Deer hunting: The equation

A northwest Indiana six pointer.

Deer hunting is two parts sheer will, one part luck (being in the right place at the right time), one part knowledge of deer behavior, one part knowledge of the land you are hunting and one part gun-handling skill. My hunt this fall illustrated this equation.

A work-related trip to sunny Orlando prevented me from hunting opening weekend on Nov. 14 and 15, a strike against me for sure. Most of the deer I have taken have been during that all-important first day of the firearm season. But I didn’t let that detail discourage me. Instead I hoped that the weather forecast would play in my favor: I was planning to hunt Friday, Nov. 20 through Sunday Nov. 22, and the forecast called for a major winter storm to hit Friday night and to last through Saturday. I figured that boded well for my chances on Friday.

The deer--tuned into the natural world in ways we don’t understand--would surely sense this impending storm and be on the move (seeking to feed) ahead of it. And the forecast represented at least a 70 degree temperature change from the previous weekend (it neared 90 in Orlando). I would suffer through it.

Friday, Nov. 20

I climbed into my treestand at 5:30 a.m. that Friday on my family’s 50-acre plot of land (a mix of farm fields, woods, prairie, pond and stream) in northwest Indiana. The weather was cold (upper 20s) and dry, and I was ready. I heard and saw a Great Horned Owl multiple times that morning, and at first light, four does crept from behind me and crossed a creek directly to my left. They fed in the prairie in front of me about 60 yards away. After 15 minutes, they started across the prairie and I quickly lost sight of them as they headed north.

At about 7:30, the flock of Canada geese that had overnighted on the nearby pond took off in a noisy ruckus. For the three days of hunting, about 20 flocks of geese flew overhead, each flock containing at least 6o geese. I know because I had the time to count them.

Soon after, a pair of scrawny coyotes approached in front of me (from the general direction the does had headed) and trotted along the edge of the prairie, only to disappear in the nearby treeline. Some time later, I spotted a third coyote (or maybe it was one of the first?) moving from right to left about 100 yards from me. I stayed in the treestand until 9:30 a.m. after no bucks were spotted.

That afternoon, I sat in the same treestand. At last light, seven does approached from the north and fed in the same general area the does in the morning hit. After I lost sight of them in the dark, around 5:30 p.m., I descended my stand and took the long way around the prairie so as not to spook them.

Day one wildlife total: 11 does (some of them no doubt repeats from morning and evening), three coyotes and a Great Horned Owl. It was the most wildlife I’ve ever spotted in one day, but no bucks.

Saturday, Nov. 21

The storm hit hard about 3 a.m. There was only about an inch of snow when I climbed into the stand at 5:30 a.m., but the temperature was 17 with a wind chill of 7.

I knew I wouldn’t last long being pelted by snow 20 feet in the air, but I dug in and willed myself through it. I managed to stay in the stand for two hours, and with nothing moving, I called it early and headed back to the house to warm up and prepare for a cold afternoon.

I decided not to freeze in the treestand that afternoon, instead choosing to shelter in a ground blind that overlooks the corner of a harvested corn field. Deer travel the edge of this field to go to and from the wood lot to the west and the creek to the east. I kept watch there from 3:30 until sundown. Although dry, I shivered and saw nothing except blowing snow. The deer were hunkered down for the storm, which produced 4-6 inches by nightfall. So far I had spent 10 hours in the stands.

Sunday, Nov. 22

Waking up at 4:15 this morning, I knew it would be my last chance at a buck before heading back to work for a short week, then going into Thanksgiving. If I didn’t get a buck today, I’d be back hunting Wednesday through Sunday of Thanksgiving week. That’s not a popular decision with my family, but they understand my deer hunting obsession and would meet me in deer camp for Thanksgiving dinner if that’s what it would take to be together for the holiday. They get me.

The weather was dry and warmer, but still a brisk 25 degrees. I once again chose the treestand at the southern edge of the prairie, a strategic pinch-point where two creeks merge. I theorized that deer would certainly be on the move after the previous day’s storm. And I knew they were out there because on the way to the stand in the pre-dawn dark, I saw multiple tracks throughout the prairie--a sure sign they had fed that night. Would any still be awake this morning? From sunup (about 6 a.m.) to 9:30, I saw nothing, and headed back inside to rest.

