I spent the afternoon working on little things back at the ranch with Michael, and with the wind as it was, I almost decided to call it. I asked Rachel if she was hunting that night, and I no more than sent my text and she came over the hill. Can't fault her sheer will....
I really didn't know my plan as I was tagged out and the place we were hunting was going to be difficult to just sit without messing up Michael or Rachel. We walked the dry creek bed all the way to the stand Rachel was to set up in. We let her get into her stand and then turned down the next dry creek to Michael's set up. I figured I would just walk the creek the rest of the way up and sit in the willows in hopes of popping a coyote with my .17. I got half the way there when Michael claps at me and points towards the willows. There was an SUV parked next to the spot I was going to sit.
Shit.
I called Dad and he said trappers. I figured things would just have to work itself out. They pulled a loop and parked it behind me. I sat pivoting to see them, while watching the woods in front of me. Not 15 minutes after I had sat down, a buck ran the creek right in front of Michael and stopped in front of him in the field. I had no idea what was going on. I kept silently screaming "SHOOT!!!!" I put my range finder on it and saw weird body language. I still didn't know what was going on. It started trotting off and I looked at it again when it hit me. I could see blood coating the left side of the buck with an arrow dangling out that side. He had shot.
Wait.....
His quiver was hanging from his tree and from my distance I thought it was his entire bow. At this point the light-bulb finally blinked to life. I grabbed my phone and in one fluid motion I opened it and she was there.
"Was that you?!?!?! Did you shoot?"
"Yeah, I think it was a gut hit though."
"UH...It looked good from my view, there was blood right behind the shoulder."
It was determined that the shot may have been quartering a bit, but she didn't think that much. She did says the hit was back for sure. I called Michael and told him to sit tight. I got up right away and went straight for the trapper guys. I crossed the beaver pond and walked right up to their set. Grandfather, father, son clan trapping coyotes. Very nice guys. The old guy said he had been trapping there for 43 years and this was our first encounter. He was a very nice guy and I merely inquired as to there evening plan. I told them my wife had just shot a buck and the hit was marginal. They had no plans to go over to that area the rest of the night and warned me of a large trap in one of the runs. I parted with a smile and a good luck.
There is hope in this world after all.
I called Dad to keep him in the loop, called Michael to tell him to still hunt until dark, and then Rachel to tell her I was on my way to sit with her. I got her out of the stand safely (seems so much more important these days...) and we sat on the ground next to her stand developing the game plan. We decided that once Michael got to us, we were going to back out. Michael informed us when the buck ran past he saw what looked like a gut plug where the entry hole was, and that he had a chance to shoot it again but was uncertain if that was acceptable. We informed him until it is on the ground to shoot until empty. We then backed out.
Supper of pork chops, hashbrowns, and stemmed broccoli courtesy of Dad. While eating dinner we discussed the buck in question. There was a buck that frequented the area that both Dad and Michael had seen multiple times, and both had opportunities to harvest. They named him Fred as he was such a regular. He had a broken right side, missing the latter half of his main beam. We put Rachel in the stand we did so she could shoot Fred and there was a strong possibility she accomplished that.
At one point I called Nick and he suggested to wait overnight and track in the morning.
Instant mutiny.
We did decide to wait until 8:00 before we headed back out. Dad came with for the tracking and brought the van and trailer. He also decided when we got there to drive through a gap in the dike and drive through the field to about where we would start tracking.
It took awhile but we finally found blood. Dad started the trail and led the way. Five yards in we find the arrow. Great blood, and doesn't smell bad; good sign. After the arrow got dicey. Blood was the size of pin tips. We tracked another 15 yards when Dad says,
"Is this big, brown, dead thing what we are looking for?"
The damn thing went barely 25 yards into the bugaloo and bedded down before expiring. It was a HUGE relief knowing that we had another buck down, and without a tracking odyssey. Rachel, to say the least, was ecstatic.
Rachel did her own gut job, and in her own, 'wrong' fashion... ;) We found out the shot was weird. She hit guts, paunch, liver, and a small corner of one lung. That deer was dead before we backed out that night. Still, knowing this, I am glad we waited as at the time there were too many unknowns, and I was not going to jump another deer. This time we didn't get that opportunity.
Dad brought the sled, but with as tangled and dense as the underbrush was, and the sheer body size of the buck, it was easy to just have Michael beast the thing out.
On the way out we almost bottomed out the van on the dike. This could have made for a much longer evening, but we managed to bull our way out. We got the deer hung in the tree to cool over night, and called it and evening. Upon further review, we decided that this was as titled, "Not Fred". Dad still thinks it was, but it could be a case of mistaken identity. This was the same buck that Michael had come right under the stand chasing a doe earlier this season. That was the same stand from which Rachel shot this buck.
Sunday morning we went through the butcher process as we always to.
I paid him in bullets and Dr Pepper. :)
Tonight I mounted the buck on a hunk of the cherry cancer that Nick collected a few summers ago. It's awesome to say the least.
Stay Tuned
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