Ashamed of the Darkness…

            In hunting media there is a focus on shooting monster bucks. We are inundated with this in magazines, on television shows, on Facebook, and in conversations with other hunters. There is absolutely nothing wrong with shooting a monster buck or wanting to shoot a monster buck. However, I think we need to ask ourselves, “At what cost does this endeavor come?” The following is an example from yesterday and the realization that I came to.

            I live in a county that participates in the early antlerless-only season in Northern Virginia. I consider myself lucky to be able to begin hunting a month before the rest of the state and to be able to continue hunting up to three months after the rest of the state has stopped. Having said that, it is nearing the end of September and I have been able to make it out into the woods a handful of times. I have exclusive permission on two smaller tracts that I have mentioned in previous articles. Both are approximately 15 acres and are within a half mile drive of one another. Since I have control over who hunts and what gets shot, and since hardly anyone in the area (to my knowledge) hunts, I have set a management plan for myself to pass bucks younger than 4 years old and to thin out the doe population, in order to reach a more balanced buck-to-doe ratio and to get the older bucks to stay in the area.

            I always see monstrous, wide-framed, big-bodied, mature bucks showing up in my news feed or on TV and I say to myself, “That’s what I want”. I think that sometimes we get too wrapped up in this train of thought that we lose grasp of the real reason we are out there. Absolutely, it is a noble goal to get to a more balanced ratio and to get an older age class of deer walking around our spots but hunting media today puts so much pressure on us to do this that we unnecessarily stress out about hunting. This brings me to the crux of this article.

            Yesterday after work I scrambled into my truck and got to one of my two spots as fast as I could. The night before I had seen that the evening would be cooler compared to recent nights so I anticipated earlier deer movement. Upon arriving, I changed into my gear and set out for my stand. From my truck, there is a thin strip of thick woods about 20 yards wide that divides the road and a field edge. A creek runs through the middle and a narrow bridge allows for easy access from one side to the other. As I went to cross this bridge I spotted a deer out in the field. The deer paid me no mind so I ducked back and crouched behind a bush. As quickly and quietly as I could manage, I unslung my bow, removed my back pack,  opened it, grabbed my range finder out, slid my release on, removed an arrow from my quiver (Man! There are a lot of steps), and knocked an arrow.

I crept to the bridge and assessed the situation. “Ok, it’s a doe” I thought to myself. She was eating in some long grass but her body language was relaxed so I tip-toed across the bridge whenever her head went down. The sun was directly behind me but I was in the shade from that strip of woods. I knew this meant that even though she was facing my direction, the sun was in her eyes, she would have a hard time picking me out as long as I was still. I would only move when her head was hidden from view down in the long grass and I froze every time she raised it. When I finally got to where I had a clear view, unobstructed by leaves or branches, I stopped. I ranged her and the reading showed 50 yards on the nose.

I thought about closing the distance but it would mean leaving the shade and stepping into the open with the sun reflecting directly off me. A mature doe would certainly pick up on my presence. I have spent hours practicing out to 70 yards and can deliver a would-be-fatal shot at my 3-D target without a bit of trouble, even using broadheads. Until this point, 48 yards was the longest shot I had taken but I felt confident in my abilities with my compound so I decided that if she turned broadside I would take my shot. There was a noise behind her so she turned and looked over her shoulder. This was my chance. I drew back and found my anchor points. She took a few steps to my right and slightly away but I figured she was only a yard further, putting her at 51 yards. I settled my pin and released.

I heard the arrow smack her side but I didn’t think about that. My heart dropped and the deer let out a terrified bleat…the bleat of a distressed fawn. She went running with her head down, leg up (my arrow had broken it), and tail between her legs. A second later I watched her crash down into a creek a mere 25 yards from the point of impact. I reluctantly went over, knowing that I might confirm my fear. I did. This fawn was born this spring. At this point all I was thinking is, “Oh no. Oh no. How did I screw that up?” I went to where she had stood and realized that even though the grass was long, she had been standing on a bump in the terrain which made the grass appear shorter on her than it would have had she been standing elsewhere.

Then another thought crossed my mind. What if it was not just a fawn but a buck fawn? I went and stood on the bank and looked down from the bank of the creek. I stared intently at the head and saw what I hoped were not two ever-so-slight bumps. Reluctant to confirm my suspicion, I slid down the bank and approached. I lifted the back leg and, to my chagrin, my worst fears were confirmed. I had just shot a buck fawn – literally, the last deer I wanted to shoot. Now this is where I am most ashamed. I stood there, and for about five minutes I gave serious consideration to dragging that small limp body into the woods and leaving it there. I was ashamed to take credit for shooting this deer. I was ashamed that my “hunter cred” would be diminished. I was ashamed that I had gone completely against my management plan. For a brief period, in some twisted way, it made sense to me that abandoning him in the woods and never notching my tag so no one ever found out would be better than utilizing this meat.

As if coming out of a drug induced stupor, I suddenly realized the gravity of the thoughts going through my mind and I mentally punched myself in the face as hard as I could. I knew then and there that, if I walked away from this fawn and wasted his life and the meat, I have no business ever setting foot in the woods again. As a hunter, I have always prided myself on being ethical when it comes to the game I am chasing. Sure, maybe I haven’t killed a huge buck but no matter what, I always found comfort and satisfaction in the fact that the deer I have killed were nice deer and I did it ethically. Yesterday I put a black mark on my still-young, hunting career. I hope I always remember the shame I feel for what I considered doing.

I become so caught up in my management plan and big bucks and prestige and pride that I lost sight of the fact that I had accomplished something great and cool. I had gotten within bow range of a deer on the ground. I had made the longest bow shot on a deer in my life. Most importantly, I had some of the most healthy, tender, additive-free, and natural meat to put in the freezer. While I field dressed my young fawn I told myself that I would not only never do something like that again but I would also write about it in an effort to potentially help others to keep from bringing that darkness on themselves.

As deer seasons are opening all across the country and as we here in Virginia are preparing to hit the woods, let’s not get caught up in antlers and inches. Let’s not lose sight of the real reasons why we hunt. Let’s not put undue pressure on ourselves. I think the beginning of the season is a perfect time to reflect internally on your own expectations for yourself and for the season – not your perception of others’ expectations. Just yours. I will still try to adhere to my management plan but never again will I let my own selfish pride get in the way of what I believe to be morally and ethically right. Always remember that hunting is a privilege and a responsibility that is not to be taken lightly. I hope that everyone is able to take a good hard look at themselves and find the strength to do what is right, in the woods or out, no matter how big or small. Remember to enjoy what hunting is all about and not to overly complicate it. Stay safe in the woods and I wish everyone all the success in the world.

