Archive for the 'Hunting Stories' Category

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Published by admin on 26 May 2009

Ted Nugent – Luck 13

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LUCKY 13              by Ted Nugent

 

It was hunting day 136 of my 2008-2009 hunting season. That’s 136 days of nonstop hunting, 136 out of 138 days total, but I was as pumped up as I was on day 1, I assure you. I had posted endless yet hopeful ambush vigils in every treestand I have, and had even improvised, adapted and overcome on many a morning and afternoon hunt, killing many a fine beast in Michigan, Texas, New Mexico, Washington, Ontario and California. Stacks of precious backstraps were nestled in orderly fashion in the Nugent freezer barn, but I wasn’t done yet. With the Hunters For The Hungry program needing more sacred protein for my fellow Americans, and the deer herd begging for a much needed balanced harvest, my drive to kill more deer was over the top. And I had the arrows and tags to go with my passion and bloodlust. God made me a hunter. Blame Him.

Hunting constantly not only cleanses the soul, wildly stimulates my inner being and feeds many, but it also tunes me in to the good mother earth where I hunt and live. The shortrange challenges of the bow and arrow demands a much higher level of awareness, and if we pay ultimate attention to our surroundings and dedicate ourselves to be the best reasoning predator we can possibly be, a deep and abiding sense of connection develops in our souls to better understand our resource stewardship duties to our life giving environment. I for one get intense gratification from intimately knowing the terrain, animals and spirit of my hunting grounds. These observations give us the definitive understanding of just how many deer, varmints, and other game needs to be killed to keep the land and critters healthy and thriving. I love that part.

Not only do I video each and every hunt for our Spirit of The Wild TV show on Outdoor Channel, but I have kept a running journal of my hunts forever, detailing the various songbirds, small and big game encounters, with a detailed description of each whitetail deer I get to look over. Coupled with the year round census of our herd by myself, family, land managers, and on our Texas property, game counts by Texas Parks and Wildlife biologists, we have a pretty good handle on just what our deer herd is comprised of and how to manage the annual harvest accordingly. Or so we thought.

Ensconced 18 feet up in a crowsnest of thick leaves, vines and branches, the steady southwest breeze caressing my face, my confidence level was as high as a kite this dark, cool January afternoon. With my video camera solid on a swing arm, I was taping myself this day as the first of what would become a parade of whitetail deer slowly made their way through the forest of live oak trees.

At this point late in the season, my remaining Managed Land Deer Permits included six more does and six more bucks, so I was ready to arrow just about any animal. I had picked out some mature does and at least two management bucks that caught my fancy, when all of a sudden, my eyes bugged out at the sight of a big, mature, multi-tined buck. I examined this deer closely with my Bushnells, and quickly realized that this buck had never been identified before.

I was starting to shake. The handsome old boy had a heavy, tall 7×6 rack with a sagging belly and a thick, swollen neck, and I said a prayer of hope that he would give me shot.

He stayed behind the dense foliage, and then trotted off with his nose hot on a big doe. Par for the course in my hunting life, the big boy appeared to be gone with the wind, so I carefully moved my vidcam into position as a shot on a nice slick six point buck was coming to fruition.

I was literally beginning to draw my 53# Martin Firecat bow when the six point jerked his head up and hustled forward. Taking his place at the edge of the clearing was my lucky 13, and finishing my draw, I sent my 400 grain arrow perfecto right there in the golden triangle where heart meets lungs. With a wild kick and a scramble, the mortally hit beast dashed out of sight, his galloping hooves clamoring audibly on the hard ground, then across the rocky wash, with a final, telltale tumble in the tangle across the dry creekbed. Good grief! I was out of body.

Fumbling like a schoolboy after his first kiss, I quivered as I spun the vidcam arm towards me in a feeble attempt to capture the insanity of the moment. I blurted out a spontaneous burst of pure adrenalin pumped excitement explaining how shocked I was to see, muchless kill such a never before seen trophy buck like this dandy 13 pointer.

Self videoing the thrilling recovery took an explosive turn for the better, for as I found the beautiful deer piled up in a tangle of green briar, I heard the rumble of my wife Shemane’s Mercedes coming down the gravel road above the timbered ridge not far off. With the camera buzzing, I ran wildly toward her screaming for her to come join me in the celebration of this very special buck. I come off like a raving idiot (so what else is new?) but succeeded in getting her attention. She graciously took over camera duties like the pro that she is, and we taped the reverential tribute to this fine 150 class whitetail deer. The TV show of this amazing hunt will be as special as the soul stirring encounter and kill with my lucky 13. I’ll take lucky over good everytime.

