A Tale of Tails: White and Bushy

The light was dimming as evening approached.  My seven-year-old grandson, John, sat as quietly as he could, perched on a stool beside me.  It was his first time sitting in a deer blind with his “Pa”.

I glanced over at my hunting buddy, but my eyes were immediately caught by something beyond him.  A deer stepped onto the trail.

“John,” I whispered.  “There’s a deer; it’s a buck.”

It was like a bolt of lightning shot through his young body.  “Where, Pa?!”  His feet thudded to the plywood floor with a dull boom that echoed through the woods.  The buck’s head snapped up and his eyes looked directly at us.

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Our first deer season on Sweetwater had ended the year before (2020) with no deer taken.  I had been unable to get out as much as I’d like due to a back injury.  I still had plenty of venison in the freezer from 2019 so was holding out for a bigger buck too.  Son, Travis, and six-year-old grandson, John, had only been able to hunt one day and spent much of their time sleeping in the hunting blind or tromping around in the woods and alerting wildlife.

Needless to say, they didn’t see any deer.

This year we felt the need for some meat to replenish our freezers. 

For me, size would not matter as much as sex for my first deer of the year.

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While not ignoring improvements we wanted to make on and around the cabin, I had started preparing for the 2021 hunting season quite early in the year…well, basically as soon as the 2020 season ended.

Sons Andy and Patrick drove out to Sweetwater, pulling my tractor, a John Deere 1023e, on Andy’s trailer behind his pickup.  The tractor had a bucket loader and my new brush mower attached.  Andy mowed the driveway and trails while Patrick, Ann, and I did other things, then Andy asked if there was anything else I wanted him to do before the two started their 4-plus hour drive home.

I pointed to the hunting blind sitting beside the driveway…the one Travis and John had hunted out of the previous year.  “Can you help me drag the blind down the trail by the stream?”

Andy drove the tractor slowly, pulling the structure.  Patrick and I walked alongside to keep a close eye on the building when it was sliding over unlevel ground, where it threatened more than once to tip over onto its side.  At the point just before the trail made its first crossing over the creek, Andy unhitched the blind and used the bucket loader to carefully maneuver it off the side of the trail, where he nestled it among some trees.  By not taking it across the creek we could still access the blind even when the water in the stream was at a dangerous level.

After the boys left, Annie and I cleared more brush and briars around the blind by hand.  Across the trail and the creek from the blind we cleaned up an area Andy had mowed so that we could put in a food plot and game feeders for bear and deer.

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On our next trip to Sweetwater, Annie and I spread food plot seed along the trail north and south of the blind, and on the plot across from it.  I’d made a bear bait barrel the year before and put it on top of the hill.  We brought it down from the top of the hill and chained it to a tree on the plot. 

I had bought some solar-powered lights which I installed in the blind in case they were ever needed.  The lights had internal batteries and were wired to small solar panels.  I ran the wires under the tin roof and hung the panels outside the blind, where they would do their job keeping the lights’ batteries topped off.

I then installed game cameras on a couple trees close to the blind so that I could monitor the comings-and-goings of wildlife around it.  The cameras paid off immediately with photos of deer, including a nice eight-pointer that would gradually grow long tines.  I named him “Big Eight” because of his beautiful crown. 

Another buck I saw even more often than Big Eight was one with a quite similar rack, but only seven points.  He reminded me so much of Big Eight that it was difficult to tell them apart unless I could count the points on his right antler, which was the one with only three points.  I gave him the uninspired name, “Big Seven.”

There was also a nice ten-pointer that hung out mostly on top of the hill.  He would probably score as well as Big Eight because of the extra two tines, although, overall he didn’t instill awe the way Big Eight or Big Seven did, with their long tines and wide racks.  Still, I wasn’t going to pass up a chance at him if I got it.

But a couple times, again on the hill, a buck showed up that had a rack quite similar to Big Eight and Big Seven.  He was wide, and he was tall, but he was a ten-pointer!

Oh…My…Gosh!  He…was…BEAUTIFUL!

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As soon as it was legal to do so, I baited the bear barrel with dog food and my own concoction of sweets, Cherry Kool Aide, and odorous essential oils which research showed me would attract a bear.

