A New Beginning
"Killing Time," the title I had given my nineteen day vacation spanning from October 31st to November 19th on my google calendar, had finally arrived. It was time to buckle down and get serious about hunting the new farm I had acquired, The Forty. Leading up to this point, I had only hunted The Forty a handful of times, and with limited opportunities to scout the farm earlier in the year, I was going in virtually blind. There were several good deer showing up on camera, and I had hung three setups across the 125 acre farm that I felt were low impact, observation stands. A fourth stand dubbed the Rut Stand was placed on the east edge of the thickest, nastiest piece I could find on the property.
With warm temperatures the first week of my vacation, I decided to hunt smart, and bide my time, waiting for the action to present itself. According to the experts, the best action was supposed to happen between the 9th and the 19th, so I figured I had plenty of time to watch and learn. Things started off slow, but that was to be expected. Watching the forecast, November 3rd was looking like a great day for activity, as there was rain moving in. Earlier in the week, I had made a move with my mobile setup based off activity I had seen from my observation stand. The setup was good, so I elected to carry in a 20' set of sticks and Millennium receiver to switch out after my morning hunt. I sat until 11 that morning without a single deer sighting. With the rain already starting, I made the switch from mobile to permanent set, and took off around the hillside to relocate my mobile stand for Friday morning. I found a good bowl with thick bedding and hung my LW/Muddy setup in a triple trunk tree overlooking a secluded finger of field leading down to creek bottom. The location wasn't perfect, but it would yield another piece to the puzzle.
As I made my way out for the morning, I did the circle and checked my cams. The buck activity was increasing daily, with a handful of new deer making an appearance. Sitting at the house reviewing the pictures with my wife, I was struggling to decide where to go for the evening hunt. I asked the wife where she thought I should be. After thinking for a moment, she said, "Go to the berry patch. I don't know why, but I have a good feeling about that stand." The berry patch, as we refer to it, is a stand on the edge of a hilltop field that use to be overrun with blackberries, hence the name. I killed a doe two weeks prior from this stand, and there were always a herd of does hitting this field. With the rain clearing out, I agreed that the field edge would make for a good evening hunt. There were a ton of low hanging branches around the field edge, and I just had a feeling the rain would have the bucks on their feet, checking for fresh scent and working new scrapes.
As I settled in for the evening hunt, the rain had begun to taper off. It wasn't long before I had four doe come busting up out of the holler behind me, stopping in the brush at 40y. They milled around for a while, eating browse. I noticed some movement back and to my left, and watched as a good buck came down off the hill, headed straight for his harem. I grabbed my binos and the grunt tube, hitting it twice softly. Bringing the buck into focus, I quickly recognized him as the buck I call Inverted, a 120ish ten. I had him at 40y earlier in the week, and he was a beautiful buck, but not the one I was after. As he worked his way through the thick stuff, he stopped to do some neck exercises, proceeding to tear the crap out of every sapling he came to for a stretch of 50y or so. As he crested the hill to where the does fed, his nose went down and as he picked up the pace. He let out a soft grunt and the does scatter in different directions, one flying down over the hill and snorting like crazy, she wanted nothing to do with him. I watched as he disappeared over the next hill, and things became quiet again. Shortly after, a doe and her fawns made their way out into the field. It wasn't long after that I could see horns coming up the old logging road, it was Inverted again. As he came into the field, he was catching ever low hanging branch he could and working the ground below. He put on a heck of a show, turning dirt over along the field like a farmer preparing to lay down fresh seed. He spent twenty or so minutes making over a dozen different scrapes and offering me multiple shot opportunities before disappearing off to my right.
Not long after he vanished, a 2.5yo eight came flying up over the hill, intercepting one of the now five does feeding off to my left, chasing her off into the brush and grunting every step of the way. More and more does were filtering out into the field as light faded, probably eight or so slick heads. As the sky began to darken, I started to pack my gear up to make my decent from the tree. Just as I had plucked the arrow from the string, looking to send it back to its rightful spot in the quiver, I heard a grunt to my right. Turning, I quickly realized it was the big boy I was after, Typical Ten, so I fumbled to knock the arrow as he approached 25y. Drawing back, I settled into my anchor and started looking for my pins; I couldn't make my peep out, let alone my sight. All I could do was watch as he busted through an opening in the brush line, sighting a doe and roaring at her as her ran her down over the hill. I was shocked. This was the second time I had seen him from this stand in as many hunts. I had to be in his wheel house!
