my pack and chair on my back and off I went. As I crossed the ancient stone-wall on the far side of the field and made my way back into the darkness of the sparse rain-falling morning I stopped to install my mesh camo gloves and my spandex camo face covering, set my Realtree Hardwoods camo Boonie hat to compliment and top-off my outfit and made my way in the normal route I take out the my hunting/stomping grounds. This time I hunted from the field edge on and didn’t just blunder my way down to Red Brook.
I made my way out the ATV trial after traversing the 2-log foot bridge over Red Brook and alertly made my way toward my prospective spot which I was still mulling over exactly where that was going to be. After crossing the hunting clan patriarch’s little 1-lane ATV bridge (we call it that because it’s barely wide enough to accommodate an ATV and the tires will slightly hang off either side precariously when crossing, not that any of the other bridges are 2-lanes or anything although my old/borrowed Honda Big Red ATC fits on it perfectly) and up the rise to the top of the little knoll and around the 90 degree turn to the right and along the ridge toward the old abandoned teen fort site, I pulled my windicator out of my pocket and checked the ambient wind direction… It was now 180 degrees opposite of the direction it was taking when I checked back in the open air of the hay field. This is going to be key to choosing my spot. It ruled out heading further south to set up facing North from a position further east and now I headed further east to face South instead. I cut left and headed up into the woods down over the back side of the knoll and across the last feeder creed that spilled down into the farthest south Beaver swamp at the base of this next ridgeline. I climbed to the flat-iron on top of the ridge and began looking for a spot.
I chose a little darkened by the shadows of hemlocks and pines scattered across an open hardwoods area. This flat-iron consists of about 50% open hardwoods littered with some sapling growth and 50% hemlocks and white pines creating a good darkness of shadow contrast to the light of the open hardwoods. I found a spot under a big hemlock to be out of direct rainfall that had a couple little hemlocks to give me back cover and another in front of me to give me front cover but would allow me a tremendous shooting lane to my front side facing vaguely SSW. I had another slight shooting lane to my left which is a travel route of Deer coming from higher up Little Mountain and another better shooting lane to my right, which is easier to access as I am a lefty as an archer even though I shoot guns righty, but I digress...
My instincts told me this was a good spot…
My main shooting lane in front of me gave me a small hemlock to hide behind but would allow me great shots with the very slightest movements to either side as a Deer passed behind some large Oaks that dotted the lane. I settled myself in and got as comfortable as possible in the light sporadic rain drip-filled anything but silence of the morning. It wasn’t long before the familiar crack of a .22 rifle broke the morning silence. I gauged it’s distance and direction and suspected it had come from the house of my hunting clan’s, patriarch’s, eldest son. A little while later a Pilated Woodpecker came out in a tree above and just behind me and called across Red Brook valley to it’s numerous counterparts. As a couple slight rain released rolled in and out of my area the ambient noise level rose and fell making it nearly impossible to tell if anything was moving with the constant “ghost” noise of the water drops onto the wet leaf-litter of the forest floor.