Venturing Out

            After spending countless hours hunting public land and having my hunt ruined time and time again by other hunters, I was very frustrated by the time the deer season ended last year. Although I’m not sure how serious I was about it, the thought certainly crossed my mind that I had had enough and was done with hunting. In the pursuit of whitetails, it’s easy to get worn down mentally and begin to doubt your ability and even why you’re out there in the first place. Hunters sit through miserable weather for hours on end only to (more often than not) come back empty handed. We all know that even if you put in the time you aren’t guaranteed success. That’s not why we’re out there though. However, at the height of our failures we lose sight of the fact that a deer on the ground doesn’t dictate the success of a season.

            Anyway, the season wrapped up and I was left there feeling sorry for myself that I had put in the time and work in order to shoot a buck on public land but hadn’t even seen a buck, let alone had an opportunity. I decided that I could either feel sorry for myself or do something about it. I set a goal for myself that I would have at least one piece of new ground to hunt by the time the next season rolled around.

I began driving all over through farm country. I knocked on doors and got turned away. I got chased off properties by crazy-eyed men who seemed to think I had an ulterior motive and one even went so far as to grab a gun and chase after my truck. Apparently many of our farmers are being taken advantage of to the point that some just snap but that is a discussion for a different time. After having what I perceived to be and what actually may have been a near death experience I took a break from knocking on doors. That only lasted so long before the dread of another season like the previous one drove me back to my truck and out to resume my search.

I decided that maybe farms aren’t where I should go and started focusing on areas with smaller parcels. The people living in slightly more urban areas might take more kindly to a stranger showing up at their door unannounced. Since I love bow hunting and these were smaller tracts, it seemed that people would be more open to the idea of bow hunting so I decided I would ask for permission to hunt with a bow. My theory proved right initially. I knocked on one door and spoke with an elderly gentleman who said he didn’t have a problem with it. Then I spoke with his neighbor who gave me permission. They had 60 and 17 acres respectively. Just like that, I had 77 acres of contiguous land on which to bow hunt.

I was over the moon with excitement. Then the following morning I got a call: “I spoke with my wife last night” the older gentleman said, “and she doesn’t like the idea so unfortunately I have to say you can’t hunt”. There went 60 acres. As quickly as I had gotten it, I had lost it. I consoled myself saying that I still had 17 acres plus a small piece a family friend owns that has about five huntable acres – having two spots is better than having one. I scouted the 17 acre tract a couple times and had finally picked my spot for a tree stand. Then the phone rang again with more bad news. The neighbors had all gotten together and, while they wanted the deer numbers down, they didn’t want someone hunting it as they all walk and ride horses through each other’s property. I lost that piece too.

I was relegated back to hunting public land and the small tract of the family friend. Don’t get me wrong, I am very grateful for that little spot but after about the third sit in a week, deer seem to disappear. This blow certainly took the wind out of my sails. Then I remembered that in the county next to me there is an urban archery program and it just so happened that when I looked into it the application deadline was only five days away. I got accepted into the program and the area I would be hunting is a mere fifteen minutes away. It also happens to be just five minutes from the small property owned by my friend.

About six weeks ago, I had just qualified with my bow for the urban archery program and decided to stop and check a trail camera on the small five acre piece. As I left I saw the neighbor out and stopped to chat. He told me that a lady down the road had some land and desperately wanted the deer numbers down so I should go ask her about permission. I immediately did so and after a few minutes of talking she granted me permission. I went to take a look at the land. I found a creek winding through her property and it wrapped the edge of an old horse pasture. She said she didn’t use the pasture and told me I was welcome to try planting a food plot. I have never had an opportunity to plant a food plot so I jumped at the chance.

Food plot after I cut the grass

 

Food plot after spraying

 

View of food plot from my tree stand

Prepping my food plot

Now here we are, only days until the urban archery opener, a month from the Virginia statewide opener and I have three spots to bow hunt. The urban spot is wooded and lies along the edge of a river – the terrain is rough but it is loaded with oak ridges and thick cover in areas. It was never hunted until last year so it has potential to carry some big deer. The small property has plenty of thick cover and will be a good spot as it gets closer to the rut – having other options will make it easier to stay out of there for a while. The last spot has a big open pasture with a late season food plot that is just beginning to show signs of life. I have put in hours and hours of time and effort this summer but I feel like I have more opportunities this year than I have any of the previous years in my short-lived hunting career. As I said in the beginning of this article, it still might not work out and it almost assuredly won’t go according to plan. However, I am satisfied that I have done everything in my power to sway things in my favor (and it doesn’t hurt that I lucked into some things as well). Oh! And I’ll be hunting an 80 acre farm in southern Ohio (see previous “Ohio Dreamin’” post). I really feel like someone is looking out for me and guiding me this season. The only thing I have left to say is bring on the 2016 season!!!

OHIO DREAMIN’

                I am a newbie hunter by most standards since it wasn’t until 2012 when I was 24 that I started pursuing big game. Although a mere four years later and with only four hunting seasons under my belt, I don’t really consider myself a newbie. Undoubtedly, most hunters who have been doing this all their lives have a vast amount of experience to reference and significantly more than me. However, unlike most of them, I had to learn and figure everything out for myself. Because of that I spent hours reading about whitetail behavior, tendencies, travel and bedding preferences, food sources, movement times and how weather affects that. I have read studies published by major whitetail biologists pertaining to multiple facets of whitetails. I’ve picked the brain of nearly every whitetail hunter I’ve encountered. I hike all over the whitetail woods in order to do my own research. I spend more time in a tree stand in one season than it seems most guys are privileged enough to. And I’ve watched more hours of outdoor television than I care to admit.

                To that last point, while I wouldn’t say it is necessarily the most reliable resource, it is the best way to see things I had read about put into action. More importantly (Maybe a good thing, maybe not) I realized that there are some monster deer out there and they do not live in any of the areas of Northern Virginia in which I hunt. One could say that outdoor television gave me the itch to shoot a big buck. I got this idea in my head and couldn’t shake it so finally in the summer of 2014 I began researching hunting in other states. I found that most of my research was focused on OH. I searched for Pope & Young bucks by county. I determined what percentage of bucks killed in each county were Pope & Young bucks. I tried to determine the average number of hunters per square mile per county as best I could. I took all these factors into account and came up with the general area I wanted to try to hunt. At this point, many would book an outfitter but my financial standing prevented me from going that route. I decided it would be a DIY hunt.

                I found a campground located within a section of public land and announced to my family that I would be leaving for Ohio at the end of the week for opening weekend of archery season. Two days later I had my truck packed and pulled away from the house with visions of monster racks that were dwarfed only by the size of the bodies they were attached to. I arrived and set up camp before setting out to find my spot for opening day.

