Starting off the New Year Right

A previous year,  New Year's day fell on a Wednesday.  Hmmm, what to do with only one day off in the middle of the week?

The wheels began turning in my head.  I had been hunting a better-than-average buck in the hill country 2 1/2 hours away.  Let's see - I could get there around 8 pm Tuesday night, get up at the break of dawn, hunt until dark, and be home around 9 PM...it was a no-brainer, I went after him.   The buck I pursued was special...he was big-bodied, with dark antlers, 'the boss' of his world and more elusive than the others...I had seen him only once before - in the rain across a raging creek that was impassable, as he raked a bush with his antlers.  It was all I could do to not shoot him - as he was in range and unaware I was around; and I knew from experience I may never see him in the scope again.  At that point, I decided it was him or nothing.  A hunt for a specific animal is a very different kind of hunt than for any representative animal.  It's personal.

New Year's Eve I arrived at the cabin in the dark on a cold night, quickly laid out my gear for the next day, checked my rifle and equipment and was soon on the bed in my sleeping bag.  It was so cold, I laid the bag over my head, creating a small breathing hole through the covers.  Sometime, deep in the night, I heard scratching on the wood floor, then felt a weight on the bed until it moved up on top of my head.  A Rat! I ripped off the covers, slamming the rat against a wall, heard the thud against the floor and it scurrying away into the darkness.  The things you gotta do to kill a deer!


I was up before dawn fixing my coffee and oatmeal, turning over the options in my head for the day's hunt, trying to decide the best place to be, considering the wind and angle of the rising sun on the landscape. This would be my last opportunity to hunt him for the season.  My plan that morning allowed several opportunities for nice hill country bucks, but my buck was a no-show.

That evening, I decided to hunt from a new spot from within a thin brushline near a dry creek bed, with different views of the property.  I setup in some agarita brush with my folding camo chair and created an opening I could move my rifle freely within.  I settled down after a few position-checks, where I shouldered the rifle in various directions and created rests in event a shot presented itself.  I reaffirmed to myself that I would holdout for this one buck, as I had a long drive before having to go to work the following day, and no other deer would be worth the effort, at this point.

The evening was beautiful, partly cloudy, cool with a slight wind and the deer came out to enjoy the weather.  Several smaller bucks and lots of does moved back and forth through openings in the brush and the exposed pasture, not uncommon in Mason county, where sightings of  40-50 deer during one hunt are common.  I felt great and began to accept that the big one got away again for another year, yet reveled in my last deer hunt of the season, taking in the orangish sunset, the smell of the country air, the feeling of the coolness beginning to cover the ground and hoping I could contain these memories until next fall's deer season.  I came out of my trance when some deer appeared at the top of the ridge running.  There was almost no daylight left.  I scoped the deer and found my buck chasing a doe and began swinging the rifle to the right trying to gauge the speed and distance.  Suddenly, the scope had brush encroaching on the right side of the view and I squeezed the trigger.  The shot seemed horribly loud and foreign in the peaceful world of the sunset.  Muzzle glare stole my night vision momentarily.  I made a mental note of exactly where the buck was when I squeezed off the shot to keep from becoming disoriented in the darkness, as I would have to walk 300 yards to where he was.  I could see no movement on the hillside - it was too dark to see deer through the pockets of brush - then a flash of white caught my eye 40 yards to the right of where I was focusing.  I wondered what that could be.  I stood.  I closed my eyes and replayed the shot - memorizing the last image of the sight picture - it looked good.  Again, I took notice of the exact spot the buck was last seen on the ridge.  I hung a tissue on a bush about head high where I was for a marker, and began walking toward the ridge.  Quickly, I was where the buck was last seen when ...no blood, nothing out of place.  Hmmm...I knew I had to to slow down, take my time and refocus on looking for sign.  I was becoming distracted by my work schedule and the pressing need to get back home.

It was cold and dark here.  I was alone.  Maybe I missed?  But no, the sight picture in my head said 'no, it was a good shot.'  I tagged the bush he had disappeared in with tissue and began walking in small circles around the bush, looking for anything out of place and especially looking for blood...and found nothing.  I walked in larger circles, becoming more desperate, and it was beginning to appear that I had missed. It was a long shot, the buck was running, the light was bad.  "Well, maybe the rifle is off", I thought to myself, making a note to check it at the range when I could.  Then I remembered the flash of white I had seen - it was a quick flash about 40 yards distant in the center of the brush.  I went back to the spot I had shot from,  and using my binoculars, I found the tissue on the bush where the buck was last seen.  Based on memory, I marked where I had seen the white flash and mentally noted an odd-shaped bush where the flash was.  Every 20 yards or so in the darkness, I would look through my binoculars to ensure I was heading in the right direction, finding the tissue marking where the buck was last and finding the odd-shaped bush near where the white flash appeared.  Finally I was at the odd-shaped bush and noted nothing unusual.  My flashlight was the only source of light now with its meager range, as the sun had fully set.

I marked the odd-shaped bush with a tissue and began walking circles around it.  Within 10 yards I found my buck - dead - gut shot. I field-dressed it on the spot and admired the heavy-bodied 8-pointer with a 16-inch spread. What a beauty!  I marked a bush by the buck, and headed to camp to get the truck.  I got the truck stuck in a small creek bed going to pick him up in the pasture but finally broke free, found my way to the deer, loaded it and hauled it to a processor.  What a great way to end the season!

I got lucky on this one in several ways, but persistence carried me to the place where luck took over.