Jbiehn
Active Member
I'll appologize in advance for this long winded ramble. This week of hunting really stretched me thin and left a mark on me. Thank you all for taking the time to read this one. I'm sorry it's so long theres just so much flowing through my mind.
Come November
Mid-September his email sucker punched me in the gut. “John, I’d like you to join me in NYC Nov 13th from 9am-1pm to provide sales feedback for a go-to-market workshop. Can you attend that day?” Of course, the only answer, when asked something like this by your Boss several months in advance is, “Yes. I’ll travel and arrive on the 12th. Thank you for including me.”
In July, my Wife texted me, “Girls are trying to plan a trip to NYC to see Billy Joel. We’re looking at the weekend of November 15th through 17th. Meaning I’d be home alone with our two-year old son for the weekend.
And nearly a year prior, I was asked to attend an out of state conference for work, November 7th and 8th.
Well, now I cannot hunt the 7th, 8th, 12th, 13th, and possibly 15th and 16th of November. And in Connecticut we cannot hunt public land Sunday, so the 10th and 17th of November were also out. Ugh.
The November full moon would rise between the 12th and 13th and even though It’s my first-year hunting Whitetail, I knew the days surrounding this moon would be best but combined with the impending cold front; they’d be gold.
Life’s pressure made it clear, if I wanted to get into the woods and kill that buck. I’d need to be efficient, strategic, and most of all lucky.
Saturday November 9th
I saved this tree all season, up until now; it wasn’t easy. Really, it was the only place I wanted to be most of my prior eighteen hunts but an early season lesson with a younger buck, I liked to call “Spike” (even though he was a 6 pointer) taught me the penalties of over hunting a location, so I only watched this area from afar.
This small slice of Connecticut State Forest is rectangular in shape and narrowly squeezed between several neighborhoods. Thick hardwood trees of maple, oak, black birch, beech, and ash; many of which are dying from an Emerald Ash Borer Beetle, flood the entire 24 acres property.
The northern boundary is mostly thick swamp, it sits about 165 yards to my north and nearly 250 yards to my south, down a slight hill, is a small swampy area where folks use to dump garbage, broken household appliances, and even cars.
Immediately to my east is a steep hill with large television and refrigerator sized granite boulders that intrude into the forest. Behind that rocky hill is a busy road and neighborhood. Nearby to my west is another series of neighborhoods.
I found the subtle tree, in March when the early Spring rains flooded the northern swamp and left it to overflow; naturally draining and connecting, through this area, into to the southern swamp. But now, in November, it is dry, and you’d never know it was the path of least resistance. Even the swampy edges are now hidden with the thick trees and dry ground.
Throughout the Spring I’d passively watch the water and deer flow through this route and two older bucks captured me as they’d often stroll through mid-morning.
Today, for the first time, I snuck, in the predawn light, to hunt them.
Thursday November 14th
4am, my alarm went off. I was exhausted and on the edge of getting a head cold. I returned last night, after the overnight work trip into NYC. The train travel, late night, and long meetings weren’t helping my immune system and my Wife and Son both had colds.
I don’t feel great. I can’t get sick. Not now.
I lay in bed, embraced by the warmth of my comforter, close my eyes and visualize a plan.
On my hunt Saturday, one of the bucks appeared. Not surprisingly it was mid-morning. 10:10am to be exact. But he wasn’t on the exact path I predicted and although he passed within 20 yards of me the dense forest didn’t offer a shot, I felt good about, so he walked by, never noticing me hanging above. After that hunt, I got a trail cam picture of him nearby at 9:28am.
This buck has been consistent. Even since March when I first saw him. He almost always passes through this area mid-morning. I bet I can sleep another few hours, maybe that will help me from getting sick and then I can be setup in a tree before 9am, That would give me almost an hour before he was likely to pass through. I think that gives me a good chance of getting him.
I closed my eyes and fell back to sleep.
Preparing for a hunt in a suburban environment mid-week, around 8am is odd. As I slipped into my long underwear bottoms, a School Bus, heading in my direction, stopped and flipped out its stop sign. The red lights blinked. Kids ran onto the bus and it took off past me, leaving their parents still standing in their driveway. Were they staring at me? Moments later, as I attached the quiver to my bow, vehicles with people going to work slowly crept past. Although I’m not doing anything wrong, it didn’t feel right. I much prefer getting ready alone in the dark.
Once on foot, I was nearing the pinch point and walking past an old hang on tree stand. The stand has sat unused all season; I know because I’ve kept a close eye on it and even set a few booby traps so I could tell if it was used.
You know, I think that buck passed really close to this old stand. If I setup in a tree near it, I might trick him. I bet other hunters are avoiding this area, thinking its seen higher pressure too.
It didn’t take much convincing or thought before I was climbing into a black birch tree with excellent cover, that would disguise my human silhouette. As I placed my 4th Wild Edge Stepp my hand naturally reached back to balance on smaller tree to my left.
Whoa, there’s a rusty old screw in step here. I’m not the first to find this spot but damn it’s been a long while, that step is old.
After placing 5 steps I was comfortably setup 20’ off the ground with an arrow nocked and ready. The moon was nearly full and still visible and somewhat high in the sky, it was just after 8:30am. If the wind had been a little stronger, conditions would have been perfect. Pressure was high and slightly rising, there was a light NW breeze, and the temperature was cold; 18 degrees below the average high.
