Late Season Birds

After my Friday duck hunt with Dad, I was determined to get back out and find more ducks, but with the ice conditions, and the paltry number of birds, I knew it would take northern flight to push birds from Canada. Saturday morning, I hauled all of my gear to a point out into the depths of Cottonwood, only after discovering another group of guys beat me to the scouted slough, again. I expected some ice, but the cooler temps and complete lack of wind made for another morning of busting ice. The north side of the point was more open, but I was only able to get a mere 10 feet from shore before I was testing the limits of my waders. The south side was iced over completely, but was much shallower. Not long after setup, a lone goldeneye flew right over top and I made what I thought was a great shot, but these ducks fly at mach-4. I dropped the bird into the iced water behind me...completely unable to retrieve it. It was a horrible feeling knowing that I could not retrieve this bird. As the sun crested the horizon, the birds started showing up in far greater numbers than the morning before. Giant flocks of mallards would drop right into the lake. I was buzzed by the fighter jets that are canvasbacks: the birds were finally here!


The rest of the morning presented tons of opportunities to kill birds, but I held off as if I were to shoot them, I would have been unable to collect. I eventually called it a morning as I couldn't shoot even if they did come in. This spot will not be forgotten for next year though as without the ice this spot could be dynamite.




Sunday morning was likely going to be my last shot at ducks for the season, as it seemed like so much water froze overnight even with mild temps. The lack of wind was really putting a damper on my efforts. I again, headed out to Cottonwood, knowing I was going to have to bust ice, but the options were becoming increasingly limited. A small pocket not far from the parking lot had a small strip of open water, and I figured this was as good as I was going to get with the current conditions and circumstances. I busted the open spot as wide as I could before my shins were begging me to stop. I dropped in my set and tried my best to create a hide with the pup.

Again, it was going to be a picking shots scenario as I could not afford to drop birds on the main lake and not be able to retrieve them. Thousands of snow geese kept me occupied, and flock after flock of mallards kept me on my toes, but nothing committed. Eventually, the late season shovelers provided me some shooting. The flock worked right into my spread like it was already written in the book. I went 3 for 3 on the flock and Mocha was again able to make an icy retrieve. Thankfully the water was not that deep but she was not too happy about the ice breaking deal.


After an hour or so I finally had a pair of mallards work my spread, and drop in, again just like in the book. I still don't know what I did wrong but I was only able to scrape one down, and he sailed across the lake, landing just short of the other side.


Dammit.


I waited for another opportunity and which took almost another hour, but another pair came in and this time I waited until they were in my face before I shot. Despite that, I still managed to drop them both on the ice on the main lake. One dropped into open water and swam away, but I was able to swat the other one and finish it off. I don't need more crippled birds on my conscience. I decided at that point, I needed to pull the plug on my hunt. If I was just going to end up killing more birds without being able to retrieve them, there was not point in being out.


Last pics of the duck season:

After returning home I felt beat. Duck season was supposed to be enjoyable and I have struggled to adapt to each set of conditions. Mocha is too old for this and my anxiety is far too high to get in a boat and attempt it. After consulting with the high commander, I headed back out to chase roosters for a couple of hours.


Through Rachel, I gained permission through someone she works with and was able to hunt a dry slough. Mocha made short work of finding birds, but hens were not on the list. At the farthest corner of the slough she flushed two roosters. I was too flabbergasted to make a decent shot and the pair flew off unscathed.


Upon reporting to the landowner when we returned he suggested we try the section line to the west of us. Road hunting as it was, it was basically a grass road with actual hunt-able grass on each side. Not 200 yards from the car, Mocha locked up and flushed a great big hen. I took one more step and all hell broke loose. I dropped the first rooster, and then the second, as more hens continued to pour out of spot no bigger than my living room. When the flurry finally subsided, Mocha was able to make a retrieve on the second bird I shot, as it was a ways out into the field. I knew I had another one to find, but with Tallulah in tow, we made short work of finding the first bird.


As we returned to the road, a couple more roosters flushed from the roadside. We continued to walk the section but did not find another until the section corner. We turned left and the chase was on. Mocha was chasing one down, and I could not keep up to save my life. I ran for 200 yards before she finally flushed the long-tailed rooster. I came to an ungraceful screeching halt and took a shot at the rooster. On the first shot, he went straight up into the air. I proceeded to unload my gun in an attempt to bring him down. When he crested the road he had to have been 80 yards up and he sailed 3/4 of a mile into the next section before I lost sight of him. I don't know whether or not I hit him, but I have never seen a bird do anything like that without being hit.


