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Ambushing Whitetails - Not | January 2019 | ||||
Gerhard Schroeder
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I spent opening day there anyway. That not without effort. Anticipating
“competition”, I got up extra early and staggered the half mile from camp in
total darkness. Good move, because right then lights and motor noise neared.
Two side-bys stopped and shut down. I flashed my light and informed them that
I was ‘already here’. “Will you stay?” – “yes”. They turned and left. I had
conquered that tank. Except that other than representatives of black angus no
other beast appeared all day.
Same spiel on day two. Beat the two putt-putts again; this time they just drove
on by. Around 9AM I heard those cattle drinking, right in the spot where I could
not see. A deer could have visited without me even noticing. Time to move to
where I could see that section, time to improvise another blind.
That almost paid off. Around 11:30, a baby doe came for a drink, at that far end.
Then nothing until dark. Beat three vehicles to it on Sunday. Again, aside from
those 5 black angus bovine no other critter made an appearance.
Hmm. Aside from more water in the stock tanks it was also in many canyon bottoms.
Plus, it was much colder than two years prior. Covering this waterhole was not
just a boring test of stubbornness, it made me shiver on many occasions.
Whatever, deer seemed to not bother coming to water at these tanks. Mike and Ron
reported similar observations from their selected waterholes. In fact, Mike had
to return to his day job, without a whitetail. And maybe those motorized hunters
also, as they drove back by around 4PM.
The antlerless type seldom go solitary. I kept glassing. Minutes later another
deer did materialize. That one had something shiny reflecting between its ears.
A buck indeed – could not tell its size, did not care.
But how to deal with this long shot? Darn, left the rangefinder in the 4Runner.
Then a little advantage; about ten steps in front was a decent size boulder. I
slowly made my way to it, placed my daypack on it, and sat next to it. Soon the
Tikka rested almost as if on bags, with deer in the crosshairs. But how high to
aim?
It wasn’t the shooting itself that helped about a week before, nailing steel
plates at 320 and 400 steps. It was the memory of how far 300 and 400 yards
looked like compared now to where that little buck was feeding. Or so I thought.
Anyway, I decided that he was maybe a tad over 300. That translated to between
1st and 2nd MilDot. I squeezed.
The suppressor took care of the 45.5 grains of TAC. 150 grains of Ballistic Tip
took down that buck. However, with such loud kugelschlag that I knew I hit him
where I really did not want to. Regardless, he was down. So, mark a dead tree,
a small juniper, the general direction.
Nice. A downed agave, quickly cut to length, provided a convenient walking
stick to cross the canyon with. It took some hiking before I found the forked
horn, dead. I thanked the Lord for him, for the entire experience.
First of course came the red work and tagging. Then came the realization that
I’m no longer the youngest. In days past I would have dragged that buck back
to the road somehow. Now it seemed a better option to butcher him at a nearby
tree, at least cut him into manageable portions, hang the parts in that old
juniper, hike back to camp, drive the Toyota near, and finally in several trips
bring the meat to my 4Runner.
And so it went, as the sun came up. The shot had gone quite a ways back and
high, taking out half of one of the tender loins, breaking the pelvic bone, not
doing much penetration, but luckily not ripping the guts. Oddly, I found most
of the green plastic Ballistic Tip.
That cold wind was with us the entire four days. Here, finally, it had been
helpful. All the meat was chilled to the bone just from hanging in that tree
for about an hour. Now I had time for one more task, boiling off the head.
Ron had brought the perfect fire ring for such job. Plus, I have a stock pot
dedicated to doing this.
Due to commitments on my side, I would have had to leave camp Tuesday around
noon anyway. Ron then made the decision to interrupt his hunt as well. We
packed up, drove home that Monday evening, with the plan to return once more
for just a day hunt on the final Thursday of the season.
So we did return, and found deer as well. But two were doe, one fled without
us being able to determine its sex (or is it gender, a choice? Can we kill it,
then claim the deer felt and identified as a buck? – sorry). We also watched
a real antlered buck. But at over five hundred yards (I did bring the range
finder) he was out of range and soon wandered out of sight. That day also
gave me a chance to range my shot from the Monday before. The laser came up
with about 250 yds. It in part explained why my shot had been high. And a
lesson that seems to be hard to learn for me: in poorer light, distances appear
further than what they really are.
It was an enjoyable and interesting day in deer country, and hunt overall.
On our drive home we discussed hunting plans for 2019.
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