The bait bag I’d hung for deer was filled with corn and grape Kool Aide powder, which others had told me deer loved.

Deer began coming to their bait immediately.  I got plenty of photos and videos showing lots of slick-heads and small bucks, but I also caught Big Eight and Big Seven visiting several times.  Now and then I would get a glimpse of Big Ten.

Wow!

Although, as of this writing, the bear hasn’t been back since we got photos of him destroying Annie’s bird feeder one night last summer, some opossums and several big raccoons joined a flock of crows in working hard cleaning up the bait in the bear barrel.

Besides the deer, I got a few pics of coyotes, a couple videos of a bobcat, and a few of rabbits and various birds.  More than anything else, and this was on every game cam I placed around the property, were wild turkeys.  There were oodles and gobs of gobblers.

The turkeys didn’t come as a surprise to me as I saw some of them just about every-other day while I was at Sweetwater.  There were several different groups I observed, including a flock of 16 that often visited the yard of the cabin, along with a pair of long-bearded toms who seemed to always be close together, even when they were associated with one of the other flocks.

The big birds seemed to know that there was no open fall season on turkeys so they would be safe no matter how often they showed themselves.  Come spring though, I’m going to take my turkey gun with me if I get a chance to go to Sweetwater during the season.  Then one or two of them may find a new home in our freezer.

Just sayin’.

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Bow season for deer and bear arrived on September 25 and I got to the cabin as soon as I could.  Since my leave from work is limited, I try to concentrate my time-off on rifle (called modern gun season in Arkansas) and muzzleloader seasons.  This left the limited time between driving out to the cabin and back home on two-day weekends.

I enjoyed my small amount of time in the blind during bow season, even though only a couple deer got anywhere near bow range, and none of them were ones I wanted for the freezer.  I know does are fair game due to strong populations currently, but Sweetwater is in CWD (Chronic Wasting Disease) Zone 2 which means the horrible and fatal disease is moving in.  I’d like to keep more reproducing mamas until we see how badly we get hit by the epidemic.

Yes, I do have different standards for myself than for my sons and grandkids.  They can shoot whatever they want…as long as it’s legal.

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Muzzleloader season found me in the ladder stand on top of the hill.  I sat patiently watching wildlife and thinking about the work I wanted to get done while I was at Sweetwater.  The sun set and I waited for legal shooting hours to end before heading to the cabin. 

Darkness deepened and, just before it was too dark to see, I caught a glimpse of two deer way off to the side, going around me.  I couldn’t see antlers and the way they walked didn’t look like the way bucks move, but in the near darkness I just couldn’t be sure.  If I couldn’t be sure, it was a no-shoot situation.  I kept watching the trail to see them pass before I climbed down, but I didn’t see them.

Shooting hours were quickly over but I couldn’t get down without knowing whether there were two deer within sight of the trail I had to take downhill.

Nothing.

I try to stay slightly dehydrated while sitting on stand or in a blind so I won’t find myself in the need of a bathroom.  Unfortunately, it doesn’t always work.  I sat quietly but realized that, despite my planning, I’d have to get down soon or risk letting all the wildlife in the area know I was around and leaving scent near my stand.

Yeah.

I sat longer, then I sat some more.  Before long I was running out of time.  I needed to “go.”  It was too dark to see without a flashlight, but I knew a bright light would send a clear signal to any animals within sight.  The light I prefer to use in the woods has a red light setting that makes it a little easier to make out some obstacles and landmarks…at least better than no light at all.  Deer have terrific night vision but only limited color vision, so red lights don’t make a lot of sense to them.

That red light was the one I was using as I moved along the trail.  Step-by-step I walked down hill.  Although I tried to move quietly, my reduced vision made it impossible to avoid stepping on some leaves and twigs.

Suddenly, off to the side where I’d seen the two deer, I heard a snort.  They’d heard or scented me.

Dang it!  Oh, well, they’d have at least a week to forget about me before I got back to the camp.

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Modern gun season came in on November 13.  Son Travis and grandson John met me at Sweetwater on Friday the 12^th to re-familiarize themselves with the property and make final preparations.