To book a hunt with Ted Nugent, visit tednugent.com or call Sunrize Safaris at 800-343-4868.

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Published by Scott M on 30 Oct 2008

The Priviledge of Hunting

I’ve hunted on and off for a total of about 11 seasons now, and my attitude about hunting has changed more dramatically than I ever would have imagined.  Starting out I was always in a rush, especially deer hunting.  The minute I saw a flicker of brown or white my gun was on my shoulder and I was trying to find the deer in my scope. 

After harvesting some nice deer, and honestly making some foolish shots, I realized I’m not out here for the kill, I’m out here for the hunt.  That kind of thinking led me choose archery as my first choice for method of hunting these days.

Archery hunters choose to do things the more difficult way.  We have to get closer, we have to be careful of wind, and scent, we have to make a perfect shot, because follow-ups are rarities in the archery woods.

From purchasing the bow last spring, through practicing daily all summer, I couldn’t have been more excited for the Pennsylvania archery season.  The opener came and sure enough I had some action the first morning.

Four doe came in together.  The problem was when I saw the first I thought she was alone.  So, when I turned to get a better look, the big mature doe bringing up the rear saw me in the tree.  She alerted the rest and they bolted.

I was able to hunt again the first monday night of the season and as I arranged my gear at the base of the tree, two doe came into my setup.  As they fed I was able to nock an arrow and come to full draw while kneeling next to my tree.  The first doe stepped behind some brush, so I settled my 20 yard pin on the second doe.  As I looked her up and down I came to the conclusion she was a yearling.  While it would have been great to punch my tag on my second outing of the year, I asked myself, “is this small doe how I want to use my single doe tag?”  I knew the answer to that question, and slowly let down my bow.  I continued to kneel next to the tree as they fed out of sight.

I spent the next couple of hours in the tree, without another sighting.  Even though I didn’t see another deer that night I felt like that night was the most successful night of hunting I’ve had in a long time.

It’s our priviledge to be in the woods pursuing such amazing creatures, and we choose when to fill our tags, we are never obligated to fill our tags.  That, at least for me, is what makes hunting a great tradition.

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Published by cmgo06 on 14 Oct 2008

memories everyday

 The following is a true story.

 As each day goes bye and I am  thinking about my hold, aimming , and various “littile” things I work on each time. Being hard on my self is something I do and get mad about. For no apparent reason. However shooting a bow has tough me how to slow down and relax.

 Get home see my great kids and very understanding wife. Grab a snack and get to shooting. pratice make prefect they say . So when is it gonna pay off. I know I am “actully” shooting good. Hitting on or with in the “10 ” ring it a great shot in the feild. Yet I still want to hit that x spot. Distance is a game that I have come to find takes time.

Recently I had been invited t ofreiends camp up north (adirondacks area) . What a wonderful place it was, state foot tails near and as many miles as you wanted to walk and see. After a little time to get the feel for were I was I look at a map and got it down. There was basically a large triangle of land I heard was loaded with deer. The problem I relized was at the middle of the triangle was a farily large mountian. Trails lead alaround but up this place. It was know’n area buy hunter but hard to reach from unposted areas. Were I was it wasn’t a hour hike. What a place. I studies the map a while longer and figured I could get around. The guys who tagged me along are looking to take a hike after getting camp opened up. We went a decent hike,  along the foot talis and then following a river and back out, maybe a couple of miles. As I took another look at the map I relized just how large the area was we were entering earlier. what we had ventered was but only the samiliest tip of the iceberg. What an increadile experience that area was.

 A few days later back in reality we talk of making another trip. This time for a two day stay. I was jumping for joy. Now only if the wife is good with it i am in great shape. And what do you know she was. She must be up to something, but I will worry about that later. Now it’s game time.

 I have to admit that I have never been on a true hunting trip. I know laugh now, its ok I understand now what the trill is about up to this point. Feeling a little weary that I may not have it in me, but hell I have done almost everything else but this.Shooting has always been of intrest to me, much to my father’s “sha-grine”. Latley he seems more opening to what I am doing , guess its just I am older and he hasn’t much say. I am excited and nervious I guess. But I know if I do as I know to do I should be fine. Another day  soon and that much closer to it.

