Each year I have taken at least a couple of days to hunt the rut and see if I can tag a deer, preferably one with antlers, then again, I'm not that picky. This year I took my time off the second week of November and took advantage of my great hunting spot at the Cochrane's Farm.
My first morning, as usual, I got out the door early and got to the stand with plenty of time. The cows were still in there and I knew I would have to work around them, but I didn't let it phase me outright. My morning sit was for the most part pretty uneventful. I saw the three gobblers that are locals, and a button buck that walked 10 feet from my stand. At about 10 am I did a little rattling sequence and hoped to draw in something. Within minutes I catch movement behind me in the open pasture. As I swing my bow and start drawing he busts and loops back around behind me into the thicket. He was a decent buck, but not a monster. Despite that I would have been happy to wrap a tag around him. I stood up slowly and waited. I watched as he worked back to me. When he finally popped back into an opening, I drew back, aimed a little low, and bleated him to a stop. I watch as my arrow zipped right for the boiler-room. By the time my arrow traveled the 37 yards, he had dropped significantly, and far more than I adjusted for. When the arrow hit him, he bolted and growled like a bear before wheeling around and barreling back into the thicket. I figured the hit was a little high but his reaction told me I may have a dead deer on my hands. With a beautiful 4 inch snow the night before, I could see the track job was going to be a little nicer. I called a few people and was out of luck. I was going to track on my own. By the time I dressed down and dropped gear off at the car, I was starting to doubt my shot. I ate a sandwhich and waited an hour before taking up the trail. When I drove into the camp near my stand, it was an easy hour wait. When I finally got on blood I was starting to sink even more. A very spotty trail, made easier by the snow, was still not confidence booster. I found the back half of my arrow, and with no exit, he was still carrying the front half. I tracked through the thickest, nastiest shit that the property had to offer. When I had scaled back to the tops on the south side of the property I began to find much better blood. The trail at that point was a walking trail. I came up on three bloody beds within 20 yards, and was starting to feel like I might actually pull this off.
Then I jumped him.
I backed out immediately and went back to the car for a couple more hours. I slept in the car surrounded by cows for the better part of two hours. I slept surprisingly well, but it was time to get moving again.
When I got back onto the trail I tried to follow where I had jumped him but was not finding any blood whatsoever. After doubling back I discovered that I never did jump him, but rather jumped another deer. When I got back on blood it became spotty again. By the time I got to the bottom of the hill, I had discovered two scrapes that he had freshened along the way....Definitely not a good sign.
When I came to the great passage, I lost blood completely. I went to the far end and tried to pick it up again to no avail. Without blood I was done. Of course, I found two more blood-drizzled freshened scrapes on that side as well. As I doubled back to leave, I found blood again. This got be to yet another freshened scrape and that was all she wrote. I hate giving up on blood trails, especially having missed deer by feet, but this one was over. I hit the black-hole in the vitals and this guy was long gone. I knew I needed to get back on the horse to improve my moral, but I was dragging my feet. As I turned back on the passage, I was road blocked by a giant Herford bull. I have worked with Rachel enough to build a little confidence, and this guy seemed like a big dope anyway. As I passed him at no less than 10 yards he just went back to gorging himself. Only a little bit of puckering involved.
I changed some clothes and headed out to the corn plot stand. I only had a couple of hours left to my hunt anyway, but I had to try something. Of course, not a half hour after getting set-up, so yahoo stopped and left a note on my windshield. I was about ready to break my hand on the trunk of the tree. I texted the landowner and kept hunting. The only two deer I would see on the evening were a pair of bucks, one being a bruiser, go screaming across the field and up to where I was sitting this morning.
At dark I climbed out of the tree and grumbled my way to the car. When I grabbed the note on the windshield, my face was hot I was so pissed. When I grabbed the note, I realized how big of an idiot I really am.
The note was from Uncle Al.
I had called him early to help me track deer but he was unavailable and he had not heard an update. I ended up stopping at the landowners cabin and talked to him for a few minutes before heading home for the evening.
Not exactly a picture perfect day.
If you thought Day 1 was the train-wreck;
BUCKLE UP.
Day 2 started like the previous day. Early morning blah, and a mcmuffin. My drive to the spot this morning was a little more labored, and my guts were lamenting the early wakeup call. Normally, I can function just fine.
Not today.
As I screeched around corners, I was reaching for the half roll of TP behind the driver seat.
THANK THE LORD IT WAS THERE!
When I peeled into the spot I sprinted from the driver seat to the nearest cedar tree where I proceeded to unleash the demon from inside of me. With a cold sweat on my forehead, and a shake in my legs, I came out of it without any gear casualties. As I made my way back to the car, I hitched my pants back up and began strapping my harness back on. When I grabbed the belly strap to pull it around me I was greeted by horror.
AAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
As I squeegeed off what shit I could from the strap, my hand and I rolled in the snow like a dog after being sprayed by a skunk. I washed off what I could with my remaining water and a now compromised hat. It was at this point I realized that not only was the car still running, it was still in gear. Holy balls this was awful.
Trying to salvage what time I could, I collected my deer and hauled out to the stand. With the luck of my day, as I scaled the hill down to the bottoms I went feet up on a fresh cowpie, and smeared cow-shit all over my leg.
No words.
Again, the morning was rather quiet in the stand besides all of the cows around me, and I regretfully passed a doe on the trail behind me. I suppose that I stirred things around pretty well yesterday searching for my deer, but I figured it was the rut, it shouldn't matter.
As I sat in my stand, I would constantly get wafts of shit-smell from all angles. I was never going to outlive this one...