Later I would find out from other members of my hunting clan about some really great action that was taking place at precisely this time…
After some of the rain-spitting showers had lessened and daylight grew into it’s lightest grayness, it seemed light and dry enough to start glassing. I withdrew my binoculars from my pack and started searching thru the brush lines to see what was beyond. The urge to stretch my legs and glass from a standing vantage point impressed upon me enough to coax me into the activity. I stood and did a thorough 360 degree inspection of my surroundings and convinced of no immediate Deer activity settled back down onto my butt-cushion that was placed in the seat of the folding chair for a little insulation and warmth. I checked my cell phone set on “silent all” which I use as my watch to find it was just about 9:30 AM. I squirreled it back into the inner pocket of my Woodland camo nylon shelled bomber jacket, when I heard a steady crunching growing louder…
I looked up and holy cow a Deer was trudging right up my main shooting lane directly at me from approximately 40 yards out. It was on a mission like a soldier on a march it was just comin’ in… I only moved my eyes and looked down while my left hand instinctively brought my open release to the string-loop. I turned my eyes back up, now at 30 yards I clearly saw antlers, he wasn’t slowing, I turned my eyes back down and used my right index finger to pop the arrow holder off my black carbon fiber PSE STL Hunter 300 arrow shaft, I turned my eyes back up, now at 20 yards I made out clearly the forks in this little fork-horn’s antlers, he still wasn’t slowing quartering to me but almost head on, the arrow holder was fighting me and I turned my eyes back down and finished getting it off the arrow shaft, turned my eyes back up and at 10 yards head down he still wasn’t slowing, he just kept coming, at my last glance at his antlers the thought suddenly struck me that this little guy is no bigger than any of the small Bucks that make up the vast majority of all the Bucks I had harvested in my life. And he stopped dead almost head-on quartering to me at, no lie, 3 & ½ yards out head behind the hemlock in front of me with no idea I was there. He froze in his tracks getting a snout-full of the dominant Buck cover scent I had pump sprayed onto the branches of this hemlock I was using as front cover, his fear of a dominant Buck was palpable as he seemed to shiver slightly head still down he very slowly raised his head to take a hopeful peak to see if a big daddy Buck was about to kick his @$$ for daring to come so close during the late pre-rut ramping up to the peak of the rut.
I snapped my eyes behind him to check his back-trail. He was on such a mission I was hopeful that the guy he might have been trying to evade was coming up on his flank. He twitched his tail flag at half mast and bounded quickly to my right as I snapped my eyes back to his movements and he still never knew I was there. Having utilized my Hunter’s Specialties body-wash/shampoo combo and antiperspirant/deodorant and not having even bothered to recoat my gear with Scent Killer spray this time out, I gotta tell ya, that stuff works!
He stopped to my right, right where the natural lie of my lefty archery leaves my bow & arrow pointing at about 10 yards out giving me the quintessential perfect quartering-away/broadside shot opportunity… I had turned my head to follow his movements with the bow, but hadn’t needed to as he came to rest directly down range of where I was already pointed. I grimaced and looked at his rack, his perfect brown coat, and stocky frame of a possibly 125 pound 1 & ½ year old Buck and turned my head looking for big daddy hopin’ he was comin’ up behind this young fella, no such luck, nothin’ coming up his back trail, I turned my head back and he now saw my head move and was staring right at me from 10 yards away. His flag went up and he tensed gave one front-leg stomp and readied to turn directly away from me.
I had without hesitation for the very first time in my entire life, passed on a perfectly legal Buck that had given me a shot opportunity in order to let him live and grow into something bigger and better. It seemed like I had come to a crossroads of some sort. I let him go and watched what would have been my very first ever Bow kill bound over the top of the ridge and down out of sight as I suddenly realized my first ever Bow kill just bounded away to live on to another day to hopefully become a mature Buck wondering if I had just jinxed myself out of ever getting a Bow kill…
I turned back to my shooting lane and concentrated on willing big daddy to come following in on this little fella… it did not happen.
After calming down to a more normal heart-rate, I opted to practice drawing and see if everything was in order. It was not. On my first draw the broad-head landed on the back of my right hand. No biggie, it was easy enough to flip it back up on the arrow rest, but it indicated a problem and I had to get it alleviated before big-daddy came along. I had chosen a different arrow out of my quiver this morning that had a Magnus Stinger 100 grain 4-blade original broad-head in lieu of most of the others that had Magnus Stinger Buzz-cut 100 grain 4-blades. None of these were manufactured utilizing a broad-head vise since I didn’t have the blades with me when I purchased the arrows so none of the broad-heads line up with the fletching and they all sit at a little different alignment/orientation. An issue I will eliminate with my next purchase of arrows.
I noticed that this particular blade ran slightly right to left from top to bottom whereas the others ran slightly left to right top to bottom. Upon further investigation, I found that the back angle of the blade had come into contact with the arrow holder in it’s natural position at rest off of the arrow on the draw popping the arrow off the rest, consequently onto the back of my right hand. The cant of the other heads allows the blade to miss the arrow holder on the draw and this does not happen.