Friday morning came, and I was still riding a high from last night's hunt. It had been a while since I had seen and heard action like that. I was anxious to hunt the mobile set I had hung the day before, so I made my way in well before daylight. Just as the sun was making its way through the trees, I caught movement coming up out of the creek bottom behind me. I caught a flash of tall tines, but that was it as the buck was on the move. Reaching for the grunt tube, I made a few soft grunts, followed by a bleat, and sat patiently. Ten minutes went by, and I had given up on that buck making his way back through, when I caught a white rack making its way out of the brush and down the field edge. TRT stepped out at 20y and I had my bow in hand. As he crossed the field on a b-line to a fresh scrape I had a camera over, I kept debating if I was going to shoot.
The release must have gone on and off the string at least three times while he worked the scrape, before turning and walking right to me. From the side, he looked like a definite shooter, but when he turned to look my way, it was apparent he lacked the width and brows I was looking for. My head was telling me yes as my heart was telling me no every time he turned his head, I found myself knocking my release on the string. Ultimately, my heart won, and I watched as he crossed the creek and worked towards my oak stand. Shortly after, I had a nice 125" nine sneak through behind me, following the same trail TRT disappeared on.
I sat until noon without another sighting before climbing down and packing up. The wife and I had plans for the evening, so I couldn't sit until dark. I decided to relocate in the direction both of those bucks had ventured off to, in an area I had walked right past the day before. The wind was perfect, so I sat up tight to a thicket and did some calling. At 1:30, I had a small eight come busting up out of the brush, disappearing off to my south. An hour later, I had a tall eight respond to rattling, circling me before stopping at 20y. He wasn't quite what I was looking for, so he got the pass as well. At four, I climbed down and headed for the house.
"Killing Time," the title I had given my nineteen day vacation spanning from October 31st to November 19th on my google calendar, had finally arrived. It was time to buckle down and get serious about hunting the new farm I had acquired, The Forty. Leading up to this point, I had only hunted The Forty a handful of times, and with limited opportunities to scout the farm earlier in the year, I was going in virtually blind. There were several good deer showing up on camera, and I had hung three setups across the 125 acre farm that I felt were low impact, observation stands. A fourth stand dubbed the Rut Stand was placed on the east edge of the thickest, nastiest piece I could find on the property.
With warm temperatures the first week of my vacation, I decided to hunt smart, and bide my time, waiting for the action to present itself. According to the experts, the best action was supposed to happen between the 9th and the 19th, so I figured I had plenty of time to watch and learn. Things started off slow, but that was to be expected. Watching the forecast, November 3rd was looking like a great day for activity, as there was rain moving in. Earlier in the week, I had made a move with my mobile setup based off activity I had seen from my observation stand. The setup was good, so I elected to carry in a 20' set of sticks and Millennium receiver to switch out after my morning hunt. I sat until 11 that morning without a single deer sighting. With the rain already starting, I made the switch from mobile to permanent set, and took off around the hillside to relocate my mobile stand for Friday morning. I found a good bowl with thick bedding and hung my LW/Muddy setup in a triple trunk tree overlooking a secluded finger of field leading down to creek bottom. The location wasn't perfect, but it would yield another piece to the puzzle.
As I made my way out for the morning, I did the circle and checked my cams. The buck activity was increasing daily, with a handful of new deer making an appearance. Sitting at the house reviewing the pictures with my wife, I was struggling to decide where to go for the evening hunt. I asked the wife where she thought I should be. After thinking for a moment, she said, "Go to the berry patch. I don't know why, but I have a good feeling about that stand." The berry patch, as we refer to it, is a stand on the edge of a hilltop field that use to be overrun with blackberries, hence the name. I killed a doe two weeks prior from this stand, and there were always a herd of does hitting this field. With the rain clearing out, I agreed that the field edge would make for a good evening hunt. There were a ton of low hanging branches around the field edge, and I just had a feeling the rain would have the bucks on their feet, checking for fresh scent and working new scrapes.
