Yesterday, my brother in law called and asked if I wanted to go hunting in the morning. I just said yes. I didn’t ask where we were going, who was going, or any other questions. Just, yes.
I was up this morning at a little after 5 am. Had my requisite 5 or 6 cups of coffee. About 645, I put the tea kettle on to boil, then made a french press of Folgers coffee, and filled the thermos. I was out the door a little after 7. I had to go to the tug to get my ditch bag and xtratuffs. I was back at the parking lot just as my inlaws were unloading their truck at 730. It was just after sunrise.
As we loaded our gear onto their boat, Doug came by with some friends from up north. They were heading out hunting, too. He asked us where we were going so he wouldn’t be going to the same spot. We were gonna beach hunt, said my BIL. Doug and his buddies were off to a favorite spot they’ve been hunting for years. As we motored out, I asked about Doug’s friends. My BIL said the three of them had a fourth friend who used to hunt with them and had since passed away. They have a bottle of whiskey stashed in the woods where they were going hunting, and they have a communal snort of whiskey each year and toast their late friend. I thought that was pretty neat.
My BIL asked if I wanted to beach hunt with them or get dropped off. I said I’d like to get dropped off at a favorite spot that I knew I could get up to and back from in a few hours. We cruised the beaches on the way there, and then they dropped me off a little before 9 am and said they’d be back about noon. I feel so privileged getting asked to go on hunts like this, where I get dropped off and picked up and all I have to do is show up. No trailering my boat to the harbor or anchoring the boat and rowing to shore and worrying about the boat dragging anchor. Just show up at the harbor and get dropped off and picked up. So nice.
At the beach, I swapped out the regular xtratuffs for my cork hunting xtratuffs, started the tracking on my backup ancient Samsung tablet that I carry now as a backup in case I lose my phone (ah gen), and switch on the InReach mini so I can communicate by satellite with my inlaws when I’m out of cell service, which this area mostly is. The sky was clearing and blue sky poking through. It was gonna be a nice, dry day.
I headed up to my favorite hunting spot. It’s about a 30 minute hike. Up the hill, across a creek, and then a slow creep up another hill on the other side of the creek to a little draw with a little creek running through it. As I get over the top of the hill, there’s the remains of the 4 point I got last year. The rack is still intact, and every bit of flesh is gone from the skull. I’ll grab it on the way out if I don’t get a deer.
I creep in to the familiar spot. There’s my log. I find a spot where I have some branches of other trees in front of me, both for cover and for a gun rest, then duff my pack. I get out my phone and look at the time: 9:27. I will settle in and wait til 945 till I call. I chamber a shell, check my scope, and enjoy the morning and keep my eyes peeled out in front of me. I think about Dick Mitchell back home, who just passed away. He was the father of one of my best friends from high school, and he and his wife were the definition of Salt of the Earth people. Two of my favorite human beings.
At just about 945 I hear something behind me. Right in the trail I came down to this log. It’s a spike buck with a good size body that looks like it followed me right to this spot. It holds up 20 feet away. I stand up, aim for the neck…and miss. Holy shit, Mark. You are pathetic. The deer turns and runs a short distance up the hill. I can see it through the brush where it stops for a few seconds, then it’s gone.
I sit back down, and softly blow on the deer call. A minute later, here he comes again. This time down in front of me. I use the branch for a rest, get his neck in the scope, and down he goes. I settle back down on the log. I wait 15 minutes, and call. Then wait another 15 minutes and call again. No more deer come in. Time to get to work.
The deer is right next to the little creek. I send my BIL a message telling him I have a deer and should still be okay for a noon pick up. It’s now 1035. I punch my deer tag and get out my knife. I dress the deer, then clean my tools in the creek. A nice tree is leaning right over the deer. I set the hoist up in the tree, and pull the deer up by the neck. I get the hide off in a few minutes, then pull a meat sack up around the deer carcass, and lower it little by little into my pack, until it’s all in there, then remove the head. This deer fits in the pack a lot better than the larger October deer, and I can pack this deer out in one trip. (When I got home, I weighed the deer carcass and it weighed about 54 lbs, and the rest of the pack and gear weighed 16 lbs, for a total pack weight of 70 lbs).
I’m able – just barely – to lift the pack and shoulder it, with a little help of setting it first on the leaning tree the hoist was on. Once I have the pack on my back, things are okay. I clip in the chest strap and tighten it down. I look at my phone to get a good compass bearing back to the beach, and see it’s 1125. I should get there right on time.
I head back down the hill. Why is it I can bee-line it into my spot from the beach, but always. I mean, every…single…time. Get side tracked on my way down the hill, and end up in a trainwreck of dead falls, or looking for a place to cross the creek, or all of the above. With 70 lbs on my back.
I check my track on OnX to get my bearings part way back to the beach, and see it’s 1156. Well, I’m gonna be late, but not like it’s getting dark or any of us have to get back for anything. It’ll be fine.
When I get down where I can see the saltwater through the rainforest, I soon see the boat. I yell that I’m on my way. As I get to the beach, I see the boat slip around the corner. I whistle a couple times, but they keep going. Oh well. They’ll be back. By pure luck, I come down right where I went in, and there’s my gun case hanging on the tree branch at the beach. I hike down and change out my corks to my regular boots.
Just as I get the second boot changed, here comes the boat back around the corner. I wave my hat and then see my BIL looking at me out with his head out the window but not saying anything.
As he comes up to me, he finally talks in whispers. Do I need help on the bow getting my gear aboard, he asks. No, I reply. I can barely toss the pack up there. I set the gun case and boots on the bow, then pull myself up and onto the bow. Wow, that’s a lot easier than 2 years and 75 lbs ago. What a great day is all I can think. My BIL backs off the beach, and I get my gear around to the back deck. Then I notice: where’s my SIL? She must be hunting. My BIL says there was a buck on the beach in a tiny cove right next to where I came to the beach, and he dropped her off to see if she can find it. I sheepishly asked if I was yelling to the boat when you saw the buck? Yep, he said. Well, I couldn’t have known that, of course, but I still feel like a turd in the punch bowl.
Now we’re both whispering as we idle off the cove. A minute later…”BANG”. We wait a bit for a follow up shot. There is none. The BIL then yells up the hill to his wife. No response. I then whistle and yell. “I got it” is the response. A great day just got better. I put my knife, buttout tool, and a piece of rope in the zipper pocket of my bibs, then get dropped off on the beach. I get up in the woods a ways and call for direction. My SIL responds and soon I’m there with her. She’d dragged the buck from where she got it towards the beach, and now the two of us make short work of dressing it. I tie the line around the set of fork horns and drag it the short distance to the beach. The water was at a neap high tide, and my BIL is able to idle right up along some logs sticking out into the water. I walk down the logs, floating the deer alongside the boat. He opens the door on the side of the boat, and the deer slides right in. About as easy as it gets. I’m all smiles. I so love deer hunting. Days we get deer are even better.
I crack open the thermos and have that first hot coffee after getting back to the beach. Nothing better. I think it’s the first time I’ve tried Folgers in the french press, and I like it much better than the ground espresso beans I had been using.
As we head for town, we chat about the deer we found today, and notice lots of whales still in the area, after they all but disappeared to somewhere this summer. I’ve still got a smile from ear to ear.