Another critical lesson learned. Also if I did happen to have a blade that lined up perfectly with the fletching it would too come into contact with the arrow holder’s “out-of-the-way” position probably popping it off the arrow rest but maybe not if the blade is perfectly vertical then it might land right back down on the rest, either way it is an unacceptable condition and must be tweaked to make the natural “out-of-the-way” position of the arrow holder completely below the shelf to eliminate this snafu. For now I can just adjust my grip to include holding the arrow holder with my index finger of my right hand in a position completely out of the way… Or better yet, I switched arrows to a Buzz-Cut tipped arrow which canted in the opposite direction in case I forget in the heat of the moment.
After about an hour or so I called it a morning reveling on the gut-wrenching excitement and post-encounter adrenaline rush that had left me shaking and breathing hard. It was an awesome experience and made me smile like a Cheshire Cat remembering, yet it happened so fast it almost felt like I had dreamed it…
I checked in with my hunting clan to find out that after I had crossed the hay field, approximately 45 minutes later, 3 Bucks had come out in the field chased a couple Does, sparred and ran around in ever heightening rut behavior, apparently including the fork-horn I had temporarily commuted a death sentence on. Schedule, weather, and fate had all played a roll in the continued existentialism of this fork-horn and his fellow Bucks this morning and I was wondering if I had made the right decision to not harvest him and put venison in the freezer in lieu of a more mature Buck… Time will tell…
Afternoon hunt…
The weather had dried slightly so I left the heavier/bulkier clothing at home and opted for more normal hunting garb in lieu of my Red-Head camo rubber boots, German military surplus Flectar camo Gortex bib overalls and nylon shelled Woodlands camo bomber jacket and instead dressed in my Rocky Rampage Gortex camo boots, Realtree AP-HD BDU Pants and Realtree AP-HD hunting shirt, exactly like the one I contributed to the family Yankee Swap last Christmas that went to Uncle John; I hope he’s getting’ good use of it ;) and my Realtree AP-HD Boston Red Sox cap I bought on Yawkey Way this season when I went to watch a home game at Fenway park for the first time in my adult life.
At 2:PM I checked my cell phone time and made sure it was back on “silence all” mode. Pulled on my spandex Realtree AP-HD camo head/face cover, slid my camo netting gloves on, cinched up the Velcro wrist strap of my True-Fire release, got into my pack/gear toting the borrowed fold-up camo chair, and headed in.
I had talked it over with my hunting clan’s patriarch and we felt that a spot nearer to the big fields on Acus’s stretch on Fomer road would be a likely productive spot I should try, as the big Buck that’s been seen has been seen over there but not yet on the smaller Bucks being spotted closer to our homes.
I traversed the same route out staying on the ATV trails out past the abandoned teen fort site, over a little board that crosses a tiny feeder creek that empties into the first Beaver swamp downstream in Red Brook, around and up to the next ridge, along the flat iron and past the pile of building materials that once had been constructed into the teen fort on property it didn’t belong on, to the top of the knoll overlooking the creek that feeds the last Beaver swamp down steam in Red Brook in our little triangle hunting area on this side of Little Mountain.
I went over the knoll and down across the wide ATV bridge that has one upstanding side wall trying to carefully pad my way without making any detectible sound. Just when I thought I had accomplished this task my next step made an audible thump, and I immediately heard a crash off to my left. I looked up and there goes a lightly grey colored deer flag up bounding off and ahead of me out at about 40 yards.
I quickly made my way up to a hemlock that was on the left side of the trail about 5 yards ahead of me for cover. I could see a lazy leaping bounding Deer taking off without the pel-mel cautionless speed of a Deer on full alert. I kept my head down and started creeping up the trail to try and get to the next intersecting trail that would cut it off and allow me a wide open shooting lane in his direction. Apparently I was low enough because it bounded off further and blew/snorted at me once. I realized it was directly downwind of me and it must have gotten a face-full of my scent. I continued up to the ATV trail intersection and turned left at the birdhouse. For some reason, for many years now, there has been an old birdhouse sitting on the ground at this trail intersection for some unknown reason left for us to ponder and speculate, which we now use as a landmark for description in sharing location information of our travels in the woods.