Travis wanted to do some last-minute work on the cabin electrical system while John and I connected some pipe to the one in the creek. 

The pipe extended the line about thirty yards downstream.  This extension allowed the water from the springhouse to build up enough downhill force (called “head”) to gush out of the pipe a couple feet above the rock layer that formed the bottom of the creek.  It would make cleaning and filling water jugs much easier in the future.

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Annie and I had gotten pretty frustrated with the more than a dozen squirrels that were cleaning out the seeds in her bird feeders by the cabin, and I had lately heard at least one that was gnawing under the floor of the building just after nightfall.

Because of the buck-toothed bushytails’ diets heavy on her birdseed, Annie had finally agreed with me that sitting on the porch and shooting squirrels for the pot was a good idea.  I keep a bb-gun at the cabin for target shooting, but this time I had taken a break-barrel .22 caliber pellet rifle to the cabin with me.  Both would be quiet enough not to disturb the deer, and the pellet rifle would be powerful enough to shoot relatively flat and accurate for the 20+ yards from the porch to the feeders.

John wasn’t quiet or still enough for the squirrels to come around, but he and Travis didn’t mind.  They entertained themselves quite well shooting at various targets, including small birds. 

I knew Annie wouldn’t approve of them shooting at her birds, and I didn’t either, but I figured, with the distance from the porch and my descendants’ unfamiliarity with the weapons, the little birds would be very difficult targets.  For the most part, I was right.  One unfortunate feathered friend was wounded by Travis and went down in the woods.  The two shooters went down and searched until John found the little bird and put it out of its misery with the bb-gun…his first kill.

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We had agreed that Travis and John would take the blind by the creek as it would offer more cover for a youngster’s inability to sit absolutely still and be totally quiet.  So, first morning of rifle season I took the long, steep trail up to the top of the hill and the ladder stand.  Once I took my seat in the stand, the woods were relatively quiet until the sun edged toward the horizon.  Light increased and birds and animals started to move, then the silence was shattered by the sound of a gunshot coming from the direction of the blind.

The quiet returned, but was quickly broken by Travis’s voice on my walkie-talkie, “I got one!  A doe!  She’s down!”

“Congratulations!  First deer taken on Sweetwater!”  I quickly added, “I’m on my way down to help drag her out.”

I made my way to the cabin, where I retrieved a sled made of thick, olive-drab plastic and pulled it to where my son was dragging his deer.  We rolled her onto the sled which made it much easier to drag her to the cabin.  There we pulled the whole thing down into the creek.

Under the water gushing from the pipe John and I had installed, we quickly cleaned Travis’s doe, then pulled the sled back uphill to his pickup.  After lifting the doe into the back of the truck, John and I loaded the doe’s offal into the sled and dragged it down the trail past the blind and far enough away from it to be safe.

Back at the cabin we climbed into Travis’s pickup and headed out to the butcher which had been recommended to me by a local.  Unfortunately, the processor was not open that day.  We also found out it didn’t accept deer anyway.  Travis used his phone to find another processor who would cut the deer up, package her, and even make some breakfast sausage out of some of the meat.  Tilton’s Processing in Harrison, AR would do all that for the incredible price of just $85!

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Despite stopping in Yellville for lunch, we got back to the cabin in plenty of time to get ready and go out for the evening hunt.  This time Travis would go up on the hill and hunt from the ladder stand and I would sit in the blind with John.

My grandson and I had a good time sitting in the little building, watching the critters as they came in for their evening meal at the feeders.  Half-a-dozen little gray squirrels fought and cavorted, giving us more than a few chuckles, although we tried to stay quiet just in case deer started coming in.

And then it happened.  I saw the young buck crossing the trail about forty yards south of the blind and told John. 

“Where?!” he asked, in a whisper slightly quieter than a 747 taking off.  His boots clomped down on the wooden floor with a muffled, “Boom!”

The deer’s head jerked up and he looked directly at us.

I whispered in what I hoped was an authoritative whisper, “Right there, looking right at us!  You’ve GOT to BE QUIET!”  I added, “DON’T MOVE!”

Unable to control himself, John asked, “Are you going to shoot him?”

“Just hold still and BE QUIET!” I commanded.

