2003 Deer Hunting Journal-Well, this is year three for my online hunting journals. If you're reading this, thanks. For my part, I'm sure enjoying putting it all together... almost as much as I'm enjoying the hunts that make it up. I suppose the original intent, to collect data and identify trends (such as weather patterns and moon phases) has kind of gone by the wayside. Most of the time, the weather during the CA deer seasons is pretty much identical anyway. |
This season promises to be a busy one for hunting. First and foremost, I managed to draw an X3-A tag for California. That'll put me in some prime mule deer habitat. I've been working with a friend on a 7000 acre ranch in that zone, and that's where we'll be hunting. That hunt begins on October 4. The X zone hunt overlaps another major hunt, a Colorado elk trip that begins on October 11. I'm planning to leave directly from the X zone hunt to make the Colorado trip. That means I need to score early in X zone, in order to have time to drive to CO without marathon driving. Finally, I chose an Archery Only tag for my second CA deer tag. This gives me access to the A zone, B zone, and all D zones, both during archery and rifle season. Essentially this means I could potentially hunt from July 16 through the first week of November. As a surprise, I also got the opportunity to go to South Carolina for the deer opener to bowhunt deer and hogs at the Bostick Plantation. So here goes! |
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August 15-17 - Bostick Plantation Estill, South Carolina Day 2 0300 and the alarm clock is bellowing. I promised Scott that I'd get up and make a real breakfast this morning, and I'm cursing myself for it now. But promises are promises, and I roll out and get to work. Sausage, eggs, and toast. We got hungry yesterday, which took away some of the pleasure of the morning hunt. Today, that will not be an issue. We chow down, dress out, and look out the window to see Ab's truck loaded with hunters and waiting for us! Grabbing gear, we bolt for the door. This morning, Ab takes us to the same stands we'd hunted last night. I'm not completely thrilled about my spot, but if the guide picked it, there must be animals... right? Again, the morning light is slow to appear. I feed mosquitos on the stand, trying my best to keep from moving too much. Finally, I can't stand it and apply a bit of Repel spray to the spots I'd missed in my rush this morning. The air around the stand stinks from the spray for several minutes until it finally seems to disperse. Again, those first magical moments of daylight are fairly uneventful. I'm enjoying the sounds of the morning, though, punctuated occasionally by the plopping of a feeding bass over in the river. The bug spray may have stunk up the whole place, but at least the mosquitos aren't driving me as nuts as they had earlier. About an hour after sunrise, I catch movement about sixty yards up the road from me. Two hen turkeys are poking through the bushes, and I watch as they cross the road and disappear toward the swamp. Another glimpse of movement alerts me to something directly across the road. I watch as a healthy tom turkey, sporting about 7-8 inches of beard, collects his morning meal. He feeds contentedly in my direction, changing course only about 30 yards from my stand. I sit frozen, trying not to make eye contact. As I'm watching him, another turkey appears along the same trail. This one is literally dragging his beard along the ground... a turkey hunter's dream bird! Unfortunately, it's not turkey season. But I enjoy the show as the birds continue to feed in the area for a half hour or more. After the turkeys have moved on, things are quiet for a long while. My head is nodding, and I think of taking a little nap when I hear something move through the bushes up the road from me. I turn my head slowly, expecting to see the turkeys coming back. Instead, I catch a glimpse of red fur and white tail as a deer steps from the road into the bushes. It's coming straight at me, so I ease the bow up and wait to see what it is. The wait is short, as the deer, a doe, comes right toward me. I'm fairly certain this is the same doe I saw last night, a small deer, probably not over 100 lbs. Just as she reaches the tree I'm in, her nose goes up. With a snort and a flurry of action, she bolts into the brush toward the swamp. This damned bug spray! A moment or two after the initial snort, I hear her blow again, stomping her foot before bolting the rest of the way to the swamp. I sit in disgust for an hour or so. If that little doe was tipped off to my presence, there's no way I'll be seeing any bucks. Ab is due to pick me up around 1030, and I'm ready to go. After that doe, what's going to come near my stand? Finally, I hear the truck coming from across the swamp. I begin to pack up my gear. As I bend down to get a water bottle, I catch movement in the woods behind me. First I see legs, and I think it might be the little doe come to torture me some more. But then the legs come clear, and I realize I'm looking at a wild boar! He's still 50 yards away, well out of range of my 52# recurve, but he's coming right toward me! The boar steps out into a clearing at 40 yards, broadside. He's not huge, probably around 150 to 160 lbs, and he's completely oblivious to my presence in the tree stand. This is becoming old hat! Once again, almost a slam dunk shot for a compound bow is well out of my effective range with the recurve. You'd think I'd relent, and switch to wheelbows... but I'm pretty stubborn. But he's still coming toward me. Murphy steps in again. As the boar comes closer to my stand, I hear Ab's truck rounding the curve and getting closer as well! In desperation, I blow a couple of buck grunts on my grunt tube. The boar looks in my direction and alters his course. I'll be danged, but it worked! A few steps closer, and the truck rounds another curve, getting closer. The boar looks back, and his steps quicken. At 25 yards, the boar suddely sprints. I figure he's bolted for good, but he stops again in an opening, still close to 25 yards out, but dead broadside. I hurriedly come to full draw and launch 539 grains of Easton 