This hunt happened in December in NC back in 2008.
It was late in December when I decided to go out and try to get a nanny for the freezer. It was such a pretty day, and the wind was just right, and my wife was off with her friends doing Lord knows what. It was the perfect opportunity for some tree time, so I grabbed my gear and headed out. I made sure I had everything I needed. Knife, cooler, license, gun, rifle, ammo, boots, clothes, etc. and off I went. I figured I would just hunt the afternoon and come back home. If I didn't see anything, I'd make a more serious attempt tomorrow and the next day.
I got to the club around 1:45 and pulled on my boots and camo. It wasn't cold, so I didn't wear the heavy wool socks I normally wear. Nobody else was hunting, so I had the whole place to myself. Club rules dictated that we park in one central spot and walk to the various blinds and stands to minimize impact to the area during the season. Deciding to be adventurous, I started off down the road to our most remote box stand, about a half mile walk. I stopped by to check on the pace of logging on the property and continued on to the stand. By the time I'd gotten there, my thin socks had combined with the old, stretched out boots to cause a blister to start on my heel. No big deal, really, I thought. Just had one more trip back to endure and I was set.
The day was just gorgeous...blue sky, a light breeze out of the north, and pleasant temps. I sat in the stand and didn't really care if anything came out. I was just happy to be hunting.
Around 4:50, a doe and two yearlings came out into the food plot, about 200 yards away. I brought my rifle up and watched em. As they got closer, I saw that the doe wasn't an old girl. Probably 1.5 - 2.5 years old. I had initially decided to let her walk...but noticed that she spent more time staring at my stand than she did eating or walking. Just staring intently in that way that deer do. She'd stretch her head up....lower it down....stare...chew...stare some more. Gradually she and the others walked to about 100 yards away and the closer she got, the more she eyed that stand.
I reconsidered my decision and decided to take the smart little bitch out.
I sighted in on her and had to wait for a good 10 min before she and the yearlings would clear each other and still give me a shot. Finally it happened, and I touched off the rifle. The deer scattered and I was left wondering if I missed. So down I went and searched.
I found lots of blood. Obscene amounts of it. Bright red...but not frothy. I knew she was dead and so I trailed her and eventually found her. The woods looked like a crime scene...blood had been sprayed everywhere. It was a trail Ray Charles could have followed. After a bit I dragged her back to the shooting lane. She might have covered 50 yards.
Rather than walk all the way back around the block of woods in front of me, I decided to just cut along the far edge and hit the road that way. It reduced the distance by a couple hundred yards at least. See? Being smart! Reducing the amount of time I would be on my blistered foot. So off I went humming a happy tune.
When I got to my truck, back in the parking area, I realized I'd forgotten something. The keys were in my backpack which was still in the stand. Not so smart now! My heel was starting to feel like someone was holding a hot poker to it...and now I have to go do the entire round trip again.
So...off I went. All the way back down the road...off the path...up the ladder....got my backpack...flipped the deer over so she could drain more. I had developed a noticeable limp by this time. But I was determined not to let it bother me.
When I finally arrived back at the truck, I was dragging my foot like the creepy assistant in the horror movies who says "Walk...this way..." and limps into the castle. Anyway, I was thrilled to finally get into my sneakers and jeans and out of my boots and insulated camo. And into the truck I climbed and off to my deer I went.
I opened the gate and drove around to where she was and loaded her up into the truck. Not a big deal after all. In no time at all, I got back to the gate and pulled through...got out to lock it...and my deer was gone. She was no longer on the back of my truck...she'd fallen off. So, stifling a curse, I got back in the truck and went back around to look for her. I went all the way back to where I had loaded her up. No deer. So, I turned around again and drove back to the gate very slowly. Sure enough...there she was. 10 yards from the gate.
With tire tracks on her face.
Yes....I had run over my deer. I got out and ran over to her to inspect the damage. Luckily, I had straddled her body and just clipped her nose and hind legs. Nothing was really even damaged...because she had fallen into a large mud hole. I discovered this by stepping into it in the dark.
In my beloved sneakers.
So I dragged a bloody, tire marked, muddy, dead doe out of the mud hole and backed square into a blackberry bramble. It wouldn't have been as bad if I'd kept my camo on, but...no. Those thorns went right through my flannel shirt in ten or fifteen different places. Pulling one out caused two others to lodge deeper. Eventually I just said 'fuck it' and walked in a straight line and tore the shirt out of the brambles and some of my skin with it. Finally I got her hauled up onto the truck and back to the skinning rack. It was 8PM.
The rest of the evening went fairly straightforward. I weighed her and dressed her out. The SST ruined most of the shoulder meat even though I had shot several inches behind and below the shoulder. But dang do they leave a good blood trail.
So, after quartering her out and dumping the carcass...cleaning up...and pouring four bags of ice on her, I drove home.
As I pulled into the driveway....I am not making this up....five deer looked up at me from the side yard of my house, snorted, and took off across the road.