He’d have to pass nearby again but when? Or did he already? Arriving so late in the morning left uncertainty about what happened before I arrived. The doubt that can circle in my head on these hunts is remarkable and I continually tell myself, the power of thought is real. Believe the deer are coming and they will.
But 9am. No deer. 10:10am. Same time I saw him Saturday. No deer. 11am. No deer.
Did he bust me on Saturday, and I didn’t realize it? Was he killed? Isn’t it impossible to pattern a buck during the rut? Ok, if he doesn’t walk out by 11:30am I’ll try some blind calling.
11:30am. No deer.
I pull out a cheap plastic call, it’s the kind with a wheel you spin to choose a call type. There’s a Doe Bleat, Young Doe, Young Buck, Estrus Bleat, Mature Buck, and even a Tree buck (Whatever that is). I spun it to Estrus Bleat and reluctantly blew into it but to my surprise and almost instantly, the buck came out of thick cover to the northeast and started walking south. Did I do that or was he already in route?
He was nearly 50 yards east of me and quickly travelling further out of range, I frantically grabbed the call again and for some reason, spun it to tree buck. I lightly blew it a few times. He stopped near the blazed hiking trail and looked in my direction and then started walking towards my tree.
I should have expected him to come in down wind of me when I called but truthfully, I wasn’t clearly thinking, I just wanted him. And he did just that, came in downwind and in the thickest cover to my backside. I stepped around the tree on the ring of steps that I use as a platform and grabbed my bow off the hanger.
The good back cover that helped me select the tree now worked against me. The buck was quickly closing in and I scanned the area for a shot opportunity. From this side, there was only one window to shoot him. It was window smaller than a basketball, 11 yards away and he’d be sharply quartering to me.
I won’t take that shot, best I can do is hold still, try not to get busted and hope he circles around me.
He stopped just inside of the 11-yard shot, probably close to 8 yards from me. Eagerly he looked around the forest. I could tell from his expression he was frustrated, he couldn’t find what made those calls and then almost exactly downwind, he looked up and stared right at me.
I was balanced in an awkward position and holding my bow which made remaining still difficult, but I don’t think I even blinked during those awesome moments. Later I told my friends and family, he looked right into my soul and then walked away. Amazed and somewhat impressed, he didn’t bust me, I thought. (…Or at least it appeared he didn’t.)
He never did circle into my good shooting lanes and I watched him leisurely walk away. 30 yards, 53 yards, 67 yards and then I lost him.
Friday November 15th
4am, my alarm went off. This is the last day I have permission to hunt a piece of nearby private land. I’ve harvested two does on this property, but I hadn’t had any of the chases like I’ve had recently on the small slice of public land. I also selfishly set a goal to tag a deer on public land as an accomplishment for my first year hunting. I’ve put so much into this season and I don’t want it to be diluted by hunting “easy deer” on large plots of private property.
My Wife is leaving for her “girls’ weekend” around noon and from then on it will be “Daddy daycare”. At 4am, in bed, I check the weather and ask her, “should I hunt that buck or go to the private property?” Half asleep she mumbled, hunt the buck. I agree and I think I’ll sleep in a little longer again.
Since I had seen the buck now at 9:28am, 10:10am and 11:35 am there was no immediate rush but I didn’t want to feel the weird sensation of having the world watch me while I was getting ready to hunt, so I left a little earlier. Today I’d hang from 7:30 am until I couldn’t take it any longer or the winds made it too risky. It was likely my last good opportunity at him.
As I approached the place I normally park, a white truck parked along the road to my north caught my eye. Damn, he is probably hunting close to where that buck beds. Should I even bother hunting here today? This is just another challenge of hunting public land. I’ll “out hunt him”. I doubt this guy will stay much past 10am and by then that buck will be jonesing to find a doe. Despite the other hunter, I unloaded and prepared for my hunt.
I parked further away and spent considerable time walking around, searching for a tree between the areas I’d seen the buck, but the trees had no clear lanes to shoot or angles that would be too steep. I stood in contemplation. The winds were going to switch from the NW to the SW today and I bet that will push the buck a little further west back to where I originally saw him last Saturday. I think that black birch tree is still probably my best bet. Somewhat unconvinced I climbed back up into the tree.
The sky was clear, and the winds were stronger but there was a strange mild feel in the air, even after I had cooled off from my climb. I checked the weather and it confirmed, 29 degrees. It felt warmer. Something was different about today, it didn’t feel like the other mornings I had hunted and seen the buck.
Around 10am a small doe passed within 40 yards of me. I texted my Wife to say goodbye and let her know I wasn’t completely crazy and there was at least a small doe nearby. Her reply was “Mmm….. Jerky...” I only replied, “Don’t tempt me . Drive safe.”
Around 11am the wind flipped to the SW and built in speed. It was now a risky wind for this tree, the wind was slightly quartering and blowing into some of my shooting lanes but having hunted here three days in the last week was likely to burn the spot out anyways; so, I stayed.
I tried to justify my decision as I noticed some of the thermals were going straight up into the sky and not into the shooting lanes. If the buck came in, there was a slight chance it’d work and I was willing to risk it.
At noon I blew my first S.O.S .into that dumb plastic call. Not knowing much about calling, I went with the combo that worked the prior day, an estrus bleat followed by a tree buck. Nothing. No deer. I sat and blew that thing like a kazoo every 15 minutes until 1pm. At 1pm, I called it quits. Defeated I climbed down back to earth.
