âThe best laid plans of mice and men often go awry.â â Robert Burns
I have been patiently awaiting the right time to make my maiden quasi-archery hunt. It was difficult to not get all antsy with seeing does from my patio (I swear one of them stuck their tongue out at me) and just go and try to get one in order to test out the crossbow, but I did it.
Lack of scrapes and buck pics on trail cams, other than the few small residents, told me to bide my time and wait it out.
Finally, on 10/19, the first transient buck showed up on camera. It was a terrible picture because the camera auto focused on a closer licking branch, but it was clear enough that I could tell it was one of the ones I had pics of from last rut that caused me to gush enough about it that my wife bought me the crossbow for Christmas.
I walk this area every day with my Pointers, so the deer are accustomed to human scent (and dog scent), so it was no big deal to keep doing that and look for sign.
On 10/20, the first scrape appeared under a crabapple limb. On 10/21, two more appeared forming a line which put my treehouse right in the middle.
On 10/22, I pulled the camera cards and saw no bucks save of a little spike that would not be legal under the very old rules. Then it rained hard.
I stayed out of the area completely with the plan of being in the tree house well before light on Thursday, 10/26.
As I was getting dressed in the basement, my backpack bumped the crossbow which was setting on a table and sent it crashing to the floor. This was not how I wanted to start the day.
Luckily, my basement has room for a 20 yard range and three bolts into the bag proved the fall had caused no damage or loss of zero.
I made it to the treehouse without the use of light and got set up to watch an area where the camera showed the deer were using a travel route from the neighborâs still standing sweet corn field, crossing a creek, the stopping 18 yards away at a licking branch.
In the still darn near dark, darn near light, I thought I could see movement at the edge of the corn, but passed it off as wishful thinking. But maybe not. Pics of does making that trek were consistent with what time it was. It didnât matter, it was too dark anyhow. But the thought was perhaps the transient buck would be on their trail and trying to herd them a bit.
I had not seen my regular does for 2-3 evenings, so something was changing their pattern and I hoped it was a horny buck (pun intended).
As it got light enough to see, I raised the ire of a fox squirrel that wondered what was suddenly occupying his treehouse. It was fun to watch his antics as he tried to get me to move. Finally, frustrated, he scampered away.
As I watched him jump from limb to limb, something caught my eye. Something was not right looking in the corn. I saw it again and realized it was a set of fireplace worthy antlers. I wasnât sure if it was THE buck, but just from what I saw, it was one I would take without hesitation.
The deer stepped out of the corn and into the high grass which runs along the creek on the neighborâs side. I still had not seen anything except that glimpse of huge antlers and parts here and there of deer body. At this point, it was still on the neighborâs side of the creek (he wouldnât mind if I shot it there, but I would). The last place I saw it was 30 yards.
I took the opportunity while it was hidden to rest the crossbow on the treehouse rail, pointed where the deer would cross the creek and stop before needing to climb a slight bank.
All I needed to do was wait.
It seemed like quite a while, but I am sure it was only a minute or two, and I started to see movement in the high grass.
Then it stopped. I could see, couldnât see it, but wondered what held it up. Scent? Movement? Deer just being deer?
Suddenly, it whirled around, made two giant, tail wagging leaps and was gone back into the corn from whence it came.
I got a good look at the antlers and it definitely was THE one. As Bill Murray said in âStripes,â âThen, depression sets in.â
I had no idea what caused it to flee like that. Turn around and walk, sure, but not fly like the wind (which was in my favor).
I caught movement out of the corner of my eye in the corn field. Here was a red pickup truck backing through the rows. It stopped right across from my treehouse and two guys got out and started hacking corn stalks with machetes and tossing them in the bed of the truck, probably for use as Halloween decorations.
It was 7:20. Who gathers corn stalks at that time of the morning?
They never saw me (obviously the buck saw, heard, smelled them) and went about their work for 15 minutes and then left, not knowing what they did.
Bite me, Robert Burns, bite me.
At least I know the buck is in the area and I might get another chance at him in the coming days, but I had visions of the taxidermy man and spending the rest of archery season chasing the Pointers for pheasants.
Oh, the best laid plans.,.