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Published by WayBeau on 07 Oct 2008

First Bow Kill

So opening day of Archery season in Virginia was this past weekend.  I was lucky in that I was able to get out for the opening day.  The last time I was able to get out for a season opener was probably 6 years ago, and it was for duck season in Mississippi.  So to actually be able to get out on opening day was great in its own right.

My bowhunting to this point has been nothing but foam in the back yard.  But let me tell you, that darn cube target from Walmart has been “killed” more times than it wants to admit, and will continue to meet my arrows until it simply can’t stop them anymore.  My father-in-law, who gave me just about every piece of archery equipment that I own and doesn’t even bowhunt, decided he wanted to scout some areas that morning and we headed to the woods.  Since I knew he wasn’t going up there to hunt, I decided to sacrifice getting into the stand before day light and took the chance of blowing the whole hunt by stomping my way to my tree.

I was in my stand, ready for action around 6:50 a.m.  Well, as my track record goes in this stand, all I saw for the first hour and a half were a bunch of squirrels (one of which almost joined me) and the occassional bird.  Around 8:15 I found myself dozing off and figured, “What the hell, I’m not missing anything anyway.”  So I decided I’d take a short nap.  Well, good ole Mr. Murphy decided to make an appearance.  I shut my eyes for what seemed like an hour (really it was only 5 minutes) and was awakened by the sound of crunching leaves.  Thanks to the squirrels, I didn’t really think too much of it until I saw something much larger than a squirrel moving out in front of my stand at around 50 yards.  I knew it was a deer, but I wasn’t sure if it was a buck or a doe.  Though it didn’t really matter, I was hoping that it was a buck since this would be my first bow kill and my very first deer, EVER.  On top of that, there is a doe that frequents this area of woods that has two fawns with her and I wasn’t going to shoot her.  So I wanted it to be a buck so that there wouldn’t be any chance for confusion and accidental shooting of the wrong deer.

To my pleasure I saw horns and started getting myself prepared to stand and draw.  I’m not sure, but I doubt if the sequence of events could have gone any better.  The buck took a few steps and stopped behind a small group of trees and bushes that shielded his view of my stand.  That’s when I stood up.  At this point he was at least 40-45 yards away.  I gave a quick grunt call and he started walking towards me again.  As he stepped behind another tree I drew my bow.  I was at full draw when he turned and started quartering very slightly toward me (he was almost perfectly broadside) at around 30-35 yards.  I settled my pins on him and as I was squeezing the trigger on my release the sun broke the clouds and brightened my pins so much that they blended with his shoulder.  At this point it was too late.  The hair trigger on my release had all ready let the arrow fly.

When I released the arrow, the buck flinched slightly.  Immediately after getting hit, he jumped in the air, spun 180 degrees and took off back through the thickets behind him.  My heart was pounding harder than it ever has.  I knew I had hit him by the way he took off, but I was a little nervous about the hit due to the last second sunshine on my pins.  So I waited an hour which would have felt like much longer had a group of does (including the momma and two fawns) not decided to stop by to snack on the red and white acorns that cover the ground around my stand.

After my hour wait, I got down and went to the last place I saw him.  While there was blood on the ground, I couldn’t find my arrow anywhere.  I was thinking the worst, muscle hit into the bone and he’s taken off with my arrow.  So I start following the blood trail.  I only make it about 40 yards into the thickets when it simply disappears.  At this point I’m starting to get nervous.  I don’t like the idea (I honestly don’t anyone that does) of shooting an animal and just letting it suffer needlessly.  Also, I had read a lot of posts by people that lost deer and I didn’t want to join that group.  So I walked in a zigzag pattern for about 20 yards and there on the ground was more blood.  My heart literally skipped a beat.  From that point on, it was like bread crumbs leading me home.  I found him piled up against a tree not 30 more yards past where I found the trail again.

I won’t bore you with the details of dragging him out of the thickets and down the mountain.  But I will tell you that he could have weighed 300 pounds, I was getting that deer out of the woods.  This was my very first bow kill and my very first deer EVER and I couldn’t be prouder.  While he’s not the biggest deer in the woods, he’ll always be a trophy to me.

