Schaaf
Well-known member
I will start off by saying I have never lost a wounded animal. I feel it has been more luck than anything but regardless it is something that I hope to prolong as far as I possibly can. While my younger brother was home from college for Thanksgiving we hit it pretty hard in hopes of getting him a deer to bring back to Missoula. Fast forward to the last day he was able to hunt, we were in a good position watching deer and with about 15 minutes left of shooting light he shot a buck that I knew was hit pretty good, but it didn't prevent the buck from taking off into the timber. We decided to leave him overnight and be back at sunrise. There was no doubt in my mind he was going to be laid up 100 yards into the timber and everything was going to work out.
The next day slowly came and with the sun rising we were following the blood trail. At first the trail was very consistent. After about a half mile the trail became very sporadic with decent sized pools but following the trail was becoming tougher and tougher. We spent the next day and a half looking for anything that would lead us to the next droplet. I could tell by the look on my brother's face that this was hitting him hard. I felt it myself too but I knew the pressure had to be ten times heavier on him. Two days after wounding the buck we packed up and headed fora very somber Thanksgiving with the family.
Over the next few weeks whenever I had enough time to make it worthwhile I would spend it looking for the buck. I don't know what it is that keeps pushing someone to continue to look but I certainly felt as though the buck deserved to be found.
While looking this morning I decided to go downstream from the trail and where I had always
assumed he would be. I had a feeling he eventually made it to the river before he died. It turned out heading downstream was the right decision. While sitting on the river bank glassing I noticed something that looked a little off just a few inches above the water.
I'll let the pictures finish the story...
23 days later and finally some relief.
The next day slowly came and with the sun rising we were following the blood trail. At first the trail was very consistent. After about a half mile the trail became very sporadic with decent sized pools but following the trail was becoming tougher and tougher. We spent the next day and a half looking for anything that would lead us to the next droplet. I could tell by the look on my brother's face that this was hitting him hard. I felt it myself too but I knew the pressure had to be ten times heavier on him. Two days after wounding the buck we packed up and headed fora very somber Thanksgiving with the family.
Over the next few weeks whenever I had enough time to make it worthwhile I would spend it looking for the buck. I don't know what it is that keeps pushing someone to continue to look but I certainly felt as though the buck deserved to be found.
While looking this morning I decided to go downstream from the trail and where I had always
assumed he would be. I had a feeling he eventually made it to the river before he died. It turned out heading downstream was the right decision. While sitting on the river bank glassing I noticed something that looked a little off just a few inches above the water.
I'll let the pictures finish the story...
23 days later and finally some relief.
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