                I had printed out topos and areal maps so I began walking ridge tops and funnels. I found good sign everywhere and acorns galore. I decided to set up on a bench half way up a small mountain that had a funnel leading from it to an oak ridge that was littered with acorns. There were droppings and tracks all around and, from the size of the tracks, there were some big deer in there. I returned to my truck to retrieve my climber and gear hooks. The spot I had picked out was almost a mile in and all uphill so I was tired, to say the least, by the time the set was hung. I returned to camp with about 3 hours of daylight left so I set up a target and checked my bow to verify that it hadn’t been bumped around too much on the drive up. After preparing a quick meal I turned in for a night of restless sleep and full of anticipation for what the following day might hold.

                I awoke the next day with ample time to get to my stand before legal shooting light. The cool air felt good as I sipped a cup of instant coffee and scarfed down a bagel with cream cheese. I checked and then re-checked my pack and then I was on my way. Although my route to the stand followed a trail most of the way in, I still struggled to navigate the unfamiliar terrain in the darkness. Branches and thorns clawed at my face and tugged on my lightweight camo all the way to my stand. Fortunately the dew on the leaves made my footsteps silent. That was about all I had going for me.

                No sooner had daylight broken when I felt a stiff breeze on the back of my neck. The wind began swirling but I didn’t know the land so I was reluctant to break down my set and move. As the sun rose higher it got oppressively hot. I was disappointed to find temperatures climbing up into the high 80’s by mid day. Reluctantly, I broke down my set and carried everything down to the trail where I hid it while I went back for some lunch and a quick nap.

                Refreshed from my nap and a hot meal, I decided that with it being so hot deer would seek out shade and water and probably wouldn’t make it up to food until well after shooting light. To me this dictated dropping down lower near a creek and setting up there. I followed a dry creek bed until I reached a pool of water that hadn’t dried and, seeing plenty of tracks, I set up down wind and settled in for the evening hunt. My fears were confirmed when nothing came through during daylight.

                Somewhat dejected, I returned to camp trying to convince myself that tomorrow would be better. Rain was in the forecast so I hoped they might be up in the morning and that is when I would have the best opportunity. I returned to the same water hole the next morning. The humidity hung heavily in the air and there was no wind. This was my last day and I only had a couple hours before it would be time to break down camp, go to church at noon and then hit the road for home.

                An hour into the sit I heard running hooves. Not just a deer but a heavy deer. The thud of each step screamed to me that a giant was heading my way and fast. Drawing my bow I scanned the brush below searching for any movement so I could identify the deer. Suddenly I heard him change direction and he was heading off up the hill toward the bench on which I had placed my first set the previous morning. He never once broke cover and all I saw was the flash of a shadow through some thick brush. Just like that, my first experience with out of state hunting was finished. Although I had not even seen a deer I enjoyed my time learning and hunting a new area and resolved to come back.

                Once home I immediately began planning my next excursion to go back and chase those Ohio monsters. My work schedule wouldn’t permit me to return for the rut so I set my sights on the last weekend of archery before the gun opener. While visiting a whitetail group on facebook, I appealed to members who hunted in that particular region and asked if they had any advice or tips for me as to where there might be a better spot to hunt. I received many helpful insights but one post in particular, from a guy about my own age named Justin, stood out. He was telling me of a little known piece of private land that was open to the public for hunting with use of a permit. He went on to tell me of a 150-class buck in that vicinity and backed it up with trail camera photos. That was all it took to convince me. Up until that point, I had only killed one buck – an eight-point that was respectable for my neck of the woods and one I was proud to take as my first buck – but it probably only grossed a little under 120 inches. The deer in the trail camera pictures he sent me made my buck look like a baby.

                Before I knew it I was setting out for Ohio again. Upon arriving at the new spot, which was only twenty minutes from where I had previously hunted, I set up camp and scouted around. I knew roughly where the pictures had been taken from pages of messaging and texting back and forth with Justin. I found what looked to be a good spot and got set up. It was still morning so I made camp and unpacked before heading out for a hunt that evening. Again it was unseasonably warm but I was there and I was going to make the most of it. I didn’t see anything that evening so I climbed down, cut a few stray branches from a shooting lane, and went to bed.

                The following day proved no better. I was plagued all day by a swirling breeze that turned into a swirling wind over night and into the following day. It was a Sunday so I decided to climb down and go to church but this time I would return to hunt the evening before heading home. After an evening hunt that yielded nothing but a lone doe crossing an opening well out of bow range I broke down my set and returned to my truck. However, when I finished stowing my stand I found that between my stand site and truck I had dropped my phone. A phone that was on silent and I had no way to call anyway. I searched frantically but to no avail.

                Rather than break down camp I went to bed in hopes of finding it after it got light the next day. Upon arising at daybreak (my phone was my alarm so I was awoken by light shining through the tent) I packed my belongings and began scouring the area between my stand site and truck. Luckily, a good Samaritan in the form of a gun hunter out for the first time that season was carrying an iPhone and generously offered to see if the iPhone locator app would work. Fortunately enough, it got us within ten feet of it and I found it in some taller grass. By this point I had already missed my window to make it back for even the second half of the work day so I called my boss and explained the situation. After notifying my family who had grown alarmed when I hadn’t returned home or called, I decided that I would hunt the rest of the morning and then leave but it began raining and the temperature dropped. I decided that I had had enough frustration and aggravation so I changed into dry clothes and drove home before anything else could go wrong.

                Ohio stayed on my mind over the next few months so I decided I would make another trip the following season but this time I would do it right. In the Spring of 2015 I told my boss that I would be taking the second week of November off. I decided that this time I would time my trip perfectly to coincide with the rut and not be rushed by only being there for a weekend at a time. I got in touch with Justin again and to my surprise and delight he offered to let me hunt a farm with him where he had exclusive bow hunting rights. Additionally, he found a place for me to camp that would only be about ten minutes from the farm. I was practically bursting at the seams with excitement.

                The big day arrived and late on a Friday morning I set off on my third hunting trip to OH. When I arrived that night I met Justin and profusely thanked him for the opportunity. After spending a couple hours with Justin, his family, and a few friends of his, we a planned our departure for the following morning and said good night. He was working nights so his plan was to work through the night and then join me for the morning hunt. He stuck to that plan throughout the week for the most part except for one morning when he was just too tired.

                The first morning I sat in a stand that he had already set up since I hadn’t had time to hang one of my own. It was on a hilltop facing away from the steep drop (practically a cliff) to a cow pasture below. There was a good wind for that stand and I saw a little 6 point within the first hour of the sit. We cut it short that morning so he could show me around the property before having to go home to get some sleep. After he left I moved to a different stand location but no luck. I was there for a total of eight days and they all seem to blend together into one so I can’t perfectly recount the sequence of everything but the encounters were unforgettable. Not a day went by when I didn’t see a buck.