On my way out, I walked the route the buck traveled the day before. There were rubs in places I had seen before and signs they were still somewhat fresh. He is certainly still travelling this path and I’m nearly 100% certain he beds in the north swamp and comes to chase does I’ve seen in the southern swamp. Maybe he winded me yesterday and I didn’t realize it? Maybe that other hunter kept him down? Maybe he is on lock down and tending a doe? Maybe he got killed? Damn, it was close.
With my Wife out of town, I picked my Son up at Daycare and headed home for an early dinner. I was still (and am still today) somewhat on the edge of a head cold. I’d been getting out into the woods as much as possible since mid-September and all the while trying to balance family and work life. Its effects had taken their toll and I was very drained.
At 7:50 pm my phone vibrated, a text from my Dad. “If you’d like to go hunting, I can watch your Son in the AM and we can run errands together. Would you be able to drop him off around 8:30am?“
I closed my eyes and visualized the scenario and work I’d have to do to get back into that tree. Get a two-year-old up, brush his teeth, get him dressed, change his diaper, cook him breakfast. Feed the dog, take her out. Pack my gear, try to be scent free? Drive him to my dad’s. Leave him with a spare change of clothes, lunch and toys. Drive to the public land, get dressed on the side of the road, hike in, set my steps, and hang my platform. All for what? Most likely, nothing but there was a chance. I so badly wanted to give up and I even tried a couple times, but in the end, I couldn’t.
“Okay, I’ll drop him off by 8:30am. Thanks!”
Saturday November 16th
I woke early and on a mission. I packed my gear and loaded the truck then worked through all the scenarios I envisioned the night before. Amazingly by 8:24am we were on the road to “Super Pops” house. I thanked my Dad again and told him I’d likely not have any luck and be done around 1pm.
As I mentioned in Connecticut, we’re not allowed to hunt public land on Sunday, and since the forecast for the following week looked terrible for Deer hunting, and gun season would open in 4 days, this was most likely my last true attempt at this buck. So I was surprised when I parked along the road, I didn’t see any other trucks or cars. Where is everyone?
Today, with no time for hesitation, I climbed into that same black birch tree and again, almost like saying, “hello old friend”, used the old rusty step with my hand when I placed the 4th Stepp. Funny how climbing a tree becomes familiar; like they have personality.
Once setup a strong NE wind was in my face. Conditions are perfect, I thought to myself. It was 9:13am. My phone vibrated and grudgingly I checked, a text from a friend, no words, just a picture of a buck they couldn’t recover from Wednesday. Damn. It was half eaten by coyotes. In the past few weeks, two friends had recently shot bucks but despite their best efforts couldn’t find them before the coyotes.
I pushed the negative thoughts of the uncovered deer out of my mind, relaxed and sat still, almost meditatively. Once relaxed, I realized in my busy morning, I didn’t do much for myself. I did at least drink coffee, but I didn’t eat, and I didn’t even go to the bathroom. I felt an urge. Luckily not a “number 2” but a pee. I’m not opposed to peeing out of a tree but normally don’t. Today, I had no choice, so I faced downwind and let it rip. Ah…relief.
The strong winds hid the sound of my urine hitting the crunchy leaves 20’ below. Still facing downwind, I could hear something approaching.
I looked south towards the main hiking trail. Being a Saturday, mid-morning, it’s got to be a hiker? This is fairly popular trail.
Nope, it’s the buck and he is 50 yards out and heading this way.
I check the wind with some cattail fluff and the thermals blew them straight up into the sky. I grabbed my bow and slowly snuck around to the left side of the tree. The large body buck was a slow walker, swaying side to side with every stride. His nose was to the ground and he went confidently into the wind.
This is my chance.
30'ish yards downwind, he didn’t stop. He doesn’t realize I’m here. I’ve got this but I don’t want to draw on him too soon.
As he passed a small beech tree, still holding some of its crunchy golden leaves, I pulled the bow string back. Once at draw, I instinctively let out bleat; stopping him broadside in a clear shooting lane. Just as asked, he stopped and stared at me.
In between the large knuckles of my index and middle finger I could feel the bony part of my jaw I use as an anchor point. The tip of my nose barely grazed the bow string and I looked through the peep sight. I felt rushed and anxious and the peep was completely blurry.
Relax, don’t rush this.
The mantra and moment of clarity reset my nerves and the peep magically cleared. I placed the single green pin on his vitals and took an extra moment to level the bow.
SLAP! The sound reminded me of days in College when we’d slap bags of wine and then recklessly drink it out of the spout like fools.
The buck ran but oddly and somewhat slowly with his body in a low position. I intensely watched his run and listened for a fall. Around 60 yards he slowed down and walked towards the thick brush I saw him come out of on Thursday. Around 80 yards he disappeared through the thick brush. Below me, at the site where I shot him there was no obvious blood and I didn’t see my arrow with its lite nock.
Where is the arrow?!? What the hell just happened?! Did I hit his shoulder? It didn’t sound like it. No donkey kick? That’s not good. Ran off kinda slow. Ugh. This property is too small for a bad shot.
A million and a half negative thoughts flooded my mind.
At 9:46 am I texted the friend that earlier sent me the photo of the unrecovered buck. “****, I shot a buck, can’t find my arrow. I hope I’m not the third”. Meaning the third of our friends to lose a buck. Bad things happen in threes, right?