As I settled in for the evening hunt, the rain had begun to taper off. It wasn't long before I had four doe come busting up out of the holler behind me, stopping in the brush at 40y. They milled around for a while, eating browse. I noticed some movement back and to my left, and watched as a good buck came down off the hill, headed straight for his harem. I grabbed my binos and the grunt tube, hitting it twice softly. Bringing the buck into focus, I quickly recognized him as the buck I call Inverted, a 120ish ten. I had him at 40y earlier in the week, and he was a beautiful buck, but not the one I was after. As he worked his way through the thick stuff, he stopped to do some neck exercises, proceeding to tear the crap out of every sapling he came to for a stretch of 50y or so. As he crested the hill to where the does fed, his nose went down and as he picked up the pace. He let out a soft grunt and the does scatter in different directions, one flying down over the hill and snorting like crazy, she wanted nothing to do with him. I watched as he disappeared over the next hill, and things became quiet again. Shortly after, a doe and her fawns made their way out into the field. It wasn't long after that I could see horns coming up the old logging road, it was Inverted again. As he came into the field, he was catching ever low hanging branch he could and working the ground below. He put on a heck of a show, turning dirt over along the field like a farmer preparing to lay down fresh seed. He spent twenty or so minutes making over a dozen different scrapes and offering me multiple shot opportunities before disappearing off to my right.
Not long after he vanished, a 2.5yo eight came flying up over the hill, intercepting one of the now five does feeding off to my left, chasing her off into the brush and grunting every step of the way. More and more does were filtering out into the field as light faded, probably eight or so slick heads. As the sky began to darken, I started to pack my gear up to make my decent from the tree. Just as I had plucked the arrow from the string, looking to send it back to its rightful spot in the quiver, I heard a grunt to my right. Turning, I quickly realized it was the big boy I was after, Typical Ten, so I fumbled to knock the arrow as he approached 25y. Drawing back, I settled into my anchor and started looking for my pins; I couldn't make my peep out, let alone my sight. All I could do was watch as he busted through an opening in the brush line, sighting a doe and roaring at her as her ran her down over the hill. I was shocked. This was the second time I had seen him from this stand in as many hunts. I had to be in his wheel house!
Friday morning came, and I was still riding a high from last night's hunt. It had been a while since I had seen and heard action like that. I was anxious to hunt the mobile set I had hung the day before, so I made my way in well before daylight. Just as the sun was making its way through the trees, I caught movement coming up out of the creek bottom behind me. I caught a flash of tall tines, but that was it as the buck was on the move. Reaching for the grunt tube, I made a few soft grunts, followed by a bleat, and sat patiently. Ten minutes went by, and I had given up on that buck making his way back through, when I caught a white rack making its way out of the brush and down the field edge. TRT stepped out at 20y and I had my bow in hand. As he crossed the field on a b-line to a fresh scrape I had a camera over, I kept debating if I was going to shoot.
The release must have gone on and off the string at least three times while he worked the scrape, before turning and walking right to me. From the side, he looked like a definite shooter, but when he turned to look my way, it was apparent he lacked the width and brows I was looking for. My head was telling me yes as my heart was telling me no every time he turned his head, I found myself knocking my release on the string. Ultimately, my heart won, and I watched as he crossed the creek and worked towards my oak stand. Shortly after, I had a nice 125" nine sneak through behind me, following the same trail TRT disappeared on.
I sat until noon without another sighting before climbing down and packing up. The wife and I had plans for the evening, so I couldn't sit until dark. I decided to relocate in the direction both of those bucks had ventured off to, in an area I had walked right past the day before. The wind was perfect, so I sat up tight to a thicket and did some calling. At 1:30, I had a small eight come busting up out of the brush, disappearing off to my south. An hour later, I had a tall eight respond to rattling, circling me before stopping at 20y. He wasn't quite what I was looking for, so he got the pass as well. At four, I climbed down and headed for the house.
