Getting the Hang of Whitetail Hunting
To a transplanted westerner accustomed to hunting rather than ambushing, putting whitetail deer in the freezer looked too easy. The conventional and common method is to sit in a tree stand perched in a likely spot, and wait for a deer to come along. Why in a tree fifteen feet above the ground? Because deer don't look up, or so the books and magazines say. I think that depends on what the definition of 'up' is.
My wife usually comes with me and keeps me company in our double stand, but she stayed home last evening, nursing a sore knee from a tumble on the trail into the woods the day before. I also have a single stand a few yards from our double but on the far side of a large tree and facing a different direction with a different field of view. I haven't yet used it, primarily because my wife has been with me every day since the season opened; I didn't use it last night because the double has a better view of the place I most often see deer come out of the woods in the evening and across the fairly open grassy slough my stands are in.
I clipped a few twigs off a nearby tree that might deflect a bolt from my crossbow, then climbed into the double stand, hoised my bow with a length of parachute cord, cocked and armed it, and sat down to read for an hour or so until light began to fade and deer would begin to move.
I put down my book and stood holding the crossbow for the last fifteen minutes of legal light. In Ohio, gun hunters have to quit at published sunset, but archers can hunt until half an hour past. For my eyes, that last five minutes is usually too dark for me to shoot.
Ambient sounds included small birds flitting about and chirping, ducks quacking at the lake, a squirrel or two scampering and chattering, and leaves rustling in puffs of breeze. Farther away, the constant hum of traffic on three highways and the usual barking dogs. Underlying all else is a faint, high hum that I hear only when sitting in near silence, a hum that isn't really there but is perhaps an echo of too many years in airplanes.
A new sound from the woods got my attention, not from the left as I had expected but from my right. A hoof klonking on wood, perhaps, then crunches in the leaves too heavy for squirrels. I moved my feet silently to face the sounds as they grew nearer, nothing yet visible in the rapidly darkening woods. I eased the safety off the crossbow between thumb and finger; pushing it with thumb alone makes a sharp click. Then, for some stupid reason, I decided to turn to be sure no deer had come out of the woods directly behind me, from the direction I’ve most often seen deer in the evening. I turned very slowly, but not slowly enough.
Everything I’ve heard and read indicates deer don’t look up. Perhaps when deer are directly below or nearly so, 'up' is higher than they look, but when they are thirty yards away, as these four were, 'up' at someone five yards above the ground is a shallow angle.
If I'd not turned away, I'd certainly have seen them as they emerged from dense woods behind a thin screen of trees just in front of me and, incidentally, directly under my other stand. I’d taken the quiver off the crossbow to keep the bright plastic fletching from signaling movement, but motion betrayed me anyway. Three white tails bounced into view and vanished back into the woods. I heard at least one more that I didn’t see.
I checked my watch. Three more minutes of legal light and a minute or so past my practical deadline. The deer stayed just out of my sight and snorted as I stood motionless. I didn’t want to disturb them further, so I waited several minutes until I heard no more sounds from the deer before climbing down and walking home.
Had I not turned to look behind me but remained facing the sounds and motionless, I might be in the basement stowing venison in the freezer this morning. Next time I hear what might be deer, I'll face the sound and not move until the deer is closer to my stand, close enough it won't notice me aiming from above. Maybe. And once I've got that procedure down pat, some other error will no doubt make itself apparent.
Like salmon fishing, reading books and magazines about hunting isn’t education enough. Hunting deer from ambush is not as simple as it looks. It took me years to get the feel for catching salmon; I hope it doesn’t take that long for whitetails.
My wife usually comes with me and keeps me company in our double stand, but she stayed home last evening, nursing a sore knee from a tumble on the trail into the woods the day before. I also have a single stand a few yards from our double but on the far side of a large tree and facing a different direction with a different field of view. I haven't yet used it, primarily because my wife has been with me every day since the season opened; I didn't use it last night because the double has a better view of the place I most often see deer come out of the woods in the evening and across the fairly open grassy slough my stands are in.
I clipped a few twigs off a nearby tree that might deflect a bolt from my crossbow, then climbed into the double stand, hoised my bow with a length of parachute cord, cocked and armed it, and sat down to read for an hour or so until light began to fade and deer would begin to move.
I put down my book and stood holding the crossbow for the last fifteen minutes of legal light. In Ohio, gun hunters have to quit at published sunset, but archers can hunt until half an hour past. For my eyes, that last five minutes is usually too dark for me to shoot.
Ambient sounds included small birds flitting about and chirping, ducks quacking at the lake, a squirrel or two scampering and chattering, and leaves rustling in puffs of breeze. Farther away, the constant hum of traffic on three highways and the usual barking dogs. Underlying all else is a faint, high hum that I hear only when sitting in near silence, a hum that isn't really there but is perhaps an echo of too many years in airplanes.
A new sound from the woods got my attention, not from the left as I had expected but from my right. A hoof klonking on wood, perhaps, then crunches in the leaves too heavy for squirrels. I moved my feet silently to face the sounds as they grew nearer, nothing yet visible in the rapidly darkening woods. I eased the safety off the crossbow between thumb and finger; pushing it with thumb alone makes a sharp click. Then, for some stupid reason, I decided to turn to be sure no deer had come out of the woods directly behind me, from the direction I’ve most often seen deer in the evening. I turned very slowly, but not slowly enough.
Everything I’ve heard and read indicates deer don’t look up. Perhaps when deer are directly below or nearly so, 'up' is higher than they look, but when they are thirty yards away, as these four were, 'up' at someone five yards above the ground is a shallow angle.
If I'd not turned away, I'd certainly have seen them as they emerged from dense woods behind a thin screen of trees just in front of me and, incidentally, directly under my other stand. I’d taken the quiver off the crossbow to keep the bright plastic fletching from signaling movement, but motion betrayed me anyway. Three white tails bounced into view and vanished back into the woods. I heard at least one more that I didn’t see.
I checked my watch. Three more minutes of legal light and a minute or so past my practical deadline. The deer stayed just out of my sight and snorted as I stood motionless. I didn’t want to disturb them further, so I waited several minutes until I heard no more sounds from the deer before climbing down and walking home.
Had I not turned to look behind me but remained facing the sounds and motionless, I might be in the basement stowing venison in the freezer this morning. Next time I hear what might be deer, I'll face the sound and not move until the deer is closer to my stand, close enough it won't notice me aiming from above. Maybe. And once I've got that procedure down pat, some other error will no doubt make itself apparent.
Like salmon fishing, reading books and magazines about hunting isn’t education enough. Hunting deer from ambush is not as simple as it looks. It took me years to get the feel for catching salmon; I hope it doesn’t take that long for whitetails.
posted by Eric Rush | 8:29 AM
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