Dougfirtree
Well-known member
I thought some of you might enjoy a hunting story from the public lands of the east coast. It's a tad long, so fair warning.
My home hunting grounds are the high peaks of the Adirondack mountains. It's heavily forested, mountainous country and deer densities are low. It's tough hunting and many people find that with so few deer, tracking is the most efficient way to hunt them, when you have the snow.
It’s been an interesting season, with lots of tracking snow, but very little rutting activity. I’ve had no trouble locating doe groups, but the bucks just haven’t been checking them out, even into mid-November.
Finally, on Monday of this week, I began to see the buck sign. Several of them had come down to check on a group of does who live low on a mountainside. I wasn’t able to pin one down that day, partially because they were spending a lot of time on a small piece of private land that is posted. So on Wednesday, I returned to walk the boundary of the private, looking for a buck track leaving to bed up higher on the mountain. This is a pattern I’ve seen before in this location. There was about a foot of snow on the ground and the wind was blowing pretty hard. A snow storm was forecasted for the afternoon. I followed the boundary up to the top of a ridge before finding (more or less) what I was looking for. A buck and some does had worked up the ridge and as I followed their tracks, I could see that they were slowly wandering, pawing through the snow to find food and occasionally bedding. The tracks were from the evening before, but I was finding so many beds that I suspected they might still be up on the ridge. This wandering track-soup was tedious to follow, so I did a circle around the area, looking for the buck’s tracks leaving the area. I wasn’t finding them, but when I’d almost finished my circle, I found his bed, with fresh running tracks leaving it. He must have smelled me up there.
I followed his bounding tracks down into a ravine with a small creek, up the ravine and then up the other side into a thick forest of small balsam firs. It was slow going and loud, so I didn’t have much hope of catching up to him in there. After a while, he hooked left abruptly, re-crossed the creek and went back up to the ridge I’d found him on, but higher up. He crossed the top of the ridge and began descending the other side, into a large bowl between the original ridge and another larger one. It’s an area I know well. The further he descended, the more open the woods were getting and I began to think I might be able to catch a glimpse of him, but his tracks just wouldn’t slow down. He’d walk a few steps, then go back to bounding, sometimes running flat-out. I suspect that he smelled me following him, as the wind was swirling fiercely. I decided to let him calm down, so I stopped and ate some food, hoping he’d slow down so that I could catch up. By now, I’d been on his track for about ¾ of a mile and he’d been running most of the time. I was soaked from all the snow from the branches falling on me and the see-through caps on my scope were starting to fog. I was starting to regret bringing this scoped rifle. I keep a peep-sighted rifle for snowy, wet conditions like this, but just didn’t think I’d need it . I'm not sure what I was thinking there...
I got back on the track and found where he’d slowed to poop, but he quickly began running again. He reached the stream at the bottom of the valley and crossed it, then turned sharply downstream and began paralleling the stream, losing elevation fast. This was nice on one hand, as the woods kept getting more open, but I was starting to worry that he was heading for that chunk of private land, further down, where they felt safe. I picked up the pace, trying to close the distance. Thankfully, when he got near the private boundary, he turned sharply right, towards more public land and also towards a state trail. And, he began walking more. I slowed down a bit and followed him over to the lowest beginnings of a large ridge; an open hemlock forest. I was walking steadily, but being careful not to make noise and really searching the forest ahead for any sign of him. Nothing. At this point it was about noon and I’d been on the track for roughly 2 miles. I wasn’t about to give up, but I was losing hope, as this deer didn’t seem like he’d ever stop and I wasn’t sure I’d be able to catch up. I stopped to look around for a moment and heard a sound like a deer grunting. I knew it was likely a tree creaking in the wind (the pre-storm wind was really picking up). I remember thinking, “wouldn’t it be cool if that was him grunting?” Fat chance, but then I heard it again and it was definitely a deer! I looked up the track and saw a buck, jogging back down it, straight towards me. He looked excited, or agitated and was grunting as he came. I kneeled and flicked off the safety as he stopped, 10 yard in front of me, head-on, with some hemlock needles obscuring his chest. He could see me and wasn’t sure what was going on. I lowered my head to the scope, but it was totally fogged up. After a split-second of panic, I was able to quickly flip the covers open, exposing the clear lenses of the scope. He hadn’t moved, so I put the crosshairs on the hemlock needles, where the center of his chest would be and pulled the trigger. At the shot, he launched forward, running right at me. Just as it was registering in my brain that this could be dangerous, he veered a bit left and passed 3 yards to my right, then crashed into a tree and went down. He died quickly and I was left marveling at the way in which fortunes can change so quickly when hunting. Before field dressing, I continued on the track for a couple hundred yards, as I was curious whether this was the buck I’d been tracking. The tracks I’d been following continued on as far as I could see and this deer’s tracks were right on top of them heading the other way, so I’m not sure what happened. Maybe it was a second buck who just happened to come down that trail, or maybe it was “my” buck and he just smelled something good, or got so pissed at me following him for so long that he decided to come kick my ass. I guess I’ll never know, but that’s ok. This buck had a perfectly symmetrical 10 point rack, his based covered in bark shavings. The antlers make me think he’s 3.5 years old, or maybe a really healthy 2.5 year old, but his body is unusually small, only 122 pounds dressed. On a foot of snow, he sledded down the hill beautifully, one of the easier drags I’ve had. I reached the road just as the storm really blew in and by the time he was loaded in the car, I was plastered with white, my soaked vest hard as a board. I was pretty happy to be in a warm car at that point and pretty tired.
