By Jerry Long, December 13, 2010 

As plans sometimes go, my four-day Wisconsin whitetail weekend hunt went astray.  At least it was for the good this time.  

Hopefully a good sign. 

Here was the plan; load up the truck with everything I needed to hunt whitetails for the eleventh (Veteran’s Day) through the fourteenth of November, 2010.  Prime time to take advantage of the rut.  I’d start on some private property open to public hunting via drawing in southeastern Wisconsin on Thursday morning, travel during mid-day to hunt a “honey-hole” on public property in central Wisconsin for the evening and then make the final drive to Camp Pug for hunting the next three days between its private property and the surrounding county forests. 

As usual, the truck was overflowing with gear and I was excited.  The plan was to get up and get going at 3:45 a.m. for the hour drive to the first property and the long walk in, but I couldn’t sleep and something kept telling me to get going.  So, I was up at 3:00 and out the door.  This turned out to be a good decision as we’ll see in a bit. 

Once there I strapped on the Lone Wolf Alpha Assault with four Lone Wolf climbing sticks attached to a military surplus MOLLE load-carrying rig for easy transport, see Packing It In and Out – Treestands, and grabbed my Bowtech SWAT.  Despite the light from my Energizer LED headlamp, see my review of the Energizer Trailfinder 3 LED Headlight here, I managed to stumble through the same clear cut, hazardously littered with remnants of cedar trees, that I stumbled through last time and swore I’d avoid.  As I crossed down into a harvested bean field I saw headlights on a hill to the south that I knew to be private property.  I supposed it to be someone hunting there.  It was a blazing forty-nine degrees and I was sweating profusely from the half-mile walk by the time I crossed the cat tails and then the marsh grass.  I’ve only made the conversion to rubber boots, Lacrosse Alpha Burley 1500s, this year and they sure came in handy for this last little bit of walk. 

I set up on a high spot in a marsh overlooking a bedding area in the same tree I’d used the morning I took a doe on a nearby property, see Beating the 2009 Whitetail Bust.  Once settled I enjoyed daylight slowly creeping in and took great satisfaction that the wind was steady from the south.  That was good for this stand.   My only regret was that the tree stood between me and the rising sun as it warms both my spirits and my bones.  Geese honked from the north east in the same marsh and I wondered what Outdoors Buddy Seth, a water fowler, was up to. 

At about 7:00 a gray ghost noiselessly crept out of the woods from the southwest and into the marsh.  At first I couldn’t tell if it was a buck or a doe.  Then I saw antler; one antler.  The other appeared to be broken off.  My mind was reeling.  The buck was heading in my direction.  Do I attempt to take the him?  Will I settle for a one-antlered deer?  I have the next three days to hunt.  Rock and Hunt Master aren’t seeing a lot of deer at Camp Pug.  The buck is cautiously ambling closer.  Will I run into pressure at the public property honey hole and again at Camp Pug’s surrounding county forests?  I decide – I will take the buck if given the opportunity.

As I feared he is on a path that presents only a quartering-to shot until he passes my tree and then I’m not sure I can shoot around the tree.  I won’t take a quartering-to shot.  He stops and assesses the situation, then moves forward.  He’s nearly at the base of the tree.  He stops and his sixth sense kicks in.  He turns his head to the left and looks up at me.  I’m motionless except the blinking of my eyes.  We’re no more than eight yards apart.  When I’m this close I try not to look in a deer’s eyes.  He doesn’t like the situation, turns and heads off the trail to the southeast.  I draw.  He sees and makes a couple of quick bounds and stops about 18 yards out.  Bushes block the kill zone.  I am helpless.  He starts to move forward and I bleat a nasally, “gnaahhhhnt.”  He stops and the kill zone is open.  Pin and peep are aligned and I send a 2216 Easton aluminum arrow tipped with a four-blade, 100-grain Magnus Stinger on its way. 

