Back when we lived in Iowa, this time of year would bring frustration and almost a panicked feeling because the deer would go into what we would call the "October Lull". Movement was reduced, patterns were unpredictable, and we were not seeing what we expected for deer activity.
Now that we lived in South Dakota, this term no longer applies. Yes, I still deer hunt, but there are a plethora of options to keep an outdoor enthusiast occupied.
Because work for me is rather flexible, as long as I work my 40 hours, I am done for the week. This last week found me pounding down hours like a frat boy pounding beer during VEISHEA. By noon Thursday, I was done for the week, and had a 4.5 day weekend ahead of me. During the week, I had gained access to hunt whatever, however I so would choose on the property I shot my rifle deer last year. I would capitalize on this by the weekend.
Friday morning, I found myself at the confluence of a few fields, along an old abandoned roadbed. I buried myself in the grass, and with my little chair, the grass came up to almost my chin. It was a perfect little ambush spot for any deer that would show it's face. Though I may have been deer hunting, I was mesmerized by the ducks on the slough I was hunting next to. Hundreds of ducks poured into this medium body of water, and I knew that I would have to look into it. I knew the ducks were here, and for fear of spooking them out, I almost didn't bow hunt this spot for the morning, but I knew if I did, I could get a better idea of what the ducks were doing and where exactly they wanted to be. As I glassed with my binoculars, I heard crunching behind me, which caused me to freeze instantly. I glacially swiveled my head around to see a mature South Dakota doe at 9 yards. When she ducked under the fence, I drew back my bow, and slowly stood up. when she got to almost the cornfield, I loosed an arrow.... Holy order of swing and miss. I miss-judged the distance and shot a foot over her back. The arrow ripping through the corn inadvertently spooked her and her large fawn towards me. Again, I buried myself in the deep grass and awaited their flight out of there. The large doe stomped a few times, glanced in my direction, but after only a minute, she gave no more notice to me. So now, at 28 yards, she went back to feeding and I was able to nock another arrow, stand and shoot again....
I watched as my arrow again, sailed about 4 inches over her back. I can at least say that I now have had a chance to shoot a deer, within range, in South Dakota. Instead of being distraught about the scenario, I picked up and called it a morning. It is early yet, and this was in a fence line in the middle of nowhere. I will have more chances, and hopefully can fare better the next time.
I spent the rest of the afternoon knocking on doors and scouting hunting spots, but SD can be a tough place to find people and permission. 0-9 is not exactly great odds of success.
Saturday morning brought Dad back up to Clark to hunt ducks with me, and after some consternation, it would be stupid to not hunt the slough I had scouted out. We drove right down to the slough, dumped off our gear, and got our set out as quickly as possible as the ducks we jumped off of the water were dying to get back on. It did not take long at all and we were pounding away at the ducks. the vast majority were gadwalls and wigeons and the shots were right in the dekes.
By 9am we had fulfilled our 2 man limit of ducks, and we had done it without killing the dog. Yes, there were some long bomb retrieves, but the mud was very manageable on this body of water and Mocha was doing fantastically.
We actually sat for another half hour waiting for a bonus teal (we could shoot 2 more) and we ended up watching more of the same ducks continue to drop into our spread. It was magical!
With all of our gear, ducks, and dog, a successful hunt indeed!
As is the general timing of things, we returned home, Dad cooked breakfast, and I cleaned birds. The deal is, if Dad does dishes, I will clean all order of birds, fish, what-have-you when he is up here. It is a total win-win.
After our quick meal, we turned right around and headed back to the field. The 8th was resident opener of pheasant and we figured we should give chase on a rooster. Despite her only being 11 weeks old, we took Tallulah along for the hunt. I figured I would end up carrying her for the majority of the hunt but I really had nothing to lose. We walked a public property I hunted a few times last year with decent success. Mocha worked slow, and we walked slow accordingly, but we never were able to find a bird. There were a few times Mocha got birdy but nothing became of it. Despite no birds, Tallulah was an unstoppable force. Dad compared her likeness to a small black rabbit bounding behind my every step. I tried picking here up and carrying her a few times, but she was having none of it. She followed behind me or behind Mocha for the entire hunt. She is going to be a machine....
We called it a hunt after that, as Mocha was zapped, as were we, so back to home for a snooze. After an afternoon siesta, we had to not waste such a beautiful fall day. We grabbed our rods and headed to Cottonwood to chase pike. We were greeted by pea-soup, shallow water. It took all of 20 minutes to realize this was futile so we called it. On our way back home we stopped at Bailey's lake to cast off of the dock for a bit. No, we did not catch any walleyes, but the water was crystal clear, and the fall colors were splendid on the cottonwoods. We did manage to catch a handful of decent perch, and that concluded our October day.
I live for fall, and it is days like this that I wait for all year. I can hunt, fish, you name it all day, and I get to come home to meatloaf and mashed potatoes. Without my beloved, I would end up living on duck jerky and lake water.
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