I stalked as quietly as possible trying to gauge his last sighted spot as to my location on this trail and the realization sunk in that it had most likely already crossed this trail or turned and followed it out and around away from me. I stood at the top of where this trail drops off to go back down toward the little creek-way that comes out at the bridge I had just crossed waiting, watching, and listening. Knowing this was an exercise in futility now that this Deer had winded me, blew at me, and bounded off flag-up.
I started investigating my location and came to the conclusion that the evidence suggested the Deer had probably crossed this trail almost where I was standing. I followed the track and looked up in the grove of a line of darker pine and hemlock cover that was a Deer run and rub-line of last year to see my first fresh Buck rub of this year. This run had been re-opened and was again being utilized by a Buck. I surmised that by the look of the body size of this Deer and it’s proclivity for following directly on this active rub-line/run that it was most likely a Buck. It’s coloration told me plainly that it was not the same fork-horn I had dance and existential ballet of fate with this morning.
I decided that my best action was to abandon pursuit of this Deer and continue onto my intended stand/hide location. I turned and retraced my steps back out to the birdhouse fighting my still-hunter stalking predatory instincts to give chase on a suspected Buck that I have seen, and continued up the trail beyond the birdhouse. I turned right onto the next trail branch a couple score of yards and left at the next trial branch in this maze of ATV trails that I know so perfectly as to be comfortable in complete darkness after light fades thru dusk into darkness.
At the next intersection I turned right and followed along directly toward the back side of the fields on Acus’s stretch, passing the first left, then the second left, then a 4-corners of trails slowing as I approached the area I intended to settle into. I kept peering thru the woods and cover to make sure there was no movement or other signs of Deer and came upon the last trail that cuts down to my right and goes down into the last Beaver swamp on Red Brook.
I cut into the apex of the angle/point that the trail intersection makes here onto a little flat-iron dotted with groves of immature white pines and hemlocks of about 3 – 6 feet in height with the over-shadowing darkness of mature hemlocks, white pines and some more open hardwoods that is just above the last Beaver swamp on top of the ridge in an area that some extremely utilized game trails intersects inside the woods from the fields.
I looked down into the leaf litter and clearly could make out the deep sharp impression of very fresh big Deer tracks. (Anyone that needs snow to track a deer, ain’t a tracker!) I weighted my options and spot immediately to my right caught my attention. There was a small alcove like opening in a stand of immature hemlocks that would put me back out of sight from notice for game traveling along this game trail. My instincts told me this was the spot…
I cleared some dead fall branches out of the spot with quiet determination and set up the folding camo chair. Unstrapped my but cushion from where it was Velcroed around my belt and placed it in the seat of the chair, propped my pack up against the hemlock directly in front of the chair and settled in. The spitting sporadic rain had returned and I grimace at leaving the more water resistant gear at home, but a couple good hemlock branches from the mature tree back behind me to the left stuck out perfectly to give me cover from above.
Back behind me to my right was one small opening that overlooked the trail going down to the Beaver swamp into the extreme darkness of the tight hemlocks that sheltered the side slope below this ridge that contained the most heavily traveled game trail in these parts. The game stuck to the darkness for their movement patterns. The other game trail that passed thru some slightly open hardwoods passed by my position directly in front of me at about 10 yards out while the darker game trail passed behind me just below me as the slope dropped off past the edge of this little grove of 3-5 foot tall immature hemlocks. I could clearly see thru the branches ahead of me and to my right along the back trail of the game trail to where it met at a fork and the singular game trail ran along a slight depression directly toward the fields that were about 100 yards away from me and I would see the brighter open sky of the field thru the trees at the edge of the field in the distance. I had several shooting lane opportunities directly in front of me, ahead of me to the right and ahead of me to the left depending upon which direction the game was coming from along their trail.
I settled in and began using my Primo’s Li’l Can bleat call and my new Primo’s hands-free grunt call. I wanted to get my experimenting with it out of the way before my upcoming trip to the mountains of New Hampshire near the Canadian border next week for an out of state rifle hunting trip.
