I’ll start by admitting that I wasn’t expecting it, and that should make it clear that however amazing it turned out, a good bit of luck was involved. It was an impromptu sit to get the ball rolling- my first of the season. My plan was to go a few times opportunistically during archery season in hopes of tagging a doe to put some meat in the freezer and start making sausages to enjoy through the fall, then I would get serious about hunting during rifle season, for which I had done a good bit of planning and preparation.
I went to a spot where I had taken a doe last year, and run a camera for a good bit of time, catching mostly does coming to feed. Although I did see a few cruising bucks there last year, and I knew they could be starting to get active as the pre-rut set in, I wasn’t expecting to see one. Additionally, because this exact spot forces me to sit on the ground, and the deer are funneled close by, when sitting there I am sort of committing to shooting the first deer that comes through, lest it spook and take any others with it.
I didn’t bump anything creeping to the spot in the late afternoon. Because the wind was suboptimal I brought a leftover can of Doe ‘N Estrus Buck Bomb to use as a cover scent, though I’d hoped that by the time they were crossing my wind I would have already gotten a shot off. I sprayed every few paces as I crossed the field, up the hill to my spot, and liberally in all directions around where I’d be sitting (except into the briars behind me.)
I sat there in the briars, resting the crossbow on my right knee, then my left, trying to favor my right as I expected them to come from that direction. For the longest time there was this loud rustling behind me, characteristic of a squirrel but much more constant and much louder. I couldn’t see it, but when I started hearing the same sound across the field from me, I wasn’t surprised to realize it was a a woodchuck. Not moments after seeing the woodchuck, a raccoon emerged from same spot. Before I had time to turn on my camera he was gone.
Although I hadn’t seen anything and sunset had now passed, I hadn’t given up hope. I knew that deer may reach the fields close to shooting light. I sat with my head down, cross-legged, almost meditating, just relaxing my legs, listening, smelling, the crossbow in my lap and on the ground in front of me. Before I had time to do anything other than raise my chin, a mature buck came huffing down the path and stopped, ten yards away, broadside. He was immediately staring right at me. I couldn’t move. In an instant he turned and trotted quickly further into the field. As soon as he wasn’t looking, I raised the crossbow. Though he was quartering away hard, he was still within the limits of my range as I merped for him to stop. I could see the bolt going into his ribcage before the shot, I knew that I just needed to do it. In no time at all, I had. He didn’t kick, but it looked like a good hit.
The buck tore off, trucking at full speed, low to the ground, across the field and directly into the thick briars across from me. He crashed hard, but then I heard nothing. I waited for a few minutes before the anticipation got the better of me and I felt like I needed to start tracking. I wanted to at least begin while there was still some light in the sky, so before long I went to inspect where the deer had been standing when I shot. I saw a few specs of bright red blood, which felt promising- I know sometimes it can take a little bit for a wound to open up- but then not much else approaching the edge of the field. The most stressful moments hunting are those between shooting your shot and becoming certain of its outcome. Without seeing or hearing a deer crash (and typically thrash a bit), when using archery equipment that certainty doesn’t come until you’ve found it at the end of a blood trail.
I could see where he plowed into the briars, and decided to start there. I found another few specs of blood at the start of the brush, but could see no more. Though there was a thicket almost immediately, there was also a lightly used game trail heading around it. I thought maybe he had gone that way, and followed the trail scanning for blood, but quickly gave up. “I should be seeing something,” I thought, walking back to the edge of the field and peering down into the thicket with my light. As I stared down into the darkness, a small patch of brown fur caught my eye. Adjusting the light I saw brown and white. He was piled up right there in the briars, 10 yards out of the field. Less than 60 yards from where he was shot. It was all I could do to drag him out of there.
Now that it was dark, the light of the Lumenok made the bolt clear in the field. Though I had already found the deer. I was glad to be able to recover the bolt- something I know I may have to rely on in the future to give me a clearer picture of the impact. In this case I learned upon cutting him up that the bolt had entered just behind his left rear rib and passed though into his right shoulder before deflecting down into the ground. As I suspected, I had drilled him.
I’m glad to have shot such a fine specimen of a mature buck, but once again, I can’t claim that he an indication of my prowess as a hunter, however, like the first big buck I shot, I can submit him as evidence that I can cut up a deer and pack (or sled in the former case) it out, and I take pride in that. I skinned and quartered him right there on the edge of the field, got him all packed up, and then couldn’t lift the pack off the ground. I ended up having to make two trips, but I didn’t mind, as Joe DiNitto said, “Where would rather be than hauling out your buck?”
As I walked out along the creek through the darkness with the first load, I heard rustling leaves off to my left, up the hill near the field at its top. It was loud like a deer, but it was coming my way, and though I wasn’t making a racket, I wasn’t being exactly silent either. To my growing surprise the sound continued along beside me, getting closer, until I was compelled to turn and shine my headlamp towards it. As I did this I saw the eye-shine of two large, yellow eyes as a formless figure stepped onto a rock thirty yards away. I stomped to scare it off, and I have to admit, I was slightly nervous when it didn’t budge until I growled at it fiercely. I knew that it was probably a coyote, and came to feel certain later that it had smelled the dead deer and possibly thought it was tracking a wounded animal, but I was a bit creeped out for the rest of the hike out, especially when walking through the dense woods.
I packed him out without incident, and he was a magnificent buck, but as I drove home after stopping at a convenience store for ice, at least partially covered in blood- of which I was proud- I first had the bittersweet realization that this would change my plans for the season. I had contemplated the scenario- it’s what I frequently call “a good problem to have-” yet I didn’t really consider what it would be like to be in that position. Most of my planning, preparation, and anticipation this year had gone into getting ready for rifle season in the mountains of PA, but now, my buck tag was filled.
A (Personal) Reminder About Pictures
Take pictures! Besides the two pictures featured above, these are the only pictures I took of the buck from field to table. Though I’m thrilled with the trophy and the venison has been fantastic so far, in the excitement of finding him and realization that there was much more work to do, I forgot to take the time to fully document the moment.
