Travelers, wearing earth and leaves, converged upon the creek bottoms and brushy draws in the Midwest last week. Carrying with them weapons of stick and string, they were met with balmy temperatures and a full moon. Less than ideal conditions created a gloomy outlook for what they “live” for during November. Nonetheless, these individuals have met adversity many times before, and have overcome. Would the same happen this year? Would they prevail or fail in their quest and endeavors? Here’s the story.
Bags were unpacked and I noticed everyone gazing at the full moon above as repeated trips were made to the loaded trucks. We all know that this moon phase generally leads to pessimism rather than optimism when it comes to hunting, fishing, and perhaps, even college football. I wonder if it also has an effect on Christmas shopping? Gear was finally stowed, and the campfire seemed to be the gathering spot for the remainder of the evening. Stories of past hunts came to life with each having their turn to re-live both victories and defeats from the past. Flames slowly reduced to flickers, then flickers to embers, as conversation waned. With a deafening pause, I commented that somewhere out there in the thick brush, Orion glistened off the antlers of a giant whitetail. Would dreams come true in the morning, or would the agony of defeat prevail? Dawn would come early, and the camp became quiet.
Some were positioned in blinds neatly tucked into a cedar thicket. Others were perched on a ladder wedged in the fork of an ancient cottonwood. Still others hung for dear life from a lock-on battling southerly winds straight into their faces. Maybe it wasn’t so bad after all the temperature was somewhat warm. Probably not best suited for hunting, but mild conditions kept the bones from becoming brittle. Deer sightings were as expected, not great the first day. We knew this going into the day, but alas, things were about to change with both the weather and the bucks.
Day two found us in our same haunts as before. The sun had not yet crested the horizon when I felt the buzz of a silenced phone indicating a text had been sent to our group. Had someone broken the ice? I was certain others in our party were reaching for their devices as well, anticipating a success story. Instead, it read like this, “everyone look to the north, the cold front is about to hit.” The heavy-laden clouds resembled that of an approaching hurricane. Black striations mixed with oranges and deep crimsons from the rising sun made for an epic sight. In fact, it was so beautiful, I hit the record button. Moments later, an audio effect was added when 50 mph gusts rattled the blind and swayed the trees to the point of breaking. My light jacket and pants were about to lose to the forces of nature. I could only imagine how others were faring from more open spaces. I already knew the answer.
Buck sightings were increasing. The guides and hunters were becoming more optimistic with falling temperatures and winds from the north. I jokingly sent out a group text that an apparel change was in order. Little did I know, how accurate my statement was.
We were greeted with temperatures that had fallen over fifty degrees in less than 12 hours. Keep in mind, not “to” fifty degrees. This put us dressing for an actual temperature of 17 degrees, with the chill factor even less. Are we having fun yet? We’re never satisfied, are we. We wish for cold weather and when we are obliged, we say it’s too cold. We put sugar in our tea to make it sweet then we add a lemon. I bet I have you thinking now, don’t I?
Many of us changed locations with the wind direction shift. Our outfitter normally has a couple of sets at the stand site just for wind changes. These wily old bucks can pick up a molecule of human scent from hundreds of yards. You must do everything you can to stack the odds in your favor and even then, many times, it’s not enough. I’ll explain that in a moment. Oh, did I mention I was now in a tree, fully exposed to the elements? Dane, did you do this on purpose to laugh while you scouted the country from your pick-up while drinking coffee and eating donuts? Hmm, I wonder.
As hunters were picked up from the morning hunt, we noticed an arrow missing from the quiver of a “lucky” hunter. The shot came early. Light was not great, but adequate. As the shaft was sent towards its quarry, two things occurred. The first, was a “slap” of the bow string to the jacket of the shooter. The second, was just the ever so slight deflection from the tip of the arrow skimming the top of a plum bush. Bowhunting is delicate and it doesn’t take much for things do go array, and so it did in this case. Let’s keep hunting.
JH’s opportunity came next. This was a perfect scenario. I’ll paraphrase. The mature buck came to within 20 yards. Standing broadside, the bucked turned and looked away. Now, the moment of truth was unfolding. The stage was set for the draw. Fluidly, the wheels of the cam began to roll back, and the settling of the pin was milliseconds away. Nothing could go wrong, that is until the unnoticed doe saw what was taking place and sounded the alarm sending the buck to the sand fields above. Yep, he got busted. Opportunity number 2 was just a fleeting memory. Not to worry, for I was up to bat next.
The big 8 pointer read the script perfectly and stopped broadside at 24 yards. I had practiced for months with this exact situation. I was cool, calm, and collected. I had this. I knew to hold low in anticipation of the buck’s reaction to the shot. I told myself again, hold low and concentrate. The arrow’s flight was pristine. Almost in slow motion, I watched in horror as the shaft sailed just above the buck. I did everything perfect, except hold low enough. Confused, but not overly startled, the buck wasn’t quite sure what just happened. There must be a Santa Claus and an Easter bunny too, for the buck walked right back in, and even closer this time. I had nocked another arrow, was ready for another opportunity. I came to full draw, but disaster struck again. My arrow had come off my bow string. I had to let down and watch the buck run off. You won’t believe this. He came back again, even closer than before. At 18 yards I made my draw and even more diligent than my first shot I compensated for the buck’s reaction. I settled the pin lower than before, and I guess the buck has a sixth sense and read my mind. He didn’t drop and I shot low. Game over, and I was sick. Let’s move on.
I’ll be brief. Hunter number 4 had what he called a “tank” of a buck at 25 yards. He shot high. I feel like we were playing the game on the price is right, with Bob Barker repeating higher lower. We just can’t seem to get it right.
Last but not least, hunter number 5 finally made the grade on an awesome buck. It was his best buck to date, and this made the trip much shorter for him on his way back to Florida. Congratulations, Jason, on a great whitetail.
Dane, Jarret, and Kooper, did their jobs. They put us in position for success, we just didn’t close the deal. Not to worry though, for a couple of us are headed back out in a few days for redemption. The hunt was awesome. Great friends sharing the woods together making memories to be told and re-told for hopefully years to come. Thank you, Dane, for putting up with us, and we’ll be seeing you again soon.
Happy Thanksgiving, to everyone, and I’ll be sure to let you know how the next chapter of our story turns out. Until next time enjoy our woods and waters and remember, let’s leave it better than we found it. HAPPY THANKSGIVING !!