We eventually returned the car without another bird, but it was a successful hunt, and all three of us definitely got our exercise.

It was nice to just walk again. I am trying my best to get over my weirdness over everything, but as many know, that is easier said than done. I enjoy the outdoors, but it just seems like there is always a catch about where I am and what I am doing, when in reality, that's ridiculous. Hopefully, now that my season is winding down, I can spend more time with the little pup, as well as the new house (if it ever happens) and I can enjoy life again.




Stay Tuned

Cold Water Cottonwood

Thanksgiving Thursday and Friday, Ma and Pa Kettle, I mean Livermore, came up to Clark for food and maybe a little hunting. On Thanksgiving, while the turkey and other greatness was being prepared, Dad and I took to scouting for a potential duck hunt for the morning, and maybe chase a rooster while we were out. We scouted out what looked like a fantastic slough with divers, mallards, and swans sitting right off of a point that we could easily set up on. We headed up to Cottonwood from there to see what we could find and walk for birds while there. Snow had started to come down pretty hard while we were out but it made for a nice walk despite the wet legs. We checked out what Cottonwood looked like, and found much of it already frozen up along the outer margin. We called it a hunt and headed home for our feast. I am not one for turkey, but Rachel's first go at a true Thanksgiving turkey was spectacular! Paired with side dishes provided by both Rachel and Mom, we had a fantastic Thanksgiving meal in our warm apartment, while watching Holiday Inn.




Friday morning, Dad and I headed out for a late season duck hunt. We scouted our spot, and had high hopes for the morning. When we came over the crest of the hill my heart sank. Bobbing lights on the end of the point we were to be setting up on....Early bird gets the worm, and we were late.


We hatched a hasty plan B, and headed right back up to Cottonwood but on the far side of the lake. It was less than ideal, and we still ended up having to break ice, but we settled into our hide, and awaited an arrant duck.

There were few flying, and frankly, the birds just were not here. There were droves of snow geese flying overhead, but even too high for sky busting.


Before our morning was a bust, a flock of shovelers worked the ice line right above the water. They looked like they were going to bypass us when the lead drake swung around and led the flock right into our set.


Three ducks down!!!


Mocha retrieved her first ice duck, though slightly panicky, she had little troubles and brought it back to us. the other two were sitting on the ice on the far side of our spread, and Dad was able to grab them.

After the one flock, there was nothing else for ducks. A small flock of swan came just close enough that I had to give it a try and I sent as much steel their way as I could; to no avail.


It was a great morning to be duck hunting, but the conditions were deteriorating by the day. We were still able to put a few birds on the water without any hairy ice related incidents. It sure made for some great photos though.

By the time we got home, we were able to have our fill of leftovers and take a little nap. Once Mom returned from shopping, they headed out for Nick and Lisa's. It was great to have them up for a couple of days, and as usual, it was great to hunt with Dad without deer craziness.




Stay Tuned

CFB: The Cluster F#$% Buck

Last rifle season was a gift from above, and I really didn't have to spend every day searching for a deer. The first morning was a one and done. I was excited and relieved last year, but knew I had gotten lucky, and to my astonishment, rifle season was nothing like shotgun season back home. As Rachel reminded me the other night though, I was at it for 3 hours and was done.


This year went VASTLY different.




My first hunt I parked my car in the field up by the house. When I got out of the car, I heard noise in the thin shelterbelt next to me, and glassed a deer not 15 yards from the car. I slowly got back into the car and watched as a nice buck pops out of the shelterbelt 40 yards out in front of me and stands there, silhouetted by the snow. I would have blasted him from the car right then and there had it not been still 5 minutes before legal shooting light. It wasn't until he had gotten to about 100 yards out that he finally decided he didn't like me being there and made a retreat into the field. I spent the remainder of my sit next to a giant snagging wood pile and did not see a deer within range. No worries, I had plenty of time ahead of me. The evening sit I figured I should try and hit a food source and went over to Ted's corn field on the quarter section. The field was pounded and that was the only good omen for the night. A gray pickup proceeded to drive slowly by the field the rest of the night. 15 passes before I stopped counting. It made me nervous especially when they met up with a guy in a large red diesel truck to stop and check out my car. This didn't stop them from driving around the section to the north, presumably where the deer to be coming from...At last light I finally just got up and left, frustrated and honestly pissed. I hate being circled like vultures, but apparently that is how people hunt up here.