 

                The first intense moment I had was on the fifth day of the hunt around noon. The rut was about to bust wide open and I had just finished a rattling sequence. Out of pure luck I happened to glance behind me over my left shoulder and there was a huge bodied 2 ½ year old eight charging through some saplings and making a b-line for my location. I grabbed my bow and within seconds he was on the trail to my stand and standing a mere twelve feet from me. I felt as though I could have reached out and touched him. Until that point I had never seen such a big bodied deer but the rack wasn’t quite what I was looking for and neither was the age class. I love eights but he didn’t have much mass or length and was only as wide as the tips of his ears. He was a beautiful deer and one I would love to take in a few years. I still found myself shaking from being in such close proximity. As soon as he caught my wind he slammed on the breaks, wheeled around, and with a snort bounded off out of sight. That was the morning Justin didn’t make it out and I was actually in the stand he would have been hunting.

                I saw does and small bucks every day but nothing I was looking for. On the seventh day Justin sent me a text saying he was too tired to go so I went back on my own again. Once I got in the stand I got a text saying he had changed his mind. He told me which stand he was going to hunt and it just so happened to be the one I was in. I immediately climbed down as this was his hunting property and I was merely a guest who didn’t want to step on anyone’s toes or be an imposition. I figured I had about 45 minutes before Justin showed up so I rattled to see if anything happened. A noise in front of me caught my attention and there, coming right for me, was a buck we referred to as the ten with the weak G4’s. He stopped about 70 yards from me as something caught his attention. I turned and couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Here came Justin walking to his stand and he didn’t realize I was in that other stand – his entry would have been different otherwise. I had neglected to tell him where I would be. With his tail upright and wagging side to side the buck gave us a parting snort and trotted back the way he had come.

                I was frustrated to say the least but Justin, who had a decent view of the direction the buck had gone from his stand, texted me saying there was an even bigger ten down on the CRP field edge slowly walking the tree line towards a tree that held my climber. He urged me to quickly run down the hill and get up in the tree because he was pretty sure I had time and the wind was right. I did so and got up in the tree but never saw the buck. An hour later, probably close to 10:30 or 11 my curiosity got the best of me so I climbed down and crept to the edge of the field. Looking out across I saw the ten but he had turned and gone back the other way. While I was scanning the rest of the field he vanished from sight. I thought or at least hoped he had bedded in that spot. With only a couple days left I decided to get aggressive and see if I could sneak through the three foot tall grass and briars to get a shot. Of course when I got over there he was nowhere to be found. When I got back to the field edge in front of my stand I turned to look back one more time and there standing within ten yards of where I had been standing only a couple minutes prior was the biggest eight point I’ve ever seen either on the hoof or on television. His body looked to be the size of a cow and the sag of his neck skin and sway of his back betrayed his age. I have no idea how old he was but he was much older than 4 1/2. His tines reached up higher than any I had ever seen before and he carried the mass all the way through. If it were rifle season my story would end here because he was a buck of a lifetime and I wouldn’t have hesitated for a second to drop that bruiser that stood only 150 yards from me. As it was, I had to be content staring in awe as he (for lack of a better word) lumbered up the hill and out of sight for good.

                Just seeing that buck reenergized me and I went into that afternoon with the same zeal I had when I had arrived in Ohio. After camping by myself for six nights eating terrible food and dealing with the cold temperatures or occasional rain and having just had an opportunity at a nice ten-point foiled, I was at a pretty low point. I decided I had to be out there at the end of that finger of trees since I had just seen a nice ten and then that pig of an eight there within bow range. I pulled my tree stand down and moved everything to where I thought I needed to be. After I got situated, though, the wind began to howl. My tree was rocking so much that I was sure I would fall even though I was tied off. It felt as if the wind would rip the whole tree out of the ground and send me crashing down to my demise. At this point in the hunt I felt that I had a pretty good idea as to how the wind blew across the property and decided that I would be safer and better off going back towards the tree I had moved from. The remainder of that evening was spent relocating my stand about half way back to where it had been that morning. As it grew dark I cut some limbs out of my way, hung some doe in estruess scent wicks and returned to camp for the night.

                The next morning when I arrived, Justin was there ready to go. He had gotten off early and decided to set up a blind on a knoll overlooking a deep ravine with a creek running through it – a known travel corridor and obvious funnel. I told him to let me know if he got something and he told me the same and we each set out to our perspective new spots. I was in the stand and 35 feet up the tree an hour before legal shooting light when I heard a rustling of leaves directly downwind of me. While I couldn’t see anything yet I felt sure it was a deer. I was thankful then that I had climbed so high because if I weren’t up there the deer would have certainly caught my wind. As it began to grow lighter I was finally able to make out the shape of a deer about 40 yards behind me. It was a doe and she was in no kind of hurry as she picked at leaves and small plants. Then as it got lighter still, I realized that behind her was a buck. Every time she went to walk in any direction he would walk over and cut her off. This was the only time I have ever witnessed a such behavior. For almost an hour I watched this courtship but he would never come closer or out of the shadows. Finally as the sun began to cast light into the trees I was able to make out the rack. He was a nice looking ten that would score around the 130 inches. He was no monster given the class of deer that the area held the potential for but he was drastically bigger than anything I had seen in VA during season and I knew that I would be happy with him. I estimated him to be three and a half, which is an age I am alright with taking at this stage of my hunting career.

                At the start of the hunt Justin had told me to shoot anything in the 140’s or higher but on the second day he told me to shoot anything I would be happy with. On a couple other occasions he again told me to take one I would be happy with and he didn’t care what size or age that was. Here was this 130’s class ten-pointer that had my blood pumping and my knees shaking so I decided that this was the one for me. He kept that doe there for almost an hour and never gave me a shot. Finally he turned as if to leave and I ranged him – 48 yards. I drew back and took a deep breath. After a quick prayer I touched the release and watched the red glow of my illuminated knock soar through the air and disappear through the heart of that huge body. In a flurry of leaves and kicked up dirt he took off sprinting with both his head and tail down, not even knowing he was dead on his feet. Within 60 yards of where he had stood when I released my arrow his mad dash came to a screeching halt as he plowed head first into the damp earth and laid there motionless.

