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B & B | January 2004 | ||
Gerhard Schroeder |   | ||
This was all different. It may have scared off the other
guys that there was a female in the bunch. So Julie and I remained the
only ones on the deer application. Weeks later luck struck as the
mailman delivered first choice tags for the Prescott woods.
Opening weekend was tough. The place had dried out thoroughly. Worse,
no wind made the forest so very quiet. Every step made noise, sneaking
around was just plain out. We saw does every day, plus some deer I
could not identify as they excused themselves way ahead of my arrival.
Julie did get a rush of deer fever when a herd of about 8 mulies, stirred
by two other hunters, ran within about 70 paces of us and stopped,
nervously milling around. We checked between all those ears for signs
of testosterone. None. Our Remingtons remained silent on those first
three days.
We did see one buck, decent one at that, but he was safe ‘n sound next to
the pavement on our way back to town in almost darkness, too far past legal
hours for sure, and probably in somebody’s front yard. Spending the nights
in a motel was definitely breaking tradition. But while I can easily live
out of my Toy for a few days, this was Julie’s first hunt ever, and the back
of the 4Runner for some reason did not appeal to her, not at all!
The second Saturday found us back just off the Senator Highway. There’s
a section of trail, well marked, that we followed at first light. It did
not lead to, or by, any critters. Julie still has trouble from knee surgery.
So she stayed behind, overlooking a decent chunk of rolling wooded hills,
while I looped back to the vehicle. When I returned to pick her up, we both
had seen no deer, period.
That changed minutes later on our ride back when a doe appeared in the road
ahead, then a second. I stopped, ordered Julie to get out, then exited the
SUV myself. More deer appeared as we inched into better positions to check
them out. All seemed to be does, until antlers appeared on two of them, the
furthest to our left! Another careful step or two, and we both were in
shooting position.
It took a fair amount, no, a huge amount of self-control for me not to squeeze
the trigger. Seconds later, Julie’s 7mm-08 boomed, making the buck jump, and
all others flee into the wooded hillside. No chance for me to shoot, too many
trees in the way as the deer disappeared behind the first hump. I walked up
after them, and saw only one doe.
Slowly walking in a generous circle let me find her forkhorn! This fellow had
more antler mass than all but one of the seven or so mule deer I had the great
fortune of bagging in that hunt area. The 150 gr. Ballistic Tip had ripped
high through the boiler, allowing the buck to go about fifty paces before the
lights went out. This had instantly made it a very successful hunt. I rushed
back to congratulate her.
I have never seen such professional knife work! So it required more time, but
Julie not only gutted her buck, but after we dragged it to the road and the
Toyota pulled it up a tree, she also skinned him, wanting the hide for a rug.
That gave me time to sneak back after the group -- without success however.
I returned to help with the de-boning. Yes, we had along a board, had the
perfect-enough stump, and by 1PM all of the forkhorn was ready for departure.
I drove to where the deer appeared to have headed, and gave chase, leaving
Julie in the passenger seat to read a book.
Scared the herd up again, but could neither identify a buck, nor shoot.
More deer enlightened the rest of my afternoon, just no horns. On our ride
out we met one more bunch of mule deer and studied them until light faded.
Aside from a male fawn receiving some attention, that herd contained nothing
matching my tag. But hey, it already had been an awesome day! Broke
tradition again that night.
We returned at first light. On our way back to the general area where the
confirmed buck most likely was roaming, the same group of deer from the night
before met us. Without excitement the binoculars wandered from one head to
the next, confirming that they were still female.
Things accelerated suddenly as my eyes detected motion to our left! He had
enough antlers to make it obvious! I grabbed the rifle, the 7mm-08. It was
closest. Maybe deer aren’t that stupid. The buck had stopped exactly where
I needed a few tender steps (you know the kind -- they seem to choke you
because of the acute danger of scaring your quarry into panic flight) to get
his chest cleared by a big pine he’d parked behind.
The crosshairs settled in that narrow corridor behind the shoulder and just
clear of the bark. Pressure from my trigger finger mounted until the recoil
shoved the rifle back at me. When I recovered my buck was already at full
throttle. A hasty second shot pathetically plowed into the dirt behind him
as he made a sharp left turn to disappear over the hill. With the dust cloud
slowly fading, my mind had only one ugly thought: did the 150 gr. Nosler
Ballistic Tip hurt that fat pine tree?
Once two fresh rounds topped off the Model 7 we approached the tree, all calm
now. No, there was no sign of injury, no bark missing. Next then was the
spot where the buck had bolted from. Obvious dig marks with pine needles and
dirt below torn away left no doubt. And before I could finish my sentence to
see if any . . . “Here, blood, and there’s more!” Julie announced almost too
loud for my taste.
I was quite relieved, yet reminded her in an unfriendly manner to gently
whisper. I again experienced what I had learned a few years ago when trailing
David’s archery buck, I have a weakness to see the red thick fluid on top of
brown pine needles. So it was Julie who was always at least one step, one
drop ahead following the buck’s path. It concerned me greatly that this blood
was dark, for I much favor the pinkish foamy type that clearly testifies to
lung damage. Only once, when there apparently was no blood for several steps,
did we make progress when I pointed at the faint tracks of disturbed needles.
From there she picked up more blood, and ultimately led us to him! He had gone
over a hundred steps, again on a shot too high through the lungs. For this area,
compared to previous kills, this boy was large in body. He wore four by three
headgear with some chunks of ugly velvet still attached.
We repeated the gutting, skinning and butchering routine, and headed home early
afternoon, quite satisfied, with buck and buck.
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