Sunday morning I planned on returning right back to my original perch in the wood pile. When I parked at the top of the hill and walked down to the fence opening I could see someone had driven in there since I was there last. No worries I am certain the landowner lets many people hunt. I round the shelterbelt to see a dark green pickup parked right next to the woodpile I sat in the day before. Sipping his coffee with the truck running.


LAZY SOB...


I turned around and was beaten at this point. I figured "fine; if you can't beat 'em, join 'em".


I drove out to Ted's shelterbelt again to see if I could catch a deer still out in the field or in the belt itself. When I got the far corner, I could see a large deer standing in the small nob. I put it in park, rounded the corner, and put my scope on a buck standing in the treeline. I figured why not he was only what I thought was about 50 yards out (actually closer to 80) clicked off the safety and let the rifle bark.


BOOM!


He mule kicked and ran head down through the corn, I knew I pulled the shot but just didn't know where I hit him, however, it looked like he fell down in the field. I got into the car, rounded the intersection and parked in the field. I collected my gear and started my track job. Blood was very sparse but the recent snow help immensely as I followed mostly tracks and blood flecks. I found a spot where he stood and stopped and there was a significant pool of blood. I thought at that point I might actually find this deer. I look up to see the buck hunched over about 300 yards out on the other end of the field. I ran as fast as I could without spooking him, and try to get another round in him. The reality is I should have just let him bed down by the quarry where he was headed, but because I had a rifle I figured I could hit anything.


I was humbly mistaken.


I took a shot at what seemed around 150 yards and blew up snow 20 yards in front of him. As he took off at a full sprint I shot twice more.... That 150 yard shot was more like 225, freehand...


I have made mistakes before in hunting but this was ridiculous. I reloaded and followed his trail to the far corner of the property. Where he crossed over into the pasture I dropped my gun and followed suit. Technically, in SD I need to get permission to track wounded animals on private property but I knew the owner, and I left my gun. I followed for another 60 yards before he crossed another fence, this time what looked to be in a preened pheasant hunters ground. I turned tail and began my quest to search out the landowner.


After a long morning, I was able to finally get ahold of the land manager after stopping out at his house once already. He was a little skeptical, but I played it by the book and asked for permission. He was cool about it and said I should give it a shot. I returned to ground zero, this time with gun in hand and tracked the deer into thick weeds. I found the first few beds and knew I was close when a buck jumped about 40 yards in front of me. A bigger buck, 130 class, I knew this was not my deer. Seconds later and not 15 feet in front of me, my buck gets up. He looks bigger than I thought but I can see blood on his side. He stops at 25 yards and I take a finishing shot. He runs another 40 yards and tips over.


When I go to retrieve him I cannot believe my luck in tracking of this deer. He was far nicer than I thought, and he is really low set but his rack is pretty busted up. Because of my own inner weirdness, I decided that the best thing I can do is get the hell out of there with my deer before people start asking questions. I had permission to be on the land. I got my deer. And yet I was scared out of my mind and I still cannot figure out why. I dragged the un-gutted buck 200 yards to the fenceline, and cross over. At this point I am gassed. I drag him another 100 yards before succumbing to the need of field dressing. It was then that I examined my first shot. The first shot was extremely low, and only a piece of bullet or bone fragment had pierced a small point on the heart. The shot had given me just enough blood to follow. Because of the snow I was able to follow blood for over 2300 yards for a deer that was going to die from a horrible shot by my hand. Without the snow I never would have found him. Without the landowners consent, I would have not been able to make follow up shot. He would have ran into the next county and would have been coyote food.

After field dressing I took one horrible pic with my phone before getting anxious of the circling blaze vultures again, and decided to make a hasty retreat. I was more worried about retrieving a deer from private property than ever before. These people drive around until they find one, shoot it, throw it into the truck, haul it home, and repeat the process as soon as possible. There is no regard to who's property they shot it on. The reason I know this? I encountered the gray pickup guys after returning to my car earlier that morning. That is exactly what they had done with a monster buck. Showed me the pics and everything. Shot it from the hood of the truck. I was appalled and ashamed. And yet here I am feeling like I was trespassing with a dead buck in tow.


