Hunting stories are great and I love to read them.
I'll start...What's your story?
I've known my wife for 3 1/2 years now. To say I was well set in my ways when we met is perhaps an understatement. I tried to warn her about the addiction, but she was raised in LA and MN/SP and just couldn't understand. She is great and I still get my trips to WY every year but with the kids, dog, jobs, house, etc., my time in the WI bow woods just isn't as plentiful as it once was. I told her I took risks and went places that were difficult and dangerous, because others people won't go there. That is where this story picks up...
"I found some public land. It is small, hidden, not signed, and difficult to access, and it looks GOOD!" She just shook her head and carried on with making dinner and fussing over the children. "I'm going to take the dog and the kayak and go check it out." "Ok" she says, "Be careful." No problem, I thought, I know what I'm doing. I was right, it looked good, and it required water access; that will keep the pressure to a minimum. So a plan was in the making. I hunted the front of the piece for three or four sits and saw some deer, may or may not have missed a doe at 24 yards, and kept dreaming about making the float back into the harder to reach back end of the property. So, one Friday I left work early, hurried home, packed all my gear on the boat and headed a mile plus down the stream. It was WET back there, it took WAY longer than I planned to get into a dry spot, and I was starting to work up a sweat. I decided to sit on the edge of the swamp instead of continuing up onto the ridge where I wanted to be. You see, the map showed a peninsula of high ground that extended off the end of the ridge out into the wet ground; perfect for a buck bed I decided. I wasn't willing to blow it out on the first trip in so I set up where I could see and glass and chalked it up to a recon mission. Well, not a deer in sight all night so I got down at dark, dejected and getting cold. I packed up the kayak, strapped everything down, stripped down to my base layers in anticipation of the upstream paddle, and off i went. I was making decent progress when I came to a spot I knew would be tricky, but I had conceived a plan and convinced myself I would have no problem. Boy was I wrong! A couple of uprooted trees from the summer floods had squeezed the water into a funnel and made the current a little more than I could handle. I was thrown sideways in the stream, the load shifted, and I was up to my neck in 35 degree water in a blink. Oh $h!t, she's going to kill me if I live. That was my first thought. Next was "Don't lose the bow!" Luckily everything stayed strapped to the boat and after 5 minutes of swimming, struggling, tugging, and swearing, I manged to get the kayak, climber, pack, and bow up on shore. It was 38 degrees and I was wet from head to toe. The boat and stand stayed put. I picked up my pack and bow, and headed into the swamp; I just had to get to the truck, and I'd be okay. If I hiked hard enough, I could keep my temp up. After all, a mile isn't that far, right? Well, since I'm typing this, you know I made it out, but that is just where the story gets interesting.
I got home and took my lumps like a man as she shook her head at me over her book when I told her I was taking a shower and going to buy a new climber so I could go out in the morning. I had a hundred reasons why I should just drink a beer and sleep in on Saturday but I only have so many days and I know I'd kick myself if I didn't find a way to hunt in the morning. The weather was looking perfect and the wind was right to hunt the front of the public again. I could always go in and get my kayak and stand after my morning sit; plus I could do some daylight scouting on the way. So off I went. I bought a new stand and put it together in the garage. I didn't trust my bow after taking a dunk so I grabbed the back up, plugged in the work lights on the deck, and put a dozen arrows in the target. I'm ready! I loaded up the waders, washed all of my clothes, dug my old boots out of the basement, and finally settled in for sleep, exhausted, and without a phone for an alarm (it got a little wet).
I was in my tree early on Saturday morning and it was perfect. No wind, crisp, November, Rut, new stand, new bow, new day! It was light by about 7:00 am and I was still hot from the walk in and climb up the tree. Nothing makes me sweat faster than trying to take my time and not sweat.... I figured I'd wait to put on my warm clothes until it got light because I had yet to see a deer in this stand before 9:00 am. By 7:30 I was cold, go figure. I gave the woods a deep scan, and slowly put on my coat and boot covers (why on earth did I buy anything with Velcro for hunting?). I looked up, grabbed my bow, and here they come....