The shot felt good, but my initial anxiousness did leave me uncertain. Desperately I searched the area with binoculars and after about 20 minutes I found the arrow. The lite nock was getting blasted by a ray of sun, cancelling out the green LED light. It was further out than I had thought, maybe 22 yards away, and through the binoculars I couldn’t see any blood on it or on the ground. Maybe I hit a sapling and missed him entirely?
The torture of not knowing was killing me and I couldn’t take it any longer. I left everything in the tree, quietly snuck down to the ground and tiptoed across the crisp leaves to the arrow. It was lightly saturated in blood, but it was frozen blood and didn’t reveal many clues to me. There was no smell on the arrow and in the immediate area, besides a small clump of white hair, there were no signs. Upset, I sulked back to the tree to hang and regroup. The pass through looked clean but the lack of blood and the bucks reaction were concerning. So was the size of the property.
Where he disappeared into thick brush, is a place (I believe) he occasionally beds during the day. So, if no other hunters, hikers, or vehicles spook him, he should expire there. Unfortunately, this thick area is about 20 yards from a busy road, 10 yards from a well-used trail and where I’ve seen many coyotes and bobcats. Not an ideal place and I knew if he didn’t quickly expire, he’d likely get jumped out of there sooner than later and mostly likely by something or somebody other than myself.
I couldn’t believe I let this happen and I felt like a total failure.
Given the situation, I decided to wait two hours and then search for blood within 100’ of the site. If I couldn’t find blood within that range, I’d sneak off the property and leave him for many hours.
Once the time came, I escaped my mental prison and began to climb down. To delay the tracking job, and give the buck just a little more time, I slowly and silently removed my entire setup. I packed everything into my pack and walked to the site. The lack of physical sign made knowing the direction he ran crucial. Slowly I stalked his path, counting off my steps. If I don’t find blood after 100 steps, I’m out of here.
With my body low I kept my head forward, scanning the forest for clues of death. At the 100th step I still didn’t see blood. Disappointed I stopped. Ahead of me, maybe 15 yards, I saw a disturbance in the leaves near a down tree.
He jumped that tree, maybe there is something there. I broke the promise to back out and made 60 more steps towards the down tree. Small droplets of blood lay on a beech tree leaf. It’s not much blood but I see bubbles. Lung shot. But did I get both lungs?
Skeptically I followed the path for more sign. The blood trail was faint but consistent and the signs were getting better as I followed it. I recalled him slowing down around 60 yards and thought, if it seems safe to get to that point, I should have good sign there to help me make a decision. I walked on towards that area.
This is stupid, what am I doing? This blood is so faint. I should just back out.
I abruptly turned around and started to exit south to leave the property.
No, the sign is okay, and I think I can get to that 60-yard point without risking much.
Like an idiot arguing with himself, I had spun in a complete circle within a second but ultimately continued on the blood trail.
Around 60 yards, as I had hoped, there was significant blood. All frozen but with bubbles and some had even sprayed onto one of the refrigerator sized granite boulders; telling me he was aspirating. This looks good.
I quietly went on and within a minute or two, I saw him. He was laying exactly where I watched him disappear. I had been wrong in my initial hypothesis, he didn’t disappear into the brush, he simply fell. I approached him in amazement. The feeling was surreal. First, I noticed the exit wound, it was perfectly behind his shoulder and he had likely died within seconds. I was so happy he hadn’t suffered, and I was able to recover him. The feeling of failure and doubt lifted out of me like the thermals I had watched earlier with the cattail fuzz. I was nearly weightless in joy.
His pelt was clean and free of ticks or scars. Signs of his recent life and the rut came alive as I examined him closer. His neck thicker than I had ever noticed and the occasional clump of hair sat disturbed; probably from sparing with other bucks or aggressively marking scrapes or rubs.
I grabbed his antlers and lifted his head; I was shocked. This wasn’t the buck I was hunting. Indeed, it was the buck I killed but this one had a nine-point rack, more grey on his face, and brow tines that were around four inches in length. The buck I had been chasing was a wide seven-point buck with a stubby brow tine and a younger, browner face. But I knew this buck.
In the Spring, this older buck traveled with the 7 point. They were always together in their Bachelor group. I had many pictures of him but then he disappeared, and I hadn’t seen or captured a single photo of him since late June.
He was larger, and likely a year older, but somehow in the moments of the encounter I missed all of this. How could I have missed that? Would I have killed him if I had noticed? I likely would have, in all honesty it’s a “better buck” and from the days I first got photos of him, I remember thinking, I’d never be able to get that buck. So I am beyond happy with the hunt.
But still a piece of me is disappointed it wasn’t that wide 7 I had been chasing. I guess I don’t yet have the hunter prowess I had hoped and, in a way, that’s exciting. I won’t go back onto that property to hunt the wide 7 this year. On such a small property, with only a few bucks, it just doesn’t feel right. Anyways he will have plenty of pressure and I hope he survives the rest of the season so I can watch him for another year and maybe if I’m lucky have the chance for another fair hunt.
So, come November when the moon waxed and waned yielding the golden days, life threw obstacles at me; making it easy, almost welcoming, to quit or settle for a failure. And even with this mix up, I am beyond grateful for this opportunity and harvest. The quality of this hunt and the doubt and uncertainties I needed to surpass made tagging this one the sweetest yet.
Disclaimer. I don’t intend to steal Gene Wensel’s title, Come November, but as his was the first book, I read about bowhunting whitetail it was a vital instrument in getting me to this point. The only thing I it never prepared or had me thinking about were all the “life factors” that will also come into play, “Come November.” Understanding the deer are a large part of the puzzle but balancing our busy lives through the obstacles may an even be a bigger part of the game during this highly coveted time in the woods.