Nevertheless, I got the deer across the fence and to the car. I was so covered in blood I had to take off my coveralls and invert them. I was so tired, there was no possible way I was going to get the buck on the roof of the highlander. I laid out the seat protector, a thermal blanket, my inverted coveralls, my jacket, and the shovel, and gave everything I had to pull the buck into the back of the car. I tagged him and got the hell out of there. In hindsight, heaving him in the back would have made for a great pic, and the whole ordeal is exactly why I call this blog Jon's Never Ending Odyssey.


Once I got home I went straight over to the clinic and dumped off the buck next to the feed bins. I need to get that deer out the back before I caused permanent damage to the interior. Thankfully, I got him out of there with only a small drop of blood on the back. I guess miracles do exist.  Rachel was gracious enough to assist me with a few pics as I failed miserably to get field photos.

My own weirdness will forever mar the memory of this hunt. I have made many mistakes in my hunting career but I had so many missteps along the way that I may forgo gun hunting for a season or two. The orange army out here are vultures and they have ruined the sanctity of hunting for me. I always thought it was just people being overzealous about everyone hunting from their trucks out here, but I was proven sickeningly wrong. Someday, I will get over it, but for now, I am disgusted not only with the rifle hunting culture, but with myself for getting so caught up in it. I enjoy bow hunting because they are either close or they are not; there is no in between. I enjoy duck hunting because, they are just ducks; there will always be more. The fact that I have been mostly hunting alone has only exacerbated 'must fill tag' mentality. The saving grace in all of this are the hunts I have had with my Dad this fall. These memories will keep me at it and keep me sane.


Now that I have thoroughly ranted my way through this blog post, hopefully I can amend my soul and get back to my life again.






Stay Tuned: ice is just around the corner and pike are FAR less stressful

Blizzard Birds

When the first winter storm of the fall came through, I knew I could not just sit on my hands and not chase some birds. I knew this was going to get some moving and had to take a chance at the opportunity. When the snow finally abated enough for me to get out, I scouted my little slough to find it frozen solid.... That is what I expected but I had to try. I drove up to Dry Lake 1 north of Clark to see what was happening there, and was greeted by swaths of birds!!! There were snow geese and ducks everywhere! The place where most of the birds wanted to be was private, but I figured the public across the road was close enough to pick off a bird or two, especially in this weather.


I drove back home, stopping at Indian Springs for a quick look, and there was eight mallards on the bay. Not exactly swarms of birds, so I hauled home, collected gear, and even hesitantly, took Mocha with me. I was going to try Cottonwood lake as I was familiar with it and there were birds in the area. When I got up there, I crested the hill, glassed the lake, and discovered two ducks on the lake. Two; not two hundred, not two thousand; two ducks.


I turned tail and headed right back to where the birds were. I am still not sure why I did not go straight there the first time, but it didn't matter at that point. When I arrived, the wind was whipping hard from the northwest. The pup and I got down to the water and found the only spot that seemed even remotely out of the gusts. I set my decoys right next to shore and stuck in my mojo mallard. I settled into the sparse sedge vegetation and we hunkered down.

There were birds swirling around from every direction. Rafts of snow geese would pass overhead, well out of shooting range. The first bird to come into the decoys caught me so off guard I didn't even shoot. A perfect specimen wood duck dropped right into the spread, only to catch wind and blast out of shooting range before I could even blink.


Finally, a single drake mallard started to make his descent, and dropped landing gear. He was only about 35 yards out when I took my shot, but with the bucking wind, it made for a difficult scenario. At my shot, he went straight up into the air and started pinwheeling. Either a heart, or wing shot, but because he didn't fold right up he was 70 yards out by the time he hit the water. Mocha panicked after only swimming 20 feet and turned around. I could see the duck was still head up, but I knew this was a fatal hit. I would attempt to no avail to retrieve this duck on the downwind side after the hunt.


After a half hour or so, a pair of ruddy ducks came screaming into the set and plopped down before I could get a shot. I jumped them, but they don't exactly flush well, and I was able to scrape one down as it skittered atop the frothy water.

I had never shot a ruddy before and was rather excited about it. They are strange little critters and they are not very big at all.


