I don’t care what Ma Nature has up her sleeve for me on any given huntday, I’m hittin’ the woods no matter what! Even though the season has been very strange and more frustrating than usual, I learned long ago that backstraps don’t come from the cabin. So I get out there relentlessly.
My deer report appears to mirror the reports of pretty much most of the deer hunters across the heartland for 2013; EHD kicked our ass and deer numbers are way down all across the MidWest range. Getting skunked could become a way of life! I hate that!
CLICK HERE TO LISTEN TO STORMTROOPIN‘ LIVE!
Nonetheless, I decided to take advantage of the strong SW wind and oncoming coldfront and row my little boat across my lake for a south ridge morning ambush
There certainly is something powerfully stimulating about crossing a placid lake in the predawn murk and blindly climbing a big timber ridge in the pitch black.
Before climbing into my tree, I walked 25 yards to a leaning overhang and scraped a clearing in the leaves with my heavy boot, then sprayed a good dose of skanky Doc’s Scrape Invader all over everything and climbed aboard.
Well, for the umpteenth time in my deer hunting life, it wasn’t 15 minutes later, still too dark to video, when my Bushnells revealed a handsome 8-point stud moving in on my doe-in-heat welcome mat! It was that quick, and I hadn’t touched up this mockscrape since last November, but this handsome little butterball buck found it that quick and was going all bucky on it right before our eyes.
He rubbed, pawed, licked, pawed some more and played around for a good 10 minutes then casually sauntered off for parts unknown. How cool is that?
Here’s a peek at Ted’s Michigan retreat.
Twenty minutes later a foursome of she-deer skulked in and sure enough, the lead swampdonkey keyed in on the scrape and moved right in on it just like the buck had.
Waiting for THE moment, I finally came to fulldraw on the biggest doe, but due to my failure to exhale for so many moments, my tensed-up body would not allow anything resembling archery to occur and my arrow sailed harmlessly just under the big girl, white brisket hair flying in the wind. Expletive deleted, ad nauseam!
In the middle of my cursing rage, I noticed a big doe yonder in the woods looking back at me, so I gracefully nocked another GoldTip Nuge arrow, settled the 40-yard pin on her shoulder and let fly.
And I drilled her! Hallelujah!
Sitting in the afterglow of that pretty arrow made the morning simply beautiful. Three different bucks came and went, off and on chasing does and running around in the distance when from the thick puckerbrush to our left stepped a handsome 2-year-old 8-point.
For the second time this wonderful morning, my mystical flight of the arrow found its mark and we had us a double buck-doe backstrapper Spirit of the Wild TV show and one over-the-top ultra-happy old guitarplayer. Oh how sweet it is.