Never Say Never.....a dreamrider hunt
Apr 18, 2020 9:51:25 GMT -5
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Post by p on Apr 18, 2020 9:51:25 GMT -5
NEVER SAY NEVER.
The roar has just started. We call it “the roar” over here, because that’s what our predominant deer species, the Red stag does. Even though our other seven deer species range from pig like grunts, to squeals, bugles, and whistles etc , because the Reds produce huge spine tingling roars that’s what we call it. Anyway like I said the roar started a few days ago. It’s the time of the year where everyone comes out of the woodwork and calls themselves hunters; it’s the time when that age old urge affects all of us hunters and out doors men. Even though we can hunt all through the year, there’s nothing like the primeval thrill of getting in close to a frenzied stag or buck to get the pulse rate rising, stirred by the adrenaline coursing through the body, even 70yrs on I still have to be out there to get my fix.
Dawn two days ago found me in my tree stand, and as I started to distinguish my surroundings in the improving light. I sat there and marveled at the volume of noise the Fallow bucks were producing all around me. I could hear no less than five bucks sounding off at any one time, and sometimes up to eight. All of which were trying to sound the most impressive and therefor most appealing to the does. One in particular sounded very impressive and I had to fight an almost over powering urge to leave my tree stand to seek him out; however that would have been counterproductive as I was not hunting for trophies. I had more of those at home that you could “shake a stick at”. No, I was here to fill the freezer and a scrubby buck that needed culling was my main objective, although I would not say no to a nice juicy doe or spiker.
The dawn light slowly gained strength and just before the sun started to peep over the horizon, I spotted movement on the game trail my tree stand was overlooking. Three does and their half grown fawns came ambling along without a care in the world. Just as they drew near they started to forage, delicately nibbling fresh young shoots having a last “top up” before heading for their bedding area. I watch in delight as they spread out only a few feet from my stand. One fawn came right up to the foot of the ladder and with a quizzical look on its young innocent face peered straight up at me. It looked away then straight back up at me again before satisfying itself there was no danger (how little it knew). One doe looked to be a nice young fat one, ideal for the freezer. But I held off hoping that a young buck would come in to check them out. After a wonderful fifteen minutes they wandered off down the game trail, leaving me ruing a missed opportunity but feeling at peace with myself.
Time passed and I was starting to think “that was my lot for the morning” when a nice young spiker came down the same trail. Bow in hand I thought to myself “this one is mine if he stops”. Right on cue he stopped and started sniffing the ground where the does had grazed only feet from my stand presenting a perfect shot. I again held off thinking that a buck may not be far behind him, but there wasn’t and once again I sat there ruing another missed opportunity as he disappeared down the trail. The sun was well up by this time and the bucks were starting to fall silent. Greed had cost me the loss of two perfect shot opportunities. However I stayed put, you just never know when a young “hopeful” is going to come by looking for a likely doe.
Finally I was at the point where I was starting to pack up, when I heard a twig break behind me. Slowly turning my head towards the sound I spotted a young spiker making his way around to my left. He was acting very alert and may have caught a little of my scent and was confused where it had come from. At thirty yards I decided this was my last chance for a shot. Slowly raising my bow I centered the thirty yard pin on his shoulder and let the shot go, only to watch him hunch down, at the same time lunging forward at the sound of the shot. The arrow appeared to touch him well back and high on the back and disappeared into the bush without the slightest hint of slowing down. Aah well another Easton pro hunter shaft, tipped with a slick trick magnum donated to the hunting gods. But what about the spiker I hear you ask? Well as I sat there in the stand I knew that I would never find him as the wound was only superficial, and in my experienced opinion would heal up in a few days. No he will never be found, almost a waste of time even looking. As I sat up there I was mentally kicking myself for passing up the easy shots and ending up taking the most difficult shot of the morning.
Half an hour later all packed up and on the ground I thought I had better go and have look at where he had been standing. I was convinced there would be no blood and sure enough there wasn’t. I could clearly see where he had lunged forward, and then had spun around before heading down hill. His hasty departure had created huge holes in the pine needles that were lying in a thick carpet on the ground. I half-heartedly followed these tracks for fifteen feet without any sign of blood. But there, right beside one of the skid marks was a small sign of blood. What puzzled me though, was it looked like the blood had been scattered over a small area and even more surprising it was not spotted patches like I would expect from a flesh wound. Looking down the slope I could clearly see where he had made a mad dash and in his haste had really torn up the carpet of pine needles, and there not five feet away was another patch of sprayed blood. As I stood there it slowly dawned on me, this spiker was hard hit. How could this be when I had clearly seen my arrow hit way to high? I started marking the blood patches with small squares of toilet paper, but soon abandoned this as the further down the pine covered slope I went the heavier the blood trail became, so much so a blind man could have followed it.