Ten minutes later another pair came in, and I dropped one from the set before they hit the water. Unfortunately, it dove... This presented a major problem for both me and my hound. She was bound and determined to find it, but that bird would pop up 40 yards father each time. I literally had to scream at her to call her off the bird, which she was rather pissed about. When she did finally turn back, she was 70-80 yards out. The first wave slammed her head on and I watch as she struggled to get her bearings. The second wave didn't hesitate and went right over her head. Again, this scared the shit out of me...She slowly but surely made her way back to the shallow water and climbed out. A couple good shakes and a hack or two, and she was back in business despite sucking in fair amount of turbid lake water.


Because there were birds everywhere and they were not working the spread, I pulled the mojo as that has been an issue in the past. Not only did this change things, it vastly reduced the visibility of my location. Birds were not even swinging through for a look. After an hour, I slopped my way back out into the water and stuck the mojo back in.


I no more than laid down and a flock of 40-50 mallards came out of nowhere. They were cupped and swinging in the wind. It was a spectacle to watch! When the first birds hit the water out deep, I picked the closest drake still in the air but closer and let the steel fly. Even with the textbook 25 yard shot, the wind carried the bird out to 50 yards before it hit the water. Thankfully, Mocha was on him, and made a spectacular retrieve. When she finally got to him, she turned around to come back, and used the bird as a shield because the waves were borderline over her head again, but she was smarter about it the second time around.

With waning daylight hours, I watched as thousands of snow geese flew off of a field behind me, and when fly just out of range each time. That same field began to fill with mallards, 10-50 at a time. They would swing around as mallards do, many loops before committing. The birds were not working my spread, so I figured I could catch some of these birds as they were making their wide swings. Mocha and I relocated to the low bank below the eroded field and buried ourselves into a snow bank. A single snow goose flew right over top and I got greedy and waited for the flock behind it. Of course, the flock flared and there was no shot. The mallards were making their swings still, but most of the birds were on the field already and they were not swinging close enough to our corner. with only another 20 minutes of legal light left, I look up to see a deer hastily making his way around the slough towards us. A sizable buck, a typical 12pt came all the way up to 10 yards from Mocha and I before pegging us. He stood in front of us for a few seconds before continuing on his path, a little more hurried than before. I figured that was my cue to collect my decoys and get out of there before it got any windier or colder. The pup had been a shivering mess the entire time and I was worried that she was not doing well. When we got up to backtrack to our dekes, she bounded around like a puppy, literally frolicking in the snow. I was amazed and almost shocked. I quick pic and we were out of there for the evening.

By the time we got home I expected Mocha to be a curled up ball in the corner for the rest of the night, but instead she proceeded to play with Tallulah for the better part of two hours. She may be old, but she has a lot of spirit in her. I have just come to figure out that she will be damned if she gets left behind when I got hunting, she would just rather I quite duck hunting and spend more time chasing roosters as she prefers.

Stay Tuned

What to Do What to Do...Again

Dad and I again got up early enough for a morning duck hunt on Sunday and headed to our gadwall slough. The walk in showed us how many pheasants there were in the area, and on the flip side how many ducks there weren't. I placed our decoy set and waited for the birds to start pouring in. We waited. And waited some more.


A lone hen came right down the middle of the slough, only to drop down about 60 yards out ahead of us. It was a beautiful morning, but no birds in hand. After getting back home, Dad headed to church and I made a game plan for the afternoon as it was beyond beautiful outside and we had to do something. Pheasants was the original plan, but with only a light breeze, we opted for some cold water pike. I know, I know, I said that the last time I was out on the water was going to be the last time of the season, but it has been so mild for so long, I assumed I would not be out again.


Dad, Mom, and I headed out onto the cold lake and it did not take long for me to hook into a pike.

Nothing huge but we were not skunked. We were able to boat a couple of more before Mom decided she was done for the day.

Since she drove separately, we were able to drop her off and continue our quest for a gator. The rest of the afternoon, Dad was on a hot streak and was able to pull in a few really nice fish.

I still think it was weird that we were able to get the boat out on decent water, on the 13th of November.


It just goes to show that there is something to chase during every season up here. Rachel has been more than accommodating with my insanity and constant barrage of family members staying to hunt or fish. I would say that will level out once we get the house, but we chose the one we did so more family would visit us on the barren prairie. There will always be things to hunt, or fish, or chase!




