The Shaman Bags an 8-Pointer in KY Rifle
One last little coda in all this: when I went to retrieve the rest of my gear back at the stand, the doe that had been hanging out all weekend had bedded only about 10 yards away from the ladder. She rose up and started to run.
“Don’t worry.” I said. “You’re fine. I’ve got my business to do, and you have yours. I’ll get on to mine, and you go have a nice day.” I guess she had decided to figure out exactly what had been chattering at her from the stand all weekend, and camped out there determined to have an answer. Fully satisfied, she took my admonition to heart and walked off.
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The Savage Speaks Again
10 November, 2007 (Opening Day in Kentucky) 1600 EST It’s getting on past 4 PM. I just sent the rest of the family off. KYHillChick and Moose are heading back to the campground, Angus and Junior are on their way to the Jagendehutte. I’m staying at camp. I’m spent, but it’s a wonderful day out. The leaves are still on the trees—close to a month behind where they should be. It’s the sort of day you pray to God for Opening Day. My hunt is probably done for the year. I still have one tag, but I do not think … More . . .
The Savage Spoke and the Monarch of the Forest Fell
He froze. My right eye was blinded in the muzzle flash through the scope, but my left could follow him as he leapt once and then turned towards the bottom of the gully. I heard three bounds, a crash of brush, and then silence. It was 0650 on opening day. Twenty years of work had come to fruition, and a great buck had finally fallen to my hand.
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Mister Natural and the Incident at Broken Corners
As I came over the rise at the first barn, there was Mister Natural. He was blocking my way. I honked the horn, and he stood his ground. I backed down over the rise, put it in 4WD, took a deep breath and gunned it.
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Turkey Camp, 2002
Log of the Hole 19 April, 2002 1300 EDT Weather: 82F Rain predicted. Five days of Spring gobbler hunting will make any man humble. Tack on my load of 20 years of self-inflicted bad luck and Friday morning saw a man stripped of all delusions crawl out of bed and catch my reflection in the kitchen window. The forecast promised rain by 11. The kids were coming for the weekend. It had to be this morning, or probably another week, or quite possibly another season. I checked the doppler radar out of Cincinnati, and there was rain one county over. … More . . .
Spike the Wonder Buck
2001 was my first year shooting reloads. I’ve got a new farm, a new stand, I’ve got my new loads too. I’d worked all the way from January to September getting it just right. Prior to finding the farm, I’d been thinking about a combination deer/boar trip out to the Texas Hill Country, and settled on 165 Grain Hornady SP’s over IMR 4895 loaded into Remington 30-06 brass left from my first boar hunt in 1984. This load was equally accurate in my Winchester Mod 70 and my Remmie 742. Thirty minutes into the Opener, a nice deer I had … More . . .
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