2117 arrow and Magnus broadhead. I didn't take into account the low-hanging branches just beyond my stand, though, and watch in dismay as my arrow rips into the tangle of limbs and spanish moss, then disappears into space. The hog bolts for good, just as Ab pulls up in front of my stand. The yellow cock feather from my arrow drifts slowly to the ground, stripped from the shaft by the tangled limbs. I climb down and tell Ab what happened. My arrow is nowhere to be found, so we search the ground for any sign that, against all odds, the arrow has struck the hog and is still in him. We find his tracks easily enough, but no sign of blood, skin, hair, or arrow along his trail. My best guess is that the arrow was deflected upward, and probably sailed off into the swamp... if it didn't stick in a tree somewhere. I climb into the truck... no hog, no arrow, and a little dejected. Replaying the shot, I realize that, not only did I not look out for the overhanging branches, I shot at the whole pig rather than picking a spot. I rushed it, and it cost me. I've made that shot in the backyard ten thousand times... but the backyard isn't hunting, is it? The morning ends with several game sightings, one missed shot at a six pointer (4x2), and no meat for any of the hunters. It's back to camp for a quick sandwich and a two and a half hour nap (badly needed). I wake from my nap and look out, a little confused at the time of day. It seems particularly dark outside, and a quick look out the door tells me a storm is rolling in. Distant thunder rolls, but as yet, nothing is close by. We load up and head out. Ab is going to put Scott and me into some prime deer country. The property owner, Joe Bostick, has given us permission to hunt behind his "personal" field. That brightens my day, even as the storm darkens the sky even more. As we drive to the stands, we see several deer already out feeding in the sorghum fields. The weather has them on the move, and I'm getting pretty amped up for this hunt. Ab drops me off on the edge of a field, and points me down an old road. My stand is about 200 yards back from the field, in a perfect staging area. Fresh tracks litter the ground, and a major trail leads right across the front of the stand, passing at about 15 yards. Directly behind the stand is a dense swampy area. A summer pond is about 25 yards out, and serves as a great natural funnel. Anything moving to feed in that field will almost certainly come through this spot. The downside, though, is that the brand new ladder stand is set in the wide-open, right beside the trail. There is no cover on the tree or stand, and anyone sitting there will be completely exposed from all angles. I spend a few minutes breaking limbs and drag them up to build a little nest of cover on the stand. It's hardly ideal, but it's better than it was. I climb up and get comfortable. After about an hour, there are storms both to the east and west of the plantation. The skies are threatening, but the weather is holding. Four or five squirrels are feeding in the bait pile. Every sound brings me to full alert, as I anticipate Mr. Big passing through to feed before the storm. Then the first rain drops begin to slap down. Big, fat raindrops...the obvious precursors to a serious thunderboomer. Lightning flashes, and I count the seconds. It's still a ways off. Another flash, and heavier rain. The squirrels scatter back to the trees, and I decide it's time to get out of this stand. There's a stand of small maples near the trail that will provide some cover from wind and rain, so I make my stand there as the rain begins with gusto. After an hour or so in the rain, I hear Ab's truck coming. It's still a while before dark, but I figure he must be coming on orders to get us out of the woods during the storm. There's not much lightning, though. He pulls in and I walk up to the truck."Bossman say we gotta come in?" I ask. "Nope, not yet. Just thought I'd check on you if you want to come in." I think about it for a moment. Usually, these summer storms are quick affairs, furious as hell for an hour, then gone as quickly as they came. Deer tend to feed like crazy in the tail of these storms. "If it's OK, I think I'll stay put," I say. "If this storm moves on, I think it's gonna be a good evening hunt." Ab looks at me, soaking wet from head to toe, and shakes his head. "OK, I'll go check on the other guys. See you after dark." He pulls off into the rain, and I can imagine his thoughts. But still, this hunt wasn't cheap and I want to make the most of every available moment. Just as I see his tail lights disappearing into the field, there's a sudden brilliant flash of lightning, followed almost instantly by a crashing thunderclap. I see his brakelights, followed by backup lights. I gather up my equipment as the Toyota engine whines in reverse. I climb into the truck cab, laughing. "I suppose electrocuted clients don't tip so well, huh?" "Nope," he replies, deadpan. He drops me and Scott off at the main cabin, then rides off to collect the other guys who are situated out near the swamp. When he returns, there's a beautiful, symmetrical eight-pointer laying in the bed of the truck. Score two for the crossbow hunters! The hunter was only on stand for about 45 minutes when this big guy came right under his stand! The deer was hit clean in the pocket, and died within 20 yards of being hit. The bright side of the storm is that we're back in camp at a reasonable time, well before 2100. We dry off, eat some steaks, and talk about tomorrow... the last day of the hunt. The storm should move off in the night, leaving cooler air and a rising air pressure cell in its wake. Someone should get some shooting in the morning, no doubt about it! After dinner and showers, it's back to my rum and Hemingway. I finished The Green Hills of Africa, decided it's one of the best hunting books I've ever read, and started on Death in the Afternoon. I'm actually asleep before midnight, which is good, because the alarm is going off too damned early again as Sunday morning dawns on our third and last day of hunting. Click here to read on about Day 3 or go Back to Day 1
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