                Through all the ups but mostly downs of the week I had relied heavily on my family for encouragement and support. I had them saying prayers for my success and they had even gotten other friends to do the same. As soon as I saw he was dead and before climbing down from the tree or even telling Justin, I called home to relay the good news. I then proceeded to call Justin who told me to wait in the stand and he would get the four-wheeler. When I heard the distant hum of the engine getting closer I began my decent and reached the forest floor. By the time I got to the pasture where my buck had taken his last and final steps Justin was already there. As I walked into the field I held my bow up in one hand and a clenched fist up in the other. I dropped to my knees and couldn’t believe my good fortune. He congratulated me over and over again as I wrapped my hands around the dark brown antler that had gouged troughs in the dirt where he lay. I probably thanked him more than a thousand times.

                After taking pictures and dressing him out, we loaded the buck on the four-wheeler and Justin drove him up to the house while I retrieved my climber. The farmer came out to admire my kill, congratulated me, and introduced himself. He and his son expressed how happy they were that I had enjoyed my hunt and how thrilled they were for my success. They even went so far as to extend a standing invite for Justin to bring me back whenever he wanted and my schedule would allow. There is no way for me to put into words how much I appreciate the generosity of Justin and the farmers on who’s land I hunted. It is heart-warming and uplifting to see that there are still people like this in the world. All I asked for was advice and in turn, they gave me ever-so-much more than that. They gave me a memory I will have for the rest of my life. I also gained a few friends on that trip and I loved hearing about their successes in the deer woods after I had left. Since returning from that trip I have killed a few more deer but that was the highlight of this past season for me. I am already counting down the days until I get to go back and share in the good times with Justin and company and pursue my passion in the hills of Ohio once again.

 

 

A LEGACY OF CONSERVATION

                Hunters, farmers, blacksmiths, textile makers, bakers, doctors… all of these and more have traditionally been seen as valuable occupations in society - until recently that is. More and more it seems that hunters are coming under attack and continue to be seen in a negative light. The Cecil the lion story probably comes to mind immediately. There are many other instances of hunters coming under attack, though. Society doesn’t see hunting as a good like it used to. This is largely thanks to a few bad apples and a united front from the “antis”.

                But it pains me to say that the antis are not the only ones hurting our beloved heritage. I can’t begin to recall all the times I have seen one hunter tearing down another hunter because “that deer is too young” or “dog hunters are a bane on hunting” or “if you bait you’re not a hunter” or (fill in the blank). How can we expect to preserve hunting and the lands on which we do that if we can’t even maintain a united front amongst ourselves? The strategy of many successful military leaders has often been to divide and conquer. The antis don’t even have to divide because we are doing that to ourselves. Now all they have to do is conquer.

                According to the US Fish and Wildlife Services’ survey conducted in 2011 there were 13.7 million hunters in the US that year (6% of the Nations’ population). History has given us countless examples of a small group of people having a tremendous impact. By merely looking at the foundation of our country and the events that took place we have numerous examples. Hunters are another example of a small group having a tremendous impact. The population numbers of many game species were dangerously low at one point or another. Conservation efforts funded by hunters helped to bring numbers back up to huntable populations. According to The National Shooting Sports Foundation hunters annually contribute $371 million to conservation through a self-imposed excise tax on guns and ammunition. Additionally another $796 million are spent on licenses and permits, and $440 million are donated to conservations groups bringing the annual, grand total of conservation funding from hunting to $1.6 billion.

                Many hunters have joined ranks with conservations organizations pertaining to their query of choice but Whitetail hunters seem to be slacking off in this area. According to a survey conducted by the Quality Deer Management Association less than 1% of whitetail hunters are members of any such organization. This is particularly bad due to the fact that whitetail hunters make up a majority of the hunting population. I would encourage all hunters to consider joining and donating to a whitetail conservation organization. It’s great to donate to The National Wild Turkey Federation but the work they do primarily benefits turkeys. Habitat improvements designed for improving areas for deer tend to have a much more widespread benefit encompassing multiple species aside from just deer. That’s not to say I’m not advocating for you to donate to the NWTF or any other organization but rather do so in addition to donating to a whitetail group.

                Hunters are primary stake holders in nature and wildlife so it should come as no surprise that we spend so much money to conserve what we love. However, I think we can do much better. I have recently taken it upon myself to join some of the main conservation groups associated with hunting and would encourage everyone to do the same. I would also greatly encourage everyone to join a relatively young organization called the National Deer Alliance. It is free to join and you actually get to participate as opposed to reading a publication they put out – that’s not to say they don’t put out publications, though – without any input. Every week the NDA send out a quick survey that takes anywhere from ten seconds to a minute to complete. The cool thing about the NDA is that they are trying to unite hunters across the continent and not just within a state or region. By doing so, their goal is to present a united front for deer hunters everywhere and to advocate on their behalf based on the input they get through the weekly survey.

                As hunters, it is time for us to stand up and emulate the goal set forth by the NDA but not limited to a species. We need to present a unified front to the general public and demonstrate our value. According to the study by the US Fish and Wildlife Services mentioned above, more than 90 million people participated in some form of outdoor recreation involving nature and wildlife that year, whether it was hiking, bird watching, fishing, etc… The entire nation benefits from the efforts of hunters but they lose sight of that when we can’t stand together as a whole and defend ourselves because we are too busy bickering amongst ourselves. We all participate in a heritage that is deeper than any other but if we aren’t careful we will lose it. By coming together we can present society with the facts and show the good we provide. If we participate personally or financially we can further increase that beneficial impact and maybe this era of hunter criticism will end.

I have taken the liberty of attaching links to some of the great hunter advocacy and conservation groups below and strongly encourage everyone to check them out and all the others and consider donating and getting involved. You may think your contributions are merely a drop in the bucket and so it’s not worth it but if everyone had that view then where would we be?

Quality Deer Management Association - https://www.qdma.com/

Whitetails Unlimited - http://www.whitetailsunlimited.com/

National Deer Alliance - http://nationaldeeralliance.com/

Rocky Mountain Elk Foundation - http://www.rmef.org/

National Wild Turkey Federation - http://www.nwtf.org/

Ducks Unlimited - http://www.ducks.org/

A Lucky Move

                As I mentioned in my previous post, I had ACL reconstructive surgery a few days before Christmas back in 2013. As previously stated, I spent hours upon hours glued to the television watching the Outdoor Channel and the Sportsman’s Channel. This is what turned me onto turkey hunting and the reason I enjoyed a successful first spring gobbler season. As any of you who watch either of these channels or any outdoor television at all knows, they air plenty of bowhunting. Well I got to thinking while I was doped up on pain meds and laying on the couch that if I could get a bow I could effectively extend my season by months. Maybe it wasn’t the most prudent thing to do considering I had no cash flow coming in but one day in my dazed stupor I went online and purchased a ready to hunt bow package.

