Post #21 - Broken Antler Bruiser

In a strange shake up from the common monotony of a coming season and sighting in the trusty .243 bolt action rifle, as I would be entering the 2015 firearm season with a .300 lever action rifle that belonged to my uncle that he’d bought in his youth with his step father. In an attempt to prevent the rifle from falling into the hands of his now hell of a divorce scenario, it was gifted to me. Now I had never shot a caliber other than .243 and .270 before, so this .300 was entirely new to me but I did however enjoy the lever action handling and being able to use it comfortably with my left hand. The part I did not enjoy however was the price different for a 20 pack of rounds, from going from $20 for .243 to now around $35 for the .300 hit the wallet much harder. Nevertheless, I was still determined to put this new rifle of mine to good use and to hopefully get a nice deer with it so I could let my uncle know I was successful with his rifle. Enter now, the coming November time grind.

2015 now was yet again a wild year for me, I was 23 years old and probably the heaviest I’d ever been in my life. I was pushing that 190lb life at 5’4”, so I was no “beach hunk” or anything sort of looking good. I was heavily into my chewing tobacco and alcohol habits, and had grown out some of my very first facial hair, or more so a long tuft from the base of my chin out. Needless to say, it was a look…. Despite all this though, I was looking forward to getting back out into the woods for whitetail, after having some success with the 20 gauge taking some grouse off the land.

The largest downside to this season was once again time management, and trying to stretch out my firearm season to the greatest I could while also juggling work, school, and an hour commute both ways. I also had clinicals at the hospitals to try and work around too, and being ready for 8 hours of running around and then having to come home to study. Once again, I was crafting a dream of being able to work every winter, spring and summer and just having the fall off to pursue wild game every single day, but alas it has since only remained that, a dream.

By using my available time to the best of my possible extent, I quickly burned through Opener Weekend without seeing a single thing. It also didn’t help that Saturday morning I had purchased the wrong caliber for my .300 in which it was a .300 but was a specialty round that was too large for my chamber, and I should have seen that as a poor omen to this season start. It certainly did not start off great, and continued to only be piss poor as the second weekend passed by just as quickly as Opener. By now it was coming to the end of the second week, and I had gotten released from class early that particular Thursday and raced home to be able to try and sit in the stand for the last few hours, since that has always been the “money time” for me at the house. But by the time I got towards Kettle River, my spirits started to sink, as the weather went from clear in Duluth to a gloomy, overcast and rainy spell. It looked as though possibly going out to the stand was not going to be happening today, as the rain would keep me soaked and the barely above freezing temp would keep my bones and teeth chattering all the while sitting in a metal stand exposed to the elements. So it seemed as though posting up by the window and doing homework was going to be the way things would go.

While the backyard has always been a “secret haven” for me and being allowed to see the animals out from a distance and know with certainty that at some point during the day/night that they’re making trips to the yard, it helped raise my spirits slightly, despite still having homework to do. As I maneuvered the kitchen table in such a way that would allow me to easily look up and out the window, I laid out my laptop and notebooks, ready to start hammering away on the assigned work load.

Some time during this hammering, I happened to look up and to my surprise there was two deer in the backyard, I couldn’t believe it and how my luck was turning! Those feelings quickly dissolved as I pulled up the binos and scoured the tops of the deer’s head. Due to poor years and not ideal herd management, my 156 Zone went from a "Hunter’s Choice and bonus tag” listing, to only a “Antlered Only” with a possibility to draw a doe tag (which I had forgotten to apply for, and thus was stuck with only an antlered only tag). For a deer to be a legal antlered animal there needed to be at least a 3 inch long antler visible atop the animal’s head. These deer had nothing, one was a doe and the other a button buck. My heart yet again continued to sink, and the horrid feeling of seeing these two deer right out in the open where I could have taken them and here I was unable to due to my license.

Just as I thought all hope was lost, in from the backside of the pole shed entered a third deer. I pulled up the binos once again and expecting to see nothing but rejection and more heartbreak, I was instead feeling my jaw hit the floor. For here was a buck with a legal antler atop his head, and was clearly interested in this young doe who was in the backyard (don’t forget here that it was during the “rut”). Feeling that time was of the essence, I quickly grabbed my rifle and yet again popped open my upstairs bedroom window and crawled out onto the rooftop. As I had done in previous years, I slowly made my way to the ridge atop the roof and poked my head over the side and got my rifle ready. As I did this I could see that the buck was meandering off the way that he’d come in, either deciding this doe wasn’t “down to clown” or thinking he could do better, I saw my attempt to get a clean shot slowly walking away. In a last ditch attempt I followed him in the scope and let out a sound that sounds like a doe bleat that goes like “Eeeeehhhhhh”, and in so doing this the buck turned slightly to his right side and was now broadside to me from about 65-70 yards out in an attempt to find out what had made this sound. I gently touched the trigger and applied controlled pressure with my left index finger.

“Blaaaaaaaaaammmmmmm!”

The buck made a buckle downwards and then did a heavy looking jump up and started to run/stagger away after the shot. I followed him to behind the pole shed and saw that he then entered into where the old deer stand my father and I had built and to where I used to play paintball at with the guys when we were younger. From there he had disappeared into the woods, but I knew he had not gone far judging by how he had reacted after being shot. With the rain continuing to come down, I slowly made my way down the roof and back into my old room and changed into some dry clothes and waterproof and placed my field dressing knives into my pack sack.

As I made my way out to the field and to the surrounding woods I couldn’t help but revisit and walkthrough the entire shot process and how the buck had reacted. I was certain it was a fatal hit judging by how I hit him and with having a heavier caliber going through him at broadside I was almost confident that I had gotten him, but there always looms the thought and dread of “what if?” What if I hadn’t made that great of a shot, and had all together missed and the fact that the buck took off slowly was due to the wet grass from the rain coming down? Thankfully I didn’t have to dwell on these thoughts for long, for as I made it no further than 20 yards into the woodline when I saw the backside of the buck. Approaching him cautiously and with rifle still in hand with a round in the chamber, I gently poked him in the shoulder with the barrel, nothing.

I couldn’t believe my fortune, from going through almost the entire season with nothing to show of it, and here I had not 1, not 2, but 3 deer come into the backyard on such a terrible weather day. I guess it just goes to show that just because the weather is poor for us hunters, doesn’t mean some deer won’t still try to get a little rut on.

Deer #10 lifetime but buck #2 for me.

Clearly this buck had gotten into a fight or two as he has broken off half his right side antler.

Ty G. Anderson

February 14th | 2020