Come November
Mid-September his email sucker punched me in the gut. “John, I’d like you to join me in NYC Nov 13th from 9am-1pm to provide sales feedback for a go-to-market workshop. Can you attend that day?” Of course, the only answer, when asked something like this by your Boss several months in advance is, “Yes. I’ll travel and arrive on the 12th. Thank you for including me.”
In July, my Wife texted me, “Girls are trying to plan a trip to NYC to see Billy Joel. We’re looking at the weekend of November 15th through 17th. Meaning I’d be home alone with our two-year old son for the weekend.
And nearly a year prior, I was asked to attend an out of state conference for work, November 7th and 8th.
Well, now I cannot hunt the 7th, 8th, 12th, 13th, and possibly 15th and 16th of November. And in Connecticut we cannot hunt public land Sunday, so the 10th and 17th of November were also out. Ugh.
The November full moon would rise between the 12th and 13th and even though It’s my first-year hunting Whitetail, I knew the days surrounding this moon would be best but combined with the impending cold front; they’d be gold.
Life’s pressure made it clear, if I wanted to get into the woods and kill that buck. I’d need to be efficient, strategic, and most of all lucky.
Saturday November 9th
I saved this tree all season, up until now; it wasn’t easy. Really, it was the only place I wanted to be most of my prior eighteen hunts but an early season lesson with a younger buck, I liked to call “Spike” (even though he was a 6 pointer) taught me the penalties of over hunting a location, so I only watched this area from afar.
This small slice of Connecticut State Forest is rectangular in shape and narrowly squeezed between several neighborhoods. Thick hardwood trees of maple, oak, black birch, beech, and ash; many of which are dying from an Emerald Ash Borer Beetle, flood the entire 24 acres property.
The northern boundary is mostly thick swamp, it sits about 165 yards to my north and nearly 250 yards to my south, down a slight hill, is a small swampy area where folks use to dump garbage, broken household appliances, and even cars.
Immediately to my east is a steep hill with large television and refrigerator sized granite boulders that intrude into the forest. Behind that rocky hill is a busy road and neighborhood. Nearby to my west is another series of neighborhoods.
I found the subtle tree, in March when the early Spring rains flooded the northern swamp and left it to overflow; naturally draining and connecting, through this area, into to the southern swamp. But now, in November, it is dry, and you’d never know it was the path of least resistance. Even the swampy edges are now hidden with the thick trees and dry ground.
Throughout the Spring I’d passively watch the water and deer flow through this route and two older bucks captured me as they’d often stroll through mid-morning.
Today, for the first time, I snuck, in the predawn light, to hunt them.
Thursday November 14th
4am, my alarm went off. I was exhausted and on the edge of getting a head cold. I returned last night, after the overnight work trip into NYC. The train travel, late night, and long meetings weren’t helping my immune system and my Wife and Son both had colds.
I don’t feel great. I can’t get sick. Not now.
I lay in bed, embraced by the warmth of my comforter, close my eyes and visualize a plan.
On my hunt Saturday, one of the bucks appeared. Not surprisingly it was mid-morning. 10:10am to be exact. But he wasn’t on the exact path I predicted and although he passed within 20 yards of me the dense forest didn’t offer a shot, I felt good about, so he walked by, never noticing me hanging above. After that hunt, I got a trail cam picture of him nearby at 9:28am.
This buck has been consistent. Even since March when I first saw him. He almost always passes through this area mid-morning. I bet I can sleep another few hours, maybe that will help me from getting sick and then I can be setup in a tree before 9am, That would give me almost an hour before he was likely to pass through. I think that gives me a good chance of getting him.
I closed my eyes and fell back to sleep.
Preparing for a hunt in a suburban environment mid-week, around 8am is odd. As I slipped into my long underwear bottoms, a School Bus, heading in my direction, stopped and flipped out its stop sign. The red lights blinked. Kids ran onto the bus and it took off past me, leaving their parents still standing in their driveway. Were they staring at me? Moments later, as I attached the quiver to my bow, vehicles with people going to work slowly crept past. Although I’m not doing anything wrong, it didn’t feel right. I much prefer getting ready alone in the dark.
Once on foot, I was nearing the pinch point and walking past an old hang on tree stand. The stand has sat unused all season; I know because I’ve kept a close eye on it and even set a few booby traps so I could tell if it was used.
You know, I think that buck passed really close to this old stand. If I setup in a tree near it, I might trick him. I bet other hunters are avoiding this area, thinking its seen higher pressure too.
It didn’t take much convincing or thought before I was climbing into a black birch tree with excellent cover, that would disguise my human silhouette. As I placed my 4th Wild Edge Stepp my hand naturally reached back to balance on smaller tree to my left.
Whoa, there’s a rusty old screw in step here. I’m not the first to find this spot but damn it’s been a long while, that step is old.
After placing 5 steps I was comfortably setup 20’ off the ground with an arrow nocked and ready. The moon was nearly full and still visible and somewhat high in the sky, it was just after 8:30am. If the wind had been a little stronger, conditions would have been perfect. Pressure was high and slightly rising, there was a light NW breeze, and the temperature was cold; 18 degrees below the average high.
He’d have to pass nearby again but when? Or did he already? Arriving so late in the morning left uncertainty about what happened before I arrived. The doubt that can circle in my head on these hunts is remarkable and I continually tell myself, the power of thought is real. Believe the deer are coming and they will.