The doe was panting like she'd been running all night. "It seems early for them to be chasing like this." I may have actually said out loud. Followed closely by "Holy crap it would be cool to snag a buck on public land after last nights cluster." I grabbed the binos and tried to get a look at the buck, but they were moving through the brush like ghosts and I couldn't find him through the glass. Just like that they were gone over the ridge and headed for private. Well, at least I saw a nice one. Not one for sitting still too long, I grabbed to grunt tube and can call. I hit a sequence and put it away to get ready, in case of a miracle or something, you know.
"Holy Hell, he's coming" I probably shouted. about 6 minutes after he disappeared, he was running right at my tree, no doe in sight. I guess he heard me, or he got tired of the rejection and just came for a look. Either way, he was on a bee line for the base of my tree and he was a shooter in my book. I love it when things happen so fast that I don't have time to think about it and screw it up. There he is, here he comes, draw, he's straight under me, wait.....let him pass, now, stop him, don't forget to aim dummy, squeeze, smack! Yes! I told her it's kind of like sex, but she doesn't understand that either....
I heard him crash and knew it was over.
I left him just in case; hunting on public close to private isn't the place to jump one and go on a trailing adventure with 4 phone calls to land owners looking for permission to trail a deer into their land. I got to the truck, turned on my phone (which had been in a bag of silica gel packets all night) and crossed my fingers. She answered! Bring the boy, and the cooler, we have a buck to pack! I honestly thought she'd laugh and hang up on me, but she said "where?" I hit the lottery with this one. While I waited, I went and fetched my stand and kayak from the swamp just to work up a lather before the work began. When they arrived, I let the 10 year old track his first deer; that was cool to watch! If you've never field butchered a deer in Wisconsin, it's not very fun. The rules are less than favorable for a pack out, but we managed. Mama carried the front quarters, and I hauled the rest. A 3 1/2 year old 10 point on public land not an hour from the capital. He's no book buck, but he's a trophy in my book. I'm so grateful that I didn't pack it in after the swim and that my wife tolerates, and even encourages my sickness.
Life is good, and even a near tragedy can be motivation instead of an obstacle, from the right angle.
I'll start...What's your story?
I've known my wife for 3 1/2 years now. To say I was well set in my ways when we met is perhaps an understatement. I tried to warn her about the addiction, but she was raised in LA and MN/SP and just couldn't understand. She is great and I still get my trips to WY every year but with the kids, dog, jobs, house, etc., my time in the WI bow woods just isn't as plentiful as it once was. I told her I took risks and went places that were difficult and dangerous, because others people won't go there. That is where this story picks up...
"I found some public land. It is small, hidden, not signed, and difficult to access, and it looks GOOD!" She just shook her head and carried on with making dinner and fussing over the children. "I'm going to take the dog and the kayak and go check it out." "Ok" she says, "Be careful." No problem, I thought, I know what I'm doing. I was right, it looked good, and it required water access; that will keep the pressure to a minimum. So a plan was in the making. I hunted the front of the piece for three or four sits and saw some deer, may or may not have missed a doe at 24 yards, and kept dreaming about making the float back into the harder to reach back end of the property. So, one Friday I left work early, hurried home, packed all my gear on the boat and headed a mile plus down the stream. It was WET back there, it took WAY longer than I planned to get into a dry spot, and I was starting to work up a sweat. I decided to sit on the edge of the swamp instead of continuing up onto the ridge where I wanted to be. You see, the map showed a peninsula of high ground that extended off the end of the ridge out into the wet ground; perfect for a buck bed I decided. I wasn't willing to blow it out on the first trip in so I set up where I could see and glass and chalked it up to a recon mission. Well, not a deer in sight all night so I got down at dark, dejected and getting cold. I packed up the kayak, strapped everything down, stripped down to my base layers in anticipation of the upstream paddle, and off i went. I was making decent progress when I came to a spot I knew would be tricky, but I had conceived a plan and convinced myself I would have no problem. Boy was I wrong! A couple of uprooted trees from the summer floods had squeezed the water into a funnel and made the current a little more than I could handle. I was thrown sideways in the stream, the load shifted, and I was up to my neck in 35 degree water in a blink. Oh $h!t, she's going to kill me if I live. That was my first thought. Next was "Don't lose the bow!" Luckily everything stayed strapped to the boat and after 5 minutes of swimming, struggling, tugging, and swearing, I manged to get the kayak, climber, pack, and bow up on shore. It was 38 degrees and I was wet from head to toe. The boat and stand stayed put. I picked up my pack and bow, and headed into the swamp; I just had to get to the truck, and I'd be okay. If I hiked hard enough, I could keep my temp up. After all, a mile isn't that far, right? Well, since I'm typing this, you know I made it out, but that is just where the story gets interesting.