My home hunting grounds are the high peaks of the Adirondack mountains. It's heavily forested, mountainous country and deer densities are low. It's tough hunting and many people find that with so few deer, tracking is the most efficient way to hunt them, when you have the snow.
It’s been an interesting season, with lots of tracking snow, but very little rutting activity. I’ve had no trouble locating doe groups, but the bucks just haven’t been checking them out, even into mid-November.
Finally, on Monday of this week, I began to see the buck sign. Several of them had come down to check on a group of does who live low on a mountainside. I wasn’t able to pin one down that day, partially because they were spending a lot of time on a small piece of private land that is posted. So on Wednesday, I returned to walk the boundary of the private, looking for a buck track leaving to bed up higher on the mountain. This is a pattern I’ve seen before in this location. There was about a foot of snow on the ground and the wind was blowing pretty hard. A snow storm was forecasted for the afternoon. I followed the boundary up to the top of a ridge before finding (more or less) what I was looking for. A buck and some does had worked up the ridge and as I followed their tracks, I could see that they were slowly wandering, pawing through the snow to find food and occasionally bedding. The tracks were from the evening before, but I was finding so many beds that I suspected they might still be up on the ridge. This wandering track-soup was tedious to follow, so I did a circle around the area, looking for the buck’s tracks leaving the area. I wasn’t finding them, but when I’d almost finished my circle, I found his bed, with fresh running tracks leaving it. He must have smelled me up there.
I followed his bounding tracks down into a ravine with a small creek, up the ravine and then up the other side into a thick forest of small balsam firs. It was slow going and loud, so I didn’t have much hope of catching up to him in there. After a while, he hooked left abruptly, re-crossed the creek and went back up to the ridge I’d found him on, but higher up. He crossed the top of the ridge and began descending the other side, into a large bowl between the original ridge and another larger one. It’s an area I know well. The further he descended, the more open the woods were getting and I began to think I might be able to catch a glimpse of him, but his tracks just wouldn’t slow down. He’d walk a few steps, then go back to bounding, sometimes running flat-out. I suspect that he smelled me following him, as the wind was swirling fiercely. I decided to let him calm down, so I stopped and ate some food, hoping he’d slow down so that I could catch up. By now, I’d been on his track for about ¾ of a mile and he’d been running most of the time. I was soaked from all the snow from the branches falling on me and the see-through caps on my scope were starting to fog. I was starting to regret bringing this scoped rifle. I keep a peep-sighted rifle for snowy, wet conditions like this, but just didn’t think I’d need it . I'm not sure what I was thinking there...
I got back on the track and found where he’d slowed to poop, but he quickly began running again. He reached the stream at the bottom of the valley and crossed it, then turned sharply downstream and began paralleling the stream, losing elevation fast. This was nice on one hand, as the woods kept getting more open, but I was starting to worry that he was heading for that chunk of private land, further down, where they felt safe. I picked up the pace, trying to close the distance. Thankfully, when he got near the private boundary, he turned sharply right, towards more public land and also towards a state trail. And, he began walking more. I slowed down a bit and followed him over to the lowest beginnings of a large ridge; an open hemlock forest. I was walking steadily, but being careful not to make noise and really searching the forest ahead for any sign of him. Nothing. At this point it was about noon and I’d been on the track for roughly 2 miles. I wasn’t about to give up, but I was losing hope, as this deer didn’t seem like he’d ever stop and I wasn’t sure I’d be able to catch up. I stopped to look around for a moment and heard a sound like a deer grunting. I knew it was likely a tree creaking in the wind (the pre-storm wind was really picking up). I remember thinking, “wouldn’t it be cool if that was him grunting?” Fat chance, but then I heard it again and it was definitely a deer! I looked up the track and saw a buck, jogging back down it, straight towards me. He looked excited, or agitated and was grunting as he came. I kneeled and flicked off the safety as he stopped, 10 yard in front of me, head-on, with some hemlock needles obscuring his chest. He could see me and wasn’t sure what was going on. I lowered my head to the scope, but it was totally fogged up. After a split-second of panic, I was able to quickly flip the covers open, exposing the clear lenses of the scope. He hadn’t moved, so I put the crosshairs on the hemlock needles, where the center of his chest would be and pulled the trigger. At the shot, he launched forward, running right at me. Just as it was registering in my brain that this could be dangerous, he veered a bit left and passed 3 yards to my right, then crashed into a tree and went down. He died quickly and I was left marveling at the way in which fortunes can change so quickly when hunting. Before field dressing, I continued on the track for a couple hundred yards, as I was curious whether this was the buck I’d been tracking. The tracks I’d been following continued on as far as I could see and this deer’s tracks were right on top of them heading the other way, so I’m not sure what happened. Maybe it was a second buck who just happened to come down that trail, or maybe it was “my” buck and he just smelled something good, or got so pissed at me following him for so long that he decided to come kick my ass. I guess I’ll never know, but that’s ok. This buck had a perfectly symmetrical 10 point rack, his based covered in bark shavings. The antlers make me think he’s 3.5 years old, or maybe a really healthy 2.5 year old, but his body is unusually small, only 122 pounds dressed. On a foot of snow, he sledded down the hill beautifully, one of the easier drags I’ve had. I reached the road just as the storm really blew in and by the time he was loaded in the car, I was plastered with white, my soaked vest hard as a board. I was pretty happy to be in a warm car at that point and pretty tired.
