Some more 2013 blacktails

Deer hunting season is well over but there are a few stories I never got to tell, so pull up a seat. 

She's got bling

Earlier in the year I got invited to do some volunteer work darting blacktails with ODFW. The goal was to put some GPS collars on the deer for some ongoing research. Darting deer requires a large cup of coffee and lots of lots of driving. We go all night with spotlights and although you may see a decent number of deer, the stars must align to have one within range of the dart gun, have it stand still long enough to get both the spotlighter and the shooter to see it, get a yardage reading, and make a good shot...and a good recovery. This particular night Tod made a great shot and we were able to watch the doe travel across a clearcut before laying down for a nap. After the antidote was administered, we waited patiently for the ol' girl to come to her senses before walking into the darkness wearing her new expensive necklace and earring. 

The Sharp-shooter 

The spotlighter

A day with Steve

Somewhere in between my family's hunts I was able to get out with a couple of friends and enjoy some blacktail hunting. One morning I went with good friend Steve. Steve had a rifle tag and being that it was a bit late into the season he was getting antsy to put some venison on his growing family's dinner table. We took off to a tried and true spot that we've seen quite a few deer in during this year's bear season. The deer are there because most people don't want to walk the distance it takes to get there. 

At first light, the low-lying fog would creep in and out of the clear cut below. We were confident deer were out and we didn't want to miss them. There is a fine balance between covering an area well with your binoculars and then moving on to the next area to glass, and not covering an area well enough and missing deer and moving too fast. Our eyes quickly scanned an opening in the fog..."Big buck Mike!"  I aimed my glasses to where Steve was pointing and sure enough like a ghost in the fog, there stood an exceptionally wide-antlered, frosty-faced, mature buck. 

Things got interesting quick. Steve got a bit of what they call BUCK FEVER. He quickly sat down, then he knelt,  "How far is it?" he asked.  "200 yards, shoot!" I whispered back. Then he laid down and adjusted the bipod, and then got back up and took a knee just trying to get steady for a shot. He cussed out his shooting sticks. Meanwhile the buck just stared our direction. "How far is it?" Steve asked again. "He's still 200 yards and he's gonna leave quick!" I whispered a little louder. 

Steve fumbled with the bipod a bit more and then got up and moved to a better location to get into a better position and to see the buck better. Meanwhile the buck turned and melted into the fog never to be seen again. As he turned I saw his heavy rack with more clarity and it felt like a punch in the gut. I couldn't imagine how Steve felt. I wanted to hit him over the head, but by the dismal look on his face...there was no need for further beatings. 

We weren't very talkative as we inched along to the next section of deer grounds but with each step, we climbed out of our state of depression and quickly we were looking forward to what could be around the next corner. The fog lifted as did our spirits. We spotted a smaller buck chasing does nearly 500 yards below us. Steve smiled and I could sense that redemption was on his mind.

Steve made a great stalk and put this beautiful buck down. The scent of a first rain after a long dry season mixed with the visual of yellowing maple leaves made for one of the prettiest fall settings I experienced this season.

.

We packed the buck out and passed where the big buck had eluded us earlier that morning. I watched Steve stop momentarily, look down into the old buck's haunt, shake his head, and keep hiking. Steve, there is always next year. He'll be there waiting.

I dare you

I got to walk alongside Brady on a late-season archery hunt for blacktails. I was supposed to be the rattler but I hadn't done a very good job all morning as nothing came into to any of the stands. We happened to be walking along a ridgeline when suddenly we spotted a buck bedded 70 yards in front. It was raining and the buck was a bit confused by our sudden presence and it stood up out of it's bed. The unit is open for "any deer" and I knew Brady was in need of venison this year.

 "Brady, it's a forked-antler buck, are you gonna shoot it?!" Brady pulled out an arrow from his quiver and responded, "I don't know should I?". I was taken back by his response because if it was me I would have already shot, but I know Brady well enough to know that he was waiting for a little bit bigger of a buck. Me, I wanted to see some action. "I dare you!" I replied. "You dare me? how far is it?" "70 yards". Brady pulled

back his bow and let the grizzly stick topped with a very heavy. double-bladed head fly. The arrow disappeared over top of the buck.

Brady's shoulders drooped a bit as he looked at me. He saw what I saw...a clean miss as the buck ducked the arrow. suddenly another buck jumped up from behind somewhere and the two young bucks ram 30 yards and then stood side by side nearly identical. The second buck kicked it's back leg and took off on a dead run...and I mean DEAD run. That's right, it took a couple minutes for us to figure out exactly how it happened but Brady missed the buck he shot at by an inch and hit a buck behind right through the lungs. Call it luck, call it skill, call it destiny. I call it a little of all three.   

Brady showing mad survival skills gutting a deer with his broadhead. 

Watch this!

Trapper has the instinct to hunt like nobody else I know. He is one hell of an outdoorsman. No, I don't have a man crush, just a lot of respect for his ability to always get it done. This year, I had gone in to an area to help him look for a toad buck that he knicked with an arrow. He had already come to the conclusion after spending the rest of the day looking for any sign of a mortal hit, but he wanted to spend the next morning with an extra set of eyes to look again. So there I was. We spent 6 hours looking for any sign but came to the same conclusion that Trapper barely hit the buck and it was not killed.

We got back to the truck tired and were headed off the mountain when a nice little buck ran across the graveled road in front of us and quickly vanished  into a forest of fir and brush. "Watch this!" Trapper said with a confident smile. He parked the pickup and dove into the timber on the buck's trail. I thought the guy had gone mad. I would have been awfully pessimistic if it was anyone else that went after the buck...but I wondered what if, what if Trapper could actually chase a buck down through the forest and stick it with his bow?

Just then, Trapper jumped back on the road with a dumb smile and an empty spot in his quiver. "I just ran quietly down this old trail for 70-80 yards and suddenly I saw the buck looking my way  from 40 yards away so I shot it!".

He has one hell of an instinct for this stuff.