Stories to Remember

I was recently sitting in my basement room and came to a startling realization. In this room (which my wife calls my “man cave”) I have many items hanging on the walls and setting on shelves. Included are prints, photos, guns, guitars and other items of interest and nostalgia. There is one area on one wall where I have antlers hanging of the bigger bucks I have shot in my last 20 years of deer hunting in Wisconsin. It was while reminiscing about these antlers that I came to a surprising awareness.

Every antler hanging on the wall triggers a story in my brain: “That one was the one I took over across the railroad tracks, that one was the one by the Blueberry Swamp”, etc. To my great alarm there was one antler, however, of which I couldn't remember the story! I had to think for a few minutes before I remembered that the one on the top, left was the bedded down deer shot in the plateau near the pines.

This episode brought me to the renewed understanding that time clouds the memory even as age slows down the synapses between the brain cells. I then and there decided that I had better write these hunting stories down if I expected to save them.

One of the things that I appreciate the most about hunting are the stories which hunting creates after the fact. I love to hear hunting stories and I love to tell hunting stories! The following is my attempt to save these stories for myself and for anyone else who might give a hoot. If you are one of those, enjoy.

Wayne

(And, by the way, you may click on any picture to enlarge it.)

The Outhouse Deer. 2013

The Outhouse Deer. 2013.

This story, unlike all my other buck stories, takes place in Minnesota rather than Wisconsin. My friend, Tim, had acquired his father's country property near Isanti, MN the past summer and had invited me to help him get back into deer hunting. He hadn't deer hunted for a couple of decades and was hoping I'd at least give him some pointers, maybe even hunt with him. I had spent enough time on this property to know that there were many, many deer and our chances of going home with venison was very, very good. I, of course, said yes immediately.

So, with the invite and the excited acceptance we were now in planning mode. I checked the DNR regs and found out that “Tim's Country Estate” (TCE) was in the slug zone of MN. This would be something new for me, although I've deer hunted for over 20 years I had never been required to restrict my firearm to a slug gun. Though I have many shotguns in my gun cabinet, never once had I fired a slug through any of them. With no rifled barrel and with no sights to adjust this was going to be interesting.  A bit like throwing rocks, I think.  The first thing would be to choose our weapons, buy some ammo and see where they might end up on a target. We scheduled a sight-in day and got started. I chose an old bolt action 16 ga while Tim was sure he wanted to try an old side-by-side double barrel handed down to him from his Grandfather. I was sure you couldn't deer hunt with such a gun but he was determined to try it. I also provided our third hunter, Skip, with a semi-auto 12 ga.. The long and short of the story is that my gun was consistently 8” low at 25 yards, Skip's was 2” low and Tim's was right on the money. Who woulda figured!

The other part of our preparation to hunt TCE was to determine where we would hide to try and way lay some deer. I had noticed a major trail down by the river, just east of the house. We brushed in an area between some trees near there where Skip would put his chair. Another site was set up on the ground at the opposite, west end of the property,. Tim would sit there. But the piece de resistance would be the stand Tim built on top of the outhouse. This outhouse was no ordinary rickety plywood structure but is the embodiment of the proverbial brick (blank) house. Made of concrete block and roof trusses this turned into a very sturdy deer stand of treated wood and a railing. Tim had also sheathed it with rough-sawn slabs and tied a ladder to it for access. We were set, everyone had a place to hunt and everybody had a gun, albeit not very accurate ones.

Opening morning came two weeks later and we were ready to go. After breakfast we each found our way to our respective stands. Skip and I easily since they were so close to the house. Tim had a bit more difficulty in the dark since he was actually out in the woods and not in the yard. But we each finally settled in and waited for legal hunting hour.

I was very comfortable up on the roof of the outhouse. The weather was mild and the little south wind was blocked by the half walls of the stand. A half hour after opening bell, right at sunrise, I saw movement to the south. I could see a buck heading into some brush there and would probably come out right in front of me. I got my shotgun up and was ready for him when he stepped into the shooting lane, about 30 yards out. I remembered my site-in lesson and aimed at the top of his back, 8” high. The shot him him hard right through his chest. He turned and slowly started moving away from me. I knew he wouldn't go far but since he gave me another clear shot I took it. This time aiming at the top of his head and the slug hit him right in the spine which put him down and out. It was a young 8 point basket rack. Nice deer, thank the Lord.

That afternoon we all went back into the city for a wedding of a daughter of a previous pastor of ours. We had a good evening of reminiscing with old friends. The next morning Tim shot a nice doe and Skip got the big brother of my buck from the outhouse stand. A massive bodied 8 pointer, his first buck and a nice one. Since we all had venison we decided to clean up and go to a local church. That afternoon I sat in the far south west corner of TCE to try and harvest another doe but none showed up where I sat. Tim saw one while doing yard work but, of course, had no gun in hand.

All in all, we had a great weekend. Good friends, good hunting, venison in the freezer. Thanks for the invite, Tim!

The Last Minute Buck. 2011

On this particular opening weekend we weren't seeing very many deer. Skip had shot a young doe but the rest of us (David, Mike and I ) not so much. Now it was Sunday afternoon, I had spent all day in the Blueberry Swamp Stand (east side) and I was scheduled to go back to work the next day. It kept going through my mind what my work schedule was for the coming week and whether I should postpone work obligations and stay another day at deer camp or just come back the weekend after Thanksgiving and try again. The decisions were not easy to come by but fortunately I didn't have to make the choice:

About ½ hour before sunset I saw a deer moving down by the swamp, about 80 yards down the hill. I noticed antlers and that they weren't large or numerous. However, seeing that we had so little venison this weekend I wasn't going to be particularly picky. I confess, I was in the “if it's brown it's down” mode. If I had seen this same buck early on Saturday morning I probably would have passed on him but on Sunday end-of-day, I was not hesitating.

The buck was walking at a moderate rate from right to left, north to south and I started shooting. The first shot was through some brush and just hurried the buck a bit. The second shot was the same as was the third. My fourth shot was taken when the deer was finally in a clear shooting lane (which I probably should have waited for in the first place) and I finally connected. I could tell I hit him well as he disappeared from sight. I figured he went down and after my self imposed wait of 20 minutes I climbed down to investigate.

He was lying about 20 feet from where I hit him and very much dead. Only one hole in him, by the way. A young six pointer with one broken off point (I wonder how that happened?!). Not a trophy but a provision from God for which I was very grateful.