I pondered all the happenings of today’s hunting that had already passed. I already saw a Deer I was fairly certain was another Buck, so passing on the fork-horn this morning wasn’t the “never see another Deer again” luck killer that some tiny modicum of superstition made me hope it wouldn’t be.
I could hear flights of Geese going in and out of my honey-hole over on Alder pond and smiled at the wonderful pristine hunting grounds that exist over there. The sound of the passing cars out on Fomer road offered plenty of cover noise for any of my position adjusting and the tiny click of the reed assembly in the bleat can that it made if you return it to an upright position too quickly. I was getting some good practice with my calls and getting more comfortable with them.
Light was fading and the day’s hunt was drawing nearer to an end when I thought I heard a noise somewhat behind me to my left. I turned my head and listened intently looking in that direction. I hit my bleat can call, and I came to the conclusion that it was nothing but more of the “ghost” noises of the rainfall…
When I heard this noise that I couldn’t decipher, it was growing louder and sounded like an RC airplane with a little Cox gas motor flying thru the woods. I turned back to my right in the opposite direction trying to pinpoint where the noise was coming from and I saw him…
It was a huge Buck out in front to my right at about 40 yards coming in. His big shadowy dark mass gave away that he was a bruiser. His noise ended and he had just finished giving about a 15 second ongoing deep growling bleat. It was the first time in my life I had heard such a noise from a mature Buck and I’ll never forget it. The adrenaline rush hit early this time and I went to full draw flawlessly. (thankfully)
Apparently he had heard my last bleat call and was responding in kind. He trodded up to an older hemlock with a decent trunk diameter of probably 4-6 inches and began raking the heck out of it with his antlers. I couldn’t count points because the fading light and the shadow of the hemlock put him into darker light. I watched him then make a ground scrape right before my eyes, squat forward and pee in it and then rub his head scent glands in the overhanging branches. It was spectacular to watch, even while maintaining a full draw on my Bear Archery Whitetail Master bow.
He then looked around to try and see where the Doe that just bleated at him (me) was. I was still holding at full draw just waiting for him to come forward and cross in front of me to give me a fatal shot, when he turned and went to his left behind me, on the other side of a little stand of immature white pines that came up to the edge of my stand of immature hemlocks. He passed out of sight behind them. I leaned forward, still at full draw, looking to see movement and pick up his shadowy form, I leaned back to pick up the opening thru my hemlocks and as I leaned back I thought I saw an ear back where I had just been looking. I leaned forward again and I saw it, it was his ear; the lighter color of the white hair in the ear gave away his location, and it told me he was looking right at me and had picked up my movement because as soon as I re-leaned forward down went his head and up came his flag. He turned and trotted, head down along the game run below me on the slope of the ridge. He bounded over the log that was the exact same log that the Coyote bitch peaked over when I let her have it with my .300 Win. Mag. During last years Bear season from a position mere feet from where I am now sitting.
He raced past the minute opening in the hemlocks I had at my right without offering a shot as I stood since I was only able to see his flag standing tall as he held his head down. I turned to my last opening where I could see the trail going down the slope back behind me to the right and he bounded over the trail and out into the darkness of that run-line of dark game trail into the brush and cover that kept me from seeing anything but his flag in the growing darkness as he passed into deeper cover farther from my position. He blew at me and bounded off having now winded me and knowing I weren’t no Doe…
It was the most exciting moment in my Bow hunting career and I was elated and filled with delight and excitement. Passing on the fork-horn this morning hadn’t jinxed me from seeing any more Deer in the least and being at full Draw on this big mature Buck, even if I didn’t get a chance to let fly with a shot, was pretty much worth the trade-off. I had been mere moments away from harvesting the biggest buck of my entire life as my first Bow kill ever…
I pulled out my grunt call and tried coaxing him back, but it wasn’t going to happen. My bleat and grunt calls went unanswered and in the deepening darkness as dusk turned into night, I wasn’t going to see my sight pins, or antlers for that matter, any more.