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Published by WayBeau on 27 Sep 2008

Taking Stock

Let’s face it, everyone has been effected by the current economic “crisis” in one way or another.  But how have hunters been effected?  In the past, I have been the kind of guy who would go out and “restock” before each and every season.  Now, when I say each and every season, I mean EACH and EVERY season.  Dove, waterfowl, deer, turkey, squirrel.  It didn’t matter if I could use the same shot shells for dove and squirrels, or if the camo that I wore duck hunting the timber would be just as effective hunting deer on the mountain.  For some reason I always needed different gear for every season and critter.  As a result I ended up with a lot of “stuff” that I probably didn’t really need.  When I got married, not too long ago, my wife asked me a question that would put a lot of things in perspective, “What do you need all of that stuff for?”  Well, I tried to answer but simply couldn’t find a response that made sense to me, let alone a woman who has most definitely never set foot deep in the woods (well maybe when she was younger and crazier, and definitely not for the reason of hunting or being close to nature).  As a result, I took stock of what I had in my hunting closet (yes, she actually lets me have a WHOLE closet for my hunting stuff).

From that day forward, a lot of my gear hasn’t seen the light of day.  I came to realize that the things that I “had to have” weren’t really making me a better hunter.  So I simply didn’t take anything out to the woods that wouldn’t really help me, or I thought wouldn’t help me, in my goal of bagging whatever animal I was after.  The recent economic troubles our country is facing have made me take even a further look at what I’ve got.  Actually, it’s a little more than just what I’ve got, it’s how can what I have make someone else’s hunt better.  I had to ask myself whether there was anything in my closet that I didn’t use, that someone else possibly could.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to make myself look like some sort of saint here.  I love my “stuff” and the last thing that I ever thought I’d find myself doing would be giving it away.  But that’s exactly what happened.  If I didn’t use it, or it didn’t have any kind of sentimental value it was out the door to the local outdoor store where they would find someone that could use it.

When I started going through my closet and cleaning out the things that I no longer used or needed I found that my closet was truly just a drawer.  Everything I needed and used would all fit neatly into a drawer.  The other thing that I found was that making due with the bare essentials makes one come up with new ways of doing things.  So instead of spending money on a new ground blind, that blown down pine tree became my new best friend.  Within a matter of about a hour there was a freshly built ground blind that looked more natural than anything you can buy in the store.  The scent elimination products that everyone seems to crave, once again that pine tree and a bunch of fresh acorns did the trick. The thing that is truly the most amazing part of it all is the level of gratification that you can get out of doing things this way and saving your money (which I’m sure our spouses appreciate as well).

And if you’re having a hard time getting through the process of taking stock and cleaning out, ask yourself this one simple question, “What did our fathers, grandfathers, and great-grandfathers all do without this stuff?”  They simply hunted. . . .and probably were a lot better at it.

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Published by WayBeau on 26 Sep 2008

Why we do what we do

For many of us, myself included, the stories that are told in a hunting camp, living room, or at the dinner table could serve as the only form of entertainment that we need.  It’s not whether the story is entirely true or not, it’s how the story is told that matters.  So as many of us have done in the past, the story teller may embellish the truth.  The statement “no harm, no foul” most definitely applies in this situation.  Anyone who can say that they don’t embellish when they get deep into a good story is no friend of mine.  It’s the story teller that embellishes that tells the best story.  That, my friends, is why we do the things we do.  The more the story gets told, the bigger the size of the fish, animal, cliff, etc.  Seriously, who would be impressed if someone told you that they shot a spike buck that fell ten feet down a three degree slope?  It’s the need to impress and entertain that drives the story onward to its ultimate shape and destination.  That buck mysteriously grows fourteen more points and falls down a one hundred foot rock face only to get caught, by the antlers, in a 60 foot pine tree, with no lower limbs, thirty feet off the ground.  Now which story would you rather hear?  That’s why we do what we do.  It makes for more enjoyable times.  No one does it out of malice or ill will, they simply want to tell a good story.  But in order to be able to tell a good story, one must first put themself into a position to experience a jumping off point for a good story.  Which leads me to my story.

When I was twenty years old, I had the good idea to pack my Ford Exploder, yes I said Exploder not Explorer, and drive to Wyoming with the hopes of doing something exciting and adventurous.  I won’t bore you with the details of my drive west from Virginia, but along the way I did fly a plane, see a cathedral on a prairie, and almost pick up two hippies and their dog (I simply didn’t have room in my Exploder for the hippies).  For the first week that I was in Wyoming I did a lot of driving around the areas between Dubois and Jackson trying to find employment due to the unfortunate fact that I wasn’t independently wealthy.  Late summer in Wyoming may be one of my favorite things about my time there.  But I digress, eventually I found a job as a cook and a wrangler with a local hunting guide in Dubois (if you want to know which one you’ll have to contact me).  Two days later, the adventures began.

