|
Trespasser Buck
By Rod Davis
|
 “Darn these trespassers!” I said to myself “It’s getting so you
can’t concentrate on hunting for chasing people off plainly posted
land.” I had just run into three guys hunting without permission.
One had killed a doe and frankly, my patience was wearing pretty
thin. I did not know it then, but the last guy I chased away would
become my best friend that morning.
The annual buck’s season in West Virginia runs for two weeks,
traditionally starting the Monday before Thanksgiving. Like many
states, deer season is taken pretty seriously here and is second
only to Pennsylvania in the near religious type fervor it stirs in
the men and boys of these mountains. |
|
|
Now I’ve hunted deer in the south too, namely South Carolina where
my child bride hails from. I affectionately call her “The Warden”
usually. Her brother and I have chased the whitetails down south
several times. Their method of hunting usually entails tree stand
sitting at dusk on a right-of-way or over a field laced with
Bio-Logic or my brother-in-laws favorite, winter peas. This method
of hunting is preferred because the vegetation is quite thick and
deer are hard to see in the woods per se.
South Carolina limits and season dates vary per region of the state.
Some areas allow for rifle hunting from August 15th until December
31, with a DAILY bag limit of two bucks PER DAY! Yes, that’s not a
misprint. |
But I grew up with the traditional two weeks only, bucks only season
that many northern states are accustomed to. It is nicer I think,
because it’s like Christmas morning….it is so strongly anticipated
and there is a sense of urgency that drives half the population of
the state to rise before dawn and crowd into the deer woods on
opening day. There is no such urgency in a state where the season
lasts FOUR months! You can deer hunt any old time you please.
Besides, opening day may be over 100 degrees!
 Let
me get back to the West Virginia bucks. The traditional two week
Bucks Only season has blurred in recent years as we seem to have
developed one of the highest concentrations of whitetails per square
mile in the United States. There, bucks only has evolved into 5
weeks of archery (two deer) and two weeks of Bucks Only (two bucks).
Although some counties are allowing buck or does during that two
weeks - the one week of anterless deer season (one deer) and then
finally one week of muzzleloader season (one more deer). Some
heavily populated counties offer additional doe stamps to use until
December 31st.
For added confusion, in some counties I could legally kill two deer
with a bow, either sex, two with a rifle and a bear all in the same
week. Some days I’m glad I hunt with my lawyer, just to wade through
the regulations.
So with these bag limits it’s not hard to get a freezer full of
deer. I personally have harvested just short of 100 legal deer in
West Virginia. Guys of my father’s generation felt lucky to have
SEEN 100 deer in a lifetime of hunting.
I hunt very near my home these days in one of West Virginia’s most
densely populated counties, right outside of Charleston, the state
capital. I hunt on a small farm that is the property of a dear
friend’s widow, Nancy Wallace. I hunt there with her son-in-law,
Chuck Stump, my son and a few friends of Chuck’s. Another friend
owns adjoining acreage that also is hunted by our little
group….along with some unwelcome visitors.
There is a certain contingent of West Virginia hunters and I suspect
this is not true just in West Virginia. I find they are either
somewhat blind, can’t read, or otherwise don’t give a flying flip
about “NO HUNTING” signs. This has long been a problem and I imagine
it will remain so for a while to come.
The Wallace farm is 287 acres of hills, valleys, river bottom, etc.,
with 6 strategically placed permanent tree-house type blinds that
are the envy of all that see them. Old man Stan Wallace started
building these little rustic hunting condos after his retirement in
a fit of Boredom one summer. Traditionalists snickered at first, but
it soon became evident that a nice, dry, warm tree house, with
carpet, propane heat, crank-out windows and swivel chairs could be
somewhat more comfortable than a seat cushion in the wet leaves on
the ground. This season, Chuck had to miss the opening three days
for a business trip, my son was not excused from school for the
Thanksgiving holiday yet, and it was me and me alone hunting this
property.
Opening day, 2003 found me in my deer condo at dawn with no deer to
be seen. Shortly after daybreak a steady rain started and I was
quite snug in my little palace blind. After 4 hours or so, I made my
way back to my truck and then to home. About 4:00 PM, I climbed back
into that blind and sat until it was nearly dark. All day and no
deer at all had come by. This was an unusual occurrence for this
little sweet spot overlooking a small farm pond - very unusual.
The next morning dawned cold and clear and I decided to walk a mile
up to the top of the ridge where a 500 yard long broom-sage field
sat with Chuck’s tree house blind perched in the center, with a
commanding view in all directions. I climbed the ladder and perched
with my Tikka .270 in a slightly wobbly stenographer’s swivel chair
and loaded my rifle. Chuck’s tree-house blind had no heater as I was
accustomed to in my blind a mile away. I know, I’m a wimp.
