Posted on Sunday 29 November 2009
I’ll be writing a little followup to a blog post from long ago, but first a quick report of the last few days…
I’ve seen a number of successes this year, and as a first year big game hunter it’s been an extraordinary year.
I started hunting in October 2008. I managed through my first hunting season on grouse hunts alone, but knew that I wanted to try my hand at other game. Spring brought a few fruitless coyote hunts, but the lure of big game loomed around every country corner. Every trip - deer and more deer, and it seemed only logical to put in for a tag or two.
With access in 230, I put in for a few draws, including antlerless mule. When the results were out - I printed my tag papers and printed landowner maps, drove the areas we’d be hunting ad nauseum, and practiced regularly with my rifle at the range to get confident with it.
Bird season arrived, and after a number of trips, I managed a single mallard hen. Well. That was anti-climactic.
Big game season arrived, and I was armed with the bullets I’d worked with a friend to make, a rifle I was comfortable with, and the desire to find my deer. We’d had cameras set up for weeks, and knew that we had local deer to shoot - but there was no pattern for we rookies to note. It was about spot, stalk, and maybe shoot if we were lucky.
We’d spotted only a handful of deer on the camera and even fewer in the flesh through November.
Around the end of the second week, we managed to spot a mule doe in a section that we’d just gotten access to. My partner set up, and I pushed the bush and apparently the deer we’d spotted right in front of him. A 50 yard shot and he had his girl in the bag. No such luck on this side of the truck however, and with hunting days disappearing fast opportunities were few and far between. Worse - my opportunities were poor opportunities for a first year hunter requiring either great stalking skill or unreasonable shots.
This weekend was go time.
I knew the field I wanted to hunt, I new the area the deer tended to frequent, and I knew the routes across the field to the neighboring quarter of willows.
My hunting partner still had a Whitetail tag to fill, but with one in the bag already, he took the role of push on this hunt. He dropped me at the southeast corner and waited for me to be in position at the south west end of the quarter before driving to the north end to start his push.
10 minutes before legal, and just before I heard the truck head to the north end, I spotted a doe crossing the field heading north to the treeline and our early season blind. I radioed my partner and asked if there was any chance that my GPS clock might be out by 10 minutes, because for the first time this season - my first season - I had a shooter on the field. Of course I knew the answer, and the deer moved off behind a rise in the field. I settled back into a state of righteous disgust and told my partner that I was ready when the clock ticked over for him to head over to the blind. If he had a shooting opportunity - to take it, and if I spotted anything flushed out, or at my end… well you get the picture.
Before long, less than 5 minutes after legal, my opportunity walked onto the field. A small whitetail walked across the field through my shooting window.
I glassed quickly and saw what looked like a small buck. With brush behind him I couldn’t guarantee it wasn’t a doe, but since I was carrying a general tag, and was happy with either, I quickly decided to take my shot.
About 200 yards from me in a small dip in the field, the deer paused. I pulled the trigger. Man - did I miss.
Now - I assumed that this deer would be GONE. He stood there, looking toward me. Not one to pass up the opportunity to rewrite history, I took another shot.
Tail hit the ground, buckle, dirt. I got on the radio, Deer down! And moments later, I heard the truck in the distance and my partner getting directions to the deer.
I was elated. A less than ideal shot - but a quick death for the small buck.
We loaded him up for the ride to our gutting spot, and my buddy says to me “Dude. You’ve still got your draw tag. 20 minutes. Lets go.”
We headed back to the quarter where he’d recently gotten his mulie, and slowly rolled onto the field to the rear treed corner. Without a beat he says “Stop the truck. Heres my rifle. Your doe is just behind that treeline.”
I fumbled getting out of the truck, still dazed by the buck in the back of the truck. I got out the door circled around the back of the truck and as I looked toward the treeline, she walked into view. My jaw dropped. I put my buddies rifle up - looked through the scope indeed - it was my doe. She was big, big enough in fact, that I had to really convince myself that she was indeed a doe. I did and I pulled the trigger.
Rookie.
Put a round in the chamber IDIOT.
I did, and I pulled the trigger.
Effing rookie.
Put a magazine in the gun.
Somehow - she hadn’t caught on that I was there, and was leisurely standing in the clearing. Why - I didn’t know.
Hunting with a buddy who has the same rifle as you is handy. I’d cased my gun up after the buck, but kept my magazine with 3 rounds left in my pocket.
I put in the mag, cycled the action and got ready to put her in my crosshairs.
I did, and I pulled the trigger.
Bang. I’d lined her up just behind the shoulder blade - and when it hit - she jumped kicking her hinds into the air. She headed up to the treeline as I circled to the cab and she went out of view. The buck that I hadn’t seen to her right then came into view. A good 5×6 buck followed her into the bush.
I hoped desperately that the shot didn’t gut her - but after 15 minutes of looking, we found her piled up in the brush, bleeding out a hole in her loins.
40 yards of dragging a gutshot pig of a mule doe was NOT what I had in mind - but I’d just filled BOTH my tags in under 45 minutes.
We headed back to our ‘designated’ gutting area on the farm.
This was where the rubber met the road for this new hunter.
I opened her up, and as my first solid breath of gut shot hit my olfactory centre, I puked. Correction. I dry heaved.
And again.
And again.
After a drink of water, and some really unpleasant moments, by buddy stepped in and we got the deed done.
I owe him more than half that deer. I owe him my thanks and deepest respect. I would have had a VERY long day had he not taken the buck by the horns and worked through that gutting job. I think it’s going to take me some time to get used to that process. I know I will but he saved my proverbial bacon. That early morning.
By 1, we were back at home skinning these two season-end deer with another buddy.
My doe weighed out at 96lbs at the butchers tonight. The buck will be cut in the next few days.
The freezer is full, and I’ve done what I set out to do 14 months ago.
What started a year ago as a soul-search for what hunting meant (see the August issue of Alberta Outdoorsmen “Welcome to Hunting Killer!”) has now come full circle.
We take responsibility for what we do. We shoot, clean, and consume.
Good and bad, headshot or gutshot, easy or hard. I hope I can do this for some time.
Next time though, I’ll be gutting with a respirator. Or a scuba tank.