The rains came back and increased to a steady rain, and I didn’t care. I packed up my gear and hiked back home the ¾ mile or so journey in the zig-zagging trails high on hunting… There is no better feeling in the world except maybe the exhaustion from dragging that bruiser back with me…
I’m getting closer all the time. This one was fantastic!
11/22/2008 – Closing day
The weather has definitely turned toward winter and the recent cold snap is pretty severe for this time of year. The ambient temperature overnight was probably about 12 degrees Fahrenheit. The gusting winds gave cycles of around zero degrees on the morning hunt and the afternoon hunt maybe 1 – 15 with an ambient temp around 20 or so.
I made my way out as usual across the wind swept openness of the old hay field of my neighbors back yard; the eldest son of my Hunting Clan’s Patriarch. I may not be related to my clan by birth, but certainly by rearing and family life ties. I am lucky to be a part of it.
I meandered along the ATV trails and made my mind up for the morning hunt based upon the ambient wind directions I encountered down in the woods, which were once again completely different than they are up in the open wind alley of the field. I placed myself just over the top of a ridge overlooking a draw that channels toward both a feeder creek to Red Brook and a depression that makes a natural cover travel route for the Deer that is parallel to the Brook and the step ridges that rise up the slopes of Little Mountain.
I was surrounded by Mountain Laurel and under the shade cover of a Hemlock tree that me just into a bit of a shadow in the bright morning sunshine. The sun this morning did nothing other than glare and shine in my eyes from the east/southeast and light up the forest as it gave no heat to speak of even when it fell on me in between the moving shadows as it climbed to it’s seasonal low level in the southern sky.
It was cold enough that not even the Squirrels were stirring. The stillness in between wind gusts gave tome for using my new Primo’s eCan bleat call. It is an electric version of the Li’l Can that I lost in NH on my rifle hunt trek to The Great North Woods. I find this new eCan to be tinny and distorted sounding in comparison to the far more true sound from the Li’l Can. I will have to replace it with another Li’l Can before the Shotgun Season opener.
The occasional trumpeting Goose echoing across the valley from my honey hole gave me the same comforting feeling it always does. I stayed relatively comfortable with my choice of my North-woods winter green wools and my Woodland camo bomber jacket, camo neck gaiter, and White Pine needle green Carhart watchman’s cap/touke. My hands began to grow just a slight bit chilled when I got up to head for the homestead for some hot lunch and to stoke the home-fires.
The afternoon hunt came after a hearty meal, some hot coffee, a few chores and a quick nap. I opted to make my way back to where I had encountered the big Buck on the last Saturday before making my trek to my Canadian border hunt in NH.
I made my way very slowly along from about 1:45pm to almost 2:30pm before I finally settled into a spot about 15 yards away from the Hemlock tree the Buck had ruined on my last local Bow hunt this time encircled by immature White Pines that were from 3 – 6 feet tall. I got down and mimicked a Buck making a ground scrape as I cleared the Oak and Beech leaf litter from an area where I placed my camo chair and the new double-thick insulation butt cushion to replace the one I had also lost in The Great North Woods of NH, so that my feet would be silent if I needed to stand or move to get a shot.
The trees were now essentially barren of leaves and the fall was complete and winter had settled in. My enthusiasm still soared knowing the location I was in and all the different game I have encountered in just this location over the years. The afternoon came and went without encounter and I folded up the camo chair and trodded along the trails back to the homestead.
My reflections on this seasons (my 2nd ever having only started my bow hunting adventures at age 40) give me the contentment of having observed many firsts in my life of Deer hunting. I have been as close as ever to harvesting a nice Buck this season and it is only a matter of time before I attain success. With the addition of a new tree stand (that came from the North Pole) my odds will increase exponentially next year.
I am as enthused and excited as ever and can’t wait for my next Bow hunting adventures to ensue next year. I still have MA Shotgun season and Primitive Firearms (Muzzle-loader) this year, so I ain’t skun-out yet for stocking the freezer w/venison. I love Bow hunting!
