So deer season was a big hit this year. I was tagged out by 10 am opening
morning. All told, my party of four got
four deer, two of which were mine.
So here’s how it went:
First thing in the morning, brother in law and I are at the
bottom of a canyon, 50 yards in from the road, when we spot a doe 220 yards up
the canyon. We have doe tags. She’s facing directly at us, so he drills her
in what I call the “triangle of death” which is the little spot right where the
neck meets the ridge in the chest between the two shoulders. A hit in that spot guarantees a heart shot,
and probably a couple of lungs and maybe even a liver, all of which are eminently
fatal. She ran uphill a little bit, and
he shot again and missed, but it didn’t matter.
She was already dead. She tumbled
backwards, down the hill towards us, and lay still.
Then, right out of the same brush where she fell, another
doe emerged. I did not think it was the
same animal, since I’ve been doing this long enough to know BIL’s deer was
dead, so I figured I’d fill MY doe tag, and did. She was running across my field of view, full
out at 220 yards. I shot her right
behind the left shoulder blade, taking out the top of her heart and both
lungs. The bullet went through her chest
cavity and exited out the top of her off-side shoulder, which ruined about
three pounds of meat, unfortunately. But
no worries, that just happens when you hunt the way we do. She dropped like a stone, an rolled back into
the bottom. Both does lay within ten
feet of each other.
Since they both died about 300 yards from the road, we had
them out and back to the truck before dawn had even fully broke, and so we
started driving back to my cousin’s house to get them skinned and hung as
quickly as possible, so we could go try to fill our buck tags with the
remainder of the day.
4 miles down the road, I spotted a deer up on top of a
mountain, about 425 yards away and 600 feet above us. We stopped and glassed it, and it was a big
buck. I counted at least four points on
one side, then stopped counting, because that made it legal. I grabbed my rifle and ran off the road right
of way, and let him have it. At about
375 yards, I shot behind him by three feet (I forgot to mention that he was
running, probably pushed by another hunter).
So I adjusted aim and let fly again, and he kicked, hard, and I knew I’d
gotten him. Dad was watching him through
binoculars, and as I dropped another shell into the chamber of my rifle, in
order to throw round number three in his direction, Dad shouted “he’s down!”
and I knew that I had just tagged out with a very respectable buck.
By the time he fell, he was back over 400 yards away, and
like I said, it was at least a 600 foot elevation gain to get to him, so it
took brother in law and me a while to get up there, but when we did, the one
thing that we noticed, other than the fact that we were breathing so hard that
we were denuding small shrubberies as we walked, was that it was really a
respectable buck. Turns out it was a 5
by 5, which, to you easterners who don’t know how to properly count deer antler
points, is a ten-point buck.
Just so none of you call me a liar, we used a laser-range
finder to verify every distance that I am discussing, independently verified by
a non-affiliated hunting partner. Also,
here’s a picture.
One thing I noticed when the smoke cleared was that none of
the rest of the hunting party even fired a shot at him. One hunting partner said he knew that those
distances were way outside his skill zone, especially on a running buck, so he
didn’t bother to shoot. Brother in law
was having a hell of a time finding it in his rifle scope, and by the time he
got a bead on it, I’d already killed it.
Dad didn’t even get his rifle out.
Apparently, he is getting old enough now that he just likes to watch his
boys shoot stuff, and apparently has enough confidence in our shooting
abilities that he doesn’t feel the need to back us up. I told him to stop doing that, because I draw
a huge amount of confidence in the knowledge that my Dad is going to back me up
if I wound an animal. He is an amazing
rifle shot.
Party hunting is illegal.
The definition of party hunting is a hunter tagging a deer he did not
kill (ie, allowing someone else to shoot your deer for you) but to me, it is
supremely unethical to allow a wounded animal to get away, when you could have
shot it, simply because the State says that the guy who kills it has to tag
it. I’ve always followed the “first
blood” rule, and it’s a rule that I’ve lobbied my state to adopt multiple
times. It says that the hunter who draws
first blood gets to tag the animal, but once first blood is drawn, it becomes
the duty of every hunter in that party to ensure that the animal is harvested
humanely. Is essence, once an animal is
shot by the originating hunter, the rest of you open fire until the animal is
down and dead. To me, it’s the only
humane way to go about the process, but it is definitely a gray area, legally,
if you end up killing the thing, and your buddy ends up tagging it because he
drew first blood.
The party hunting rule is kind of like speed limits. Everyone pushes the envelope of legality
every time they go out, and the law really only exists to prevent people from
buying a deer tag for their wife, who
doesn’t hunt, and then getting to shoot an extra deer every year as a
result. I don’t think most game wardens
would disagree with what I’ve written here, because the intent of that law isn’t
to prevent the ethical harvest of game, but to prevent the unethical “game hogs”
from buying tags for every one of their relatives and then shooting 50 deer
every year.
We had him out of the hills by 10 am, and in the truck, at
which point we all decided it was lunch time, and that we needed to get the
deer skinned and hung soon, or risk spoiling the meat.
So off we went, back towards my cousin’s place, with the
intent of grabbing some lunch and hanging some deer, when hunting buddy, who
also had a doe tag, saw a doe about 175 yards up the hillside. He jumped out of the truck, and once off the
road right of way, shot his doe.
By the time we blood tracked it into the deep brush, found
it and got it out, it was past noon, and my tummy was grumbling and it was time
to hang four deer and eat a damn sandwich.
It was a good hunting season. But for me, it was over before it even hardly
began, because I was totally tagged out by 10 am. I had it slated to go deer hunting next
weekend, and now I don’t know what I’m going to do.
Maybe get an early start on the sausage making for the year,
I guess. I’ve got 130 pounds of deer
burger in my freezer that needs to be mixed with pork, seasoned with yummy,
stuffed into a hog intestine, and then probably smoked for 6 or 7 hours. The smoke part depends on the recipe. My Italian links don’t get smoked, but when I
make Andouille or german sausage, that gets smoked.
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