If you’ve read my last blog you know that the deer hunt of
this year did not start out well. In fact, it looked like it was going to be a
disaster, but with a great deal of luck (by being in the right place at the
right time!) and the experience (knowing my rifle) I’ve gained over the years
as a hunter it turned out well.
After discovering my deer stand had been destroyed sometime
during the summer and the difficulty of getting to the clearing I usually
hunted, I was forced to look for a different spot.
My friend Rudi suggested a spot that had produced good bucks
over the years for other hunters he knew. Since we were the only hunters in the
area, I headed for that spot. Mind you, it didn’t have a deer stand, just a
collection of dead trees left over from when the farmers cleared the bush to
make room for a fence. There were some logs suitable to sit on. I had a good
view into a couple of clearings and the fence line to either side.
By 8:00 AM I sat on the log, waiting. It was Monday, opening
day for the high power rifle season. In a way I was anxious but also
disillusioned, wondering if anything would come by. It had to be a buck,
because the season for does was closed. I hadn’t seen a deer during muzzle
loader season. Deer populations in Manitoba
are down, partly because of the harsh winters we’ve had, partly because of
mismanagement of the herds, and because of the uncontrolled hunting of our
native hunters. However, those are political issues and I don’t want to talk
about that here.
As I sat there waiting, I contemplated previous hunts. Years
ago, the deer had been plentiful, and there had been no shortage of hunters in
the area. Many hunters walking down trails in the bush cause the deer to
move—providing the deer are there. For many years the six in our party
harvested 12 deer. Six bucks and six does. There were times when I shot my
first deer at opening day at 7:30 AM. One year I had my buck and my doe by 9:00
AM on the first day. We let does and fawns go by, because we wanted bucks. Those
were the days. They may never come back.
Now there were only the four of us here and the few deer
that we hoped were still around didn’t move. There was little hope inside me
that I would even see a deer, never mind a buck.
After sitting for one hour feeling sorry for myself, I
suddenly saw movement out of the corner of my eye. Turning my head, I spotted a
buck about 70 yards away behind a small cluster of shrubs. It was big with a
nice rack.
From my experience, you have only about eight seconds—if
you’re lucky. You wait for hours, sometimes days for those eight seconds. There
is no time to hesitate, but neither must you hurry. Once you fire that shot you
can’t take it back and try again.
I reached for my 7mm Remington I had leaning beside me,
flicked off the safety, brought up my rifle, found the buck in my scope, set
the crosshairs just above the blade and squeezed the trigger. All in one
motion. I didn’t waste time finding the perfect spot. The longer you aim the
greater the chance of shaking and missing, especially when you shoot without
any support.
Most of the deer I shot over the years I dropped on the
spot, but not this one. I shot those deer from a stand with a bar in front of
me to rest my rifle, which kept shaking to a minimum. Also, the majority of
them were around 300 yards away and not as easily spooked as one only at a
distance of 70 yard.
I was quite certain I had hit, unless my scope was out
again, but that was highly unlikely, because it was a new scope. This was the
first deer I shot with it.
The buck took off, jumped the electric fence and disappeared
in the bush.
Grabbing my rifle and backpack, I went to retrieve my buck.
There was no snow, but I found a spray of blood on the high grass, confirming I
had not missed. Entering the bush, I tried to determine which way the buck had
run. Finding no more blood, I began zigzagging, looking for a body. To track a
deer without snow can be a challenge.
After searching for nearly two hours, I went back to where I
thought the deer had entered the bush. It was obvious to me I had been
searching in the wrong area. If I had wounded the buck mortally, which I was
positive I had, it would not have gone far. No more than 100 yards.
As I stood there scanning the trees and the grass, I spotted
a large rusty spot on one of the poplars about 30 inches above ground. At
first, I thought it was just some disease on the tree, but then I checked it
and discovered the same rusty color on the grass growing at the base of the
tree. When I saw a second tree with an even larger ‘rust spot’ I knew it was
blood. My buck was nearby. It had entered the bush closer to where I had been
sitting. With snow on the ground I would have never missed that.
Sure enough, I found the buck about 30 yards from the edge
of the bush with its antlers wedged between two poplars. The buck was dead. My
shot had been true—right above the shoulder blade.
To say I was ecstatic would be an understatement. It doesn’t
matter how many deer you’ve shot, every one of them is special. There is no
greater thrill than finding it lying in the grass or on top of the snow.
I knew it was a large buck when I shot it, but I didn’t know
it was this big. It gave me quite a workout when I gutted it, but it didn’t
matter. A hunting season that started not promising had come to a successful
end.
There will be venison in the freezer again and another set
of antlers to be hung on my Wall of Memories.
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