Schwonkhead
Active Member
My first year carrying a shotgun in deer season proved to be a difficult one that resulted in not a single round passing through my barrel. Although no shots were fired by my hands there was still excitement a plenty…
I was 12 years old during deer season in 1998, I had a new Mossberg 500 in 20 gauge and couldn’t wait to go out and tackle the woods. The two previous years I had been out in the field during deer season as well, but only as a deer dog, strapped head to toe in Carhartt clothing, busting through the thickest mix of multiflora rose and other briars you can imagine, with the intent of pushing any deer that might be hiding in there out to the posters. While that was a great deal of fun, I wanted so bad to take my own crack at shooting those bounding critters. I later found out it is an incredible feat to shoot a spooked deer that is moving at full throttle with a projectile that’s about as big around as your finger. There have been a lot more three and outs on running deer than deer on the ground.
On the Saturday of the first season my grandfather and I sauntered out to an old washed out dam. The pond that used to be there supplied his house with water in the early 60s, but now 30 some years later where that house once stood he planted his corn and the drained pond had become a thick haven for animals of all sizes with a small run-off creek flowing through that was only three feet across at it widest. As he was known to do, my grandfather had a bucket that was a permanent fixture at this dam. A white plastic throne could be seen anytime you were walking by a spot frequented by deer, I suppose because he had a plethora of buckets and only felt like carrying them once. This day he carried another one out so his grandson could have a sit too.
We made it out to the east side of the washed out dam, and he set me up on the “new” bucket overlooking the south side, this was the least overgrown part which made it easier to see. My grandfather took his place on the existing perch facing the northwest. We were about 10 yards from each other, I don’t know if that was by design or not but it did help to keep me from trying to talk to him while we were out there.
Neither of us had seen anything for a couple hours and decided to call it a morning and go back to the house for lunch. My grandmother still feeds all the deer hunters to this day, she loves keeping us fed so we can go back out and bring in our prizes for her to take pictures of, every deer whether it be buck or doe has a photo in the big book. Just as we were about to leave my grandpa spotted a large buck walking along the fence line to the west of the dam. At the closest point the fence was about 60 yards from where we sat, straight across the dam which was the only are left that didn’t have any trees or bushes growing on it. When the deer got to the opening he fired his gun and the deer came running straight at us, all the way onto the other side of the washed out dam just 20 yards away where it stopped and turned full broadside to us. After getting a closer look this deer was bigger than initially thought, easily one of the biggest he had seen in all his years of hunting. Another shot rang out and the deer hit the deck immediately, the excitement level was off the charts.
As the buck was in his death throws my grandfather told me to wait here while he crossed the ravine to get over to the deer, this meant going 12 feet down on our side, crossing the run-off stream, and climbing back up another 12 feet on the other side of the dam, all of which was covered with multiflora rose. Once he got to the bottom on our side of the dam the thrashing of the deer sent it tumbling down the other side of the dam, great for getting to it, awful for retrieving it. One second later and the deer had got back on his feet and was absolutely tearing through the timber. Being my first year deer hunting I had no idea what to do and just watched in amazement while my grandpa let three more rounds fly to no avail, the deer was gone. We both stood there in silence until he screamed out “SON OF A BUCK!”
When we finally made it up to where the deer had dropped at the top of the dam we couldn’t find any blood, barely even any hair on the ground, all we saw was big scratches in the earth where his hooves had drug through. Then right at the edge of the tall grass there was something sticking out. It was an antler, they aren’t supposed to drop their antlers in November. When we picked it up we could see that the buck hadn’t dropped his antler, it was broken off. He must have been so fixated on the deer’s antlers that that is where my grandpa aimed his gun. After putting all of this together it made a lot more sense as to why the deer acted the way he did. We carried the antler back to the house and shared the story with the group.
By the time second season came two weeks later we had moved on from that experience, we were trying to fill tags after all. That Friday we got a call from another farmer that we sometimes hunted with and he asked if we still had that antler. He proceeded to tell us about a guy visiting from Minnesota that was hunting with one of his friends who the day before had shot a buck right next to a small river. When the deer went down it rolled down the bank and into the river which at this spot was nearly five feet deep. When he retrieved the deer from the water he pulled it up with only one antler, so thinking it broke off when it fell in the river he started searching for it. Now, in northern central Illinois the water in late November/early December is very far from being warm and this guy spent an hour or two wading through this river that was almost up to his shoulders scraping his feet along the bottom trying to find the missing antler. When he finally gave up they went to see this other farmer and with one look he said, “I know where your other antler is”.
They ended up bring the deer head out to the farm and when we put the broken antler on it left a perfect round hole right where the slug went through. Many beers later they sent him on his way with the antler duck taped back on. He has since had it mounted and whoever he used did a great job of reattaching the antler, it looks really good on his wall.