But 9am. No deer. 10:10am. Same time I saw him Saturday. No deer. 11am. No deer.
Did he bust me on Saturday, and I didn’t realize it? Was he killed? Isn’t it impossible to pattern a buck during the rut? Ok, if he doesn’t walk out by 11:30am I’ll try some blind calling.
11:30am. No deer.
I pull out a cheap plastic call, it’s the kind with a wheel you spin to choose a call type. There’s a Doe Bleat, Young Doe, Young Buck, Estrus Bleat, Mature Buck, and even a Tree buck (Whatever that is). I spun it to Estrus Bleat and reluctantly blew into it but to my surprise and almost instantly, the buck came out of thick cover to the northeast and started walking south. Did I do that or was he already in route?
He was nearly 50 yards east of me and quickly travelling further out of range, I frantically grabbed the call again and for some reason, spun it to tree buck. I lightly blew it a few times. He stopped near the blazed hiking trail and looked in my direction and then started walking towards my tree.
I should have expected him to come in down wind of me when I called but truthfully, I wasn’t clearly thinking, I just wanted him. And he did just that, came in downwind and in the thickest cover to my backside. I stepped around the tree on the ring of steps that I use as a platform and grabbed my bow off the hanger.
The good back cover that helped me select the tree now worked against me. The buck was quickly closing in and I scanned the area for a shot opportunity. From this side, there was only one window to shoot him. It was window smaller than a basketball, 11 yards away and he’d be sharply quartering to me.
I won’t take that shot, best I can do is hold still, try not to get busted and hope he circles around me.
He stopped just inside of the 11-yard shot, probably close to 8 yards from me. Eagerly he looked around the forest. I could tell from his expression he was frustrated, he couldn’t find what made those calls and then almost exactly downwind, he looked up and stared right at me.
I was balanced in an awkward position and holding my bow which made remaining still difficult, but I don’t think I even blinked during those awesome moments. Later I told my friends and family, he looked right into my soul and then walked away. Amazed and somewhat impressed, he didn’t bust me, I thought. (…Or at least it appeared he didn’t.)
He never did circle into my good shooting lanes and I watched him leisurely walk away. 30 yards, 53 yards, 67 yards and then I lost him.
Friday November 15th
4am, my alarm went off. This is the last day I have permission to hunt a piece of nearby private land. I’ve harvested two does on this property, but I hadn’t had any of the chases like I’ve had recently on the small slice of public land. I also selfishly set a goal to tag a deer on public land as an accomplishment for my first year hunting. I’ve put so much into this season and I don’t want it to be diluted by hunting “easy deer” on large plots of private property.
My Wife is leaving for her “girls’ weekend” around noon and from then on it will be “Daddy daycare”. At 4am, in bed, I check the weather and ask her, “should I hunt that buck or go to the private property?” Half asleep she mumbled, hunt the buck. I agree and I think I’ll sleep in a little longer again.
Since I had seen the buck now at 9:28am, 10:10am and 11:35 am there was no immediate rush but I didn’t want to feel the weird sensation of having the world watch me while I was getting ready to hunt, so I left a little earlier. Today I’d hang from 7:30 am until I couldn’t take it any longer or the winds made it too risky. It was likely my last good opportunity at him.
As I approached the place I normally park, a white truck parked along the road to my north caught my eye. Damn, he is probably hunting close to where that buck beds. Should I even bother hunting here today? This is just another challenge of hunting public land. I’ll “out hunt him”. I doubt this guy will stay much past 10am and by then that buck will be jonesing to find a doe. Despite the other hunter, I unloaded and prepared for my hunt.
I parked further away and spent considerable time walking around, searching for a tree between the areas I’d seen the buck, but the trees had no clear lanes to shoot or angles that would be too steep. I stood in contemplation. The winds were going to switch from the NW to the SW today and I bet that will push the buck a little further west back to where I originally saw him last Saturday. I think that black birch tree is still probably my best bet. Somewhat unconvinced I climbed back up into the tree.
The sky was clear, and the winds were stronger but there was a strange mild feel in the air, even after I had cooled off from my climb. I checked the weather and it confirmed, 29 degrees. It felt warmer. Something was different about today, it didn’t feel like the other mornings I had hunted and seen the buck.
Around 10am a small doe passed within 40 yards of me. I texted my Wife to say goodbye and let her know I wasn’t completely crazy and there was at least a small doe nearby. Her reply was “Mmm….. Jerky...” I only replied, “Don’t tempt me . Drive safe.”
Around 11am the wind flipped to the SW and built in speed. It was now a risky wind for this tree, the wind was slightly quartering and blowing into some of my shooting lanes but having hunted here three days in the last week was likely to burn the spot out anyways; so, I stayed.
I tried to justify my decision as I noticed some of the thermals were going straight up into the sky and not into the shooting lanes. If the buck came in, there was a slight chance it’d work and I was willing to risk it.
At noon I blew my first S.O.S .into that dumb plastic call. Not knowing much about calling, I went with the combo that worked the prior day, an estrus bleat followed by a tree buck. Nothing. No deer. I sat and blew that thing like a kazoo every 15 minutes until 1pm. At 1pm, I called it quits. Defeated I climbed down back to earth.
