This was it, the final day of my nine-day hunting marathon. Half-day, really, since today was leaving day. So far my hunting efforts had resulted in only one tag being filled during this week of warm windy weather, a major disappointment considering the high hopes from a week ago. Since eight days of hunting on stands and fields and trails had resulted in despair, it was time to try a new tactic. Not a preferred tactic, mind you; I left the house with the intent of shooting a deer out of The Sanctuary.
As mentioned in an earlier post this week The Sanctuary is several acres of lowland woods that we do not enter, ever. Every good deer property is supposed to have a safe haven, closed to hunting, that deer can use for cover; ours is perfectly situated near water and food with good cover for traveling to both. We go by this hiding spot every day that we hunt, on foot or on 4-wheelers, but we never go into it. However, nearly every day this week, either in the morning or evening or both, we have seen deer along its edges. My plan this morning was to head north by foot at daylight, hoping to catch a deer still feeding along the edge of The Sanctuary. Kind of breaking one of our hunting rules with this plan, but my dad agreed that it was something we needed to try. He also hoped I could pick off one of the two garden thieves that we know live in those "forbidden woods."
I left the house a little before the light was strong enough for shooting, which was fine since I had a quarter-mile to cover before reaching the hunting area. After rock-hopping across Armstrong River I silently crawled over the fence (rather than clanging open the gate) and into the field that surrounds The Sanctuary. As I walked I used my rifle scope to scan the edges of the woods but saw nothing (except woods). No surprise or disappointment there; the deer generally like to feed in one of three dales along the northeast side and I was still a hundred yards from the first one.
My walk slowed to a single step at a time as I neared the crest of the first hill. Peering over the top and into the first low area I again saw nothing. Same thing on the second hill and dale. As I hit the bottom of the final empty valley I had the sinking feeling that once again I had zigged when I should have zagged. Forcing myself to stay disciplined I eased my way up the slope to the flat expanse beyond its crest and one more time found no deer along the woods. I could now see all the way to the northern tip of The Sanctuary and into the field beyond....and in that field was a deer.
I rarely hunt on fields. I've always thought that someone who hunts on a field might as well be hunting cows. Yes, I do hunt over a couple of small oat plots and I struggle with the ethics of that at times, but shooting deer off of a hundred acre opening seems less like hunting and more like...shooting. However, this situation was a little different - I wasn't waiting on a field for the deer to come to me, I had to go get this one. It was currently about 175 yards away, and while my rifle can handle that distance my shooting skills can't. I needed to cut the gap in half at least, if not more. It was time to stalk.
A fence line surrounds The Sanctuary; I was along the north/south line, she (I could see through my scope it was not a buck) was feeding fifty yards beyond the east/west line. Between us were scattered Norway pines and wild field grasses. The pines were from 3-6 feet tall, the grasses knee-high to waist-high. I had about 100 yards of fence line between me and the corner where I could have a firm brace and a much closer shot. I considered crawling to use the grass for cover, but realized I would be too slow and probably not concealed very well. I decided instead to move while her head was down and stop when a pine was between us, checking her status before moving to the next pine. Worked like a charm. In less than a minute I was leaning on the corner post with my crosshairs on the deer. During my move she had turned away from my direction which allowed me to get in position undetected. It also meant the only target I had was her butt.
As I stood braced and ready for a shot she suddenly turned towards the tip of The Sanctuary and began trotting across the field. She wasn't scared - I believe she suddenly realized she was pushing her limits of safety by being out in the open in this much daylight. She wasn't moving fast but she was moving, and I was looking at an 80 yard shot. I'm not a good enough shooter for an 80 yard shot at a still target, let alone one on the move. But she was starting to disappear down a gentle slope, and if I didn't touch off a shot in the next two seconds I'd have no shot. Crosshairs behind the shoulder, exhale, squeeze but don't jerk...
The roar of the gun was followed by a noticeable stagger as the deer accelerated. Another stumble as she slowed for the fence told me I'd hit her well, but a deer on its feet is never hit well enough. She went through the fence and got behind some young spruces where I was sure I heard the telltale crash of a dying deer. As I walked west along the fence I saw some movement followed by the wheezed breathing of a deer shot in the chest. She was down and she was dying. And I was shaking.
If a hunter isn't shaky with adrenaline after making a kill then he/she shouldn't be hunting. The same goes for feeling remorse. I never like pulling the trigger on a deer - ever. It's my least favorite part of hunting. Taking the life of such a beautiful creature is not something I ever celebrate - so please don't judge me as a hunter by comparing me to the fist-pumping idiots on TV who act like they've won a lottery every time they shoot a deer. I've shot a few nice bucks that I feel proud to have taken, but that pride is, even now, matched with remorse. Happens on every deer, I guess. When I knew this doe was down I was proud to have hatched a plan that worked, impressed at my own ability to get in position for a shot and make the shot, and elated that I finally had filled another tag. But I had sought out a peaceful animal and violently killed her, and that's a very sobering reality.
When I got to her she was dead. I could see a small exit wound from my shot, placed perfectly behind her shoulder - a heckuva shot. I stood over her for a minute, apologizing to her for what I had done, thanking her and Nature for the gift of meat. Scolded her a little, too, since I was quite sure she was indeed one of the two yearlings that had helped themselves to my parents' gardens and fruit trees all summer. Then I spent a moment soaking in the moment. The sun was nearly up, there were geese lifting off from the bog lake to the north, and our efforts to create a deer hunting paradise had been rewarded once again. I had taken my 26th deer, and for the 26th time I felt shaky, remorseful, and thankful all at once. If those emotions ever stop, so too will my days of hunting.
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My dad and my daughter joined me an hour later so we could head west to hunt for the last few hours of morning. They were both impressed by my tale of stalk and shot, and thankful for another delicious pile of steaks and burger. We each took a different stand - my dad at the Slaughterhouse, my daughter at her favorite stand that still doesn't have a name, and I went to the Maples. Dad saw a small spike that somehow ducked under the bullet thrown at it. My daughter saw a small doe that she didn't even aim at because she wants her first deer to be a buck. I apparently used up all my luck on my earlier adventure because I saw nothing. At noon we met for lunch under the towering old spruce that we've been eating lunch under for decades, and then headed out of the woods to take in my deer and get her skinned. And so cometh to an end the best nine days of the year.
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I'm back at my house now, 180 miles away from where I'd rather be. My morning commute the last nine days has been across an open field on foot or a 4-wheeler. Tomorrow I have to navigate the morning traffic rush into St. Paul for an education workshop. For nine days I've eaten lunch in a tree or on a log, usually by myself. Tomorrow I'll stand in line for a plate of food I'll have to eat at a full table in a full room. No more 10:00/3:00 cookie breaks; I can't even say when I'll see a cookie again. And bathroom breaks? Since last Saturday I've been able to let fly at any time and any place that was convenient - I'm so hopeful I don't accidentally do the same tomorrow. It's odd that life is built this way - long periods of doing what we have to, short bursts of doing what we want to. I suppose the "want to's" wouldn't seem so wanted if we got to do them more. I'd like to find out, though. Folks didn't think nine straight days of hunting sounded enjoyable. I think the days went by way too fast, that another nine would be perfectly fine and very enjoyable. But the hunter now takes a break so the father and teacher can emerge for a few days before the hunter makes one more appearance next weekend.
The blogger will take a break, too, for the rest of this week. I hope you've enjoyed learning a little bit about my hunting and the land I call home. I appreciate having so many of you stop by and read my posts, and I'll return with a few more next weekend. Have a great week!
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