I was 12 years old during deer season in 1998, I had a new Mossberg 500 in 20 gauge and couldn’t wait to go out and tackle the woods. The two previous years I had been out in the field during deer season as well, but only as a deer dog, strapped head to toe in Carhartt clothing, busting through the thickest mix of multiflora rose and other briars you can imagine, with the intent of pushing any deer that might be hiding in there out to the posters. While that was a great deal of fun, I wanted so bad to take my own crack at shooting those bounding critters. I later found out it is an incredible feat to shoot a spooked deer that is moving at full throttle with a projectile that’s about as big around as your finger. There have been a lot more three and outs on running deer than deer on the ground.
On the Saturday of the first season my grandfather and I sauntered out to an old washed out dam. The pond that used to be there supplied his house with water in the early 60s, but now 30 some years later where that house once stood he planted his corn and the drained pond had become a thick haven for animals of all sizes with a small run-off creek flowing through that was only three feet across at it widest. As he was known to do, my grandfather had a bucket that was a permanent fixture at this dam. A white plastic throne could be seen anytime you were walking by a spot frequented by deer, I suppose because he had a plethora of buckets and only felt like carrying them once. This day he carried another one out so his grandson could have a sit too.
We made it out to the east side of the washed out dam, and he set me up on the “new” bucket overlooking the south side, this was the least overgrown part which made it easier to see. My grandfather took his place on the existing perch facing the northwest. We were about 10 yards from each other, I don’t know if that was by design or not but it did help to keep me from trying to talk to him while we were out there.
Neither of us had seen anything for a couple hours and decided to call it a morning and go back to the house for lunch. My grandmother still feeds all the deer hunters to this day, she loves keeping us fed so we can go back out and bring in our prizes for her to take pictures of, every deer whether it be buck or doe has a photo in the big book. Just as we were about to leave my grandpa spotted a large buck walking along the fence line to the west of the dam. At the closest point the fence was about 60 yards from where we sat, straight across the dam which was the only are left that didn’t have any trees or bushes growing on it. When the deer got to the opening he fired his gun and the deer came running straight at us, all the way onto the other side of the washed out dam just 20 yards away where it stopped and turned full broadside to us. After getting a closer look this deer was bigger than initially thought, easily one of the biggest he had seen in all his years of hunting. Another shot rang out and the deer hit the deck immediately, the excitement level was off the charts.
As the buck was in his death throws my grandfather told me to wait here while he crossed the ravine to get over to the deer, this meant going 12 feet down on our side, crossing the run-off stream, and climbing back up another 12 feet on the other side of the dam, all of which was covered with multiflora rose. Once he got to the bottom on our side of the dam the thrashing of the deer sent it tumbling down the other side of the dam, great for getting to it, awful for retrieving it. One second later and the deer had got back on his feet and was absolutely tearing through the timber. Being my first year deer hunting I had no idea what to do and just watched in amazement while my grandpa let three more rounds fly to no avail, the deer was gone. We both stood there in silence until he screamed out “SON OF A BUCK!”
When we finally made it up to where the deer had dropped at the top of the dam we couldn’t find any blood, barely even any hair on the ground, all we saw was big scratches in the earth where his hooves had drug through. Then right at the edge of the tall grass there was something sticking out. It was an antler, they aren’t supposed to drop their antlers in November. When we picked it up we could see that the buck hadn’t dropped his antler, it was broken off. He must have been so fixated on the deer’s antlers that that is where my grandpa aimed his gun. After putting all of this together it made a lot more sense as to why the deer acted the way he did. We carried the antler back to the house and shared the story with the group.
By the time second season came two weeks later we had moved on from that experience, we were trying to fill tags after all. That Friday we got a call from another farmer that we sometimes hunted with and he asked if we still had that antler. He proceeded to tell us about a guy visiting from Minnesota that was hunting with one of his friends who the day before had shot a buck right next to a small river. When the deer went down it rolled down the bank and into the river which at this spot was nearly five feet deep. When he retrieved the deer from the water he pulled it up with only one antler, so thinking it broke off when it fell in the river he started searching for it. Now, in northern central Illinois the water in late November/early December is very far from being warm and this guy spent an hour or two wading through this river that was almost up to his shoulders scraping his feet along the bottom trying to find the missing antler. When he finally gave up they went to see this other farmer and with one look he said, “I know where your other antler is”.
They ended up bring the deer head out to the farm and when we put the broken antler on it left a perfect round hole right where the slug went through. Many beers later they sent him on his way with the antler duck taped back on. He has since had it mounted and whoever he used did a great job of reattaching the antler, it looks really good on his wall.