My first Idaho hunt could hardly have gone better. It was not exactly a wilderness hunt, being in the farm and forest mix of the lowlands, but the cold temperatures, the skiff of snow in the woods, and the sunny blue skies made it a classic early winter experience.
*Short story* After a day and a half of grunting and rattling in thick timber and brush, I set up to wait for a good meat doe on a friend's hay pasture. After just 20 minutes, I was blessed with the appearance and quick harvest of a beautiful mature whitetail buck.
*Long write-up* On Saturday, I headed out with a friend who wanted to learn about hunting. We did a number of ground setups with rattling and grunting, but the only deer we saw was a doe at long distance through the ponderosa pines. We did see a lot of wildlife, though, including sharp-shinned hawks, wild turkeys (loud!), and numerous songbirds. On Sunday, my hunting plans with friends fell through due to a small family emergency on their part. I called another friend of mine, and he told me there were more than enough deer to go around on his property, and that I was welcome. I help him with some farm chores until about noon, and then slip into the timber. I set up over a brushy draw with the east wind in my face, and spend the next two hours grunting and rattling occasionally. I call in two deer, both of which I never see. One comes in through the brush and mature timber down the draw to my right, making noise but never stepping out. The other came in behind me through a ten year old ponderosa plantation, and I hear footsteps turn to hoof-beats as the frosty breeze carries my scent to his infallible nose.
Half amused and half frustrated by how both the deer and I shared "success" in my calling session, I return to my friend's hay field, which he assured me brings out 2-3 does on a very regular nightly basis. With only this weekend to dedicate to my hunt, I give up on antlers, and decide that a doe is a very good use of this particular Idaho tag. I set up under a pine near an old hay barn, with the wind in my face. The low November sun cast a golden shine to the larches, pines, and Douglas-fir, and the green sprouts in the hay pasture had thawed from their frost. Looking out through the low branches, I decide that the longest shot I would have on a deer is directly south, to where a lobe of the pasture sits between a young pine plantation and a brushy patch at 200 yards distance. I spend 2-3 minutes getting my shooting sticks and stance just right to make a shot there. And not fifteen minutes later... it happens. A large-bodied deer emerges at the very spot I have set up for, and I glance with the binoculars. My jaw drops, and I do not need to count points to begin scrambling to get my rifle to my shoulder. The buck walks fifteen yards down the field edge, neck stretched as he tests the breeze for the scent of does. I wait, with a pounding heart, as he turns broadside. I hold a little high on his vitals, and steady the .243 Savage on the shooting sticks. A trigger pull, an explosion, a staggering run into the pines on the part of the deer, and a breathless 90-yard blood trailing job lead me to where this beautiful buck had fallen among the snowberry and the tall grasses of the forest edge. A waxing moon rises as I perform the rituals: tagging, field dressing, and placing the "last bite" ('letztes Bissen'- German hunting tradition of last respects) of grasses in the mouth of the fallen champion. I am mostly a meat hunter, generally a taker of does; but over the course of my life I do not see it as inconsistent to take the occasional trophy buck, and be grateful for the gift of both meat and the memory-keeper of antlers.
Best of luck to all of you for the rest of this fall! And HAPPY THANKSGIVING!