He had only gone a hundred and fifty yard down a steep slope before piling up in a huge pool of blood. I still could not believe what I was seeing. I have hunted for many years and take great pride in calling my shots and I had been absolutely positive that this was never going to be a killing shot. Field dressing him out showed where the Slick Trick had cut a huge hole right through the fillet steaks and had severed the main artery. What a mess in there, the damage had been unbelievable. Thinking back, I had been so certain I had only made a flesh wound I almost did not bother to check for blood. The more I hunt, the more I learn. “Always” I mean always, follow up on a shot no matter what. It just goes to prove “Never say Never”
Making a small detour while walking out to collect my 4X4 I headed to where I thought the Buck that had been making the most noise all morning would be. He was a huge black Buck with massive antlers and enormous spread. He was obviously the dominant buck in the area and had a herd of forty does around him. I quietly saluted him and wished him luck to help survive the season, and moved on feeling the richer for having seen him.
After depositing my spiker in the farm chiller, I decided to head out to a secluded corner of the farm where I was sure a scrubby buck had taken up residency. If I could get close enough he was also going to end up in my freezer. Easing myself into the thick scrub I made my way to a small spur, ideal for glassing the area. After a few minutes I had spotted a doe on a ridge approx. 180 yards away. Well I thought to myself where there is one, there must be more, so I settled in for a comfortable sit and spotting session. It took me another ten minutes to spot a large spiker lying in the long grass on the same ridge. All I could see of him was a shiny spike on the top of his head and one black eye between the small tree trunks. This was looking very promising, although I had not seen the buck, I had no doubt he was there somewhere hidden in the long grass. I started planning a stalk, it was not going to be easy but I felt sure if I removed my boots and stalked in just wearing my thick socks I could get in close. I was just starting to remove my boots when I glanced down to my right. There, not forty yards away was a half grown fawn asleep, and just a few feet away was the mother also asleep. I had been there for forty five minutes and hadn’t seen them. Twisting my body further around I really started to study that area of very dense bush. There, was that an ear twitching? Yes and there was its owner and right beside it was another one. Over the next ten minutes I located four more. Just how many more were hidden in the thick bush I had no idea.
As much as I enjoy hunting from a tree stand, I absolutely love getting right into the bush spotting and stalking. I am always in absolute awe how these deer can disappear then materialize right in front of my eyes. I had somehow managed to place myself right in the center of a herd without knowing it. It was only the fact that I had sat there unmoving for the best part of an hour which allowed me to watch them at such close range without them knowing I was there. Well, I thought this alters things dramatically. I would never get through this lot without being spotted. So I decided to pull back out and leave them undisturbed. Heading to the 4X4 I reflected back to the morning and to this recent experience. I guess there are times when its right to say, Never say Never. But there are also times to say, It aint Never going to happen no matter what I do.
Over the next couple of weeks I am going to be out there getting my hunting fix as often as I can. My only regret will be the absence of a couple of North American friends who never turned up. However there will be another roar next year. Never say Never.
Written by Ray Scott (Dream Rider)
.
The roar has just started. We call it “the roar” over here, because that’s what our predominant deer species, the Red stag does. Even though our other seven deer species range from pig like grunts, to squeals, bugles, and whistles etc , because the Reds produce huge spine tingling roars that’s what we call it. Anyway like I said the roar started a few days ago. It’s the time of the year where everyone comes out of the woodwork and calls themselves hunters; it’s the time when that age old urge affects all of us hunters and out doors men. Even though we can hunt all through the year, there’s nothing like the primeval thrill of getting in close to a frenzied stag or buck to get the pulse rate rising, stirred by the adrenaline coursing through the body, even 70yrs on I still have to be out there to get my fix.
Dawn two days ago found me in my tree stand, and as I started to distinguish my surroundings in the improving light. I sat there and marveled at the volume of noise the Fallow bucks were producing all around me. I could hear no less than five bucks sounding off at any one time, and sometimes up to eight. All of which were trying to sound the most impressive and therefor most appealing to the does. One in particular sounded very impressive and I had to fight an almost over powering urge to leave my tree stand to seek him out; however that would have been counterproductive as I was not hunting for trophies. I had more of those at home that you could “shake a stick at”. No, I was here to fill the freezer and a scrubby buck that needed culling was my main objective, although I would not say no to a nice juicy doe or spiker.
The dawn light slowly gained strength and just before the sun started to peep over the horizon, I spotted movement on the game trail my tree stand was overlooking. Three does and their half grown fawns came ambling along without a care in the world. Just as they drew near they started to forage, delicately nibbling fresh young shoots having a last “top up” before heading for their bedding area. I watch in delight as they spread out only a few feet from my stand. One fawn came right up to the foot of the ladder and with a quizzical look on its young innocent face peered straight up at me. It looked away then straight back up at me again before satisfying itself there was no danger (how little it knew). One doe looked to be a nice young fat one, ideal for the freezer. But I held off hoping that a young buck would come in to check them out. After a wonderful fifteen minutes they wandered off down the game trail, leaving me ruing a missed opportunity but feeling at peace with myself.
Time passed and I was starting to think “that was my lot for the morning” when a nice young spiker came down the same trail. Bow in hand I thought to myself “this one is mine if he stops”. Right on cue he stopped and started sniffing the ground where the does had grazed only feet from my stand presenting a perfect shot. I again held off thinking that a buck may not be far behind him, but there wasn’t and once again I sat there ruing another missed opportunity as he disappeared down the trail. The sun was well up by this time and the bucks were starting to fall silent. Greed had cost me the loss of two perfect shot opportunities. However I stayed put, you just never know when a young “hopeful” is going to come by looking for a likely doe.