On my way out, I walked the route the buck traveled the day before. There were rubs in places I had seen before and signs they were still somewhat fresh. He is certainly still travelling this path and I’m nearly 100% certain he beds in the north swamp and comes to chase does I’ve seen in the southern swamp. Maybe he winded me yesterday and I didn’t realize it? Maybe that other hunter kept him down? Maybe he is on lock down and tending a doe? Maybe he got killed? Damn, it was close.
With my Wife out of town, I picked my Son up at Daycare and headed home for an early dinner. I was still (and am still today) somewhat on the edge of a head cold. I’d been getting out into the woods as much as possible since mid-September and all the while trying to balance family and work life. Its effects had taken their toll and I was very drained.
At 7:50 pm my phone vibrated, a text from my Dad. “If you’d like to go hunting, I can watch your Son in the AM and we can run errands together. Would you be able to drop him off around 8:30am?“
I closed my eyes and visualized the scenario and work I’d have to do to get back into that tree. Get a two-year-old up, brush his teeth, get him dressed, change his diaper, cook him breakfast. Feed the dog, take her out. Pack my gear, try to be scent free? Drive him to my dad’s. Leave him with a spare change of clothes, lunch and toys. Drive to the public land, get dressed on the side of the road, hike in, set my steps, and hang my platform. All for what? Most likely, nothing but there was a chance. I so badly wanted to give up and I even tried a couple times, but in the end, I couldn’t.
“Okay, I’ll drop him off by 8:30am. Thanks!”
Saturday November 16th
I woke early and on a mission. I packed my gear and loaded the truck then worked through all the scenarios I envisioned the night before. Amazingly by 8:24am we were on the road to “Super Pops” house. I thanked my Dad again and told him I’d likely not have any luck and be done around 1pm.
As I mentioned in Connecticut, we’re not allowed to hunt public land on Sunday, and since the forecast for the following week looked terrible for Deer hunting, and gun season would open in 4 days, this was most likely my last true attempt at this buck. So I was surprised when I parked along the road, I didn’t see any other trucks or cars. Where is everyone?
Today, with no time for hesitation, I climbed into that same black birch tree and again, almost like saying, “hello old friend”, used the old rusty step with my hand when I placed the 4th Stepp. Funny how climbing a tree becomes familiar; like they have personality.
Once setup a strong NE wind was in my face. Conditions are perfect, I thought to myself. It was 9:13am. My phone vibrated and grudgingly I checked, a text from a friend, no words, just a picture of a buck they couldn’t recover from Wednesday. Damn. It was half eaten by coyotes. In the past few weeks, two friends had recently shot bucks but despite their best efforts couldn’t find them before the coyotes.
I pushed the negative thoughts of the uncovered deer out of my mind, relaxed and sat still, almost meditatively. Once relaxed, I realized in my busy morning, I didn’t do much for myself. I did at least drink coffee, but I didn’t eat, and I didn’t even go to the bathroom. I felt an urge. Luckily not a “number 2” but a pee. I’m not opposed to peeing out of a tree but normally don’t. Today, I had no choice, so I faced downwind and let it rip. Ah…relief.
The strong winds hid the sound of my urine hitting the crunchy leaves 20’ below. Still facing downwind, I could hear something approaching.
I looked south towards the main hiking trail. Being a Saturday, mid-morning, it’s got to be a hiker? This is fairly popular trail.
Nope, it’s the buck and he is 50 yards out and heading this way.
I check the wind with some cattail fluff and the thermals blew them straight up into the sky. I grabbed my bow and slowly snuck around to the left side of the tree. The large body buck was a slow walker, swaying side to side with every stride. His nose was to the ground and he went confidently into the wind.
This is my chance.
30'ish yards downwind, he didn’t stop. He doesn’t realize I’m here. I’ve got this but I don’t want to draw on him too soon.
As he passed a small beech tree, still holding some of its crunchy golden leaves, I pulled the bow string back. Once at draw, I instinctively let out bleat; stopping him broadside in a clear shooting lane. Just as asked, he stopped and stared at me.
In between the large knuckles of my index and middle finger I could feel the bony part of my jaw I use as an anchor point. The tip of my nose barely grazed the bow string and I looked through the peep sight. I felt rushed and anxious and the peep was completely blurry.
Relax, don’t rush this.
The mantra and moment of clarity reset my nerves and the peep magically cleared. I placed the single green pin on his vitals and took an extra moment to level the bow.
SLAP! The sound reminded me of days in College when we’d slap bags of wine and then recklessly drink it out of the spout like fools.
The buck ran but oddly and somewhat slowly with his body in a low position. I intensely watched his run and listened for a fall. Around 60 yards he slowed down and walked towards the thick brush I saw him come out of on Thursday. Around 80 yards he disappeared through the thick brush. Below me, at the site where I shot him there was no obvious blood and I didn’t see my arrow with its lite nock.
Where is the arrow?!? What the hell just happened?! Did I hit his shoulder? It didn’t sound like it. No donkey kick? That’s not good. Ran off kinda slow. Ugh. This property is too small for a bad shot.
A million and a half negative thoughts flooded my mind.
At 9:46 am I texted the friend that earlier sent me the photo of the unrecovered buck. “****, I shot a buck, can’t find my arrow. I hope I’m not the third”. Meaning the third of our friends to lose a buck. Bad things happen in threes, right?
The shot felt good, but my initial anxiousness did leave me uncertain. Desperately I searched the area with binoculars and after about 20 minutes I found the arrow. The lite nock was getting blasted by a ray of sun, cancelling out the green LED light. It was further out than I had thought, maybe 22 yards away, and through the binoculars I couldn’t see any blood on it or on the ground. Maybe I hit a sapling and missed him entirely?