Stay Tuned

Veteran's Day Ducks 2.0

As I finished my drive home from Cochrane's with my buck on the tailgate, I got a call from my insurance guy, who's property we hunted last year and harvested those canvasbacks. He had not allowed me to hunt there yet this year because his son was bow hunting and he didn't want us in there. No harm no foul, it is his property. Well, it just so happened that his son was going to be out of town Friday (Veteran's Day) and he said we could go ahead and hunt out there if we still wanted. I called Dad right away and told him the situation and that if he could swing it, to change his plans. An affirmative answer and we were game on for another Veteran's Day duck hunt.


We got out to our spot at first light, and as usual for this spot, we busted a large number of ducks, geese, and the elusive swans. As I set out our decoy spread, Dad took the car back to the road. This year we did not have nearly the weather in our favor, and we had a blasting sun in our face. We made it work, and were still successful in our morning's hunt. A pair of low flying honkers made the mistake of flying directly overhead. I was able to lay the smack down on the first one, and somehow, the other was able to fly away unscathed. We were able to decoy some mallards but they kept skirting our setup and dropping in to the east. One group came in a little too close and I was able to drop a pair. Mocha was able to retrieve both birds, but it was considerably laborious for the old hound. Dad smoked a drake that dropped right into our spread and I jumped another skirting bird. There were two blown opportunities on my part in which I did not get BB shells switched over fast enough for one, and they came in right overhead, and then into the sun the second. Swans....I was not sick to my stomach but close.


Once the wind died down, and I mean glass slough dead, the action ceased completely. We ended up calling it a morning shoot and we took some pics of our morning success.

I decided that with the fleeting chance at a swan, I would take Dad back home, and return to the slough. This way Dad could get to Cochrane's for an evening in a treestand, and I would have a chance at an afternoon bird or two. Again, the wind died down, and there was nothing happening. The only other opportunity awoke me from a nap as I heard ripping wings above me. I awoke with a snap to see a grand greenhead with wings cupped and feet down. I didn't even stand up from my chair.


BOOM!


If I had stood up from the shot, I could have caught him on the way down. He splashed into the water in front of us and Mocha just looked at it. She took two steps, picked it up and dropped it at my feet.

I sat the remainder of the afternoon without so much of feather. I then get a call...Landowner wants to know how the morning hunt went. I told him it was slow but I was still out here waiting for an errant bird. I was informed that his son was getting into the treestand right now, and that he thought I would have been done and long gone by noon..... I haul ass collecting my gear and decoys and again, do not bother to drive the car to the corner where I could load up and go. I collect and run. I was beyond gassed and dragging the deer seemed like a walk in the park compared to the wader slogging, decoy bag hell I was enduring. From call to car took less than 20 minutes for a 45 minute job. I really hope I did not cook my goose on this one, but I guess we will have to see.


Lesson learned: have the parameters of permission SPELLED OUT. I am not a man that can interpret gray very well...


Stay Tuned

The Campsite Buck

Given the time of year, I scheduled some much needed vacation time in a treestand. Yes, I did spend time hunting on the ground as well as hunting for feathered creatures, but there is something to be said about sitting in the trees. Many a soul searching and revelations have occurred whilst perched amongst the stout limbs of a hardwood tree. I began my rut hunts around home, on the ground, and was greeted by pickup trucks and unruly public land hunters. I knew that I was in need of an escape, even though I was already out and about. With vacation days to burn up, I hatched a plan to spend much of my time at Cochrane's. Now, the kicker of it all was, the week before, Dad and Uncle Al got a wild hair and decided to put up some treestands. Before the day was over, I received three separate messages of new stand locations on the property. I was elated and beyond grateful!


Wednesday of my five-day-vacay I drove from home early in the morning and was in the stand near the old Methodist camp a few minutes after legal shooting time. I had no more than gotten settled and three does came right into my setup. They were just on the outskirts of my range and were partially obscured by brush. I watched as they milled around my stand for 20 minutes before the largest of the group decided to bed down where she stood. It was almost an hour before anymore action occurred. With the cattle crashing around behind me, I was unsure of how the deer would react, but their body language was of caution, but familiarity. All at once, all three heads swiveled to the north and I stood up to prepare. Seconds after standing, a small buck popped through the opening and locked right into the first doe. He stood for 2-3 minutes before breaking at full bore. The does scattered, and the little buck was on their tail. For an hour this little fork-horn buck chased these does around my little section. Four times, I drew my bow for a shot, but the buck was not stopping for anything. In the end the does finally evaded him, and he made one last loop out in the pasture opening before retreating to the far east side. By noon I was hungry and needed to stretch so I headed to Al and Karin's for the pole saw, and scarfed my sandwich on the way there.


