Well, this whole hunting season has been a bit of a mess. I am on the verge of losing my yearly Deer Camp tradition in Missouri with my grandfather, and this is the first year I haven't hunted there in a very long time. Combined with the fact I didn't see s single thing worth shooting during muzzleloader, and the few times I have been out during archery...I just haven't had the desire I typically do.
Regardless, I wasn't going to miss opening day. I got up early, had my coffee, and got to the blind with plenty of time. Weather was great, cool but not cold, very little wind. All in all, a beautiful morning. I had does on the field 15 minutes before sunup. As I sit and watch the girls and their babies eat and play, I enjoy my coffee in the blind. Just a good, solid morning. I look over to my west, and here comes this dude, nose to the ground, ready to fight or screw.
I had decided to try the .22 Creedmoor out this year on deer, more as an experiment than anything. I am shooting 69gr Sierra TMK bullets, and they have been death on coyotes and pigs.I let him get about 160yds out, and he gives me a decent quartering to shot. As I am pulling the trigger, I seen him move. I could see the steam fly when the bullet hit. He hunched up, and jumped the fence into the wooliest, nastiest patch of briars on the section. I look over, and see that my does never even looked up. Man, suppressors are cool !!
I give him about 20 minutes, and climb down to find him. I walk to where I know he jumped the fence.....and I cant find anything. No blood, no hair....nothing. I was immediately discouraged, and began to regret bringing the Creedmoor. After climbing the fence, I began my circular search, and find blood. Then I find more, then I find a lot more. I trail him through the timber, and I see him in the brambles. He's down, but I can hear him breathing, very laboured. The blood has some bubbles in it, so I know I have at least a lung in play. I sit down, and watch him, waiting for him to bleed out. I guess he winded me, because he lifted his head and went to grunting at me, managed to stumble to his feet, and took off again. I stayed where I was, and i could here him crashing though the timber. About five minutes later, and I don't hear anything.
I went around the patch of briars he stumbled into, hoping to see him. I finally locate him on a pond dam, and he's done. When I got to him, I immediately found the error in my ways. I hit him just a bit too far back. Like anything gutshot, he ran for water. I felt horrible....I have never had to trail a deer that far, and I have never gutshot one. Ever. When I opened him, I found the bullet had punched through and through, taking both lungs...and just ever so slightly clipped an intestine. I can't blame the bullet, all I can blame is me.
After dressing him, I had to drag him around all the stuff he just came through. As the crow flies, he ran less than 500yd. By the time I got him to where I could get the pickup, we had traveled close to a half mile. He is going to be my first shoulder mount, a remembrance of a rough hunting year, that turned out alright...and of a deer that made me earn him.
Regardless, I wasn't going to miss opening day. I got up early, had my coffee, and got to the blind with plenty of time. Weather was great, cool but not cold, very little wind. All in all, a beautiful morning. I had does on the field 15 minutes before sunup. As I sit and watch the girls and their babies eat and play, I enjoy my coffee in the blind. Just a good, solid morning. I look over to my west, and here comes this dude, nose to the ground, ready to fight or screw.
I had decided to try the .22 Creedmoor out this year on deer, more as an experiment than anything. I am shooting 69gr Sierra TMK bullets, and they have been death on coyotes and pigs.I let him get about 160yds out, and he gives me a decent quartering to shot. As I am pulling the trigger, I seen him move. I could see the steam fly when the bullet hit. He hunched up, and jumped the fence into the wooliest, nastiest patch of briars on the section. I look over, and see that my does never even looked up. Man, suppressors are cool !!
I give him about 20 minutes, and climb down to find him. I walk to where I know he jumped the fence.....and I cant find anything. No blood, no hair....nothing. I was immediately discouraged, and began to regret bringing the Creedmoor. After climbing the fence, I began my circular search, and find blood. Then I find more, then I find a lot more. I trail him through the timber, and I see him in the brambles. He's down, but I can hear him breathing, very laboured. The blood has some bubbles in it, so I know I have at least a lung in play. I sit down, and watch him, waiting for him to bleed out. I guess he winded me, because he lifted his head and went to grunting at me, managed to stumble to his feet, and took off again. I stayed where I was, and i could here him crashing though the timber. About five minutes later, and I don't hear anything.
I went around the patch of briars he stumbled into, hoping to see him. I finally locate him on a pond dam, and he's done. When I got to him, I immediately found the error in my ways. I hit him just a bit too far back. Like anything gutshot, he ran for water. I felt horrible....I have never had to trail a deer that far, and I have never gutshot one. Ever. When I opened him, I found the bullet had punched through and through, taking both lungs...and just ever so slightly clipped an intestine. I can't blame the bullet, all I can blame is me.
After dressing him, I had to drag him around all the stuff he just came through. As the crow flies, he ran less than 500yd. By the time I got him to where I could get the pickup, we had traveled close to a half mile. He is going to be my first shoulder mount, a remembrance of a rough hunting year, that turned out alright...and of a deer that made me earn him.
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