smalls
Well-known member
I haven't been hunting with my friend Bob in quite some time, in fact, I don't think we've spent any time together afield in the last decade. Really, there's no better time to get reacquainted with an old friend by spending some time with them in the outdoors, so I was especially excited this morning as Bob rode shotgun with me to find a heavy necked, rut crazed mule deer. Today was to be my last day of big game hunting for the year and I wanted nothing more than to share in success with Bob, so much so that my standards were to be lax.
As the sun's light crawled up the eastern horizon, we immediately began finding deer moving in the distance. The wind ripped through my wool coat and although the temps weren't terribly frigid, it was difficult to walk off the chill. Peaking over a low rising rocky spine revealed a good buck shuffling does around the next ridge. Too far for a shot in this wind, we began to back out to circle around the unsuspecting deer. I am not sure if two of the does caught our scent in the gale force breeze, but for some reason they decided it was high time to make a beeline for the private land to the north with our buck in tow.
The next couple hours were uneventful with a few does and a forkhorn hanging out in the trickle of a creek bed. We'd moved into the relative sanctuary of heavy timbered cover. We'd have much less visibility, but both we and the deer were out of the wind. I admit my highly tuned senses were sharp as a spoon as I was enjoying the hike through a clear cut meadow. I was thrust back into hunting reality as a heavy bodied fork horn snaked through the trees, either unaware or indifferent to my presence, looking for some righteous strange. I froze for 5 or 10 minutes and decided this little guy was a loner and carried on my search perpendicular to this bucks path.
As this was a day of run-and-gun hunting, searching for that hot doe with a collection of suitors hot on her tail, I was inclined not to stay in one place for any period of time. So Bob and I turned our sails into the wind and were making a course back to the truck to search the next chunks of blues and greens on our maps. As we neared the ridge running along the road we arrived on I saw a dark figure moving through the trees not more than 100 yards ahead. In one swift movement Bob chambered a round, found the buck moving through the trees and let loose a silence shattering bark.
Before I had time to digest exactly what happened, it was over. The buck did a four foot death lurch before landing on the ground without life. The buck looked as though he had decent front and back forks in the short moment before the trigger was pulled, but I didn't really know what we'd find until we got up to our prize.
He's not a wallhanger or my biggest, but with limited time to hunt I am more than happy with this guy. I'd have liked to have gotten some good field photos, but the batteries in my camera were not cooperating.
As for Quarterbore Bob, it was like we hadn't ever taken a season off. I gave him a Weaver K-4 a few months ago in anticipation of this hunt and they were made for each other like cheese and crackers. Until next time Bob, take care.
As the sun's light crawled up the eastern horizon, we immediately began finding deer moving in the distance. The wind ripped through my wool coat and although the temps weren't terribly frigid, it was difficult to walk off the chill. Peaking over a low rising rocky spine revealed a good buck shuffling does around the next ridge. Too far for a shot in this wind, we began to back out to circle around the unsuspecting deer. I am not sure if two of the does caught our scent in the gale force breeze, but for some reason they decided it was high time to make a beeline for the private land to the north with our buck in tow.
The next couple hours were uneventful with a few does and a forkhorn hanging out in the trickle of a creek bed. We'd moved into the relative sanctuary of heavy timbered cover. We'd have much less visibility, but both we and the deer were out of the wind. I admit my highly tuned senses were sharp as a spoon as I was enjoying the hike through a clear cut meadow. I was thrust back into hunting reality as a heavy bodied fork horn snaked through the trees, either unaware or indifferent to my presence, looking for some righteous strange. I froze for 5 or 10 minutes and decided this little guy was a loner and carried on my search perpendicular to this bucks path.
As this was a day of run-and-gun hunting, searching for that hot doe with a collection of suitors hot on her tail, I was inclined not to stay in one place for any period of time. So Bob and I turned our sails into the wind and were making a course back to the truck to search the next chunks of blues and greens on our maps. As we neared the ridge running along the road we arrived on I saw a dark figure moving through the trees not more than 100 yards ahead. In one swift movement Bob chambered a round, found the buck moving through the trees and let loose a silence shattering bark.
Before I had time to digest exactly what happened, it was over. The buck did a four foot death lurch before landing on the ground without life. The buck looked as though he had decent front and back forks in the short moment before the trigger was pulled, but I didn't really know what we'd find until we got up to our prize.
He's not a wallhanger or my biggest, but with limited time to hunt I am more than happy with this guy. I'd have liked to have gotten some good field photos, but the batteries in my camera were not cooperating.
As for Quarterbore Bob, it was like we hadn't ever taken a season off. I gave him a Weaver K-4 a few months ago in anticipation of this hunt and they were made for each other like cheese and crackers. Until next time Bob, take care.
