I vividly remember an overcast morning during the 2018 rut. Quietly sitting in a ground blind, conditions were perfect. The wind was in my favor. Facing due east, my scent situation should have been perfect. Deer would neither be spooked from behind nor in front of me. Over the course of the afternoon, I had two bucks cross the rickety fence 60 yards behind me only to comfortably pass in front of my sacred spot – one that had been money for years. They were calm, moving on after about five minutes.
Anticipation was high.
A half-hour before dark, a doe appeared to my left, followed by the snap of that same fence. Crunchy footsteps sweetened the pot. I could see two does out of the crease of my open left window. The footsteps then came to a halt, as a mature 8-pointer caught the corner of my eye through the heavy cedar and brambles that hosted me. He was a slick 8, with no defining antler traits. Still, he sported a solid rack, big body, and swollen neck. Any bowhunter will tell you that when up close to such a creature, it’s like magic.
What soon followed was an abrupt mad scramble of cotton-white flags at the hands of a dreaded doe whistle.
Game over.
I hadn’t moved an inch before or during the whole encounter.
Okay, this and similar events have happened to many bowhunters in the deer woods and it certainly wasn’t my first.
What had I done wrong?
I went through a mental checklist of factors – ones that could have led to the dreaded event. Had I over-hunted the spot? Nope. In fact, I had waited for the right wind conditions and hadn’t entered the area in over three weeks. I made the 300-yard trek to my stand at 2:00. My entry method seemed solid and, seemingly; I had spooked nothing.
What about scent management? Not only was my setup ideal for that day, but I had prepared my clothing carefully and liberally applied my favorite scent eliminator to my clothing (even around my shooting windows). I’m no expert on thermals, but don’t think it played a role. The wind was blowing at about 7 MPH, which was both manageable and slightly masked any sounds I might make on this 54-degree fall day.
There was no silhouetting, as I was tucked nicely into a pop-up blind. I was wearing all black to boot. As usual, I had brought along a minimal amount of gear. I had nothing but my bow and a monocular. Everything else, like my knife and smartphone, was in my pockets. I had also tirelessly soundproofed my bow.
Why look back at this particular fall evening? After all, it’s not like it ended well.
The fact is, I have a vivid memory of lots of past sits, successful and otherwise. The things I can’t remember continually bewilder my wife. Admittedly, I’m often shocked at my inability to remember basic things from mere days ago.
While I didn’t harvest the mature 8-pointer, I had two camera images of him the following season, enhancing my ability to recount that initial encounter.
For whatever reason, past encounters with particular bucks are palpable. The conditions, the mood,… the deer. Some of it stems from my documentation and journaling regimen. But there has to be more to it.
Whatever the case, it’s proof positive of the hold bowhunting whitetails has on me. If it was easy it somehow would lose its appeal. The ultra-crafty whitetail deer is more than a formidable foe.
Most of all, that day and others like it, remind me that sometimes, despite my resolute efforts, chasing these special creatures is like a road game in sports. Every time I chase a mature whitetail, I’m doing so on their turf. It’s a whitetail world, and I’d have it no other way.
Sometimes trail cams, deer lures, and good old-fashioned hunting sense are no match for the ultimate species of deer, the mature whitetail buck. Whether I figure out my mistakes or not, these opportunities for self-examination keep my whitetail hunting fires burning – almost as much as those that end with the retrieval of a sought-after deer.
