Uncle Buck Cut Down By Masked Man
12-07-2006, 08:16 PM
#1
Nontypical Buck
Thread Starter
Join Date: Feb 2003
Location: Heaven IA USA
Posts: 2,597
Uncle Buck Cut Down By Masked Man
The first two hours of my vigil had been painfully void of any activity. I was sitting on a fairly steep side hill in a small patch of timber that would be lucky to make three acres in size. It was surrounded on three sides by a cow pasture where the vegetation was grazed to the point that I have seen taller fescue on most golf courses by comparison. On the fourth side was an adjacent property consisting of a spot of timber, a pond, and pieces of switch grass mixed with brome.
Although I have never killed a monster buck here, in past years I have seen enough activity to make me keep coming back. It was however the first year I have never seen crops on three sides of this little maze. I believe it made a big difference because there were a number of days that conditions were perfect for this location and deer[/i] sightings[/i] were an absolute zero.
This location was a microcosm of what had taken place with my fall hunting season. During elk season we battled brutal weather conditions and elk sightings were few and far between. Even the opportunity to merely pull back the string never presented itself; and although just being there is wonderful in and of its self, one always hopes for the chance to take down a rutting bull, there is nothing quite like it. Fast forward to the present. The last day of prime hunting was fast approaching. November was all but over; I was closing in on two hundred hours of just sitting in tree stands[/i] and still had not had a buck go by that I absolutely knew I wanted to kill.
So goes this past time we call hunting. If it was just about killing, if you knew when you went out the door you were going to score, if it was a sure thing, an absolute, then there would be no mystic, no wonder, no anticipation in the activity. The attraction, the allure, the romance of the chase with all of those glorious stimulating intoxicants that it possesses would be lost. So many times the journey is[/i] far more interesting than the destination. This is the reason I could bow hunt everyday, only to look forward to the next sunrise, the next adventure, without ever growing tired of this labor of love…
I hear a faint noise over my left shoulder towards the shallow side of the hill. I see nothing. Anything approaching on the left side of the stand behooves me to remain seated. From this side they come in almost at eye level, the odds of being picked off are not unlike hunting them from the ground. The why and when of each chosen motion needs to be made wisely or things go “south” in a hurry.
Peering down the strip of timber I eventually see an approaching doe. She makes her way to my location and is close enough to spit on when she stops to look back. Her labored breathing tells me everything I need to know. As she squats to pee I shift my attention from her location back to where she came from wondering how her “friend” could be so far behind that he is completely out of sight and ear shot. Finally I see what I believe to be antlers making their way along the same trail she had made a few moments ago as he sniffs out her tracks. From this distance it appears to my naked eye that he will be just one more in a long list of young bucks given a free pass this year. With the doe’s attention riveted on the “gum shoe” buck I put the binos on him. While he is not huge for my area he is no slouch either. I make preparations for the opportunity I feel I am about to be presented with.
My “infinite wisdom”
tells me this buck will walk past my stand at very close range; almost in the steps of the stationary doe mere feet from me at this moment. I am shooting an adjustable sight so I slide it to the twenty yard mark and make ready. Still playing the “catch me if you can” game the doe suddenly bolts and the buck starts to swing wide (so much for my infinite wisdom)
. I know he is thirty yards away so there is no need to panic; where the sight is set impact with be close to six inches low, no big deal. What I am concerned about is getting him to stop. I have my doubts that I will be able to bring him to a halt at the appropriate time. I pull the string taut, strike the “pose” and wait for him to make it to the edge of the shooting lane….a deep breath and at just the right moment I attempt to speak in his native tongue…..….“MAAAAAH”….
Falling foot steps crunching frosty leaves on a still November morning magically stop their former cadence. The body of this panting hormonally driven “machine” momentarily rests in an ideal position for the deed to be executed without concern from forest clutter. A split second check down of the sight picture and feel of the moment turns up a mental “all systems are go” and the string on the Bowtech seeks to achieve brace…
….THWACK…..
The ten pointer’s heels kick up and he charges forward in the direction of his former love interest as the Super Slim 300 tipped with a 125 grain Magnus Stinger slices through his rib cage and into the earth. Everything looked good. I figured I hit him in the heart and I may even see him fall within sight. He stops twice to look around, the second time about eighty yards away, and I can clearly see him. He is almost to the rim of the ridge. When a minute and a half goes by and he is still there, alert, doubt begins to creep into what I believed was a good shot. What could have gone wrong? I thought there was a possibility that the shot may have been slightly lower than I wanted it to be but it shouldn’t have mattered. Left to right looked wonderful, how can this buck still be standing, I wondered?
I put the binos on him and noticed he was lying down but still obviously alert. Five minutes later he is still there with his head up looking around. Ten minutes after impact I am looking at him and he is still laying there scanning the horizon with his head up. Checking my clock ( it is also a compass, calendar, and a thermometer
) a full fifteen minutes has passed since the shot and I am looking at the buck. I note that he has put his head down. In the distance a dog barks. He raises his head and his ears go forward! It seems obvious to me that I have somehow managed to mess up a “slam dunk” scenario. Finally I see the buck attempt to get to his feet. He is obviously struggling and I feel it is time for some type of action to be taken. I get down with the idea that I can peek over the top of the rim and get an arrow to him. On the way I check my arrow that passed through the deer; everything about it tells me the shot was golden! My conundrum however was that what I thought I saw on the shot, and the evidence on the arrow, was not supporting the reality of the situation I was seeing through the binoculars.
Quiet as a cat I worked my way into an offensive position on the wounded buck ready to deliver another deadly dart. A final check of his position however indicated he had expired.
When I dressed him out the evidence showed one lung was center punched, the other badly gashed, and indeed a small trench was cut across most of the heart as the bleeder blade of the broadhead passed by (see accompanying photo).
Here is a photo of the heart (on the left) and both lungs.....