What a day.
It was late in December when I decided to go out and try to get a nanny for the freezer. It was such a pretty day, and the wind was just right, and my wife was off with her friends doing Lord knows what. It was the perfect opportunity for some tree time, so I grabbed my gear and headed out. I made sure I had everything I needed. Knife, cooler, license, gun, rifle, ammo, boots, clothes, etc. and off I went. I figured I would just hunt the afternoon and come back home. If I didn't see anything, I'd make a more serious attempt tomorrow and the next day.
I got to the club around 1:45 and pulled on my boots and camo. It wasn't cold, so I didn't wear the heavy wool socks I normally wear. Nobody else was hunting, so I had the whole place to myself. Club rules dictated that we park in one central spot and walk to the various blinds and stands to minimize impact to the area during the season. Deciding to be adventurous, I started off down the road to our most remote box stand, about a half mile walk. I stopped by to check on the pace of logging on the property and continued on to the stand. By the time I'd gotten there, my thin socks had combined with the old, stretched out boots to cause a blister to start on my heel. No big deal, really, I thought. Just had one more trip back to endure and I was set.
The day was just gorgeous...blue sky, a light breeze out of the north, and pleasant temps. I sat in the stand and didn't really care if anything came out. I was just happy to be hunting.
Around 4:50, a doe and two yearlings came out into the food plot, about 200 yards away. I brought my rifle up and watched em. As they got closer, I saw that the doe wasn't an old girl. Probably 1.5 - 2.5 years old. I had initially decided to let her walk...but noticed that she spent more time staring at my stand than she did eating or walking. Just staring intently in that way that deer do. She'd stretch her head up....lower it down....stare...chew...stare some more. Gradually she and the others walked to about 100 yards away and the closer she got, the more she eyed that stand.
I reconsidered my decision and decided to take the smart little bitch out.
I sighted in on her and had to wait for a good 10 min before she and the yearlings would clear each other and still give me a shot. Finally it happened, and I touched off the rifle. The deer scattered and I was left wondering if I missed. So down I went and searched.
I found lots of blood. Obscene amounts of it. Bright red...but not frothy. I knew she was dead and so I trailed her and eventually found her. The woods looked like a crime scene...blood had been sprayed everywhere. It was a trail Ray Charles could have followed. After a bit I dragged her back to the shooting lane. She might have covered 50 yards.
Rather than walk all the way back around the block of woods in front of me, I decided to just cut along the far edge and hit the road that way. It reduced the distance by a couple hundred yards at least. See? Being smart! Reducing the amount of time I would be on my blistered foot. So off I went humming a happy tune.
When I got to my truck, back in the parking area, I realized I'd forgotten something. The keys were in my backpack which was still in the stand. Not so smart now! My heel was starting to feel like someone was holding a hot poker to it...and now I have to go do the entire round trip again.
So...off I went. All the way back down the road...off the path...up the ladder....got my backpack...flipped the deer over so she could drain more. I had developed a noticeable limp by this time. But I was determined not to let it bother me.
When I finally arrived back at the truck, I was dragging my foot like the creepy assistant in the horror movies who says "Walk...this way..." and limps into the castle. Anyway, I was thrilled to finally get into my sneakers and jeans and out of my boots and insulated camo. And into the truck I climbed and off to my deer I went.
I opened the gate and drove around to where she was and loaded her up into the truck. Not a big deal after all. In no time at all, I got back to the gate and pulled through...got out to lock it...and my deer was gone. She was no longer on the back of my truck...she'd fallen off. So, stifling a curse, I got back in the truck and went back around to look for her. I went all the way back to where I had loaded her up. No deer. So, I turned around again and drove back to the gate very slowly. Sure enough...there she was. 10 yards from the gate.
With tire tracks on her face.
Yes....I had run over my deer. I got out and ran over to her to inspect the damage. Luckily, I had straddled her body and just clipped her nose and hind legs. Nothing was really even damaged...because she had fallen into a large mud hole. I discovered this by stepping into it in the dark.
In my beloved sneakers.
So I dragged a bloody, tire marked, muddy, dead doe out of the mud hole and backed square into a blackberry bramble. It wouldn't have been as bad if I'd kept my camo on, but...no. Those thorns went right through my flannel shirt in ten or fifteen different places. Pulling one out caused two others to lodge deeper. Eventually I just said 'fuck it' and walked in a straight line and tore the shirt out of the brambles and some of my skin with it. Finally I got her hauled up onto the truck and back to the skinning rack. It was 8PM.
The rest of the evening went fairly straightforward. I weighed her and dressed her out. The SST ruined most of the shoulder meat even though I had shot several inches behind and below the shoulder. But dang do they leave a good blood trail.
So, after quartering her out and dumping the carcass...cleaning up...and pouring four bags of ice on her, I drove home.
As I pulled into the driveway....I am not making this up....five deer looked up at me from the side yard of my house, snorted, and took off across the road.
What a day.
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