If I had to give you the ideal Rifle Season. It would include a buck on Opening Weekend, two weeks of enjoying a prolonged autumn, and a doe taken on the last Saturday, sized just right to fit in the freezer. The rest of the camp has mostly the same thing happen. Enough goes on the pole on The Opener that everyone feels relaxed about the approach of the end.

That was everything this season wasn’t. Moose walked out with nothing. Folically Challenged got zilched as well for three days’ effort. His only success was the 10 lbs of pork barbeque he brought. That was a work of art. Three deer for five guys was horribly unsatisfying. I’ll go into a better discussion of all that later. For now, I’ll stick with the last final example of how this was a vexed season. Yes, I got a buck.

This final weekend of the season started ominously. We’d had Thunderstorms and toad-strangling rain earlier in the week. I’d gone home to rest and came back Friday ahead of a forecast of 18 more hours of heavy rain. When I got to camp, it had just started to drizzle. I figured the road out to Midway would still be firm enough, so as soon as I hit the door, I was back out with my gear and made the run out to the blind. It was a little slippy on the way back. I knew that was going to be the last trip off-road we would make in the truck that weekend.

Moose showed up after dinner. He was the only one coming. It rained until the alarm went off at 0430 the next morning, but stopped shortly thereafter. So began more of the same long, fruitless sits we’ve been having all season.

I’ve mentioned before: There is an uncanny sameness to what goes on at Midway. Nothing happens until about 0900, and then a buck will appear out in the middle of the field, and either stand broadside in the middle of the field, or walk across slow enough to get a shot. I had had this happen earlier in the season. The buck Supercore went on to nail at Jagendehutte, having pulled this stunt over the Opener. At the time, I was gunning for something bigger. Nothing had happened on the Saturday morning sit. I’d switched over to the Hollywood tower in the evening, and that had been equally fruitless. I was now back at Midway for a final sit before admitting defeat.

I had just started Gene Krantz’s memoir:

I’d made it up to the end of the Mercury Program in ’63. It was 0845. I put the book down, stood up, stretched, and then poured myself some coffee. Just as I was putting the cup down, I looked out in the field. A buck had come out of the small nub of a peninsula that marks the beginning of The Garden of Stone. He was not in the mood for lingering, and as I picked up the rifle and poked it out the window, he was already making his way into the center of the field. I grunted to him. He stopped. I put the crosshairs just where I wanted and squeezed. I saw the round kick up the dew in the field on the other side.

The reaction of the buck was panic. Other rifles, other rounds? Some produce surprises. My Ruger Hawkeye in 30-06 has been dropping deer in their tracks for 11 years. The 150 grain Hornady IL SP load about the same, and 30-06 in general? Deer never run. This buck ran. He ran for the far end of the field, changed his mind, ran a full circle around the field in a clockwise direction, and then reversed himself and ran back the way he came. He exited through the same path in the peninsula through which he arrived.

I’m now 3+ years past Chemo. I’m feeling better every month, but I’m still not up to dealing with a goat rodeo. The only thing missing from this one was a clown wearing a barrel. My chief limitation in this situation is the neuropathy in my feet. I’m okay on flat open ground, but I still have a problem navigating in the woods. There has been progress. I was able to stand for over half an hour earlier in the month. I was able to follow SuperCore down into Dead Skunk Hollow and make it out again. These are significant milestones. This gig? I was praying that I’d find the buck piled up in the grass before the fenceline. I didn’t. I radioed Moose. He was out on the ATV within minutes. I had meanwhile made it into the woods. The ravine at Left Leg Creek, over which I was now looking, is not as steep as most on the property. However, I had no idea of the state of the deer. I had to make this hike with the rifle at port arms, locked and loaded.

Moose arrived. Moose assessed things. He went about halfway down the ravine and looked for sign. I paralleled him about twenty yards from the fenceline, where it wasn’t as steep. I found a silver dollar-sized dollop of blood on a sapling within a few yards. At almost the same time, Moose found the buck.

Moose drove back to camp and grabbed some rope and a chain. He scoped out a path with the ATV, got down to the level of the carcass, and then hauled it out. I had to be a bystander on this one. After the buck was back up in the field, Moose walked back to the cabin and got the tractor. I cleaned up Midway and then met him back out to load the deer. Altogether, the recovery had lasted two hours. Add another half-hour for gutting, etc. I was out to the processor by Noon.

The buck was about 170 lbs. He was shot at 100 yards with a Ruger Hawkeye All-Weather in 30-06. The load was 150-grain Hornady IL SP over H4895. Both lungs had big holes in them, but I just missed the top of the heart. I just feel lucky he spent most of his remaining life running circles in the field. If he’d spent all that in the woods, he’d have been off the property by the time he succumbed.

Local conditions at 0855 ET: Clear. Temp: 41F. Winds: West @ 7 MPH. BarometerL: 29.20 Rising

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