To start off, the only hunting I had ever done to that point was a whole lot of waterfowling on the eastern shore of Virginia.  There had never been an occassion for me to saddle a horse or lead a pack train, both things that I was required to do on a regular basis.  That first ride, ten miles into base camp, was like nothing I had ever experienced.  Being the avid horseman that I was how was I supposed to know that you shouldn’t hold onto the saddle horn?  We made it into base camp, my home for the next 23 days and started setting things up.

For the next two months, I would see things that most may never see in their entire lifetime.  I rode over the Continental Divide several times on horseback, and a few times in the Exploder.  I literally climbed straight down a rock face to help retrieve a sheep that a hunter had shot, only to climb straight back up the same face with about 40 pounds of sheep meat on my back, all in a blowing snow storm.  And there was the day that I incidentally got within 12 yards of a cow moose , but the most memorable experience I had during my time in Wyoming was sitting around the camp table listening to the stories that all of the guides and hunters had to tell.  Many of the stories seemed pretty far fetched, but every one of them was entertaining.  The sixteen point buck that fell down a rock face and got stuck actually isn’t far from the truth.  The actual story (I’ve seen the photos) was a six by six elk slid down a snow bank and went tail first over a cliff getting caught by the head in a crack.   The point is, the story was one that I will never forget.  Granted the man telling it could have simply said, “I shot a six by six that slid down a bank and got caught by the head in a crack.”  Instead he embellished a bit, and the story took on a whole life of its own.  It is the embellishment that makes the story what it is.  From my time in Wyoming I have many stories that could easily be told without embellishment.  The thing is though, if I add just a touch of embellishment the story gets a lot better.

And that is why we do what we do.

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Published by bowhunterswife on 24 Sep 2008

Meat for the Freezer

As the wife of a bowhunter, I have a slightly different viewpoint than he does of hunting.  For me, it is about providing food for the family.  When Donnie comes in with a deer or a turkey, I am ecstatic because I know he is providing for us.  The Lord gave him a talent for hunting and he has developed this talent into a finely honed skill.  The man can hunt!!!

This past week he went deer hunting and usually he takes his cell phone.  However, with a new baby and gas prices so high we disconnected the cell phones (yes, this means something to this story).  So he is out in the field, sees the deer.  Sometimes in the past he will call me and say, “Honey, it’s a four pointer.  Should I shoot it?”  This is because as a seasoned hunter he is constantly looking to hunt deers that are bigger and better than what he has hunted before.  One day I remember he called about shooting an piebald deer that was a spike.  I told him to go ahead and shoot it because he had never shot a piebald before.  He chose not to because he was hopeful it would grow bigger.  Later he wished he had gone ahead and taken that deer because he never saw it again.

So …back to the story.  No cell phone to call on. The evening wears on.  I am in the dark about how the hunt is going.  The phone rings.  He is at his dad’s …with a deer. 

“I wouldn’t have shot it because it is just a little buck,” he says, “but I thought of what you might say if I had called.  I figured you would say to shoot it because we needed the meat.”

“You were right!”  I affirmed happily.

He was willing to take the jibes and ribbing from his hunting buddies, all of the “bloodthirsty” taunts, in order to provide for our family . And now we have a freezer full of deer burger and steaks!! Yummy!! Thank you, honey, for loving us enough to deal with the ribbing and give us the meat!!

What a hunter!! What a man!!

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Published by ryalred on 23 Sep 2008

The Bloodtrailor Deer

Fog, mist, dark, dreary—perfect deer hunting weather. There wasn’t a leaf moving. It was the last half of muzzle loader season in Southeast Oklahoma and I had already killed a nice buck with my old Jukar smoke pole, but I had taken a week’s vacation and bow season coincides with the primitive arms season, so I thought I’d make the most of my time off and hunt with my bow. And, besides, I was anxious to try out these new Blood Trailer mechanical broadheads (they were new then). I had always had trouble getting my broadheads to fly like field points. I hadn’t yet learned the, what now seems so simple, steps to arrow tuning, and this promise of a broadhead flying just like field point was extremely appealing. My only concern was the killing potential of the Blood Trailers. I’m not a physicist, but the principles behind the mechanics of the Blood Trailer seemed reasonable to me, but the cutting blades seemed a little flimsy, but their ads had been very convincing, so, I’d give um a try.

