I saw a lot of whitetails this year, which was a nice surprise given the last two years of blue-tongue mortality. To help support the herd's recovery, I had promised the landowners that I would not take a doe this year. Of course, once you make a promise of that sort, the does lose all fear of you! Every single time I went out, I passed on shots on does. I had two situations in which a large buck came in just after the end of shooting light. It is truly like they checked the regulations and then their watches.
As season went on, work heated up, and I felt the pull of the office each time I loaded up the muzzleloader into the car. Last night was a turning point, and I felt like simply filling the tag and the freezer. And I was obliged with an opportunity. At 5:30 PM, I was in a tree stand at the head of a draw of hawthorn and ponderosa pine. At 5:37 pm, three does walk up from the forest below at a distance of 25 yards, and a young buck followed them. I check with the binoculars- he is a legal 3-point! A glance at his antlers made me want to let him walk away; a glance at his large body made me want to take the shot. And meat considerations prevailed. The Knight Mountaineer delivered the fatal blow; the young buck ran 30 yards, wobbled, and slid down into the hawthorns of the draw.
A rain squall, a double rainbow, and a golden sunset were Nature's farewell to the day and to the young whitetail. I drove home with venison for the winter, and the gratitude that I hope will always be my response to the gift of a deer.
