Walk Softly and Carry a 300

Walk Softly and Carry a 300

Nov. 30th, 2019

 

 Jeff dropped off at the gas line where he had seen doe the day before while hunting turkey. I continued a bit further and then turned right heading up the hill. Walking on the crisp morning leaves was as noisy as walking on corn flakes 3 fold. I swear the forest animals could hear me a ½ mile away in the darkness. I continued on until I found the orange ribbon marker around a tree trunk. From there I took a compass reading and followed the direction I had hoped to bring me to the spot I wanted to stand that I checked out the day before. Even if I didn’t find the couple of trees I’ve hunted this area before so I knew I’d be in the vicinity.

  I supposed I was on the second bench from the top when I decided to find a place to make a stand for the morning. It was getting light enough that I was able to see clearings in the forest so I found a tree, scraped the fallen leaves from the base, and made my stand. This is when I realized I had lost my belt hanging bottle holder. I still had another bottle in my fanny pack but I was sure going to miss the holder.

  The woods was deathly quiet with no wind to speak of. There was just enough light to make out tree formations and unknown objects. It reminded me of a Thursday evening just before Stations of the Cross. There would be enough moonlight filtering through the stained glass windows into the dark empty church that the pews and statues were obstacles to avoid walking into though no defined features were visible. The only thing missing was the scent of the burning waxed candles.

  The sun was to come up on the backside of the mountain. When it did get light enough to see any distance, the already chill in the morning air got colder. After searching my surroundings I took off my orange parka and brown button down and put on a sweat shirt. I buttoned up the brown shirt over top and wrapped the scarf around my neck and zippered up my parka. I felt as snug as a bug in the upright position.

  Until ten o’clock I hadn’t seen or heard anything near by to get me too excited. I saw one hunter moving up the mountain side and heard some rustling in the distance but nothing I could get an eyeball on. I had heard a couple of shots that seamed to come from Jeff’s direction that I was thinking maybe Jeff got a buck.

  A little after 10 I felt as if the deer weren’t going to find me so I’ll have to search for them, crunchy, noisy forest floor or not. I made a semi-circle on the hillside and then dropped down to the gas line to see if Jeff got a buck. He said it wasn’t him who shot and the only deer he had seen was a few that were sneaking through some brush quite a distance away. He couldn’t get any good looks at them. I told him I was going to retrace my steps in the morning and see if I could locate my water bottle. From there I was going to probably still hunt the hillside and maybe end up down to the road near the bridge at the end of the fire trail that ran across the top of the mountain.

  I hadn’t found my water bottle by the time I got to where I was standing in the morning. From there I climbed to the next bench, still hunting, moving as softly as possible. I’d stop for 10 to 15 minute intervals to search in front of me before moving on. The dried leaves that covered the forest floor were still crunchy and the hidden sticks beneath sounded like a half empty plastic water bottle crinkling and snapping when you grip it in your hands. I kept my ears tuned to any changes in the natural quietness of the forest and my eyes open for any sudden movement.

  While still hunting across the mountain side I caught glimpses of a couple of gray squirrels and a deer running too far off to get a good view of. I watched chipmunks appear and disappear under the leaves and fallen timber about. Pine squirrels were most abundant as they scurried up and down trees, along pine boughs and tree branches giving some lively activity to the calm day around me.

  It took some time but I finally came to the fire trail a bench down from the top. It was a bit quieter on the fire trail being it was well used and softer underfoot. I still took my time a few feet at a time, stopping and peering into the forest as my ears stayed tuned to the noises around me. There was a bit of a breeze now and again that fluttered and rustled the tan colored beech leaves that still clung to their young trees.

  For the past three years I had spotted a buck in the vicinity I was now in while turkey and squirrel hunting. I hunted pretty hard in this area last season but never came across him. I wondered whether he would be still around this year but I’ll never know….or would I?

  Looking down the left side of the fire trail was thick with downed trees and brush. A batch of young beech trees, with leaves, were clustered together before opening up further on into open forest of scattered trees and pines. There was only about 50 yards of visibility to my left of flat land before the forest dropped down the mountainside. It was a steep drop and I wanted to avoid that at all costs.

  I slowly made my way a few yards to my right, off the fire trail, and leaned against a half rotten, weathered standing tree trunk. I could see well over 200 yards in spots. If I should get a buck on this side of the mountain would be fine because this side drops down to the road eventually and it’s all down hill.

  There’s always a dull quietness in the woods just after you stop walking and stand still for about 5 minutes or so. It’s as if the wildlife heard you coming and appear to be nonexistent till you pass by or are quiet for a period of time.

  Soon chipmunks started to appear and disappear. Pine squirrels scurried along branches and chirped noisily on occasion. Small Chickadee's soon flew about as if on a scavenger hunt for seeds and edibles among the small bushes, saplings and on the forest floor. As I always said, and most hunters would agree, it’s just not all about the deer!

  While standing there I heard a little commotion on the other side of the fire trail but didn’t get too excited. The forest seemed to come to life with the few small four leggers scurrying about and with the Chickadees and slight breeze rattling the beech leaves it didn’t sound like any deer walking through. I did glance over to the other side now and then just to make sure.

  Woodpeckers started to knock at hollow standing trees in rapid succession like a scared teenager, in a horror flick, slamming the door knocker repeatedly on a vacant house for help. I'm sure the sound carried for miles.