Now, I had an easy decision to make: stay and hunt the afternoon or head home (about 90 miles away) and prepare for work. I chose to stay with thoughts that deer were on the move.

I once again climbed into the treestand, this time at 3 p.m. About 3:15, I heard a hiker approach from behind me, across the creek. He stood 50 feet away, oblivious to my presence above him in the tree. I spoke.

“Hey there, I am deer hunting in this field.”

“So am I,” the teenager said sarcastically, wearing shorts in the below freezing temps and carrying no gun.

I seethed, but held back from saying a few choice words. Instead I remained diplomatic.

“This is private property in front of me, so I’d appreciate it if you headed the other way. There’s no trespassing this way.”

He didn’t reply, but instead sat on a log across the creek directly behind me. He checked his phone and sat for about 10 minutes--just to irk me--then left.

I really thought the rest of the day would be a bust. Surely no deer would approach now, certainly not from behind me. More than an hour passed and it was completely motionless in front of me. I nearly left the stand a half dozen times, but kept an internal argument running in my head. I decided to stay five more minutes, then call it a weekend to head home. I am glad I stayed.

At last light, behind me and to my left, appeared a buck. I noticed immediately that it was limping, favoring a front leg. I didn’t have time to wonder why. I shouldered my Savage 220, centered the sights on the buck about 30 yards away and fired. The deer jumped, twisted in the air, then hit the deck in the marshy grassland by the creek.

It sat there, head raised like a dog, and looked around. I thought I had hit it, and that it just needed time to come to peace with its impending end. It didn’t see me, so I fought the urge to descend the ladder and instead waited it out.

Not 10 minutes later, the buck stood up and began to walk directly back the way it had come. This surprised me--I had missed the easiest shot a hunter could take! A broadside shot at less than 50 yards. I must’ve shot over the deer, as my gun is sighted in to shoot high at targets less than 100 yards away. The buck had merely been waiting for a moment to sneak away. Perhaps without the bum leg, it would have sprinted away directly after I missed that first shot.

I quickly chambered another round (Remington Accutip slug) while it walked directly behind me, not 20 yards away. This time, I didn’t miss and the buck fell stone dead right near where the hiker had sat down on the log and checked his phone. I never thought that would be the spot.

Buck fever (adrenaline rush) was in full effect and darkness soon descended. I knew now that not only would I need to take a personal day for work the next day, but I had a hell of a task in front of me. The work had only begun.

A drop tine

Recovering the buck

Here’s what I had to do to get the buck back to the house for butchering, alone and in the cold and in the dark: I had to drag it across 50 yards of the marshy land it was on and up a hill for another 100 yards. Then, I had to drag it across 150 yards of a corn field to the gravel road where I could load it into the front scoop of a tractor for the rest of the trip. Although only a six-pointer (with a rare drop tine!) it was a big body, bigger than the deer I had taken the year prior.

The layer of fresh snow helped with the dragging, but I still don’t know how I hauled the heavy body up the tree-covered hill. I couldn’t retrieve the body any other way--a creek blocked the other access point. No family members or friends were able to answer the call for help, so self-reliance won out. I’m glad I didn’t have a heart attack.

Monday, Nov. 23

I spent the day butcher the deer and preparing it for the vacuum sealer and the freezer. I noticed no other bullet wounds on the deer’s injured leg so can only guess that it might have been hit by a car. It was a healthy specimen otherwise.

I deposited the carcass in the prairie for the coyotes to fight over. And I thought about the determination, luck, knowledge of deer and the land and finally the skill of hitting that second shot that made the hunt successful. Without all of those working in my favor, it would have been a long Thanksgiving week at the deer camp.

Instead, I was happy to spend that time with my family, retelling the stories about the animals I saw (and the insolent hiker) and planning out the venison meals to be had. Truly, I am thankful for the entire experience.