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Ambushing Whitetails | January 2018 | ||||
Gerhard Schroeder
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So we would wait, each of us at a waterhole. Minor problems at first. The one
Steve had selected in pre-season scouting had been taken over by cattle. And when
Ron got to his, a Quad was already parked there. It pays to be super early. But
we had done our homework, and both could divert to different waterholes. I got
to mine way early without issue. My very primitive blind did allow observing the
entire waterhole, and for the most part provided shade all day long.
Dozens of little song birds provided occasional entertainment. It is an exercise
in faith; in believing that a buck will come in. Much more so when after 12 hours
in the same spot not a single deer showed up. Of course such days provide plenty
of opportunity to ponder, about things a typical day would just crowd out. The
javelina never knew I was within as little as 20 yards of them.
Steve got rewarded the second day when he dropped a forked horn with his .308 Tikka.
By the time I got back to camp that buck was already skinned and hanging (no picture).
Ron only saw turkeys at his.
For me …, well, first some other guy in his quad showed up around 7AM. About an
hour later, a loud blowing sound not ten steps away scared the snot out of me. All
I could see through heavy brush was an erect white tail departing with haste. That
deer had moved in in exactly the one place where I could not have seen it prior to
reaching the fence shown in the picture above. What to do after having been made
in my hiding place? Plus, I did not know if that deer was a buck. Applying logic,
I opted to just stay put. Yes, that one deer was onto me, but it can’t communicate
to others what it had learned. Or could it?
Meanwhile the four big javelina returned. Three different times. On their second
visit they came this close:
I could have poked this pig with my gun barrel.
Back to that deer. Darn it, about two hours later the beast sounded another alarm,
this time a little further up the hill and not visible by me. And later, yet a third
time. Like it tried all it could to warn the entire deer population. And around
sunset once more.
I needed another plan! Instead of waiting it out until total dark like the first day,
I moved from my makeshift blind to a cluster of arm-thick junipers from where I could
see the hillside where the smartass deer had spewed its alarms. Of course it did not
show up again by the time darkness had robbed all shooting light.
Day three, Sunday, I again arrived in darkness. Each morning the moon had been losing
size, reducing ambient light. It’s a little adventure in itself to walk under such
conditions without flashlight. I just did my best to not announce my presence. Not
wanting a repeat performance from day two, I opted to sit by that cluster of junipers.
It was a lousy place, with a good quarter of the waterline not visible, and later
looking into the sun. Again without using a flashlight I trimmed out a few lower
branches with my folding saw to gain lanes of fire from this new ambush (hopefully)
site. Would those junipers break up my outline enough? To the sides and back I was
now totally exposed. That meant no or very, very slow movements.
As daylight slowly increased I broke off small kicker branches which were not visible
an hour before. There was one more time, I thought, to stand and stretch before
committing to the chair for hours. Standing, none of the firing lanes were open.
Sure enough, a deer popped up just then, right from that area I could no longer watch.
But she was a muley doe. So I used the opportunity to pretend.
She did not make me as I transitioned so very slowly into the chair. But with hands
on the rifle, and by no means yet pointed at her, she had her fill of water and
departed swiftly. Had she been a whitetail buck, I would have cried a river.
Apparently deer do not like to hang around waterholes more than needed.
Lesson learned. From then on I sat, with .308 in hands. Good thing, because within
an hour he showed up. And I should have been in my original makeshift blind from the
first two days. It would have been an open shot from there.
Now all those junipers were in my way. Oh so slowly the Tikka came to my shoulder.
Its canned barrel gently poked into one of the lanes. Now the crosshairs were on
him. But he took a few steps. Not good, because the next tree would limit my
ability to stay with him. The gun tracked, the crosshairs were in the right place –
then that little extra pressure! >TscherrWhoap!< That in itself,
hunting deer with a suppressor, was a new and very positive experience for me.
Anyway, with that much damage the buck would just drop in its tracks, right? Not
so. He bolted forward with near top speed. But rapid front leg stumbling made
clear that something was very wrong. No need to cycle in another round. After
about 15 steps he collapsed. I had what I came for, and thanked God for it all.
Before noon my buck was hanging in camp (that ‘something’ to the left of the
4Runner’s driver door)
Ron now had several waterholes to choose from. We recommended the one Steve had
been at, simply because another buck had already visited it once before (the spike
Steve had seen on opening day). Plus, its blind was the best of all we had
installed. To make it quick, on day 3 one lone doe visited. On day 4 he saw
javelina only. Ditto on day 5. Frustrated, he wanted a change of scenery for
day 6. But when he got to my waterhole, someone had beat him to it – again. So
he got to Steve’s late. Around noon, however, all was forgotten. Tired of
waiting he dropped a fine buck with his .30-06 Tikka from over 150 steps away.
Now, Ron will argue that things could have happened a little sooner for him,
maybe. But I said “unforgettable”, not “unbeatable”. We will certainly put in
for the same choices next year. And I will never know if the buck I killed was
the deer that frustrated me four times the day before. If it was, does that
mean he forgot overnight about the great lurking danger?
May hunting always contain plenty of mystery.
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