The torture of not knowing was killing me and I couldn’t take it any longer. I left everything in the tree, quietly snuck down to the ground and tiptoed across the crisp leaves to the arrow. It was lightly saturated in blood, but it was frozen blood and didn’t reveal many clues to me. There was no smell on the arrow and in the immediate area, besides a small clump of white hair, there were no signs. Upset, I sulked back to the tree to hang and regroup. The pass through looked clean but the lack of blood and the bucks reaction were concerning. So was the size of the property.
Where he disappeared into thick brush, is a place (I believe) he occasionally beds during the day. So, if no other hunters, hikers, or vehicles spook him, he should expire there. Unfortunately, this thick area is about 20 yards from a busy road, 10 yards from a well-used trail and where I’ve seen many coyotes and bobcats. Not an ideal place and I knew if he didn’t quickly expire, he’d likely get jumped out of there sooner than later and mostly likely by something or somebody other than myself.
I couldn’t believe I let this happen and I felt like a total failure.
Given the situation, I decided to wait two hours and then search for blood within 100’ of the site. If I couldn’t find blood within that range, I’d sneak off the property and leave him for many hours.
Once the time came, I escaped my mental prison and began to climb down. To delay the tracking job, and give the buck just a little more time, I slowly and silently removed my entire setup. I packed everything into my pack and walked to the site. The lack of physical sign made knowing the direction he ran crucial. Slowly I stalked his path, counting off my steps. If I don’t find blood after 100 steps, I’m out of here.
With my body low I kept my head forward, scanning the forest for clues of death. At the 100th step I still didn’t see blood. Disappointed I stopped. Ahead of me, maybe 15 yards, I saw a disturbance in the leaves near a down tree.
He jumped that tree, maybe there is something there. I broke the promise to back out and made 60 more steps towards the down tree. Small droplets of blood lay on a beech tree leaf. It’s not much blood but I see bubbles. Lung shot. But did I get both lungs?
Skeptically I followed the path for more sign. The blood trail was faint but consistent and the signs were getting better as I followed it. I recalled him slowing down around 60 yards and thought, if it seems safe to get to that point, I should have good sign there to help me make a decision. I walked on towards that area.
This is stupid, what am I doing? This blood is so faint. I should just back out.
I abruptly turned around and started to exit south to leave the property.
No, the sign is okay, and I think I can get to that 60-yard point without risking much.
Like an idiot arguing with himself, I had spun in a complete circle within a second but ultimately continued on the blood trail.
Around 60 yards, as I had hoped, there was significant blood. All frozen but with bubbles and some had even sprayed onto one of the refrigerator sized granite boulders; telling me he was aspirating. This looks good.
I quietly went on and within a minute or two, I saw him. He was laying exactly where I watched him disappear. I had been wrong in my initial hypothesis, he didn’t disappear into the brush, he simply fell. I approached him in amazement. The feeling was surreal. First, I noticed the exit wound, it was perfectly behind his shoulder and he had likely died within seconds. I was so happy he hadn’t suffered, and I was able to recover him. The feeling of failure and doubt lifted out of me like the thermals I had watched earlier with the cattail fuzz. I was nearly weightless in joy.
His pelt was clean and free of ticks or scars. Signs of his recent life and the rut came alive as I examined him closer. His neck thicker than I had ever noticed and the occasional clump of hair sat disturbed; probably from sparing with other bucks or aggressively marking scrapes or rubs.
I grabbed his antlers and lifted his head; I was shocked. This wasn’t the buck I was hunting. Indeed, it was the buck I killed but this one had a nine-point rack, more grey on his face, and brow tines that were around four inches in length. The buck I had been chasing was a wide seven-point buck with a stubby brow tine and a younger, browner face. But I knew this buck.
In the Spring, this older buck traveled with the 7 point. They were always together in their Bachelor group. I had many pictures of him but then he disappeared, and I hadn’t seen or captured a single photo of him since late June.
He was larger, and likely a year older, but somehow in the moments of the encounter I missed all of this. How could I have missed that? Would I have killed him if I had noticed? I likely would have, in all honesty it’s a “better buck” and from the days I first got photos of him, I remember thinking, I’d never be able to get that buck. So I am beyond happy with the hunt.
But still a piece of me is disappointed it wasn’t that wide 7 I had been chasing. I guess I don’t yet have the hunter prowess I had hoped and, in a way, that’s exciting. I won’t go back onto that property to hunt the wide 7 this year. On such a small property, with only a few bucks, it just doesn’t feel right. Anyways he will have plenty of pressure and I hope he survives the rest of the season so I can watch him for another year and maybe if I’m lucky have the chance for another fair hunt.
So, come November when the moon waxed and waned yielding the golden days, life threw obstacles at me; making it easy, almost welcoming, to quit or settle for a failure. And even with this mix up, I am beyond grateful for this opportunity and harvest. The quality of this hunt and the doubt and uncertainties I needed to surpass made tagging this one the sweetest yet.
Disclaimer. I don’t intend to steal Gene Wensel’s title, Come November, but as his was the first book, I read about bowhunting whitetail it was a vital instrument in getting me to this point. The only thing I it never prepared or had me thinking about were all the “life factors” that will also come into play, “Come November.” Understanding the deer are a large part of the puzzle but balancing our busy lives through the obstacles may an even be a bigger part of the game during this highly coveted time in the woods.
