As I mentioned yesterday, today's plan was for an all day hunt. I have come to love all day hunts, especially in the rut. The ruts in full swing right now, so suffice to say that I had high expectations.
Considering the inch of rain we received up until the wee hours of the morning, I decided it would be best to walk in just as light began to take over. I would still hunt on my way to the stand (much like my successful Halloween hunt last year) and quietly climb into the stand whenever the deer allowed me to get there. I had a short run-in with a small 8 pointer as I neared my stand. He walked around me rather oblivious to my presence.
I reached "the pylon" (the sight of my 2009 buck kill) at least 20 minutes before sunrise. The wind was from the southwest, making this stand on the northeast corner of a thicket a perfect ambush point for cruising bucks. I quietly settled in and watched a beautiful November morning begin. Within 15 minutes I had does to the north of me.
A short time later, I heard some brush crashing to the south. Another decent 8 pointer emerged. I readied my bow, but as he walked under my stand it was obvious that he needed at least one more year. He proceeded to chase the does into the native grass field to the east.
After only a few short moments of calm, another buck came trotting up the east edge of the thicket. Again it passed directly underneath me. He was an interesting, but not the least bit tempting, 9 pointer. He proceeded out to the field with the other buck and does.
By this time the edge to the south of me had my attention. Just ten minutes later another buck emerged from the thicket and started toward my stand. I got one good look at him at about 25 yards and knew he was a shooter. He proceeded to about twelve yards. I drew and gave a mouth grunt to stop him. He stopped and turned toward me, covering part of his vitals with his shoulder. I settled my top pin behind the shoulder and released. The sound was a thumph. The shot was a clear pass through and felt good. (It better feel good at 12 yards!) The big 11 pointer buckled for split second, bolted ten yards only to stop and look back. From that point on, he walked calmly out of sight.
I called Dad to tell the story. He packed up and started on the two and a half hour drive north to lend a hand.
I got down to check the arrow. Saturated! That's a great sign. I waited for about 30 minutes and then began tracking. The blood trail was pretty good for the first 80 yards. Then it led into a field of native grasses where I lost it about 40 yards in. The search for the next spot of blood or the buck himself lasted six hours, covered almost the entire property and ultimately failed.
In the end, Dad and I surmised that the shot was a little bit back. Instead of hitting the ideal vitals such as the heart and lungs, it hit the liver. While a liver shot is a sure kill, the wound is often plugged by the gut which stops the blood trail. Dad said that his experience is that a deer hit in the liver will rarely go further than 100 to 150 yards, but we all know that deer can be inredibly resilient animals.
The day left one of those helpless knots in my stomach. I have been busted by big bucks, missed big bucks, wounded big bucks, and made just about any other sort of mistake you can make. All of those were demoralizing, but nothing touches today. Today was the most demoralizing moment of my hunting career, because I don't have that buck in my hands, but he is almost surely dead. Hunting is a chess match, me versus the deer. Sometimes I win. Most of the time, they win. I'm okay with that. Today we both lost. That hurts.
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