About 8:30 am, it got cold, really cold. It was a bright blue-bird
day with the promise of mild afternoon temperatures, but right now,
it was in the 20’s and I was cold. So cold, in fact, I decided to
break the cardinal rule of deer hunting: DO NOT LEAVE THE STAND
EARLY! I climbed down, somewhat from cold, somewhat just antsy and
still hunted down to the end of the field and peered downhill into a
ravine and saw…nothing. Where were all the deer?
BOOM!, BOOM! Came a rifle shot over my right shoulder really close.
I turned and looked back across the field and heard voices in the
woods on the other side. I walked quickly over there and jumped a
doe standing at the edge of the woods. I looked at the wood’s edge
and saw another doe lying dead. Now in this county, that was
perfectly legal that day provided you had a doe permit and
PERMISSION TO HUNT on the land in question. I slipped behind some
brush and waited.
Suddenly, a 16 year old boy appeared, and then shouted “I got her”
back down the hill at an unseen friend. Once he unloaded and leaned
his 30-30 against a nearby tree, I stepped out and introduced
myself, in a not-so-friendly, way. I explained to him that this was
posted land and that he should take his ill-gotten deer and his
friend and get the hell off this land, right now! With great
apologies and fan-fare, and my rebuke still ringing in his young
ears, he beat a hasty retreat, dragging the doe downhill by a hind
leg. I kind of snickered as he ran away. I scared the crap out of
him.
I turned back toward the field’s center and saw…..another
trespasser! This guy was walking up through the middle of the field
parallel to the pine thicket I had been watching all morning like he
owned the place. I was certain he had overheard me yelling at those
kids. What is it with these people?!
I whistled loudly and he turned and waved. This guy was middle aged
and should have known better. I approached him and started chewing
him out too. I made it clear that his trespassing and that of those
boys right in my killing zone had ruined my mornings hunt and I did
not appreciate it one bit.
He stopped and apologized, saying how sorry he lost track of where
he was but had been following a large buck up the hollow over there
and how the buck was probably right down there in the thicket right
now, as we speak! I said that that was fine, but he was trespassing
and the adjoining land he came from to get to this land was also
posted and I knew for a fact he had no business on that land either.
“Oh the owner of that land says I can hunt over there any time.” He
said.
“Well, it belongs to my lawyer and I have him on speed-dial on my
cell phone. Let’s call him right this minute and verify its okay.” I
replied while pushing cell phone buttons. Quickly, he started
heading back towards the fence and I let him go.
I turned in disgust and walked down the middle of the field. I slung
my .270 over my shoulder and headed for the truck for some coffee
and to regroup. All the loud talking and arm waving had every deer
in the county spooked by now. Tuesday morning of the opening week
and my hunt was shot for that morning! I was looking at the rutted
road while I walked and sulked and after about 75 yards I heard a
thump and looked at the woods edge to see a large-bodied deer step
up to the edge of the field and I could make out half of a very
nicely curved antler in the low hanging tree branches.
Now here I am, in the wide open field, firearm slung over my
shoulder, in full blaze orange looking at a trophy deer that I had
no idea was even living in the neighborhood. Any second now, and he
was history, I knew. Oh well, you gotta try….
I slowly eased the Tikka off my shoulder in full view of this buck,
and then raised the gun to a firing position. He should bolt anytime
now…
I found him in the scope….go ahead, run…. flipped off the
safety….the deer has not moved, just staring at me……I squeezed the
trigger ”CLICK!”…Nothing happened! That loud click was deafening!.
My heart sank and I assumed I had not placed a cartridge into the
chamber after climbing down from the stand. But the deer was still
there….laughing no doubt!
So I worked the bolt slowly, all the while holding my rifle on the
deer. I felt the cartridge fall out and roll over the back of my
right hand. There HAD been a shell in the chamber, it must have
misfired. I closed the bolt on another Remington 130 grain Core-Lokt.
BOOM!
The bullet hit the deer right square in the left side of the
brisket. He turned and leaped back down the trail out of sight
toward the thicket and ultimately the Poca River. Almost instantly,
I heard a crash in the brush. I walked across the field quickly,
jacking another shell into the chamber. When I reached the edge of
the woods, I saw him 30 yards down the trail, stopped dead. He had
tried to drive his 16” wide rack between two trees growing about 14”
apart. To this day, I’m not sure which killed him first, the .270 or
the broken neck.
This was not a “Buck of a lifetime”, but he was a real nice 8
pointer with a tall rack that now hangs in my den, next to other
racks , some larger, some smaller. The trespasser was my best friend
that day, and obviously he was indeed following a nice buck. He
could not have been over 150 yds away from me when he heard the
shot. I’ll bet he had a few choice names for me…
|
