Opening day of rifle season in Virginia was on the 19th of November, but I've been swamped with grad school work since and been unable to post about this since.
Since this was a day looked forward to for quite some time, there was a solid plan.
Me, my cousin, and our dads planned to leave Salem around 03:00 to get to Newport (just north of Blacksburg) with about an hour and a half to spare before shooting light. As often happens with plans, however, we missed our target by half an hour. Still, we did better than we had the year prior, when we practically arrived no earlier than shooting light.
It was a brisk night in the low 30s, with a bright moon. Though the plan was to still hunt most of the day, there's not much reason to walk through the woods when you can see nothing, so my cousin and I decided we'd only walk about 80-100 yards up one of the several parallel hollers that run perpendicular to the top of the mountain. Then, we'd sit and wait for shooting light.
Again, plans don't work out like you think they will. About 60 yards in, we heard an intense racket from the treetops, and it seemed to happen as a reaction to each crunching step we took, no matter how long we paused before trying again to proceeed. Figuring it wasn't going to help our cause to spook whatever it was making the noise, we sat down right where we were. Turns out the racket had been made by some turkeys, and no less than 11 more remained in the tree tops not far beyond us. It was quite something to see the sun rise to the clucking of hens, and perfectly glorious to hear the thundering beat of their wings as they flew off the roost awhile later.
Around 07:30, a yearling doe began working her way through the tree line below us (you know how you can be inside the woods but there's a tree line between where you are and the nearest field). It was thick, but I saw an opening where I placed my crosshairs and waited for her shoulder to cross. I fired, and waited 15 minutes before going down to seek a blood trail. During that time I could have sworn I saw an identical yearling come trotting back the opposite direction, but felt certain my crosshairs had been in the right place.
Only as I approached the opening I realized even it was thicker than I thought; there was no blood, hair, or deer within 50 yards. Turns out I had just seen the same deer I fired at walk back, unscathed, and either missed cleanly or had my bullet deflect off an unseen branch.
I was discouraged to have wasted an opportunity, particularly since my first priority was to put meat in the freezer. Still, I looked forward to the morning stalk through the woods.
The new plan was to hike all the way to the top of the ridgeline, and have a peek on the other side to see if any deer were bedded there. All the while, we'd be vigilant in case we saw more deer on the way up---also taking care to use the hollers as a barrier so we wouldn't get seen. The latter part worked as we got close to the top; the problem was we were just as surprised when we spooked 4 does that were only 30 yards away. One of them had the nerve to run directly toward me, and though running, gave me a broadside shot at about 10 yards.
You learn pretty quick that it's not easy picking up a moving target like that with a scope. My cousin, on the other hand, had a Model 94 30-30 with open sights, but he was too overtaken with surprise to so much as shoulder his rifle. My shot at 10 yards missed, and so did my attempt to score a hit as she ran away. No blood or hair on the ground for 50 yards, and I even saw the doe run 50 yards downhill, 50 yards uphill, linger for a good while, and then take off (uphill) like nothing had happened. Three cartridges in a single morning and nothing to show for it. I felt like the most stupid and pathetic hunter in the world.
Near the crest of the ridge my cousin and I found ourselves surrounded by mountain laurels, rocks formations, hollow trees, and bear scat. With visibility in any direction but backwards only about 15 yards, it was rather unnerving. Once we got to the top and looked down the other side (which is public land), it turned out our plan wasn't so great after all. There was a hunter, clad in orange, glassing downhill.
After meeting up with our dads and taking a much-needed breather, we noticed the wind picked up to 20mph gusts and the temperature started to drop as a cold front started moving in mid-morning. Mindful of the fact we had to trek through prime bear habitat, again on the way down, we weren't terribly determined to be quiet. But as soon as the laurel cover started to get scattered, it occurred to me the strong winds in our face might cover our scent, sounds, and even movement if we start moving carefully through the woods again.
No sooner had I said this to my compatriots than my dad saw a group of does downhill. We had been busted because we'd moved too quickly. This time, we didn't respond with another plan, but reacted instinctively.
From that point on, my dad and I Injun Joe'd it diagonally across the hollers, especially taking our time as we reached each crest. We knew there was a spring in the direction we and the does were headed. As we neared the crest of the last holler before the spring, I spied a patch of laurel that I reckoned would break our pattern from the deer below if we moved slow enough.
We eased our way in, glassing through the laurel branches. Before easing further, I decided to take a glance uphill and to my left. Under a laurel canopy just 60 yards away, I caught a glimpse of antlers. My scope confirmed it was a nice buck, bedded down facing the wind---he was not even looking at us.
My initial thought was to take a shot as soon as possible, but then I realized this buck wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. So I slowly repositioned myself to where I could lean my rifle against a sturdy sapling-width branch, took a few breaths, and aimed for the neck.
After my first shot, he stood up but also stood still, presenting me with a quartering-away shot. I fired again, and he stumbled about 5 yards before hitting the ground.
Turns out he wasn't alone in there. A yearling 2x2 came and sniffed my buck for awhile before trotting out into the woods, unperturbed. Thanks to the terrain and winds, these deer clearly had no clue where the shots were coming from, nor even how close we were. After the 2x2's departure, a spike came and gave my dad and I a deja vu moment, also sniffing my buck. Unlike the first one, though, he gave my dad a shot, and dropped after taking a 7mm mag quartering-toward through the shoulder and out the lung. After 5 shots fired in a single day, I’d finally made two count.
Turns out the first bullet had grazed the neck and effectively only punched a hole in the buck’s skin, damaging little to nothing inside the neck. The second bullet had unfortunately gone through a back quarter and exited behind the opposite shoulder. Needless to say, the one back quarter got contaminated, though thankfully the tenderloins and the other quarter were sufficiently protected by the thick membrane.
I’ve come away from all this resolved to do four things:
1) As soon as I confirm I am zeroed in at the range, practice shooting offhand and with improvised rests, and then practice some more. There’s no excuse for risking wounding animals like I could have, but was fortunate not to.
2) Buy at least a shooting monopod. I’m currently thinking the Primos Triggerstick monopod might be ideal since it offers versatility for the terrain I hunt.
3) Give my rifle’s bore a solid copper cleaning. I’ve never done this seriously, and while I am repairing defects in the rifleman, I can also do whatever is possible to get the most out of the rifle.
4) At some point in the future, invest in a stout .44 magnum revolver (like a Ruger Blackhawk) with either a 5” or 7.5” barrel. Seriously, if it’s hard finding a deer in a riflescope at 10 yards, I don’t want to find out how hard it is to find an aggressive bear in a scope at 15. The day prior to the deer opener my father and I went grouse hunting in a public land location and came across some bear scat a few times in the mountain laurel and autumn olive. I don’t want to have to face a bear with naught but 7.5 shot!
I realize some of you might be infuriated reading about my inaccuracy (I can just see flags telling me I’ve got no business being in the woods), but I do hope you can see in me someone who admits his shortcomings and learns. I owe it to these magnificent creatures, and as a graduate student I cannot afford to eat tag soup over the course of a school year. More than any other hunt, this one made me a better hunter, teaching me even how to sneak up on a bedded buck. And it gave my dad and I an amazing memory, tagging out within 2 minutes of one another.
