This is no backpacking, losing 10 pounds from grueling vertical climbs, packing carcasses out from the backcountry sort of hunt. This is a little more of a casual hunt, which I could appreciate. For the first 4 days, we rough it at Tim's parent's home with warm, wonderful meals, and a nice comfortable bed. If anything I gain weight from the great meals. Tim's parents own a farm in central Nebraska where corn/grass pastures are divided by a meandering river surrounded by cottonwood, oak, and junipers. I hunted the farm two years and killed a nice basket-racked whitetail. My goal was to find and harvest a larger one this year.
My stand is in a great location where I have a 360 view of the west end of the farm, but the best thing about this stand is it is big and comfortable enough to host a slumber party. The first two days I enjoyed watching several young bucks chasing does under my stand, but nothing I was going to shoot. In fact, neither of us had seen a shooter buck on the farm yet, although, we'd heard local rumors of some big ones hanging around. The third morning while driving towards the farm, we caught some deer right on the road in our headlights. It was a buck and a doe and they were headed towards the farm! The buck was definitely larger than anything we had seen yet.The sighting brought new hope that bucks were moving around.
I had just watched a small forked-horned buck walk out and back in the heavy cover along the river when I noticed a doe that had made her way into a grass pasture to feed. I caught movement behind her in a heavy row of cottonwoods that lined a fenceline. It was a mature buck! He watched the doe and wanted to come out into the pasture to check her estrus status but experience has taught the mature buck to not leave the safety of cover in daylight. He never realized that a predator located 260 yards away had waited patiently for three days for his arrival and had already discovered his presence. The kill was clean. The buck had broken off his G-2 point on his left antler, unfortunately. His dense, sleek body was striking with prominent white rings around his nose and eyes. My best eastern whitetail to date.
The following day Tim and I headed to another area (three hours away)where prairie muleys where the targeted species. This was wide-open country with tall prairie grass, plum brush, and yuccas. Doug, Tim's dad, and his friends had already been hunting the area for a few days and had seen a few good bucks which they passed on. The problem was the larger bucks had moved into an area where we weren't able to access. Although our time to hunt was limited (3 days), our hope was that these big bucks would move back into the areas we could hunt in search of does. I had seen a few decent bucks (16'-21' 3 or 4 point) but passed them in search for something a bit bigger.
The second day found me slowly still-hunting the bottom of an arroyo. I watched a small herd of does and a small forked horn that had one antler growing straight out in front of it's face. I considered shooting the young buck because of it's uniqueness but watched it pushing does around instead. They moved out of the arroyo and I continued still-hunting. Moments later, I noticed a deer heading straight towards me in the bottom of the arroyo. I could tell by it's white mask it was a mature buck. I dropped to my knees and put my glasses up to do an inventory on it's headgear. 'Big enough!' I whispered. His large size, solid stature, and striking colors in the morning rays really stood out in my mind as he approached my downwind side. I took a deep breath and squeezed the trigger. The buck dropped dead.
Moments later, I stood up from gutting my buck with my bloody knife in hand. Suddenly, I was all alone in unfamiliar country somewhere in middle America over my favorite animal whose life I'd just taken. However, I felt so at ease. I had gotten what I needed. I had gotten what I came for. Tim was able to harvest a nice muley in the last half-hour of the hunt. Once again, another successful trip to Nebraska. From the plane, it was great to see the Rocky Mountains welcoming me back to the terrain I am most familiar with. However, with each time I visit Nebraska I leave with a greater love and respect for the state known for cornfields, football, deer hunting, and honest, hard-working Americans......what is more American than that?
No comments:
Post a Comment