Physically and mentally exhausted from over two days and 12 hours of searching, Sunday afternoon at approximately 12:00 pm, I came to the painful conclusion that I was not going to find my deer. Heavy rains on Saturday evening, faded blood trail and a thickly overgrown alder bog were all impediments that gnawed at my quickly dwindling options.
I had been hunting a favorite spot that over the years had produced many deer. The highly elevated stand made shot placement an easy task and most ranges were 50-100 yards, very capably ranges for the 180-grain hurling .30-06 Springfield. Unfortunately, on this particularly morning an uncooperative ungulate decided to play by a different set of rules. At 9:30 AM my growling stomach had planning my departure from the tree stand and by 9:35 AM I had my climber on the ground and was busily picking up my last bottle of doe scent when I heard a loud crunching coming up through the woods. At 9:37 AM I realized that the crunching was not a hunter, as I had originally expected, but instead a spike horn. Surprised at the sight, after all of the noise my bargain basement climber makes, I slowly raised my rifle and waited until the small buck cleared the underbrush. Settling my sight on the forward shoulder, I squeezed the trigger until . . . a very loud KABOOM echoed forth from my Browning semiautomatic. Shocked I watched what appeared to be a very healthy deer bounce through the hardwoods and disappear into the woods.
The story continues Thursday November 18th . . .