The Blessing Buck
?Nine and Change? I said, caressing each point of his boney head gear.
Darkness had overtaken my world except for the dim circle of white light emitted by the Browning clip-light, gripping the bill of my Mathews cap. Once again, I had been blessed by God.
Being hidden by Scent Lok, equipped by Mathews, and trained by experience, certainly played a role in this successful hunt, but let?s be clear; this was an answer to a hunter?s simple prayer.
The 2009 Iowa bow hunting season had started off with the frustration of hunting in the rain?.every day for the first three days. Hunting morning and night in the rain, and getting wet, is no ones definition of fun. One evening I broke out the Double Bull just to stay dry. It was a welcome change, to say the least. Only the occasional doe, spike, or ?box head,? broke up the monotonous monsoon that had befallen the entire Hawkeye state.
The quarter mile walk to the stand proved to be more than my metabolism could bear, dressed as I was-- and I started to sweat. No worries?Primos Silver and Scent Lok?.
It was afternoon, the third day of my hunt. Like a giant dish rag, the sky squeezed out the last few drops of rain in the form of an occasional mist, fell until about five o?clock in the afternoon.
My destination was the stand overlooking a small food plot planted in Purple Top Turnips and Buck Forage Oats. Not very large, it was a circle, roughly fifty yards across.
Named the Hub, it was the last place we saw Mr. Perfect alive last year. Hopefully history would repeat itself. I found myself wondering if lightning would strike twice in the same place. The thought was ironic given the bad weather we were having,
Climbing the ladder stand, I noticed the foot platform was on backwards. I had been so focused on everything else last year; I hadn?t even noticed the missing three or four inches of desperately needed foot room.
I made the climb, clipped in, sat down, and started my wait. A handful of raw Almonds helped to pass the time.
An hour had passed, and the wait was interrupted by the passing presence of a small doe and a five point buck. Neither stayed in the area, nor did they appear to be interested in dining at the Hub; they just moved on. This buck was a ?no shooter? and the doe was not yet needed for the table.
The evening was closing fast. My eyes were scanning the edge of the timber that lay about 100 yards from my stand location. It was the kind of tall weedy edge, that when bordered by tall standing corn, became a secluded corridor in which deer felt safe to travel.
An 8 point buck, as wide as his ears with good tine length, together with a doe, were making their way along the edge of this tree line; she was browsing, he was rubbing and scraping. They disappeared from sight passing behind some undergrowth that lay between us.
Ten minutes passed?my attention, still focused in the direction in which they were last seen, was averted by the buck that had just entered my peripheral vision.
He was a large bodied buck, with good headgear. It was Nine and Change!! He was a buck we had seen on trail cam a month earlier. Appearing to be at least three and a half years old and sporting four by five with extra junk, he stood silent, staring intently. He stiffened, raising himself high on his legs, his back arched slightly, nose down and ears back, he prepared himself for the inevitable confrontation coming his way.
Stepping from somewhere beyond this hunters vision, came a large bodied buck with a tall, heavy rack, knarled with age. It was deformed and crooked, and defies my attempt to describe it. The dance was on as they side stepped each other, ears back, posturing, and turning a tight circle. Finally stopping, in what was to be a long protracted stare-down.
After sizing each other up, the old knarly buck relented and moved on into the shadows of the dense cover. Ears still back and showing his dominance, Nine and Change, followed.
I lost sight of both as they slide off into the brush as bucks often do, leaving my heart pounding as they disappeared like a vapor.
Ten minutes of silence pass and I think how wonderful to have seen these two great bucks and witness this encounter first hand. Couple that with the smell of wet leaves, Wild Mint and Golden Rod, and you have a real memory that will last forever.
I thanked the Lord for the blessing I had just been given. Then from more impulse than anything, I said, ?Lord, just send him down here. I don?t really care which one, just send him! Come on!! I?ll give you the praise for it!
Within 20 seconds Nine and Change reappeared only to casually walk the sixty yards to my stand. ?No!!? I said to myself, as he cut from the trail and started an approach to my stand. This route was not planned and it would take him directly under my tree! He would surely smell the track I had walked in on!
At the last second he decided to walk behind my tree where he stopped. His sixth sense kicked in and he, knowing something was not right, stood for an eternity. I, still in my seat and facing away from the tree, had no option but to wait, wait while he stood not six inches from the base of my tree! If I got to my feet to turn around for the shot, I knew well the risk I would be taking. One creak, one squeak, a dab of mud from my boot, and it would be all over.
Staying seated, and hoping the wind would continue to take my scent over his head and not swirl, I waited?..and waited.
He stared intently at the food plot. I understood why he approached the food plot from this obscure place in the brush. To walk into the food plot using a common trail, was just not how bucks reach maturity.
Satisfied, he started to make his way towards the food plot. The second he started to move, I gingerly but quickly changed my position. While turning and drawing on the ten yard target, the Drenalin was silent, but something caught his ear that was not right and the buck startled, jumped and froze in his tracks.
I watched him dig in and run into the food plot, hard on a death run with half the fletching still protruding from high on his left side, then swinging a long arc disappeared back into the timber.
My shot was perfect, exiting his front off-side leg. Recovery was 125 yards. The Grimm Reaper did a marvelous job. Ray Charles could have tracked this 240 pound animal, but HE didn?t?I did.
Yes, it was my day to receive a blessing, the blessing buck?Nine and Change.
