The Wrong Set of Horns

The plan worked to perfection.  Well, almost

The spot was perfect.  The rut was on.  The weather was hinting at a turn for the worse meaning that the deer on this particular property would be on the move.

Shoot, I saw one of the biggest bucks of my life on the drive to the property, cozied up with a special lady friend trying to whisper sweet nothings in the pre dawn light.

It was about to go down!

Horns be damned, I just wanted to fill the freezer.  If it had a nub or a mass of points, he was going have a day of reckoning.  The woods came alive as the sun came up and that special feeling was there, my long awaited deer drought was going to come to an end.

About 2 hours into my morning vigil, the ridge to my left was a blitz of motion as 7-8 deer came barreling down to the flat to my left.  Something had spooked them, what it was I dont know but it got the blood rolling.  Most were does but one could have been a buck but no shot was presented as they flew into the trees.

Then out of the corner of my eye, I catch movement above and to the left.

Horns.  Big Horns.

Carefully I spun around to circle around and ambush the deer as it came through the cut I was watching

And boom, there they were.  8 deer, 5 of which were of the male variety.

Unfortunately, they were Mule Deer.

Not.  In.  Season.

Only Whitetails were on the menu for this late season hunt.  So I sat there, frozen as the wind was right and they couldnt smell or really make me out behind the stump I hid behind.

The big heavy horned 4 point buck didnt give two shits about me, as he chased the does here and there.  Nose down, lips curled and motivated, I could have taken him about 50 different times from a range of 30-60 yards depending upon position.  That doesnt even count the 4 other bucks that were in range and milling around, confused to their opportunity with the big dog around romancing the farer sex

So I sat there and the herd circled around me.  One doe came within 10 feet as I sat motionless, letting the scene happen.

Finally they bounded off, and I was speechless.

It all worked to perfection, they just had the wrong set of horns.

Taking My Deer Lumps.

A good deer hunter, I am not.

Growing up I was the kid who read Field and Stream and Outdoor Life cover to cover.    Concepts of ballistics, deer drives, spot and stalk and the merits of the classic .270 was well know to me.

I grew up to fulfill my birthright as a man of the woods, the slayer of hoofed animals with horns.  The damn things were supposed to tremble as I set forth to hunt them.

I wanted to be good at it.....dreamed of success afield yet I can go on record with my minimal success deer hunting

The list of reasons are wide and long.  Wrong side of the draw.   One hill away from the deer.  Wind shifts, unseen deer spooking the deer we were stalking, a bad shot here and there.

Most of the time, I am the guy dragging someone else's deer out of the woods

Truth of the matter is that I havent devoted the time that is needed.  Sports and school got in the way growing up and now there's a million different competitors for my time.

But hell, I am the eternal optimist.  General deer opener is this saturday.   May luck be on my side.

Operation Venison Extraction

You cant tell a 74 year old deer hunter to stop hunting by himself, but you can tell him that if he get's a deer to call you to drag it out.

"Got One!"

That's all it took to know that this particular Monday night would involve a hell of a lot of work

I was almost home when I got the call that OMR had a buck down.  Within 10 minutes, Big C was scooped up with an on-the-go dinner and we were headed northward to help with venison retrieval.

His face said he was tired, but happy and proud non the less.  An experience with heat stroke early in hunting season made him realize that he couldn't do what he once thought nothing of,  but this buck's death reaffirmed and reacquired his mojo.

We set out to the deer, 3 generations of Mills boys with flashlights lighting the way.   Concerned grandmothers and moms weren't quite sure it was a good idea to bring a boy just shy of 4 into the deep dark woods to help drag the deer out.  I couldnt think of anything  better.   My childhood was full of times like this and I count not deny my oldest boy the same.

He took to the trail with excitement and wonder.  He held the hand of "Poppa Fay" and was a continual stream of questions that grandpa was happy to answer.

We reached the deer and  my son's wonderment reached next level.  I looked at the deer with resignation and said "shit"

It was a damn fine deer, a damn heavy big bodied mature deer.

We were almost a mile back in the woods when I put a rope on the antlers and began the drag.  Each successive hogback and small ridge made the deer a couple pounds heavier.   The fall pine needle drop made going uphill like skating on ice at times.  We made progress and  let's say that crossfit has nothing on this particular workout.

The last field was reached and OMR joined the push to the truck, dragging the deer with me.  It was a happy, proud and tiring moment.  Three boys on an adventure.  One just starting his outdoor experiences, one in the middle and one nearing his eventual end afield by himself.

The tailgate slammed in my truck and the job was complete.  Big C was asleep 5 minutes after we hit the road, and OMR was a happy hunter.

I was tired as I could get, but the experience of operation venison extraction was just plain awesome.

Deer Frustration...

It almost worked according to plan.

OMR laid down the gameplan.  In the waking hours of the morning, he'd stay back, cover the exit routes and I would  climb the ridge and try to find a buck.

I crested over the ridge for my position, and ho-le-shit.

You could tell from 500 yards out,  there wasn't going to be any question if it was a shooter.

The plan was perfect as the deer were returning to their beds after a night of feeding in the newly sprouted winter wheat.   The game was officially on.

450 yards out, they hung up.  The wind was wrong and they stopped in their tracks and stopped moving towards me.   Damn it.

The buck and his does dropped into their beds, not leaving me a lot of options.  I sat and debated my moves, knowing that eventually the farmers who drive the tops of the cut stubble would be along soon and the jig would completely be up.

You only have minutes in a time like this to make things happen.  Sometimes your choices work, other times, well....the meat doesn't hit the freezer

I circled as far as I could around them with the hope to drop down, cut the distance and take the shot.

The wind is what did me in, as I was about crest, drop down and shoot, they bolted

As mule deer do, a sharp whistle got them to stop.  350 yards out, I put the crosshairs on the bucks back and let er have it

The dustcloud under the buck said he was going to live another day

Frustrated.  You bet.  It was probably the biggest buck I've ever had a chance at.

But it's why I will be back at it again,  trying to alleviate the frustration.

A Cut Wheat Field....

You go through summer and after about the 15th 90 degree day it starts to feel like it's never going to end.  People bitch when it's not summer yet, and then the heat drives us to bitch that we've had too much of it.

In the peak of the dog days of summer, the first signal of the impending sweet spot of the year is a cut wheat field.  The green stalks of winter wheat have morphed to gold and the combines that roll up and down the rolling wheat fields of Eastern Washington  to me are better than any weather forecaster in predicting what's coming.

Steelhead are arriving in a trickle and hopefully soon in a flood.  The scent of pheasants, chuckar and quail will soon be in our dogs noises.  Bucks begin to shed their velvet.  A little football doesn't hurt either.

Yes, the cut wheat field is a beautiful sight around town and in the rolling hills of the Palouse.  It signals to me my favorite time of year.

Get our there and have some fun.

Out of These Rolling Hills...

 



Doesn't look much like deer country does it....

Dont let that confuse you....these hills are abundantly rich.