The First Moose Hunt

I went to point to the story of honorable #2 son’s first deer hunt, and I found that it was missing. I had pictures, but that was it. It was a seminal moment in both our lives, so I felt it bore setting down properly before the details have fully left me. This is going to be another year where the KY Yute Season goes by unobserved. Moose’s daughter, The Mooselette, is just a year or two shy of her first deer hunt. However, she will be coming to camp again this year. She says hunting with Grandpa at the Holloywood stand is her favorite place int he world. However, here is her father’s first Yute Season finally documented.

The whole story began back in June, 2002, when a Marlin 336 in 30-30 followed me home. At the time, I had great plans for that rifle. Chief among them was that I would work up a load for 10 year old Mooseboy to use on his first Yute hunt in October. The rifle fit Mooseboy perfectly. Mooseboy, was studying back then for his Hunter Ed course. I had promised him that he could hunt if he got his card. Mooseboy put his entire being into passing that course in early October. The cards were not due to be mailed until late in the month, but the instructor assured us he would intercede if there was any question. The second weekend in October came and off we went to Deer Camp, just he and I.

The morning hunt was a bit of a frustration for both of us. In those days, I had a buddy-style ladder stand at Heartbreak Ridge. It was a tight fit even back then for the two of us. As usual, Mooseboy promptly fell asleep on the stand. The sleeping was not so much of a problem as was the snoring. Mooseboy had a snore in those days that could wake the dead. We held out until 10 AM without seeing anything, and on the way in, I snapped a couple shots of Mooseboy with the Marlin.

It was warm as we went out for the afternoon hunt. I picked a copse of trees and blackberries overlooking what we now call Garbage Pit. Garbage Pit is a small peninsula with a small sinkhole at the point. Into this depression, generations of the prior owners poured old junk. There is an oak grove surrounding it and in 2004, I placed a stand at the base of the peninsula that has produced several deer over the years. This was our first attempt to hunt the structure. At the point of the peninsula is small island of trees separated from the pit by about 20 yards. I had seen quite a bit of deer sign in and around the peninsula, especially in the bit of pasture that was downhill to the west. I figured we would just hang out in the tall grass with a bit of camo die-cut in front and wait. It was almost summer-like. I settled in and took a short nap. Mooseboy was fidgety.

One of Mooseboy’s perennial problems is patience. It was hard in those days to get him to understand that it was a good idea to go out at 4PM when the deer were not expected until sunset, which was going to be close to 7 PM. The grousing was bitter and constant. By 6:30 Mooseboy was convinced I had dragged him out into the middle of a field for no reason. There were no deer, it was all a cruel trick. I kept reassuring him that the deer would come. He just had to wait. The sun was touching the far ridge when he made up his mind it was hopeless.

“This is ridiculous.” he said. “Let’s go in. There’s not going to be any deer.” He went to stand up.

“Mrrrrrrreeept!” came an anonymous snort from the direction of the garbage pit.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“That was the deer that aren’t there.” I replied. The deer repeated her protest a couple more time and then came the sound of multiple sets of hooves beating a retreat back through the oaks. At this point the hunt seemed over. We had a good laugh and broke down the blind to go it.

Fountain Square is our name for a crossroads on the farm. There are two tracks coming from the South and another track that run over to where we had been hunting on the ridge to the west. Where it all comes together is a confusion of ruts and puddles. It is about a 5 minute walk from Garbage Pit to Fountain Square, and from there you are only a couple hundred yards from the house. We were approaching Fountain Square with Mooseboy. There was a line of big round hay bales, and I thought we would hole up there for a couple of minutes and survey the pastures to the east before going in. The picture from earlier that day shows the view. You can see the steep hillside and the barn up on top of the next ridge that lay a couple hundred yards away.

We came up to the bales and I was just going to step out to see what I could see. The rest happened in a blur. I think Mooseboy saw the herd of a half-dozen doe on the far hillside about the same time I did. My reaction was to turn around to my son to give him my assessment. Mooseboy’s reaction was to run up, mount the Marlin and begin blazing away. There were 5 rounds of 150 grain flat-points loaded. Mooseboy had emptied them and was looking for more by the time I got him corralled. The deer were unfazed. The just picked up their pace and ran over the edge of the hill by the barn and disappeared on the other side. Even forgetting the idea that the kid was trying to shoot offhand at running targets 150 yards out, he was not going to hit anything, because I had loaded the loads light for my young youth. At that distance, the rounds were probably sinking several feet.

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