Spit
?Nine and Change? I said, caressing each point of his boney head gear.
Darkness had overtaken my world except for the dim circle of white light emitted by the Browning clip-light, gripping the bill of my Mathews cap. Once again, I had been blessed by God.
Being hidden by Scent Lok, equipped by Mathews, and trained by experience, certainly played a role in this successful hunt, but let?s be clear; this was an answer to a hunter?s simple prayer.
The 2009 Iowa bow hunting season had started off with the frustration of hunting in the rain?.every day for the first three days. Hunting morning and night in the rain, and getting wet, is no ones definition of fun. One evening I broke out the Double Bull just to stay dry. It was a welcome change, to say the least. Only the occasional doe, spike, or ?box head,? broke up the monotonous monsoon that had befallen the entire Hawkeye state.
The quarter mile walk to the stand proved to be more than my metabolism could bear, dressed as I was-- and I started to sweat. No worries?Primos Silver and Scent Lok?.
It was afternoon, the third day of my hunt. Like a giant dish rag, the sky squeezed out the last few drops of rain in the form of an occasional mist, fell until about five o?clock in the afternoon.
My destination was the stand overlooking a small food plot planted in Purple Top Turnips and Buck Forage Oats. Not very large, it was a circle, roughly fifty yards across.
Named the Hub, it was the last place we saw Mr. Perfect alive last year. Hopefully history would repeat itself. I found myself wondering if lightning would strike twice in the same place. The thought was ironic given the bad weather we were having,
Climbing the ladder stand, I noticed the foot platform was on backwards. I had been so focused on everything else last year; I hadn?t even noticed the missing three or four inches of desperately needed foot room.
I made the climb, clipped in, sat down, and started my wait. A handful of raw Almonds helped to pass the time.
An hour had passed, and the wait was interrupted by the passing presence of a small doe and a five point buck. Neither stayed in the area, nor did they appear to be interested in dining at the Hub; they just moved on. This buck was a ?no shooter? and the doe was not yet needed for the table.
The evening was closing fast. My eyes were scanning the edge of the timber that lay about 100 yards from my stand location. It was the kind of tall weedy edge, that when bordered by tall standing corn, became a secluded corridor in which deer felt safe to travel.
An 8 point buck, as wide as his ears with good tine length, together with a doe, were making their way along the edge of this tree line; she was browsing, he was rubbing and scraping. They disappeared from sight passing behind some undergrowth that lay between us.
Ten minutes passed?my attention, still focused in the direction in which they were last seen, was averted by the buck that had just entered my peripheral vision.
He was a large bodied buck, with good headgear. It was Nine and Change!! He was a buck we had seen on trail cam a month earlier. Appearing to be at least three and a half years old and sporting four by five with extra junk, he stood silent, staring intently. He stiffened, raising himself high on his legs, his back arched slightly, nose down and ears back, he prepared himself for the inevitable confrontation coming his way.
Stepping from somewhere beyond this hunters vision, came a large bodied buck with a tall, heavy rack, knarled with age. It was deformed and crooked, and defies my attempt to describe it. The dance was on as they side stepped each other, ears back, posturing, and turning a tight circle. Finally stopping, in what was to be a long protracted stare-down.
After sizing each other up, the old knarly buck relented and moved on into the shadows of the dense cover. Ears still back and showing his dominance, Nine and Change, followed.
I lost sight of both as they slide off into the brush as bucks often do, leaving my heart pounding as they disappeared like a vapor.
Ten minutes of silence pass and I think how wonderful to have seen these two great bucks and witness this encounter first hand. Couple that with the smell of wet leaves, Wild Mint and Golden Rod, and you have a real memory that will last forever.
I thanked the Lord for the blessing I had just been given. Then from more impulse than anything, I said, ?Lord, just send him down here. I don?t really care which one, just send him! Come on!! I?ll give you the praise for it!
Within 20 seconds Nine and Change reappeared only to casually walk the sixty yards to my stand. ?No!!? I said to myself, as he cut from the trail and started an approach to my stand. This route was not planned and it would take him directly under my tree! He would surely smell the track I had walked in on!
At the last second he decided to walk behind my tree where he stopped. His sixth sense kicked in and he, knowing something was not right, stood for an eternity. I, still in my seat and facing away from the tree, had no option but to wait, wait while he stood not six inches from the base of my tree! If I got to my feet to turn around for the shot, I knew well the risk I would be taking. One creak, one squeak, a dab of mud from my boot, and it would be all over.
Staying seated, and hoping the wind would continue to take my scent over his head and not swirl, I waited?..and waited.
He stared intently at the food plot. I understood why he approached the food plot from this obscure place in the brush. To walk into the food plot using a common trail, was just not how bucks reach maturity.
Satisfied, he started to make his way towards the food plot. The second he started to move, I gingerly but quickly changed my position. While turning and drawing on the ten yard target, the Drenalin was silent, but something caught his ear that was not right and the buck startled, jumped and froze in his tracks.
I watched him dig in and run into the food plot, hard on a death run with half the fletching still protruding from high on his left side, then swinging a long arc disappeared back into the timber.
My shot was perfect, exiting his front off-side leg. Recovery was 125 yards. The Grimm Reaper did a marvelous job. Ray Charles could have tracked this 240 pound animal, but HE didn?t?I did.
Yes, it was my day to receive a blessing, the blessing buck?Nine and Change.
Spit
