LITTLE ROCK — I hunt this spot because I like it.
It’s not because it teems with deer. I don’t see very many, but it’s been good to me, all the same. I killed a big buck from it last year and passed on another. I also got two doe, but those were from three exceptional days.
It’s on a club north of Sheridan that I joined three years ago. I met a guy named Paul that day. He was quitting the club, so he gave me his stand. He’s older than I am, a Vietnam veteran with a gruff manner and a heart of gold. His ever-present companion, a dog named Sergeant Major, is a lot like him. Sergeant Major has a prickly demeanor and a steely glare that makes him seem unapproachable, but once you get to know him, he’s very friendly and a lot of fun. Paul has other dogs, but none are as close to him as Sergeant Major.
Since then, Paul has helped me plant food plots near this stand. He’s mowed and disked the plot with his tractor and helped me spread seed and fertilizer. Last time I talked to Paul, he said he was ill and it was serious. I haven’t been able to reach him, and so I’ve thought about him a lot the past couple of months. I think that’s the reason I came, to feel a little closer to him.
As I said, I really like this spot. My stand is in a grove of tall pines that abuts a vast cutover. It overlooks a powerline that divides our club from another club. On the other side of the powerline is a thick grove of young pines that are probably 10 to 12 years old. Beyond them is a creek bottom from which rise a thin ribbon of huge hardwoods. Beyond them rise another large stand of mature pines.
Narrow drainages cross the powerline to the right and left, and my spot sits on a short hump.
I said I don’t see many deer there, but that’s not true. When I see deer, I see a lot.I just don’t see them often. However, with so much edge cover combined with my little half-acre of wheat and oats, I expect to see them anytime.
I didn’t hunt much this season. I used to go all day, but this year I could only manage about three hours a day, maximum. I hunted mostly at another club south of Benton. It was closer, so I only spent a total of about four hours at the Sheridan club.
On Dec. 26, the first day of the Christmas holiday deer hunt, I knew the time was right for Sheridan. I could feel it, and I said so to my daughter Amy.
At 3 p.m., wind howled down the powerline and swayed my stand. The setting sun blinded me from the west. At 5 p.m. it died, just like it always does. By then, the sun was below the trees in the west and the food plot was dark.
At 5:10 p.m. a doe emerged from the young pines, followed by two more. A fourth doe appeared from a different spot. I waited for a buck, but the doe didn’t act as if one were near. They were also in a hurry and moved fast toward a thicket that would give them invisible passage into the creek bottom. These were the first legal deer I’d seen since muzzleloader season, and I wanted some venison.
I found the biggest doe in my Bushnell scope, put the crosshairs in the sweet spot and pulled the trigger on my Remington 700 BDL in 7mm-08. The doe kicked and ran to the thicket, and I heard her crash to the ground. Two other does fled, but one stood confused. The Remington bellowed her to the ground as well.
I call that gun “money.” I’ve fired it at eight deer, and it has taken seven. I used hand loads tipped with 130-grain Barnes Triple Shock bullets. They were very accurate, and the shot on the big doe sliced her heart cleanly in two, but neither shot exited the body. That displeased me.
As I collected my deer, I gave thanks to my creator and then thought about Paul for putting me on this spot. I called to share the excitement. Recently I’ve been sent to voice mail. This time I got a fast busy signal. That worried me, so I said a little prayer for him, too.
Sports, Pages 22 on 12/31/2009