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
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