Elkboy's Idaho whitetail buck

[elkboy]

I promise a full hunt story later, but tonight I was blessed with the largest buck of my life over the border in Idaho. Rattling and grunting were involved, plus a quick tree stand setup.

[bowhunterforever]

Great buck

[WapitiTalk1]

Dandy WT mister. Congrats on a fine trophy!

[quadrafire]

Very nice!!!

[Timberstalker]

Looking forward to your story. He's a dandy.

[elkrack]

Cool whitey!

[ShaneTyTrey]

Congrats on that bruiser!

[blackveltbowhunter]

Awesome buck.

[carpsniperg2]

congrats

[pianoman9701]

Couldn't have happened to a nicer and more deserving guy. Congratulations on an outstanding animal!

[Dan-o]

What a beautiful buck.

[boneaddict]

Wonderful buck

[SemperFidelis97]

That is a great looking buck, looking foreword to the story Elkboy.

[elkboy]

*Short version*
Yesterday (November 21), I was able to slip away from work for the afternoon and drive over to a buddy’s property in adjacent Idaho.  I set up in a portable tree stand overlooking a large timbered draw with old skid trails opening up visibility just enough in the dense Douglas-fir, grand fir, and ponderosa pines.  I mostly used a grunt call, but did three rattling sessions about thirty minutes apart.  Five minutes after the last rattle session (3:40 PM), this buck walked out of the dark brush and timber, and approached to eight yards, looking for the trespassing bucks.  I shot him between the shoulder blades from above and forward, dropping him instantly and humanely.  Meat for winter, antlers for the dining room, memories forever!  Happy Thanksgiving! 

*Long version*
November is a magical month, where the change of seasons is hailed by a chorus of geese far overhead, by the first dusting of snow, and by the frantic coursing of the white-tailed deer here in our land of pine and wheat.  In the last few years, I have learned that I am happy to grit my teeth and write a sizeable check to the Idaho Department of Fish and Game for the privilege of chasing their deer.  It is more about the freezer, and much less about the adornment of the walls, but I must say that perhaps no state is as well poised to offer a chance at trophy whitetails as the Gem State. 

I slipped away from work and drove the forty minutes into Idaho, where two good friends of mine had given me permission to hunt their two contiguous properties of hay fields, ponderosa pine plantations, and deep draws of Douglas-fir, grand fir, western larch, and western redcedar.  I had been out twice in the last week to see what could be seen in terms of the deer, and on the previous Saturday had “grunted in” a nice young 4x4.  I had seen him trot in after a few grunts, but committed the error of reaching for the grunt call when I had lost track of him in the brush.  As I leaned over to reach for the call, he and I locked eyes at 30 yards.  He walked away, giving me no shot opportunity in the ocean-spray and snowberry.  A doe walked by ten minutes later, also with her vitals perpetually covered by tree boles, by brush, by stumps.  Lesson 1: stay behind the rifle when you know a buck has entered your area!  Lesson 2: I needed to get above the brush a little ways. 

And so here I was, 2:00 PM on a Monday, tree stand on my back, contemplating the same timbered draw.  It was late in the day- did I have time to get in there, set up, and really have a hunt before the onset of darkness at 4:30 PM?  I reminded myself of the byword of Britain’s Special Air Service: “He who dares, wins.”  I trudged off across pasture and pine plantation, aiming for the same spot as the weekend before.  I jump a buck and doe as I clank and rustle my way in, further dampening my hopes.  I thought of giving up, coming back another day.  I thought of research papers to write, of student work to grade, of administrative reports to drily spin together.  But… “Plan the hunt, and hunt the plan!”  And so I did.  After all, it was the rut, the wind was coming at a perfect angle out of the west-southwest, and my work-stressed mind could stand to sit in a Douglas-fir and watch the quiet forest.  Half past two came, and I had cammed my way up the tree, and was sitting with rifle at the ready.  I figured my commotion had scared off every deer in the county, but then again, these deer are moving around in November!  A brown creeper inched his way up the next tree, and white-breasted nuthatches surrounded me in a twittering, moving party of bird life.  The joys of the tree stand cannot only be measured in pounds of venison, that is for sure. 

I grunt mostly, but do set in with the antlers every half hour.  At 3:30, I know my time is short.  What do I have to lose?  With great aggression, like two bucks both determined for the prize, my left hand and right hand play out the audial drama with vigor.  It is a loud and (for me) long session of clacking and grinding, lasting about 2 minutes.  And then, silence.  Five minutes later, I hear a branch break to my south, where the brush is thickest, a tangle of Rocky mountain maple and ocean spray, with abundant grand fir saplings to really thicken the place.  And then I see him at forty yards, walking the main deer trail along the slope.  And I realize that he is big, and that he is coming in with conviction, every step with the calm, stately assurance of a true dominant buck.  He turns, and walks up the old skid trail that opens up my view through the dense Idaho timber, directly at me.  Thirty yards, twenty, ten.  I have no shot because his head and antlers block the vitals!  Until about eight yards.  He drops his head to sniff the ground, and I place the cross-hairs of the .243 between his angled shoulders.  At the shot, he drops, never to move again.  Eight yards. 

The evening air of the Idaho November cooled me as I performed the work of quartering and carrying, my mind spinning with thoughts.  It had been a hard year for me on many fronts, and this burden of sadness and worry tempered the elation I believe I should have felt.  It was sad to me that the circumstances of life can sometimes bruise our capacity for joy at things like the gift of a Thanksgiving buck, the gift of a noble life.  As I drove westward and home, I knew I owed this animal joy.  Gratitude.  A welcome into my home as an honored guest.  Two families were over for the evening, friends of my renter.  As I held one of their small children in my lap, feeding her small bites of grilled venison, I felt a peace return, and the warm glow of happiness.  I toasted the great buck; through him and through much else was that November magic at work.     

*I am grateful to Sabotloader for being one of the people to pick me up and dust me off this year.  Friends and mentors make life not just bearable, but incredible.  Also, thanks to 3nails for inspiring a lot of us to put some time in on rattling and grunting.  Both Sabotloader and 3nails are committed enough to hunting to teach skills they have mastered, and that commands the highest respect.  Happy Thanksgiving, all!*


 

[pianoman9701]

A very well-told story, EB. Thanks.

[lokidog]

Nice story, awesome buck!  Congratulations!

[DOUBLELUNG]

Stud!

[Mark251]

Great looking buck 

[3nails]

 Wow, great buck! And great story. The old warrior just couldn't handle the thought of a couple dominant sounding bucks trespassing his area. I predict more rattling success in your future!

[MtnMuley]

What an old brute.

[Jpmiller]

That's a heckuva heavy looking buck and you even have your elbows bent in the photo!?! Congrats to you sir