Sunday, November 20, 2011


   But first, lets back up a little. The last week of bow I worked a little and hunted hard. The beginning of the rut was warm, mooned up and disappointing. But late in the week, with a cold snap and a dark night, things heated up. I was hunting the hillbilly stand and every day I saw the end 3 good bucks. Oh, and I stumbled across the lost ladder stand. It was right where I had set it. In the summer I just couldn't find the thing. So I sat there a couple of times and saw nothing. Thursday I decided to walk the cemetery drive nose into the wind. But barely into an open pine woods, I spotted a steaming hot scape right under a tree, that had been gouged and rubbed by a big set of antlers. I found a big half dead tree I could climb up in and settled in for the afternoon.
  By dusk I'd seen 3 does and had a small spike right under the tree. Then about a half an hour before sunset the place exploded. I was on the bottom edge of a brushy field. Does were running in all direction. I grunted and waited for the buck to step out. But nothing followed. I turned my head and looked up the hill, across the field. There stood a massive bright white eight. As he turned to disappear into the woods, I grunted again. He spun, stopped and stared me down. I didn't dare move, peeking through the bow I had propped in the crotch of the tree. I was shaking.  In retrospect I probably should've grunted again, but I didn't. The buck was gone. By sunset Friday I hadn't drawn blood.


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