It was October 20, 1998, the fourth day of the deer hunt for 1998. We have only seen one legal deer up to this point. That was on Sunday at last light. Denny had made a terrific shot. We all estimated it at 400 yards and he did it using the peep sights on his .303 British. The deer went down, right now. We figured that was the one deer that the Division of Wildlife had set free in area 3 for that day. Knowing the sparseness of the deer, I knew that every shot would count. This added to the excitement of the hunt.
Earlier in the day, Michael and I had taken a off-shoot road that did not seem to get as much traffic as many of the others. We realized that it took us to what was likely to be the most profitable of all hunting areas we had encountered. We decided to try it for the evening hunt.
After forty five minutes of searching the draw my eyes began to glaze over. My attention was drawn to a charred scrub oak about thirty feet down hill from me. It imagined it had been struck by lightning as it lay parallel to the ground about two feet from the sandy surface. I thought it might be a great place to position myself as it offered some concealment and could serve as a great rest for my rifle. I decided to move down there. So I unchambered my rifle, placed it in its scabbard, put on my fanny pack and water jug and moved to the fallen bush.
I had just began settling in. My scabbard was off, but my rifle had not yet been removed. Just as I was about to withdraw the rifle I was startled by an eerie sound. Eeeeeeeeeeeee! The best way I can describe the sound is that it sounded like a huge strike on a fishing rig with the drag set. I snapped my head around and there right behind me, twelve feet away, stood a huge doe stopped in her tracks. Her eyes were wide with excitement as I imagined mine were too. She didn’t hesitate as long as I did and shot past me down the steep embankment of the side of the hill. That magnificent animal went past me no further than ten feet away. All four of her legs were stretched out in the air as she glided past me. I was in awe of the moment. She disappeared in the scrub oak below me and was gone. It was a moment in time that I will always cherish.
I clumsily removed my rifle, chambered a round and was ready. I spotted her again on the other side of the draw, grazing on some grass next to a grove of scrub oak. She kept one eye on me as she grazed. Very slowly and cautiously I brought my rifle up and laid it across the downed bush in front of me. I put eye to the scope and she was gone. I searched for her in the grove without success. I relaxed for a moment, took a deep breadth and continued to search the expansive hill on the other side off the draw. She twitched an ear and I spotted her again, fifty yards to the East. All she exposed was that tell tale ear and one eye. I raised my rifle to my eye and put the cross hairs on what little of her I could see. The rest of her was well hidden behind another group of dense scrub oak.
The next few seconds seemed to suspend time. I looked at her and she looked back at me. My thoughts were alive with an argument. One side said don’t take a shot if its not a good one, the opposing argument told me to take the shot. I remembered my friend Don’s humane head shot on his antelope. While I was busy staring at her through the scope and arguing with myself she backed into the scenery and was gone.
I played that couple of seconds over and over again in my mind for the rest of the evening along with the memory of her gliding past me ten feet away and down the embankment. I tried to explain it to Michael later on and could not describe the event with any words that would do it justice. I guess you would have to have been there.
The Buck
I set up about fifteen feet from the four wheel drive road. I sat with a great scrub oak at my back and waited. I scanned the hill in front of me for some signs of life. Nothing was spotted and I continued to look until I was almost in a trance mode. My head moved ever so slowly from right to left and back again. Then there it was, the twitch of an ear from almost the exact last spot that I saw the doe. I focused my attention on the area and to my surprise I saw a deer broadside blended into a pocket of scrub oak, standing perfectly still looking in my direction. There was dark green bushes on either side of and in front of the mostly dead scrub oak with a color that camouflaged the deer. The deer stayed in the shadows.
I slowly raised my rifle, looked in the scope and the deer popped into focus. I became acutely aware that my breathing had intensified as the adrenaline began to pump through my body. Steady, I thought. Take a deep breadth, slowly bring the cross hairs to the kill zone, squeeze the trigger. The cross hairs dropped and I had to repeat the process. I recalled not taking the shot the night before and knew I had to not waste time. This time a shot rang out. The deer backed behind the scrub oak. I took my eye from the scope and scanned the area that had exposed the deer. Nothing. No movement. No sound. Nothing. I felt that I had pulled the shot and missed.
I took and rather large drink of water, peeled an orange and ate in neat little sections all the while watching the area of the shot. I knew that since I had taken the shot I must go inspect the area. I went back to the spot of where I was last night to find an accessible route to go down the draw to the other side. I started to follow the path the doe took and found it way too steep for me to walk on my crutches. I went to the left and found a much easier way down. I managed to get to the area where I saw the deer and found nothing. The deer was gone.
I went up the hill to see what was over the other side and began to look for a new place to stake out. While looking I saw Michael and he saw me. Must be that unmistakable glow of the hunter’s orange hats and vests. We moseyed toward each other and I told Michael my story. We headed toward the spot of the shot to look for some sign of a shot. I was convinced that I had missed, but Michael, with many more years of hunting experience, thought we should still look around. He found a small bit of flesh and a fresh blood trail. About forty five minutes had now passed since I took the shot. We began to follow the trail and found pieces of entrails. A gut shot. Damn!
Michael went back to the truck to see if he could get closer by driving it through the sage brush at the bottom of the draw. I stayed with the deer and said prayed my thanks to the Creator. About a half an hour later I heard the sound of a vehicle to the West. It was Michael. He managed to get the truck within fifty yards of the deer. After a short struggle to get the buck up a small drainage Michael got the deer to the awaiting truck.
We picked the buck up and got it into the truck and drove slowly through the sage brush and up the hill to the road and back to camp. When we got back to camp we scoured the area for a scrub oak large enough to hang the deer. The scene that followed, had it been videoed taped, may have been a candidate for a funny video show. Luckily for us there was no video camera available.
I realize fully what is meant by the work begins after the shot.
Michael dropped me off and continued down the road maybe 5 or 6 hundred yards. From the road I could see either North or South of the road. Both looked likely for spotting deer. I chose the North side. I walked in about fifty yards off of the road. I searched for a likely spot that would provide both a good view of the draw and concealment. I cleared some dead branches from a scrub oak and nestled into the mostly green bush. It was a great spot. I removed my fanny pack, water jug and rifle scabbard and settled in for the evening hunt about 4:30. I carefully slid my light-weight, composite stock Savage 30.06 from the scabbard and chambered a round, ensuring the safety was on. I snacked on a granola bar and a juicy red apple.
After the evening hunt the night before which produced the wonderful experience with the doe, I decided to try my luck in the same area. The morning found us at our spot before 7:00 AM as the sky was starting to show its morning glow. I visited the spot were I was the previous night and decided to go a little bit towards the West which gave me a wider view of the sandy hill on the other side of the draw.
We tracked the wounded deer up and down two more draws and up the next, Wildcat Draw. Michael got to the top and informed me that this draw was probably too steep for me. I decided to follow parallel along the ridge I was on. A few minutes passed and I heard a shot ring out. Seconds later another. I decided to join Michael so I headed down hill to go up the hill to the South side of Wildcat draw. I got into the sandy bottom of the draw and found that could not get out. I had to back up the draw about fifty yards until I could find a spot to throw my crutches up and crawl out on my hands and knees. When I finally got to the top I momentarily admired the view and caught my breadth. The I looked down and saw red, blood red. I hurried down the trail and found Michael and my deer. He came across the deer and put it out of its misery. It was a buck, a good sized fork horn. We field dressed it and thought about how we were going to get it out.