The morning dragged on, and more foul odors swirled around me. I figured most of it was in my head and I needed to just get over it, but this was not a shit smell. I could not figured out for the life of me the origin of this bonus odor, when it hit me.
At this point I was too angry to be mad.
My tiny vile of doe-pee had leaked in my bag, and invariably there was no mess as my brand new gloves did a wonderful job soaking it right up, and subsequently embedded it into my skin.
At this point I figured whatever, I can't let this ruin my hunt. I went to grab my phone to check the wind for my evening sit.
Empty pocket.
Well, I hope no one panics for my lack of updates but my phone was still up in the car. At noon or so I would head back up for my sandwich, and would let Rachel and everyone else know that I was still alive for lack of, ahem...shittyness.
It took me a good solid 20 minutes to piece everything together. If my phone was up at the car that likely meant...
So were my keys.
At noon I descended my stand, and my shit-cloud and I headed back to the car. The highlander is a newer vehicle so even if I did lock it with the keys in the car, it shouldn't lock.
Well, that was a crock of shit.
My keys and phone lay on the dashboard. I have never done anything like this before. I spent the next hour prying open the top of my door with one of my rattling antlers, and fashioned a stick to hit the unlock button. When I finally got it, I clicked the button and nothing happened. Remember that newer vehicle part!?!? Yeah, anti-theft mechanisms. The lock part and the unlock button disarm when you pry the door open. I was hosed.
I eventually flagged down someone on the road, who was not exactly the friendliest man I have ever met, but I was able to use his cell and get ahold of the only person who's number I had memorized: my sweet, sweet Rachel. I told her to call Dad, to call Al, to come help me with the car deal. As I waited by the car, trying to pry and pop locks to no avail, again, my mind pieced more things together.
I remembered a conversation I had with Al the previous day about a doctors appointment he had today, and he could not recall the time. I knew again, I was hosed.
So, I did the only logical thing I could think of; I scribbled a note to Al in the dusty back windshield, and went hunting.
I WAS NOT GOING TO LET THIS RUIN MY HUNT!
When I headed down to the passage stand, again I was greeted by the fricken cattle. These bastards just would not leave me alone today. I set out what doe pee I had left, and waited in hopes for any deer to come within 30 yards. Instead, the entire herd closed in on my stand. Ten of the beasts fed underneath my stand and I tried everything to spook them off, including throwing branches at them. Normally, they are almost as skittish as the deer, but not this year. They slowly worked to my left when 15 or so proceeded to build a wonderful roadblock in the passage. The deer and the cattle do not exactly get along, so the deer tend to avoid them when they can. I watched as on two occasions deer would come off of the ridge to my right, pause at the site of the deer, and then veer off to the north. I was in the right spot at the right time, but so were the damn cows!
I tried cracking my rattling antlers together to both spook off the cows and hopefully bring a deer down from the ridgetop, but I don't know what I was thinking. The way this day has gone of course that didn't work.
Instead, it brought Mr. Asshole angus bull out of the woodwork. He did not appreciate the noise. He ambled around my treestand for the next 45 minutes. As the rest of the herd FINALLY made their way up the hill and out of site, I had an opening. I had 20 minutes of legal light left and needed a miracle. I smashed the antlers together again in hopes of enticing a buck. When I set them down, Mr. Asshole, walked straight to my tree and gave me absolute holy hell for the racket. That son-of-a-bitch bellowed like pissed off teenager. I was about ready to drop out of the tree and club him with an oak branch. His bellowing was apparently a calling card to his harem, as the entire herd descended from the hill and came right to the base of my tree, including the dopy Herford bull. I now have switched gears from deer hunting to don't-die-by-way-of-cow. I collected my gear and even threw my butt-pad at them to spook them off. The cows retreated but Mr. Asshole lived up to his name. He stood his ground and started pawing the dirt.
Well, shit.
I tried descending the tree once, but he was having none of it and he false charged me.
You arrogant mother-fu-
I climbed back up, grabbed all of my gear, and just verbally abused him on my second descent. When I hit the ground I expected him to give me a face full of beef, but my verbal assault was just enough to let him know exactly what I was. As I backed away slowly, he did the same, heading back up the hill with his cows.
A lot more puckering this time....
When I felt I had a comfortable distance from him, I put on the burners and got the hell out of dodge. When I crested the hill, reality came crashing back down, smacking me square in the face. I was still very much locked out, and there was no Al at the car. I walked to the landowner's cabin in the dark, but he was already gone. When I returned to the car I figured I would just wait for the first available car and flag them down like I had done earlier. By the time another car had slowed down, I was finally greeted by familiar face. Al had arrived!
I used his phone to update those I needed to and try and get ahold of someone to help me get into my car. The sheriff's office was no help as they could do nothing to help me get into my car. The remaining people that could would charge me a second mortgage, so I opted out of that option. I was just about ready to break a backdoor window when Al just suggested I take their car home to get our spare key for the highlander. After some discussion again with Rachel, it was determined that she was still driving home from Miller and would basically get home the same time I would. This meant I needed to just bite the bullet and head home. I blasted home, tired and cranky, to get the damn key. A quick clothes change and much needed hand scrubbing, and I was back on the road. When I returned to the house I thanked Al and Karin for the use of the car, and paid them in beef and walleye. Al gave me a quick ride back out to the car, and after an absurd 17 hour debacle, I was back in the car and on my way home yet again.
Upon returning home for the second time, I ran a load of laundry, showered, and flopped down on the bed.
This kind of odyssey is the stuff you encounter on bad TV. You just can't make this shit up.
Shit...
There's that smell again...
Stay Tuned
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