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.




Stay Tuned