                It wasn’t as if I just went on and purchased the first one I saw. I had been considering it for a while but just hadn’t pulled the trigger on it so to speak. I had done my research and knew all my measurements so at least I got that part right. However, I got maybe a little over ambitious with the draw weight and selected a 70lb bow. When my bow arrived a few days later I was unable to try it out as I still needed crutches to get around or stand for long periods of time. I went ahead and unpackaged it though and immediately got a sinking feeling as I strained against the string and could not budge it. I am by no means a big guy and at 5’ 9” and 155lbs soaking wet this bow was too much for me. I ended up putting it back in its case and setting it off to the side for a couple weeks.

                When I was finally able to get around without the use of crutches I pulled the bow out again and for the first time went out to shoot it. With no amount of ease I was able to fight the string back and get approximately ten shots fired down range at the target before the burning in my arms rendered them useless. Part of me thinks that maybe I was just weakened from laying on the couch for weeks on end because over the next few days I found that each time I went out I was able to almost double the amount of shots I could pull off in one session. Before long I was firing between 60 and 80 shots per session and feeling very confident. Additionally, I began extending my range out and got to where I could confidently hit a 6” diameter target at 50 yards ten out of ten times. I knew I was accurate enough to shoot a deer at this point. Unfortunately I would have to wait all spring and summer before fall rolled around and archery season came back in.

                In my research on turkey laws while prepping to go on my first turkey hunt I stumbled across the archery section of deer hunting and discovered that there were four counties here in Northern Virginia that have a late antlerless-only archery season that extended into late April due to high deer densities. One of those was the county in which I live. I knew that a family friend had 16 acres and it was only about ten minutes from my house so decided to try to get permission to hunt there. Since they have a lot of young children they hadn’t permitted rifle hunting but I thought maybe archery hunting might be something they would consider. I made the call and found out that not only would they permit it but also they wanted some of the deer removed. Furthermore, I learned that there was already a ladder stand up on the property that had belonged to the previous owner. All the stars had aligned.

                On the first day I went out the nervous anticipation was almost more than I could handle. To this point I had shot a handful of does with a rifle but I didn’t know how I would react being so close. My only saving grace was my confidence in my ability to make a good shot. I set a range limit of 40 yards for myself and dove head first into archery hunting.

                Before hunting this property I had only hunted public land or areas with a smaller deer population so I was not prepared for what was in store. On that first afternoon I saw approximately 30 deer. I had climbed into the stand around 3:00 PM and after sitting for an hour I gradually became aware of some slight movement about 80 yards off to my left in a big thick area. As I looked closer I made out the flick of a tail here, the twitch of an ear there – there were approximately 20 deer bedded within 65 yards of my stand and they hadn’t noticed me. I watched as one by one they stood up and began picking their way off the property between two hills. That evening as the sun began to set I saw another group of about ten deer moving way off to my left. They went down across a creek and through that same area and then subsequently through that same gap.

                After a few sits and seeing this same behavior time and time again it was evident that my stand wasn’t in the right place. There were a number of reasons why I couldn’t move, though. The ladder stand I was in had been there for so long that the tree had actually grown around it and it was now a permanent fixture there. Also, I didn’t have any stands of my own to erect. Since I hadn’t been working for a couple months and had spent so much on my bow and setup I knew I couldn’t spend money on a stand. And the last reason was that even if I had a stand to put up, my knee was in no shape to be trying to get a stand safely into a tree. I resigned myself to this fact that my only hope of getting a deer down was for one to deviate from the route they always seem to travel and happen to pass my position.

                From the time I first sat that property to the end of the late archery season was about four weeks. I probably hunted about ten days over the course of that time but to no avail. Finally it came down to the last day and I only had a couple hours in the morning to get it done. The sun had barely began rising when I noticed what I thought was a group of four does. They were making their way out of the gap and working towards the creek to my left but were doing so at a slow rate. Given my time constraints and it being the end of the season decided that I had to make a move. As quietly as I could I climbed out of the stand, all the while keeping a close eye on the deer and freezing whenever a head looked up. Once I reached the ground I tip-toed to the trail that ran adjacent to the creek and then went to intercept them as fast and silently as I could. The trail is covered with moss and everything was still wet with dew so my main goal was not to step on any twigs.

 I reached the opening of the thick bushes where the crossing was and knelt on my right knee. I could just make out the brown through the leaves as they edged closer and closer to my ambush position. As I scanned the group I could make out little nubs on three of their heads but none on the head of the fourth. I waited until that deer reached what I estimated to be 40 yards. When I felt my target was in range I drew back my bow, anchored my release against my cheek, and shifted my left foot further left to where I was leaning out from behind the bush and had a clear line of sight to the group. Now had a shot at them but they could clearly see me too. I took aim and released the arrow.

Amidst the flurry of commotion that ensued as they whirled and dashed back the way they had come I heard a distinctive and loud “THWACK”.  They had all jumped my string when I shot and I had no idea what had happened. I heard the arrow strike something but since I had never shot an animal with a bow I didn’t know what it would sound like. It was so loud that I thought I had missed and hit a tree beyond where they had stood. Shaking and uncertain, I crossed the creek to see what could be seen. I reached the spot where the deer had stood moments before and to my surprise there was a trail of bright red blood that anyone could follow. There was blood absolutely everywhere. I slowly began following the blood which was a task easier than any prior tracking job I ever had. Up over and around a knoll I tracked – the blood although not spewing anymore was still plain as day and I knew with the amount of blood loss that deer would be down. As I dropped down to the creek I began scanning the bank on both sides certain my deer would be laying there. It took me a minute to process it but my deer was actually lying right in front of my but had collapsed in the creek itself and was half submerged.

Ecstatic, I dropped my bow and jumped in the retrieve my prize. Upon dragging it to the edge I began to examine it. First, to my chagrin, I noticed two tiny nubs protruding from in front of the ears. While it was a legal kill as antlers must be over 1” long to be considered antlered, my goal had been to kill a doe. Next I took a look at the shot placement and I immediately said a prayer in thanks for my finding this deer. Apparently when I released the arrow, the deer, which had been slightly quartering me, had spun 90 degrees to his right and the arrow had hit him in his left hind leg. People are often amazed when I tell them the next part. I still got a clean pass through as the arrow exited through his ribs on the right side. My arrow had hit the femoral artery and then clipped the lungs on the way out and any organs in between resulting in an absolutely devastating shot.

