Good story, Whit. Since it's Christmas, I'll share my favorite late season story. I apologize for its length. A really beautiful hunt, with a somewhat ugly twist, and a happy ending.
Remember December of 2000? In my area, we had multiple blizzards, snow was knee deep, temps were low. Roads went unplowed for considerable periods. I was finally able to get out on the 31st, with my Jeep loaded down with gear and shovels. My farm is accessed from a seasonal road which is never plowed in the winter. It took some doing to drive down to where I parked, which was right on the road. No matter, no other vehicles used the road that afternoon or evening.
I chose the only stand practical to hunt that day; only about 200 yards in from the road, in a big, forked Black Walnut, located within a brushy fencerow, near the NW corner of a 17 acre plot of still-standing corn (an aside - the stand was nicknamed "Ray Bolger", that's right, for the scarecrow) . The corn had been well-battered by weather and deer, and any critters travelling through the corn (which included a tough covey of quail that year) were well-visible from my stand.
I settled into the treestand for the afternoon vigil. Temp was about 18F, which was warmer than it had recently been, and there was a light NW wind. The sky was perfectly clear. I have never seen a bluer sky in Michigan than we had on that day; almost a deep, azure blue, like you sometimes get in the mountains out west. The contrast between the blue, blue sky and the white, white snow made for the most strikingly beautiful hunt that I can remember. As I faced mostly east with the sun at my back, the landscape before me was amazingly picturesque and the memory of it is vivid to this day. From my perch, I could see the rolling CRP fields, the hills, swales, and woodlots, as well as the distant stand of mature Norway Spruce way over at my now-inaccessable campsite. I wished that everyone I knew could be up here in my tree with me to see this sight!
Soon, the deer appeared. Against the snowy background, they were hard to miss. Most were far off, some moving along distant hillsides, all getting an early start at heading to their chosen feeding locations. The exception was a surviving 1.5 year old buck, which materialized in the corn. The deer were mostly in groups of 2-4, and appeared with regularity as the hunt proceeded. All in all, I must have seen at least 20 of them, which is a pretty big number to me.
With a good 30 minutes of light remaining, a group of 4 antlerless deer moved out of a swamp to my northwest and headed across a CRP field in my general direction. The first deer into the thin corn was a doe fawn, which I decided to take. She paused within range, I drew my bow, but she suddenly pranced into the corn before I could release. Next a button buck wandered by, followed by a young doe which circled out of range. Finally, a 2.5 year old doe gingerly stepped into the corn, took a few steps, and came to a stop, 20 yards out, and looking away from me. I drew, and was careful to take my time to close the deal on this "tap-in" shot. I carefully and deliberately picked a spot, anchored, and, waited a split second too long; just as the arrow was released, the doe suddenly lunged forward. I had hit just a smidge too far back! She slowly walked into the corn, and I could see blood dripping from the entrance wound. I could also see the nock of my bloody arrow sticking out of the snow, where it had cleanly passed through her. Not good.
I fished out another arrow, and launched the lowest-percentage shot of my life, at this wounded deer, now perhaps 40 yards distant, walking through the corn. I wasn't sure if I connected, but the shot did cause her to change direction, and she began to walk straight north. She afforded me another walking shot, this time at something over 30 yards. Upon impact, she seemed to hesitate, but continued walking. I was down to my last arrow, and she now came to a stop along the northern edge of the corn, again close to 40 yards away. This time, immediately after the arrow passed through her, she fell over, briefly twitched, and died. My goodness, what a relief. For the first time in my hunting career, I lowered my bow to the ground with an empty quiver, then returned to my Jeep to get my utility sled to facilitate dragging her to the road.
As I dressed her at roadside with my lantern ablaze, I contemplated the solitude of the whole hunt experience - I doubt if any hunters at all were afield in my vicinity that day, and I never heard a hint of vehicular traffic. Though I was in southern Michigan farm country, it was as if there was no human presence at all save for my own.
When the autopsy was complete, I found that I had hit her with all four arrows; the first, just barely behind the diaphragm; the 2nd, the worst, a paunch hit; the 3rd double lunged her, and she likely would have fallen over quickly making the 4th (which got the heart) unnecessary.
A very memorable day for me.
Merry Christmas to my MSF friends.