Finally I was at the point where I was starting to pack up, when I heard a twig break behind me. Slowly turning my head towards the sound I spotted a young spiker making his way around to my left. He was acting very alert and may have caught a little of my scent and was confused where it had come from. At thirty yards I decided this was my last chance for a shot. Slowly raising my bow I centered the thirty yard pin on his shoulder and let the shot go, only to watch him hunch down, at the same time lunging forward at the sound of the shot. The arrow appeared to touch him well back and high on the back and disappeared into the bush without the slightest hint of slowing down. Aah well another Easton pro hunter shaft, tipped with a slick trick magnum donated to the hunting gods. But what about the spiker I hear you ask? Well as I sat there in the stand I knew that I would never find him as the wound was only superficial, and in my experienced opinion would heal up in a few days. No he will never be found, almost a waste of time even looking. As I sat up there I was mentally kicking myself for passing up the easy shots and ending up taking the most difficult shot of the morning.
Half an hour later all packed up and on the ground I thought I had better go and have look at where he had been standing. I was convinced there would be no blood and sure enough there wasn’t. I could clearly see where he had lunged forward, and then had spun around before heading down hill. His hasty departure had created huge holes in the pine needles that were lying in a thick carpet on the ground. I half-heartedly followed these tracks for fifteen feet without any sign of blood. But there, right beside one of the skid marks was a small sign of blood. What puzzled me though, was it looked like the blood had been scattered over a small area and even more surprising it was not spotted patches like I would expect from a flesh wound. Looking down the slope I could clearly see where he had made a mad dash and in his haste had really torn up the carpet of pine needles, and there not five feet away was another patch of sprayed blood. As I stood there it slowly dawned on me, this spiker was hard hit. How could this be when I had clearly seen my arrow hit way to high? I started marking the blood patches with small squares of toilet paper, but soon abandoned this as the further down the pine covered slope I went the heavier the blood trail became, so much so a blind man could have followed it.
He had only gone a hundred and fifty yard down a steep slope before piling up in a huge pool of blood. I still could not believe what I was seeing. I have hunted for many years and take great pride in calling my shots and I had been absolutely positive that this was never going to be a killing shot. Field dressing him out showed where the Slick Trick had cut a huge hole right through the fillet steaks and had severed the main artery. What a mess in there, the damage had been unbelievable. Thinking back, I had been so certain I had only made a flesh wound I almost did not bother to check for blood. The more I hunt, the more I learn. “Always” I mean always, follow up on a shot no matter what. It just goes to prove “Never say Never”
Making a small detour while walking out to collect my 4X4 I headed to where I thought the Buck that had been making the most noise all morning would be. He was a huge black Buck with massive antlers and enormous spread. He was obviously the dominant buck in the area and had a herd of forty does around him. I quietly saluted him and wished him luck to help survive the season, and moved on feeling the richer for having seen him.
After depositing my spiker in the farm chiller, I decided to head out to a secluded corner of the farm where I was sure a scrubby buck had taken up residency. If I could get close enough he was also going to end up in my freezer. Easing myself into the thick scrub I made my way to a small spur, ideal for glassing the area. After a few minutes I had spotted a doe on a ridge approx. 180 yards away. Well I thought to myself where there is one, there must be more, so I settled in for a comfortable sit and spotting session. It took me another ten minutes to spot a large spiker lying in the long grass on the same ridge. All I could see of him was a shiny spike on the top of his head and one black eye between the small tree trunks. This was looking very promising, although I had not seen the buck, I had no doubt he was there somewhere hidden in the long grass. I started planning a stalk, it was not going to be easy but I felt sure if I removed my boots and stalked in just wearing my thick socks I could get in close. I was just starting to remove my boots when I glanced down to my right. There, not forty yards away was a half grown fawn asleep, and just a few feet away was the mother also asleep. I had been there for forty five minutes and hadn’t seen them. Twisting my body further around I really started to study that area of very dense bush. There, was that an ear twitching? Yes and there was its owner and right beside it was another one. Over the next ten minutes I located four more. Just how many more were hidden in the thick bush I had no idea.
As much as I enjoy hunting from a tree stand, I absolutely love getting right into the bush spotting and stalking. I am always in absolute awe how these deer can disappear then materialize right in front of my eyes. I had somehow managed to place myself right in the center of a herd without knowing it. It was only the fact that I had sat there unmoving for the best part of an hour which allowed me to watch them at such close range without them knowing I was there. Well, I thought this alters things dramatically. I would never get through this lot without being spotted. So I decided to pull back out and leave them undisturbed. Heading to the 4X4 I reflected back to the morning and to this recent experience. I guess there are times when its right to say, Never say Never. But there are also times to say, It aint Never going to happen no matter what I do.
Over the next couple of weeks I am going to be out there getting my hunting fix as often as I can. My only regret will be the absence of a couple of North American friends who never turned up. However there will be another roar next year. Never say Never.
Written by Ray Scott (Dream Rider)
.