As usual, I had some difficulty deciding which stand to hunt. I had almost 200 acres all to myself—the weather having scared off my brother-in-law and my father-in-law. I had the option of about a dozen stands from which to choose and the wind was no factor at all. Why I chose the one I did, I’ll never know. It wasn’t my favorite stand. It wasn’t my most productive stand. It wasn’t one that produced the largest deer or the most sightings. Maybe it was because I hadn’t hunted it in quite some time, or maybe the fact that the stand was close to the maximum range I had imposed on myself from the trails the deer usually used. This would be a good range to see just how good those Blood Trailers flew and their down range penetrability. Whatever the reason, it was the most fortuitous choice I had ever made in choosing a location to hunt.

I got there about three hours before dark and climbed into my stand, expecting a couple of hours of waiting before the deer started moving. I had carefully hung by doe in estrus scent bombs in three positions around my tree and now I was ready. I knew I wouldn’t be able to hear any deer coming my way because everything was so wet from all the fog and mist. I nocked an Easton 2117 aluminum arrow on the string of my old Ben Pearson compound bow and sat back for the wait. I daydreamed a little about new bows, something with more than 50 % let off would be nice, and those carbon arrows would be great, too, but that would all have to wait till next year.

I had only been there an hour when I caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of my eye. Whatever it was, it was already pretty close and I hadn’t removed my bow from its hanger. It also wasn’t on one of the main trails past my stand. But, I remained motionless for what seemed like 30 minutes waiting for whatever I had seen to step out in my filed of view. Then the wait was over but the excitement was just beginning. The largest whitetail deer I’d ever seen while hunting walked right out into view, maybe 18 yds from my tree and quartered slightly away from me. He stops and began to look all around and he held his head high in the air as if to catch the scent of something, but he didn’t appear to be the least bit nervous—he wasn’t scenting me. He was smelling my scent bombs and was looking for the doe giving off that wonderful odor. He looked to be a 10 pointer with very heavy beams and a massive body. My heart was beating so hard, I was sure he would hear it. He just stood there scenting and looking. I ever so slowly removed my bow from its hanger and clipped my release onto the string. All the time I just kept thinking, “He’s so close—if I miss him I’ll be just sick.” I also kept thinking, “I sure do wish I had a Thunderhead on my arrow instead of that flimsy looking Blood Trailer,” but it was going to have to do. I slowly drew my arrow and aligned to peep and top sight pin to just behind his front shoulder and hit the release. It was a good release and a good shot. I saw the arrow hit almost exactly where I was aiming. It also made that wonderfully sound of an arrow hitting the heart/lung area. Instantly the monster buck turned and ran out of sight.

It was the longest thirty minutes I had ever waited to get down out of my stand, but I had made it a rule a couple of years early to not leave the stand for at least thirty minutes after I had shot a deer with my bow. (I would wait longer if I felt the shot wasn’t too good.) Upon reaching the ground, I walked to where the huge deer had been standing when I shot, thinking I’d find my arrow stuck in the ground where it had passed through, but no arrow. Worse yet, there was no blood. I slowly walked in the direction he ran, looking for blood after each step. I walked 15 steps and found one small drop of bright red blood. I was sure that within the next few steps I’d begin finding large amounts of blood, but not so. I only found a couple more small drops of blood. I marked each spot with a sheet of toilet tissue so I wouldn’t loose the trail and I could get an idea of the specific direction the deer was taking.

I was beginning to worry with all kinds of questions racing through my head. “Did I not make a good shot—was it too high?” “Did the Blood Trailer fail and only cause minimal damage?” “Why, oh why hadn’t I had a Thunderhead on that arrow.” I looked and looked in ever expanding semi circles in the direction I had seen the buck heading, but no deer, and even worse, no blood! It was about to get dark, and I had gone about 50 yards from where I had shot the deer. It was going to be cool that night so I decided to go in and begin searching again at daylight the next morning. I really thought I had killed the deer and it was out there somewhere and I was going to find it the next day.

I could hardly sleep that night and off and on that night I could hear it raining—there would be no blood trail. I was up before daylight and packed my backpack with snacks and water—I was going to make a day of looking for this deer. Upon arriving at the spot where I’d shot the deer the blood, what little there was, had washed away, but the toilet tissue was there, though a little water logged. I decided to make complete circles about ten yards apart beginning at where I’d stopped looking the night before. I thought he could have turned back so I didn’t want to look just in the direction I last saw him going.