  I suppose it was about 15 minutes or so when I decided to head down the fire trail a little further to where I came across a buck a year ago while hunting turkeys. As quiet as I could I made my way to the fire trail and only took a couple of soft steps down the trail when I heard rustling within the cluster of the leafy beech trees on the far side of the trail. I had a good feeling this wasn’t any anxious squirrel! I raised my 300 Savage on the ready and stood motionless waiting. A deer popped out of the beech trees broadside and began that wary gait. Not quite a run or a walk. Almost like a slow trot knowing something is wrong but not knowing where. It was immediately that I saw his white tines above his head and I brought the rifle up easily against my shoulder. My right eye moved behind the scope and I moved the rifle till the cross hairs were behind the moving bucks shoulder. I whispered “goodbye” under my breath and pulled the trigger. The 300 Savage boomed breaking the tranquil calm forest. The buck flinched in a crouched bent knee position but didn’t fall. He stood momentarily as if he had a sudden stomach ache or sudden abdominal pain. Unconsciously I had already chambered another round in the lever action should I need it as I stood and stared at the buck. I knew I couldn’t of missed being only about 35 yards tops. He turned away from me and walked crippled legged before falling to his belly, head up, motionless. A doe popped out of the beech trees in the same manner and stopped just short of the fallen buck with her ears searching for another sound. The buck was frozen as if in a daze wondering what just happened. Now I made a mistake.

  The hillside was only about 20 yards from where the buck laid on its belly. I took a few steps off the trail into the woods towards him. The doe turned its head and took off over the crest of the hill. I figured the buck was down for good and not going to get up. Wrong! He raised up on all fours and unsteadily headed for the hillside. In no way I wanted him to reach the crest of the hill and drop down the other side. I raised the 300, targeted his left shoulder and again the 300 broke the silence. The buck fell and shimmied its way to the crest only being stopped by a 6” in diameter tree limb that ran parallel with the crest of the hill. I stood motionless not wanting him to get spooked and go any further. He laid with his head half raised for a few seconds and then managed enough energy to kick his rear legs which toppled him over the limb. I could hear the rustling of leaves on the other side as he descended down the slope.

  Quietly but hurriedly I moved to where I last seen the buck but didn’t get close enough to the edge to look down over the hill. I could still hear some rustling in the leaves below. I was hoping he didn’t continue on to the bottom. The slope is quite steep and getting out from the bottom was going to be questionable.

  After hearing a few gasping grunts I quietly moved to the edge and looked down the hill. He had came to rest against 2 tall trees keeping him from rolling down the hill any further. The rustled, upturned blood stained leaves told the story of the path that lead to him. I cautiously made my way down to the buck. I took off my orange parka and put it over the muzzle of the rifle that I then leaned up against a tree. I took off my brown button down and put that in the back pouch of the Parka. My orange HD t-shirt and orange Jones cap would keep me identified as a hunter for all to see. I looked at my watch and it was 2:15.  I unsheathed my knife and the working part of the hunt begins. 

  Field dressing a deer on a slope isn’t an easy or neat task. Not that field dressing a deer is easy to begin with but on a slope it is much more time consuming and awkward.

  They say the shortest distance between two points is a straight line. That might be true but it’s not always going to be the quickest or easiest way. I looked up the slope of about 15 yards or so. I grabbed the buck by the antler with one hand and dug the side of my boots into the slope and tugged upwards on the deer. With all my strength I took another try or two and advanced up the slope. My heart was now racing and my face felt beat red. I looked back and the tail end of the deer was only about 5 feet from the gut pile. This wasn’t going to work going straight up the slope.

  I never considered myself one of the strongest 62 year olds or even in the top 50%. I'm not in the greatest of shape to speak of but I can hold my own when needed. I’m not very much overweight, meaning my belly doesn’t hang over my belt, but trying to tug this deer straight up the slope isn’t something I should attempt to do even if I thought I could.

  Still keeping a good hold on the antlers, for fear it might roll down the slope, I looked for another way of getting the buck to the top. I spotted a downward narrow path that angled its way to the top. I dug my boots in the earth and again started dragging the deer to the crest. Each boot digging foot hold, each knee straightening, leg forcing tug was a chore. Each tensed arm pulling muscling the buck upwards was strenuous and aching. By the time I got the buck over the crest of the slope and on flat ground I was pretty much tuckered out. My heart was pounding through my 3 layers of sweat dampened shirts. My knees were weak and ready to collapse. I put my hands on my knees gasping for breath. I could feel a cool breeze swipe across my sweated forehead. My head was pounding and I ached to relax. Maybe 5 minutes or so I rested before I overcame the strenuous chore.

  I walked back down the hill and removed the liver from the gut pile and placed it in an over-sized zip lock bag. I clipped my fanny pack around my waist, grabbed my rifle and coat and climbed up the slope for the last time. The drag to the fire trail was only about 15 yards or so. Once I made it to the fire trail it was mostly all down hill. It was a long way to the bottom but I had lots of time before dark and being down hill shouldn't be that strenuous. I put the rope around Clyde’s rack, the buck, and I descended down the hill with him in tow.
Once at the bottom it was another 100 yards of mostly flat, muddy, stony, branch ridden old ATV trail that lead to the road. I could have left Clyde along the trail and waited for Jeff to help me along but once I start something I aim to finish the job and I considered it wasn’t finished till I got Clyde to the road.

  It was just about dark when Jeff showed up with the truck. We lifted the buck on the cargo carrier and headed to camp. Jeff hadn’t seen anything to shoot at. 
 I stuck around till Wednesday morning trying to push a buck to Jeff on Monday and Tuesday but it didn’t happen. Wednesday I loaded up my gear and got Clyde in the bed of the truck.It was time to take him home.

  So what if it was 8:00 in the morning. A rewarding cigar was in order for the ride home.

 

~doubletaper