TWL Classic - The Frozen Toes Buck

Originally Published December 2008

I’m not going to lie to you – well, not this time at least – so in the interest of full disclosure, I will admit I powdered a young buck with all the potential in the galaxy to become a great trophy. Remember this in a few weeks when I post a blog about not harvesting cull bucks and letting deer age to maximize antler potential. Hypocrite, yes, but at least an honest one.

I just couldn’t help myself. Sure, he was scrawny-bodied and thin-antlered, who, judging by the scars on his face, kept getting bullied by larger deer. There was no way I could argue he was bigger than I thought, especially when I popped him just feet from the stand. He rut-stunk to the point the stench still lingers under my fingernail beds and was stricken dim-witted by love.

Wow, that’s a God-awful eulogy. And not fair. Happy to take him. But why did I? Well, let me account myself in a Top-10 list, if you please. A few of them contradict, but what the heck - I’m a hypocrite anyhow.

10. For the freezer – In all truth, I’m an unabashed meat hunter. My girlfriend loves venison, I love venison, and quite frankly, the five deer in the freezer now won’t make it to next October. I’ve been trying to whack a doe since September, but have had no luck; all I’m getting are antlers. I find there’s not much sympathy for me here.

9. Last Georgia Trip – This was my last Peach State trip for the year and possibly for a long time. Doubt I’ll be able to afford the lease next year, and in any case, I’m kinda ready to explore a new place. I get restless. Just this season I’ve been invited to Montana, Kansas, and Arkansas and could have paid for all three with money to spare for a cocktail at the airport lounge for what I’ve doled out to the deer of SW Georgia. On the last day of the last trip, think it’s neat to walk away a winner – or as I tell friends, give the critters of those woods some fear to remember me by. Kilroy was here.

8. A Great Stand Location – As I wrote about the “One Hitter Buck," I love when a plan comes together. I’ll be the first to admit, I’m not the best deer hunter, but from time to time even I prove to myself I may know something about deer habits. This stand sat a hundred yards into a pine and oak-wooded edge bordering a large soy bean field. Other hunters placed ladder stands overlooking the field, but I surmised the deer would hole up here before dark or pass through in the morning avoiding the open after the first of rifle season. Two years ago from this stand I killed my two largest bucks as they wandered around the field in the morning and two fat does who fed amongst the few oaks in the evening. And saw plenty of other does and immature bucks. This smaller six-point served as an ego-boosting, pat-on-the-back reminder that occasionally I can dial up the right play, even if it doesn’t result in a trip to the taxidermist.

7. Revenge for Last Year – Revenge, spite, reprisal, call it what you will, but I spent over a month hunting that lease last year and saw one buck, a piddly five point I let walk. With the One Hitter and this guy, I sorta evened the score, though I risked angering the QDMA gods and dooming myself to four years of buying beef at Publix.

6. 28 degrees – The temperature had dropped to 28 degrees from 42 the previous morning. My toes were frozen, and I wanted something reward this vigilance.

5. Beat the Moon – In the same tune, the moon was bright full – fullest I can remember in a long time. Deer go vampire and avoid the daylight when this happens here. With the cold weather, I just about stayed in bed. Busting this buck at 9:15 was an accomplishment. Not a single other hunter even saw a deer during the week.

4. It Wasn’t a Spike – I’ve joked this season that I’d like to harvest a spike for no other reason than they are the most protected deer in the woods anymore. After hunting all season on lands I’m not supposed to do such a thing, I was free to do so here at my discretion. I imagine it’s akin to visiting some remote tropical island and spearing green sea turtles – wrong in most places, but when you get a rare opportunity here, take advantage. I saw a spike the night before but didn’t shoot, with no regrets. But why OK on the 6 when both were young deer? Wasn’t all that long ago that 6’s were true trophies in our camp, and while I generally have shown restraint in the past few years letting bucks bigger than this one walk, well, I guess there’s still enough young hunter in me to get excited about any set of branched antlers.

3. Other Hunters Hadn’t Seen Anything – That “young hunter” thing is true too about bringing deer back to camp when no one else has had any luck. Immature? Obnoxious? You bet!

2. For the Lodge Pole – Honestly, I’m generally not much of a braggart, but I’d been shooting my mouth off all year about just having fun again, abandoning trophy hunting, and stocking the freezer. Thought I’d be way-laying does. By the time this 6 meandered up by the Summit, three sets of antlers were back at home and another pair sat in the kitchen at camp: the Duette Bow Buck, the Levy County Buck, the North Carolina Mistake Buck, and the One-Hitter Buck. Never had such a string of luck. I’d planned on mounting these horns to a piece of driftwood to commemorate the season; this guy just capped it off. (By the way, if you have seen or have or know anyone who has a similar display, I’d love to see pictures.)

1. Because I Could Do So – That’s the freedom of hunting. I know I’ve written before, somewhere, that shooting a deer just because I can doesn’t do it for me much anymore, but reasons – like the previous 9 above – change. Next season I’ll probably return in earnest to adhering to the tenets of trophy hunting and QDMA. But I will tell you one true thing about deer and deer hunting that is forgotten, sadly, in these days of tall tines and TV shows. This deer was ethically hunted and harvested with knowledge of the land and deer habits. The guys at camp responded with hearty handshakes and congratulations from one deer hunter to another. The meat will entertain and nourish family and friends, while the antlers will forever live with me as a one-of-a-kind piece of artwork to remind me of that morning.

No matter how you choose to hunt deer or your particular goals, these things should be most valued.