I got home and took my lumps like a man as she shook her head at me over her book when I told her I was taking a shower and going to buy a new climber so I could go out in the morning. I had a hundred reasons why I should just drink a beer and sleep in on Saturday but I only have so many days and I know I'd kick myself if I didn't find a way to hunt in the morning. The weather was looking perfect and the wind was right to hunt the front of the public again. I could always go in and get my kayak and stand after my morning sit; plus I could do some daylight scouting on the way. So off I went. I bought a new stand and put it together in the garage. I didn't trust my bow after taking a dunk so I grabbed the back up, plugged in the work lights on the deck, and put a dozen arrows in the target. I'm ready! I loaded up the waders, washed all of my clothes, dug my old boots out of the basement, and finally settled in for sleep, exhausted, and without a phone for an alarm (it got a little wet).
I was in my tree early on Saturday morning and it was perfect. No wind, crisp, November, Rut, new stand, new bow, new day! It was light by about 7:00 am and I was still hot from the walk in and climb up the tree. Nothing makes me sweat faster than trying to take my time and not sweat.... I figured I'd wait to put on my warm clothes until it got light because I had yet to see a deer in this stand before 9:00 am. By 7:30 I was cold, go figure. I gave the woods a deep scan, and slowly put on my coat and boot covers (why on earth did I buy anything with Velcro for hunting?). I looked up, grabbed my bow, and here they come....
The doe was panting like she'd been running all night. "It seems early for them to be chasing like this." I may have actually said out loud. Followed closely by "Holy crap it would be cool to snag a buck on public land after last nights cluster." I grabbed the binos and tried to get a look at the buck, but they were moving through the brush like ghosts and I couldn't find him through the glass. Just like that they were gone over the ridge and headed for private. Well, at least I saw a nice one. Not one for sitting still too long, I grabbed to grunt tube and can call. I hit a sequence and put it away to get ready, in case of a miracle or something, you know.
"Holy Hell, he's coming" I probably shouted. about 6 minutes after he disappeared, he was running right at my tree, no doe in sight. I guess he heard me, or he got tired of the rejection and just came for a look. Either way, he was on a bee line for the base of my tree and he was a shooter in my book. I love it when things happen so fast that I don't have time to think about it and screw it up. There he is, here he comes, draw, he's straight under me, wait.....let him pass, now, stop him, don't forget to aim dummy, squeeze, smack! Yes! I told her it's kind of like sex, but she doesn't understand that either....
I heard him crash and knew it was over.
I left him just in case; hunting on public close to private isn't the place to jump one and go on a trailing adventure with 4 phone calls to land owners looking for permission to trail a deer into their land. I got to the truck, turned on my phone (which had been in a bag of silica gel packets all night) and crossed my fingers. She answered! Bring the boy, and the cooler, we have a buck to pack! I honestly thought she'd laugh and hang up on me, but she said "where?" I hit the lottery with this one. While I waited, I went and fetched my stand and kayak from the swamp just to work up a lather before the work began. When they arrived, I let the 10 year old track his first deer; that was cool to watch! If you've never field butchered a deer in Wisconsin, it's not very fun. The rules are less than favorable for a pack out, but we managed. Mama carried the front quarters, and I hauled the rest. A 3 1/2 year old 10 point on public land not an hour from the capital. He's no book buck, but he's a trophy in my book. I'm so grateful that I didn't pack it in after the swim and that my wife tolerates, and even encourages my sickness.
Life is good, and even a near tragedy can be motivation instead of an obstacle, from the right angle.
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