The weather was fantastic - if you like sweat shirt hunting - but poor for keeping your animal's cooled down. Saturday morning (November 6, 1999 in zone 4A (2 days)) was crystal clear, intense darkness, millions of stars, a sliver of moon, the temperature was 22 degrees, with just a hint of frost.

We (our party of 11) took 4 deer this day, a 5pt. buck, a 1pt. buck - which was a spike buck with one side broken off - and two doe fawns. Not the best we've done, but not bad either.

Sunday morning came, much like Saturday, we took stands, as we had done on Saturday, to wait until 8.00, when we would start making drives. I took a tree stand in my brother-in-law Brian's woods. The stand was in a multi-trunk maple tree, about 12 feet off the ground. I was in it right before 6.00 am. The temperature was warmer, about 35 degrees, once again very dark, clear, and no wind.

I was facing east in to a small broken clearing with woods beyond, a creek was on my right (south), a road was behind me about a 100 feet (west), with more woods to my left (north).

The tree was surrounded by thick patch of prickle ash (thorny brush). A dog started barking about 6.25, and continued in volume and quanity, and then I heard splashing thru the creek. I could just begin to see fairly well, but it was nowhere near sunrise yet. The brush began to snap and pop - I kept looking, seeing nothing, then a cotton tail rabbit appeared. My heart soon slowed.

About 6.45, there was a good amount of shooting behind me (west), and I turned to face that direction, but nothing came, so I sat down again.

Right before 7.00, I heard a crunch, then a 2nd, and a 3rd, but not in a pattern that would cause me to say a deer was moving. I could only tell it was in front of me, and off to the right.

Then he appeared - magicly, out of the shadows - first his back, and then the tips of his antlers. I had just begun to shift position (I am right handed, right eye dominant, my gun was pointing to my left), when there he was, standing not 15 yards from me, looking up, right at me, standing right on the edge of the clump of prickle ash.

He knew I was there, and the worst case of "Buck Fever" I've ever had began. This was not a huge buck, not a small buck - but he was a respectable multi-point animal (6-8 pts is my guess). I've shot bigger, and smaller bucks, and whole bunch of does, but this one got me and got me good.

My heart began to race, my breathing got ragged, and I began to tremble. I was trying not to stare at him, but yet at the same time, I had to watch him. I could see the steam from his breath in the air, and I'm sure he could see mine. His eyes were like black coals, shining and dark. He would put his head down or look back for an instant, but then he would always return to stare at me.

I began to slowly try to move my gun, from left to right. I managed to get it off my lap, and up to shoulder height in 3 moves, one each time the buck looked away, but he was very quick to look at me again. There was a complicating factor - the sling on my shotgun - one of the swivels squeaked. I'm sure the buck couldn't smell me - and I think my blaze orange camoflauge coat and pants disguised my form well enough, so that he couldn't make out what that "blob" was, but he sure heard the squeaks. After the third squeak, he bolted - to my left.

I threw up my shotgun, and got off 2 shots - I missed him clean, then had to move from right side of the tree trunk in front of me to left side. In the meantime, the buck turned to run away from me, out to about 35-40 yards, and then he stopped beside a clump of trees. I threw the gun up, shot again, and then the buck trotted off, and he was gone, tail waving.

I was just sick. I know now that I was so rattled by this deer that I didn't aim that last shot. 20/20 hindsight tells me I should have been facing more to the right, as the splashing I heard had to have been the buck. That the sound represented the best chance of a deer in my area was on the right. I also must question myself about what might have happpened had I just sat still. Which way would he have gone? I will never know....

My pulse and heart slowly returned to normal. Time passed, and 8.00 came. Our group made a drive toward me and others of our party. I saw movement, but it was a fawn. I directed group members to where I had last shot, but they found no blood. My last hope faded, yet in a way I was glad, as I had not merely wounded him.

We made 3 more drives, nothing on first, Brian shot at and missed a doe on the second, then Loren & Bernie combined on doe fawn. Then we made a fourth drive of the morning - the last before lunch.

My function on this drive was to be a stander for part of the drive, then become a driver for the last half. The ground we were driving was a swampy meadow, boggy, ponds and a creek, lots of brush and tall grass - very difficult to walk thru, but it invariably holds deer.

I was standing on a hillside, next to a pine tree planting, a small plowed field of corn stubble was between me and the meadow. I was at the mid-point of the length of the meadow. The closest driver to me was my nephew, Andy, age 14. Andy was allowed (by his dad, Brian) to have his gun while standing, but not during drives. When Andy was almost directly across from me, he was told to shift over 10-15 ft. That was what it took - a buck jumped almost instantly! It took off diagonally up the hillside, on to the plowed corn stubble. I shot and missed - behind him, I was told later. The buck ran to the edge of the pines, I tryed another shot, but my gun had jammed. In the time it took me to clear the jam, the buck had entered the pines and stopped - I think he heard the clank of the bolt closing and was trying to identify it. I put the front site on his chest and fired.

He jumped straight up in the air, then wheeled, and ran away from me. As he ran from me, I could see no tail, it was clamped tight to his rear. I thought "I missed again?", but how could I? He was not more than 30 feet from me and I made sure I had aimed that shot. I went to the spot where he had last stood, and made a mark in the dirt - I looked for blood, but there was none in the grass.

I had to join the drive at that point, and I overheard Andy say "...good shot. I could see red...". I called to Andy, and he repeated his statement. The drive ended. I went back to his last spot. I was joined by Andy, his dad (Brian) and Jerry. I was about to look for blood in the grass again, and Brian said "Here's his tracks, and look at the blood".

In the dirt, and on the corn stubble, not 3 feet from where I had marked the dirt, was blood, lots of blood. We followed the trail about 25 feet, and it angled toward the pine trees, and there he was, lying in the pine needles, maybe 20-25 feet from us.

My slug (a 12ga. Brenneke) had clipped his juggular vein, about 3" in front of his chest/shoulder. As near as I can tell, I was either still swinging my gun when I pulled the trigger, or he was already starting to turn as I pulled the trigger. In either case, he was a legal buck, and that is what I was licensed for - as I did not have an antlerless permit. He looked like a 4pt as he ran up the hill, but he turned out to be a small 8pt, a 5x3. We took pictures, then dressed him out, loaded him on the truck and returned for lunch.

While on the truck, and once back at the farm, we noticed that my deer stunk - he smelled, and it was of skunk - he had been sprayed, thus the nickname "Stinky" was given to my deer.

Pictures of "Stinky"

Myself and Andy with Stinky, where we found him.

Another picture of me with Stinky. We had moved him to the edge of the pine planting, where there was more light, and field dressed him in this spot.

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Copyright 1999© Jim Laumann.