By 10:00 a.m. I had made ever widening circles out to 100 yards from the spot of the shot and still no deer. I decided to take a break from that procedure and walk to two nearby ponds since I remembered that injured deer will sometimes go to water, but no deer. I was beginning to feel really sick about the possibility of loosing the best deer I’d ever seen, much lest taken a shot at. The fact that he had been only 18 yds away made me feel even worse.

I decided to try one other thing before I went back to making the every expanding circles—thinking I’d go out to at least 200 yards with them. I went back to the spot of the shot and got a line with the three sheets of toilet tissue I’d used to mark the blood spots. I decided to walk in a straight line, that direction, for at least 300 yards. At 150 yards I looked up ahead and there in a large area of grass—could it be—yes it was, the deer of a lifetime. He had run as hard as he could go and then just fell in a heap. He had been dead before I left the stand the day before.

Upon investigation I found that the arrow had penetrated the upper chest, just behind the front leg and had passed through both lungs, but had not exited on the other, lower side. My Thunderheads would have passed through and there would have been gushers of blood. Yes, the Blood Trailer had done its job properly but had fallen short of its name—leaving no blood trail. (I would never use one again.)

The deer was so huge I could not move it. I had to get my father-in-law to help. The buck’s field dressed weight—a whopping 185 lbs (for Southeast Oklahoma that is huge). Its rack was a wide, heavy beamed 10 point that I have never had scored. I’m extremely proud of it. It larger than most deer I see hanging in guys’ living rooms AND I GOT IT WITH A BOW!!!

3 votes, average: 2.67 out of 53 votes, average: 2.67 out of 53 votes, average: 2.67 out of 53 votes, average: 2.67 out of 53 votes, average: 2.67 out of 5 (3 votes, average: 2.67 out of 5)
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Published by Buckeyehunter12 on 21 Sep 2008

My First Deerhunt: Whether to cry, laugh, or just soak up the moment.

  Well my first deer hunt was different I suppose you could say.  Everytihng and anything that you could imagine happening happened.  There was near death, a chance at a buck of a lifetime, blood, tears, and most of all a great memory that will never be forgotten.

       Lets start at the beginning shall we.  I was 12 when I received my hunting license.  I had squirrel hunted a couple of times and enjoyed it, but it was nothing special.  I figured I had at least a couple of years before my dad would allow me to deer hunt but boy was I wrong.  One night when we were sitting around the television watching football my dad asked me if I wanted to go hunt the early season muzzleloader hunt.  I thought he was kidding and was even in disbelief but sure enough he was serious.  Of course I screamed yes and started dreaming of what it would be like to see a deer in the wild.  The hunt was in southeastern Ohio at a wildlife area my uncle had hunted before.  He told my dad the general area of some spots he had as we pulled out of town.  The drive was long but when we finally got there I was in shock.  The wildlife area was covered in massive hills and ravines.  I thought how in earth are we supposed to hunt with that kind of terrain?  We got  there just in time to do some scouting before dark.  We had walked about a mile or so into the timber when the worst sound I have ever heard in my life went off.  We were headed up a rocky hill when a very loud rattling noise sounded out.  My dad froze and said son, dont move!  I froze and listened for further directions.  He told me to back away slowly and I followed his command.  After I was back aways he jumped backwards.  My dads foot was right above the head of a timber rattlesnake.  It struck at him as he jumped away but missed.  If he would have been bitten it would have been sure death, as I would not have been able to help him out to the truck, or drive, or even find my way to a hospital!  After that hairy incident we decided we should call it a night and head back to the truck.  My dad had a couple of spots in mind for the next morning and there was no need to go further.  That night was among the longest in my life.  I could not stop thinking about that hunt (not to mention the cot that my dad made me sleep on, while he was in a comfy bed, was nothing to brag about).  Finally, morning came after a slim couple hours of sleep.  I was so excited.  I could not believe I would actually be deer hunting!  We ate breakfast at a local tavern and headed to the woods.  The morning hunt was uneventful until later in the morning when a couple of does came feeding through the timber on the way to a thicket behind us.  The deer presented many shots for me but I could not seem to get them in the scope!  Finally they moved on out of sight and I did not get a shot.  My dad began talking to me saying I need to try hard to get them into the scope.  I realized I may never get another chance like that this year!  Just as my dad stopped talking to me there was a huge ruckus in front of us.  A deer was running towards the thicket but I could not see what it was.  Finally as he ran past us I could see it was a monster buck!  Back then I had no clue exactly how big he was but today I can tell you that he was well past 160″.  Obviously the deer had heard my dad talking to us and had taken off.  I began to tear up but realized I did not have time as I caught movement in front of me.  It was three does working their way towards us.  The lead doe finally turned broadside and I had her in my crosshairs.  I jerked the trigger ( I know your not supposed to but I was young!) and smoke filled the air.  Leaves were rustling and all heck was breaking lose!  When the smoke finally cleared I was looking directly into the sky.  I, being 100 pounds and no muscle at the time, had been blown backwards off of the five gallon bucket I had been sitting on and onto the ground.  My dad was in tears laughing and I couldnt help but laugh too.  Finally when we could breathe we got up and went to the spot where I had shot at the deer.  There was blood covering the ground and we began to track her.  Finally about 100 yards into the tracking job my dad looks at me and says that the blood is drying up.  I looked at him and asked wahat in the world that meant. He said the deer may live.  He told me to take the trail.  My heart sank as I began following the blood trail.  Almost 30 yrds later I looked up and there she was.  I turned around to look at my dad and he was laughing again.  He had lied to me.  A huge smile spread across my face as I ran up to her.  I could not believe that I had killed a deer.  After all that we had been through that weeked I actually got a deer.  My dad had almost been fatally bitten by a rattlesnake, we had missed an opportunity at a buck of a lifetime, I had been physically abused by my muzzleloader, I had been tricked, and finally I had been rewarded with my first deer.  The weekend was a rollercoaster of emotions, a rollercoaster that I would gladly ride again if I had the chance.  That weekend is what hunting is supposed to be about!  I will never forget that weekend!