TWL Classics - The One Hitter Buck

Originally Published December 2008

The doe bailed out of the woods, skipping through the dog fennels as her six-pointed paramour paced on her heels. Just looking at him you got the sense you could smack him between the brow tines with a 2x4 and he’d shake it off and restart the pursuit of passion.

Ah, love, as much as it can be for deer.

I really wanted a doe for the fridge, but my luck convinced me otherwise. Here I thought I’d missed the best of the rut, and it’s only 2:30 and bucks are chasing. Something great was in the December air, and I fist-pumped a couple of times, just knowing this would be my evening.

A quarter past 3, a larger buck weaved his way through the pines, down a ridge heading towards the creek bottom, nose to the ground searching for a girlfriend. I twisted in the Summit Viper, trying to steady for the hundred yard free-hand shot. All he had to do was hit this one small gap in the underbrush and I could lower the boom on my .300 Win. Mag.

C’mon, boy! Seemed everything about this trip had to transpire within a narrow window – the weather, the moon phase, the rut, the stand location, even the actual shot.

I’d left Lakeland at 7 that morning for my lease, racing up 471 and 75 to Valdosta where I beat it west through Thomasville and a scattering of small towns until I neared the Alabama border. My urgency was not unwarranted. A day-and-a-half later, a frog-choker of a front would settle over and proceed to smother this portion of the South with unending wind and rain. I try to stay positive and realize it’s beyond my control, but even the possibility of foul conditions launches me into a polluted mood.

Even though I’d planned on staying a week and through the storms, by the end of it a full moon would be rising at dusk, and while it may sound beautiful in verse, moonlight through the pines can be rather ugly for the Georgia stand hunter. At least in this part of the state, daylight deer movement nearly ceases as the Man-in-the-Moon watches them feed at night.

And really, diurnal buck activity is not all that high outside of the rut. Sure, every year many hunters get lucky pulling gigantic bucks from the woods in October, but the money time is from around Thanksgiving weekend to the second week of December. On our lease, several guys had already taken nice bucks, or had seen some monsters, but they hit the rut at the peak; I was on the tail-end, hoping their hunting pressure or declining buck libidos hadn’t sank any hopes of filling the cooler.

Luckily, one of my stands hung in a location where deer regularly travel regardless of sexual frenzy, and few people have cared to explore. Or maybe they did, but it’s such a witch trying to get to it they never bothered. I named it the “One Hitter” a few years back after observing the deer that traveled by.

The climber hangs in a dynamite funnel on the southwest side of a ridge rowed with tall pines. To the east is a thicket of smaller pines that serve as a bedding area. Behind me to the west is a creek bottom filled with oaks and small gum trees, and beyond that is another thicket of small planted pines. To the north is the highway, and the south an intersecting, near impenetrable swamp bottom. Deer come from each stand of planted pines and feed on the blackberry bushes, scattered acorns, and whatever else they can find. They also find a false sense of security in the dog fennels that grow shoulder high on me.

By running my stand 25-30 feet up a pine, I can see down into the fennels, but since the ridge is so high, I’m eyeball to eyeball with anything coming from the east. Neat area.

But – and this is the big “but” – with all those dog fennels and thorny blackberry bushes, it’s impossible to get in and out and not make a ton of noise. Next, with all that vegetation grabbing at you, your scent is well-marked.

It took me a while to figure this out. The first time I sat here I saw a ton of deer, then next time, none. I was confused until one day I spied a doe coming down off the ridge. She crossed my trail and began smelling the dog fennels, tossing her head in the air to check for airborne scent, before finally blowing and running off. She was 150 yards away. And upwind. Then I knew that no matter what kind of scent protection I use – and yes, I have the suits, the cover up, and all those fancy tricks – this stand could be burned up in a hurry. So, I restricted myself to hunting it once a trip, and only on days I thought would be the best.

And that’s worked fine. Taken a few does and a solid 7pt over the years, but I knew a big buck worked that area. People had reported seeing a 150-class ten on several occasions near here; with all the trails between the two pine thickets and the corresponding doe traffic it’d only be a matter of time.

This would be the first time I’d hunted “One Hitter” this year, and I’d like to tell you this buck was the beast, but he wasn’t. At first glance I knew he was a decent buck, but no monster. More important to me than antlers though, is when a plan comes together, especially as forces beyond your control battle against you. I’d saved this stand for just this trip and broke many speeding laws to ensure I’d be sitting here in time for this guy to pass by. With weather and moon limiting future opportunities, the crosshairs followed the buck down the ridge until he paused in a thin gap between two pines.

The buck did not move at the first crack of the rifle. Confused I’d missed on what felt like an excellent shot, I re-chambered and sent another .30 cal. his direction. This time he popped up in the air and ran to the creek bottom, calling it quits under a large gum. Both shots were an inch apart behind the shoulder, the first killing him before he knew he was dead. If a 2x4 won’t cure love sickness, a .300 sure will.

Just a hair under 15 inches wide, his 140 pounds held gaunt on his large frame, no doubt from spending the last few weeks speed dating. He’s not the biggest buck in the woods by any means, but I was right proud to have him.

This whole hunt ended in 30 minutes – after all that hurry, I still had a couple of hours of daylight left. Some may have stayed in the stand, but I know how rare it is to get a win like this. I hauled him back to camp to snap pictures as the waxing moon rose in the east.

As I was about to leave the local game processor, the man cleaning deer asked, “You headin’ back out to the stand?”

“No, sir, I think I’m just gonna pour a toddy, count my blessings, and enjoy the rest of the evening; it’s been a long day.”

“Well, it’ll be raining the next few days”.

“Good, let it rain.”