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The deer turned to his right and stepped off the side of the road, not giving me a chance to bring my rifle up.

“Why didn’t you shoot, Pa?” my grandson asked.

“If I had moved while he was looking at us, he would have seen the movement and run off.  There wouldn’t have been much chance to shoot.  This way, he may go around us and up the hill.  If he does he might give me a clear shot.”  I added, “Sorry I yelled at you, buddy.”

John ignored my apology, eyes riveted on the walking deer.  By this time I had my rifle up and propped on the sill of the blind’s window, as the buck moved slowly through the thicker woods, then stepped out into the thin brush beside a cedar uphill from us.

I put my crosshairs right behind the animal’s shoulder and squeezed the trigger.  At the blast the buck dropped and flipped over backwards, then lay still.

“Can I go see him, Pa?” John asked.  Not waiting for an answer, he was beside the deer before I got out the blind’s door.

I radioed Travis that I’d taken a small buck and wouldn’t need his help finding it, so he could stay in the stand.

John helped me drag the little six-pointer out to the trail, then left it there while we went back to the cabin and returned with the sled.  Like I said, it made getting the deer out a lot easier.

We were just finishing cleaning out my buck’s innards when we heard a loud boom from uphill. 

I guess my ESP was working. “Your dad just got a buck,” I told John.

“Yeah,” he was beaming.

Not wanting to ruin T’s chances if the shot had not been true, I waited.

My son keyed his radio, “It’s a six-pointer.”

“Congratulations!” I said.  “Your first ever buck!”

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John and I left my deer on the grass behind Travis’s truck and loaded its internal organs into the sled.  I told T we would dump my buck’s guts then meet him and pull his deer out.

My son was waiting at the bottom of the hill trail when we got back from disposing of my deer’s offal.  He said, “It’s a lot easier to drag a deer downhill than uphill.”

I nodded agreement.

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After dropping the two bucks off at Tilton’s we three mighty hunters stopped off in Harrison and picked up something to eat, then headed back to the cabin for a quick cleanup and a good night’s sleep.

Travis had filled both of his tags and I still had the rest of the season to hunt for a big buck, so we slept-in the next morning…at least as much as an excited seven-year-old would let us.  We enjoyed a good breakfast and more camaraderie, then I bid goodbye to my loved ones.

I missed my son and grandson before they even got out of the driveway, but set my sights on getting some chores done and preparing to go out hunting that evening.  As I did so, I stepped quietly out the door only to see a pair of squirrels out by the bird and deer feeders in the yard.

I carefully went back inside and picked up the pellet rifle.  Keeping some tools and the corner post of the porch between me and the bushytails’ eyes, I moved forward and found a steady rest on the railing.  One of the buck-toothed seed-eaters caught my movement and vacated the scene.  The other waited just a moment too long.

A gentle squeeze of the trigger was followed by the sharp “pft” of the shot and a pop of the pellet striking home, between and slightly above the squirrel’s eyes…a perfect brain shot.  I couldn’t help but tease Travis and John by texting a photo of my kill.

By the end of the week I had taken 15 squirrels.  They were all skinned, cleaned, and frozen for transportation home.

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Because of the volume of deer they process each year, Tilton’s allows only 15 days for customers to pick up their meat after it is finished.  I got that telephone notification for our first deer a couple days after he and John left.  Since we have no freezer at the cabin I chose to leave the meat at the processor until the other two deer were finished.  Notification of the final two came in with a couple days of my leave remaining.  The difference in the time it took for all three deer to be processed left me with less than two weeks to pick up the first one, so I decided to go ahead and pick up all three and head for home, where we have plenty of freezer space.

As soon as we get the shed behind the cabin rebuilt I’ll get a freezer to put in it and make that particular issue moot.

February is disappearing quickly and my chances of getting back to our cabin before the end of deer season are slim and dwindling.  As bucks are starting to shed their antlers, the chance of me taking one of the big boys is fading. 

Am I giving up?

In the immortal words of Yogi Berra, “It ain’t over ‘til it’s over.”

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Tilton’s had saved the bucks’ heads for us, so I picked them up too.  I’ll cover what I did with them in a future post.

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