6 votes, average: 3.17 out of 56 votes, average: 3.17 out of 56 votes, average: 3.17 out of 56 votes, average: 3.17 out of 56 votes, average: 3.17 out of 5 (6 votes, average: 3.17 out of 5)
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Published by Klyph on 18 Sep 2008

The call…

     The day had finally come for the long awaited phone call and the ten year old boy could hardly believe his ears. His father had called home to tell him that he needed to get to bed early that night so that he would be able to get up in the morning in time to go hunting. You see, the father had worked nights the boy’s entire life and the boy lived for the time he was going to be able to spend with his father on the weekends. He understood his dad’s passion for hunting and knew that during hunting season the weekends that he would be able to spend with his father were few and far between, making this call one that would change everything.
    You can only imagine how excited he was to get this call and know that he was going get to see his dad the whole weekend. The son knew he was supposed to be getting to bed early, but the anticipation was too overwhelming. When his father got home around midnight the boy was still awake as he lay in his bed dreaming of the day that was about to unfold. The father didn’t know that his son could hear every word he said from just a few rooms down the hall, and the son heard him explain that he was too tired to hunt the next day. Now the boys’ mother interjected, because she knew how excited her son was. She explained to the dad that his boy was already in his hunting clothes and that he had had her set his alarm 15 minutes early, “just to be safe.” The tired father simply said, “Really? Well, I’d better get to bed then.”
    The next morning the son smiled from ear to ear the entire 45-minute ride to his dad’s favorite hunting spot. From the time they entered the woods, the son was extremely focused and wasn’t about to let his father down. He had listened to his dad talk with his friends and had heard the same hunting stories hundreds, if not thousands of times. He remembered every detail and piece of advice as he followed close behind, stepping only where his dad had stepped a few moments prior, trying so hard not to make a sound. Every time the father stopped to peer through the trees, the son was right behind him trying to see where his dad was looking. Well, they didn’t see anything that day, but no one would know it from the stories the boy had to tell that night and for many nights to come.
    You see, this is my story, and for the last 18 years I have tried to re-live that day every time I go hunting. I try to recreate those childhood moments in the woods with my father.  I have never been one to hunt just for hunting’s sake. Rather, I hunt to fulfill the great need every boy has in his heart; the need for his father to take the time to pour his life, values, and beliefs into him. 
    But the story doesn’t end there. Since then I have found other men with similar stories and my passion for hunting has never been stronger.  Instead of trying to relive past memories, I now take every opportunity to head for the woods, taking someone with me, knowing that in the next few hours we will create memories that will last a lifetime. Hunting for me is more than just about tagging an animal; it’s about living life the way we were created to live it, making the most of every opportunity with those around us. I thank God for parents who love their kids well, and for a pastime that gives them an opportunity to pass down memories that will last for all eternity.

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