Looking back and knowing what I know now and having the experiences I have had there are things about this hunt I would not repeat and would caution others not to do. First, I would not take such a long shot when a deer is looking at me or is on high alert. That’s the easiest way to take a good situation and turn it into a nightmare. With archery hunting the ethics of a shot become more and more of a question as the distance increases. I have since taken shots that long and one or two longer but that was only after countless hours of sitting in stand and learning to read deer mannerisms and body language. If the deer is tense or acting spooky and clearly knows something is not right I will either pass, wait for the deer to calm down and become comfortable again, or allow it to come in much closer. This hunt I just described in addition to some other shots at tense deer (fortunately those resulted in clean misses) drove this lesson home for me.

           Another thing that should have stood out to me is that by that time of year the bucks are back in bachelor groups and since I knew the other three were bucks I should have concluded that the fourth was as well. I don’t give myself such a hard time for this one since I was still learning about deer (I still am but I have learned a lot since that day). Some may not have an issue with shooting a button buck but since I had sole permission to hunt there and no neighbors hunt I wanted to manage it for mature bucks – the first deer I took there went entirely against that management plan. I won’t go into the management aspect anymore for now and will just leave it at that. That discussion will be for a different day.

At the end of the day, though, despite my errors, I felt a deep sense of accomplishment in my success. I know that a huge part of my kill was chance but at the same time, I can count, with one finger, the number of people I know personally who have snuck up to and shot a deer from the ground with a bow. Granted, I know very few people who hunt but for now I only know one person who has pulled that off and that one person is me. While lots of things could have gone wrong, they didn’t and that’s often a big part of having a successful hunt. I know I’m nowhere close to being a good hunter and that I was merely fortunate in this instance. I do what I can to take a lesson from every hunt and grow each time. While I derive a certain amount of pride from the fact that I managed to shoot a deer this way, I have no delusions about it and know that I could attempt this 100 and fail for one reason or another.  As much as we strive to become better hunters, a little luck goes into almost every kill. Just like the saying goes, “Success is where preparation meets opportunity” and in this case I think you could substitute the word “luck” for “opportunity”.

The Gobble Hobble

                At the start of the Fall of 2013 I was in a weekend flag football league with a couple of buddies from high school. In the midst of one of the games I attempted to lunge for an opponent’s flag. As I did so, I heard a loud “POP” and simultaneously felt a pain in my knee more excruciating than any pain I had ever previously experienced. Just like that, my short illustrious flag football career came to a screeching halt due to a torn ACL. More important than football, though, I was worried that I had just said goodbye to my hopes of killing my first buck that coming hunting season. I was about to enter my third season of being a hunter but when I got the news that I had indeed torn a ligament in my knee I could see my aspirations for the looming season slipping away like sand through a sieve.

                I scheduled a consult with an orthopedic surgeon who said he could fit me in 3 weeks from then or 6 days before Christmas. A little confused, I asked what he meant and why he wasn’t scheduling it for later that week. I came to find out that some people never get it repaired and that soon I’d be able to walk alright with a knee brace for lateral support but if I didn’t get the operation I wouldn’t really be able to run well anymore. All I heard as he was talking is, “you might still be able to hunt this season” (he didn’t say that but that’s how my mind translated whatever it was he did say). I opted for the date that was just before Christmas and was able to hunt that season although not as successfully as I had hoped. I had the surgery and braced myself for the long six month recovery.

                The weeks following the surgery found me on the couch all day every day and what does a hunter who is laid up on the couch during hunting season do? That’s right. Watch hunting on TV. I would literally have the Outdoor Channel or Sportsman’s Channel on from the time I woke up until the time I fell asleep that night…every day. Needless to say, my family got pretty fed up with it and would ask, “Didn’t you watch this episode yesterday?” To which I would respond, “Yes but I pick up on something new each time”. This was especially true for turkey hunting.

                Before my surgery I had never hunted turkeys or even really had a desire to. Whitetails were all that were on my mind. I began watching these guys out chasing turkeys at the crack of dawn as the sky would slowly change from black to red. I watched as they went out at night to hoot like an owl and locate roosted birds for the next day. I saw the passion they had when it came to pursuing these keen-eyed gobblers and it made me wonder why I had never tried it. I began paying close attention to the sounds they made when calling. Clucks, purrs, gobbles, cutting, spitting and drumming…all these terms were previously unknown to me. Oddly or coincidentally enough, my aunt who knew I had gotten into hunting found an unopened pot call from Knight and Hale at a yard sale and gave it to me that Christmas. I began to try to mimic the sounds I heard on TV paying close attention to the patterns, pitches, and speed that made up these calls.

                Before long I was up and moving around, albeit not well. My friend’s would good-naturedly call me “the gimp” and “Tiny Tim” (Since it was Christmas time) and any other clever name they could come up with. I laughed right along because it really was comical the way I had to walk and move around. As April approached I was getting around significantly better with a limp that was much less noticeable. The joking jibes had ceased (for the most part) and I began to get stir crazy. I found myself thinking about turkey hunting and practicing in my truck with mouth calls while getting strange looks from fellow drivers. I wasn’t able to hunt the first part of Virginia’s turkey season as I didn’t feel up to it but by the second leg I couldn’t take it anymore. I just had to get out there.

                The fifth Saturday of turkey season found me climbing out of my truck at a public hunting spot I had frequented during deer season a few months earlier. I hiked around a lake near the entrance and stopped staring at the steep slope of the mountain that towered in front of me. I thought maybe I had bitten off more than I could chew in my current condition. I decided to take it slowly and no matter what, I would reach that bench half way up the mountain. It took me much longer than I had hoped to reach that point so by the time I got there the sun was well on its journey across the sky.

                The pain in my knee was sharp and throbbing by the time I reached my destination and so I sat on a log and called. There was no noise except some chirping song birds and leaves rustling from a nearby squirrel searching through the underbrush for whatever he could find to eat. I sat on that log for about an hour before I felt I could get up. I stood and my knee was stiff and sore. I had done no physical preparation for a task such as this.

                Not even a minute after I stood I heard a noise off to my left and turned to see a man covered in camouflage from head to toe and toting a shotgun heading across the flat in my direction. He had a vest with pockets bulging with so many calls I didn’t know how he kept track of them all. Clearly this guy knew what he was doing. He came up and we began chatting. He told me how he had killed a Tom not 50 yards from where I was standing  the morning before and that there were birds aplenty in that area. This was reassuring to hear. He then went on to say that he was done with his hunt and was making his way back down and searching for morels. “Morels?” I asked. “What’re those”? He quickly reached in his bag that, until then, I hadn’t noticed and pulled out a mushroom-like plant unlike any I had ever seen before. When he learned that I was not familiar with them he explained that they are delicious and only grow in the spring right around turkey season. He went on to say that, similar to shed hunting, you have to train your eyes to spot them. He pointed some out to me and then told me to look around to see if I could find any myself. Suddenly I became aware that there was a plethora of them all around me. I thanked him, wished him luck, as he did to me, and he went on his way.