One of the stands Dad and Al put up is in the section of timber where I shot my turkey this last spring. In fact, the tree in front of the treestand is likely the one he was roosted in the morning I harvested him. It is a wicked setup, not exactly kid friendly, but a nosebleeder indeed. Dad ended up leaving one section of ladder out of the stand and it is still 20ft in the air...


I sweated through trimming lanes for the stand with the pole saw and my hand saw and eventually sat down for my evening sit. The setup is comfortable, and very picturesque, but I just did not have a deer-y vibe about it.

45 minutes before legal light expired, I watch a streak blow through the pinch point ahead of me. I figured there was no way they were coming my way, but in four short minutes, there were two does coming right down my trail towards me. The first one skirted through without me moving and when the second stopped in a pocket at 30 yards I drew back my bow. For whatever reason, I couldn't do it. I couldn't shoot. She and the other deer continue on their way but get edgy as a cow decides to work her way down the trail. both deer jump the fence and are not only directly behind me, but directly downwind. I expected that to be the end of the show. Instead, the larger of the two does comes closer. She ends up underneath my tree, and begins browsing on the tree branches that I had trimmed a couple of hours prior. Even with her being that close there was no shot. I told myself "if she goes into the corn field I will shoot this time".


Off to the field she goes.


"Ok, well, she needs to go left before I even think about it".


Left she turns.


I draw my bow, but cannot even move my finger towards the trigger. She is not broadside enough for a perfect shot. The reality was, she could not have presented a better broadside shot, I just couldn't fill my tag, on a doe, on the first day of my five-day-vacay. I again, let her walk. She comes back into the woods only to get wigged out by the cows and the swirling wind, and the pair decided it was best to just bust out of there. I regained my composure, collected my things, and inched my way down the tree.


What a spectacular way to start my treestand hunts!!!


The next morning was the same situation but with a different wind. I figured the campsite stand was productive the first morning, I may as well give it another morning shot. I got to my stand as usual, a little after shooting light. I dipped my pee sticks (nasty but effective) on each side of the stand, and climbed back in. I put on all of my gear, got everything hung on pegs, test drew my bow and settled in for morning magic. I set my bow on my lap and looked down.


Buck.


A small buck had crept in on me while I was prepping myself in the stand and was licking the first pee stick I hanging on a branch. I drew my bow, went to slap the release and stopped to take deep breath first. I have had poor luck with composure in the past, and I had spent a lot of hours working on it. I set my finger on the trigger, settled the pin in the sweet spot, and let the tension of my shoulders release the arrow.


SMACK!!!


My arrow went exactly where it was supposed to go. No tracking odyssey, no biffed shot.


He ran 60 yards, before I heard a crash. I knew he was down before he even stopped running. I could not believe how fast it happened. I sat there and literally looked around like, "That's it? I just got here!!!"


I felt great to make a perfect shot again. It has been year since I have had a no heartburn shot and this one fit the bill. I commenced to recollect my stuff, and slowly descend the tree I had gotten into not ten minutes ago.


I pack all of my stuff up and follow my bloodtrail.

He went all of 60 yards as predicted before not making it across the pasture.

After my picture taking as usual, I field dressed him, noting my perfect double lung shot, and decided as I usually do, to drag him out of there myself. He was less than 10ft from the road leading up through the pasture. I could have driven the car right to him if I had so chosen, but I have always felt it part of my penance for taking the life of the creature to at least exert myself by dragging him back to the car. I paused between blinky-stars but a few times, to both not pass out, and to soak in my morning.

I was gassed by the time I got to the road, but I was satisfied and glad I didn't just drive down to him. I walked the rest of the route back to the car and backed it up to the fenceline. I did the only logical thing I could think of at this time, and that was load him right onto the trunk of the Taurus. I believe this is the first deer this car has hauled, a right of passage for hunting vehicles.

I stopped by the house to show Al. Brian and family were there to see as well. With the climbing temps I had a decision to make, and I ended up electing to drive it home and butcher as soon as possible instead of hanging it in the shed.



No, this was not the largest buck I have ever harvested, but South Dakota deer hunting has kicked my butt. It was wonderful to finally put one in the freezer again, and after eating all of this duck; I have a true appreciation for fresh venison.




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