There had been no opportunity for ranging.  I assumed he was between twenty and twenty-five yards.  The yellow and green fletching appear to make a perfect trajectory and then he is gone through the marsh brush.  I hear crashing and then no more noise.  I believe he is down, but I don’t know.  I mentally mark the location of the shot and the last direction I heard noise then settle down for the thirty minute wait.  Five to ten minutes later I hear more noise to my south and southwest.  Believing it to be something moving I grunt with a dustyvarmint woodworks grunt tube.  Nothing shows.

A dustyvarmint woodworks grunt call.

I was sure the shot was a pass through.  Attempts to locate the arrow with my Nikon Monarch ATB 8×42 binoculars were unsuccessful.  At the thirty minute point I’m going crazy.  I packed up and climbed down, taking stand and sticks with me.  After removing my extra layers I slowly walked to the impact location.  My arrow was there, covered in the right color blood from tip to nock.  That was a good start.  The blood was scant and I went slowly, marking the few spots with bits of toilet paper.   Just then I heard a noise behind me. 

There was another hunter walking the same trail the deer had taken.  I thought it safest to hail him as he did not see me squatted down in the brush.  He asked me to join him to avoid damage to the blood trail.  We conversed and I learned he had been the one driving in from the south.  He had permission to access the property from the private property.  His stand was approximately fifty yards away in the hardwoods.  The deer had passed nearly right underneath him and he had heard me bleat and shoot.  I gratefully accepted his offer allowing me to drag the deer up the hill and access that property with my truck vice dragging all the way back to the north.  I did have my deer cart (this time), but the drag through the marsh would be difficult to say the least.  We parted ways and I continued the track. 

In flight the buck had gone over a four foot woven fence and under a top strand of barbed-wire.  There was one fist-size spot of blood on the other side (I ripped my ASAT trousers going over) where I assumed he had body-checked the ground fairly hard.  Then, there was no more blood.  Period.  That feeling was in the pit of my stomach…  There were three likely directions so I began going down each one until I found a fresh track in the mud.  That trail took me to an opening and there he lay in a pool of blood.

At the end of a tough blood trail – a deer.

I looked to the clouds and raised my bow in the air triumphantly, but silently and respectfully for the fallen animal.  I snapped some phone pics to share with friends, called Mrs. dustyvarmint to ask what her weekend plans were, marked the location with a long piece of toilet paper and began the trek back to the truck.   After getting things arranged I cautiously drove onto the southern private property, got my bearings and then found the deer.  

Always curious I inspect the organs to see where the broadhead went and what it hit.  The shot had hit mid-body on the left side at the back of the ribcage, angled down through the bottom of both lungs and the top of the heart and then exited behind the front leg.  The chest cavity was completely full of blood.  Possibly the fat between the chest cavity and leg had blocked the blood from leaking out?  After field dressing and picture taking the real work began.  The deer cart was worthless in the marsh.  I couldn’t scale the woven fence at full height with deer in tow, but thought I could get over a lower broken down section.  No luck.

My 2010 WI whitetail buck – everyday bowhunter success.

More dragging out of my way and a lift over an even shorter section of fence.  Finally, out of the marsh.  I thanked my stars for staying in shape.  The hardwood leaves made for a much easier drag and then I was to the perfectly raked trail the other hunter had made to his stand.  That was fairly easy going.  Then up the hill and to the truck.  Thankfully, friend Gary Martin called to discuss the Archery Trade Association convention which gave me a break.  Finally, a big lift over another fence and then into the overloaded truck and I was on my way thanks to the other hunter.

My carefully laid plans were changed.  I notified Hunt Master that I wouldn’t be coming to Camp Pug and they were on their own for Saturday’s dinner.  I had a deer to cut up.  I wasn’t complaining, just sharing.  It was Veteran’s Day, the first day of a four-day weekend and I’d reached my 2010 hunting whitetail hunting goals.  My plans had definitely changed for the better.

happy hunting, dv 

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