                As he made his way down and out of sight I glanced at my phone and saw that it was already 10 AM. I wondered if all I would get for my troubles were these newly-discovered, free and fresh mushrooms. I decided that after all that trouble I wasn’t going to just give up so I began calling. I would call, then walk 50 yards, and then call again. I was ready to call it a day but right as I reached the far side of the bench and looked down over the opposite side of the mountain I heard a noise that stopped me dead in my tracks; a noise that I was all too familiar with after the hours I had spent glued to the TV while I recovered from surgery.

                A chill ran down my spine and I felt a surge and excitement. The sound was faint and I wasn’t one hundred percent sure I had actually heard it. I scratched the surface of the slate I held one more time and before I had finished the sequence I heard it again. This time I was sure. A gobble - just like on TV but so much better. I quickly (Well, as quickly as I could manage) made my way over the edge and began my decent down the far side of the mountain. As I went I would call and every single time he would gobble back up to me. “So this is what they mean when they say that a bird is fired up”, I gleefully thought to myself. I went down about 150 yards and set up my hen decoy that I had just purchased the night before. I snuggled my back into what was left of a rotten oak stump and called. He responded but this time more faintly. I waited and then called one more time. The response was fainter, still.

                Dismayed, I realized that he was actually going away from me. The brush and leaves were thick so I had no real idea how far he was but I knew if I wasn’t aggressive I would never see him so I grabbed my decoy and moved down further. After another 80 or so yards I stopped and called again. Again I was greeted with an immediate response. I waited a minute and called again. The response seemed closer. I made my way down another 30 yards and set up again. After three more calls and three more quick responses I realized that he was moving away again. Why wouldn’t he come up to me? I went to stand up and got a painful reminder that I had had surgery and felt my knee buckle. My knee wasn’t ready for all of this sudden stress. I found that I needed to hold on to trees as I moved back down to my decoy to move yet further down the slope. I realized I needed to leave something behind and of course I wouldn’t leave my 12 gauge. I quickly dropped my pack where my decoy was and proceeded with just my call and shotgun. I eventually reached the bottom and found that it was strewn with rocks and water that separated it from the next mountain. I questioned whether or not to attempt to cross over so I called again. The response wasn’t immediate but was close and sounded more energetic than any gobble I had gotten until that point. That made up my mind and I began my painful and unsure crossing of the wide, rocky creek.

                When I finally reached the far side I sound myself staring up at what seemed to be an impossible climb. Fallen trees and rocks littered the slope in front of me and it looked steeper than I could climb. I thought to myself, “How is there a tom in among all that stuff?” I let my striker quickly and rapidly strike my slate in a clucking fashion that trailed off into a “cheep,c heEP, CHEEP, CHEEP” progressively increasing the intensity and then “GOBBLE, GOBBLE, GOBBLE”.

                The sound came from right over the knoll to my right and I saw a fallen tree between me and the top of that knoll. I scrambled over rocks and under fallen trees, with thorns and brambles scratching at my hands and face the entire way. I didn’t feel the scratches or pokes because my adrenaline was pumping so hard and my focus was so intent on reaching that log before I was spotted. I crouched behind the log and stuck my barrel out the right side of a tree that stood on the opposite side of my “blind”. Then “GOBBLE, GOBBLE, GOBBLE”. It was so loud it almost hurt and then there he was. I saw a red head practically flying towards me as he all but sprinted over the hill. He jumped onto a log approximately fifteen feet from me and his feathers billowed out and he proudly displayed his plume of tail feathers that gleamed in the late morning sun. To this day I can still visualize that moment with perfect clarity. I also remember with perfect clarity that suddenly I began shaking uncontrollably. I wanted to take the shot but I realized that I had set myself up facing out from behind the wrong side of the tree. I had no shot and if I didn’t do something he would surely see me.

                He let out one more gobbling sequence more magnificent and more ear shattering than any before and then quickly retracted his feathers. His body language showed clear concern and he turned to jump off the log and go back the way he had come. This was it. “Now or never”, I thought. Before I could think twice about it I whipped my gun back from the right side of the tree and swung it towards the left side. Now, If you have ever seen any action movies, as I suspect you have, then you know that move where there is a gun fight and someone inevitably jumps sideways and is firing two handguns mid air; well that is precisely what I did (minus the handguns). My body was positioned too far to the right of this standing tree so as I swung my shotgun to the left and simultaneously lunged off of my good leg in the same direction. I somehow managed to shoulder my shotgun and squeeze off a shot before falling back down behind the fallen tree that had become my blind.

                Unsure what had happened I pushed myself up and peeked over the log I had landed behind. Instantly I was filled with a sense of relief and joy. On the far side of the log where the bearded gobbler had stood I saw a flapping wing go still. As I limped around the fallen log and looked down at the bird I became aware that I was cheering and yelling, “I DID IT!! I DID IT!!” I truly felt a sense of achievement especially given the current state of my knee. After admiring the bird for a minute I grabbed his two legs and slung him over my shoulder to begin the long, arduous hike back to my pack and then over and back down to my truck.

                I made it down that mountain to the tom much faster than I made it back up there with him in tow and when I got to my pack I couldn’t help but jokingly ask myself if someone had tilted the mountain after I had descended. Exhausted and sore, I eventually crested the top to the bench and stopped to catch my breath and pluck some of those newly discovered spring delicacies. Once I felt rested enough and had a bag full of morels I made my way down the mountain. When I reached the bottom and came into view of the lake I felt like the conquering hero returning home. Evidently the lake had been freshly stocked with trout and there were quite a few people fishing. When they caught sight of the wings sticking out from behind me on either side, almost everyone reeled in their lines and came over to check out the bird and congratulate me. I was told that it was an exceptional bird and that the beard looked to be about eleven or twelve inches which is about what I had guessed it to be. I swelled with pride when they told me of the eight dejected hunters they had seen come down hours before me with most not even hearing a gobble. I truly felt blessed that I had gotten one that morning, with no help from anyone, and on my first trip no less. 

                One fisherman who looked to be about 50 commented on my limp and asked if I had taken a spill while up on the mountain. I told him no and explained my circumstances. He told me that he wished he were still in his twenties like me because he wouldn’t have been able to do that anymore at his age. The others, some older, some slightly younger all readily agreed. They all congratulated me for a final time and we wished each other luck for the future as I turned to leave and finish the last little part of my torturous yet triumphant trek back to my truck. Just before I passed out of ear-shot I heard one say to the others, “Look at the way that bird is bouncing like that [because of the limp]. That’s what I call the gobble hobble.”

 

             

 (He didn't look great as he made the two hour ride home sitting on ice but I was very proud of him all the same.)