KY Yute Season, Come and Gone

KY Yute Season has come and gone. Mooseboy is home with his mother. The M1 Garand is down on the bench awaiting a quick oiling before it goes back on the rack. We had two days, and there is no venison in the freezer to show for it. That’s okay.

Saturday morning seemed perfect, but nothing showed. Only a few shots were fired by the neighbors all morning. We came down from the treestand at 1000 empty-handed, but Moose’s spirits were high. He said he’d had as much fun as anything anyway, and that was fine by me.



Moose had been in the house preparing to go back out with me when we had one fat doe come up Saturday afternoon and walk within 100 yards of the house. She thought better of the situation before we could get the Moose loaded and ready. Oh well.



We had a long, uneventful afternoon in the blind. Nothing showed, and there were very few shots from the surrounding ridges. We did get to hear of someone’s grand-daughter bagging her first over on the next ridge via the FRS radio. The child and father did not have their radio on, but Grandpa and Grandma gave an excited play-by-play to each other as they sat on the hilltop and watched, as the two hunters scoured the bottoms looking for the deer. We never did hear how it turned out, but there was one garbled message from a young girl shouting with glee towards dark. As we were leaving the blind, a doe busted Mooseboy. She had been holding in the woods and had been waiting for dark before coming out into our pasture. If we had stayed later, there would not have been enough light to shoot. Oh Well.



On Sunday, at Mooseboy’s request, we took our stand next to one of the old barns. I’ve built a small blind from scraps. It is a glorious place to spend a sunrise, as it has one of the best views of the surrounding ridges to the east. We ran into a little coney in the dark, and it stayed at our feet, dazed by the flashlights. I finally gave the rabbit a tap with my boot, and he got the idea and left. When we got there, Moose stayed behind the blind, while I crawled up on an old woodpile to glass. The wind had shifted overnight and the breeze had freshened. We had relaxed the scent control, since our blind was directly downwind of the area we were going to hunt. That was a bit of a mistake. We had one deer bust us rather severely before dawn as she crossed downwind of us on the other side of the barn. She spent the next few minutes snorting every which way, as she’d catch a swirl of scent.



At sun-up. We were treated to a large flock of turkeys coming off the roost and coming to feed in the white oaks close to the blind. We never saw them, but they kept the racket up for over an hour, scouring the ground for acorns.


It was about 0830 when I spied something coming out from the second barn at about 200 yards. It wasn’t exactly what you’d call a chip-shot, but I knew Mooseboy would want a crack at it. I raised the binos. It was a doe—not the biggest, but she’d make a good start to the season. I gave Moose the bearing and he jumped up with the Garand like he had a spring in his chair. Luckily, it was far enough away that he didn’t spook the doe. I was about to give Moose some final instructions on how to brace his shot against one of the thicker saplings when I saw something moving behind the doe. It was a late-season fawn, still in its spots.


“That doe has a fawn with her.” I said. Moose lowered the rifle.

“Oh.” He replied.

“It’s your call, Man” I said. “It’s a late fawn with spots.”

“So I’d be killing two if I shoot?” He said.

“Yep.”

The Garand came down all the way and the safety went back on. We both watched as the pair made their way towards the opposing woods and disappeared.

“Calling a shot like that,” I said, “Is better than actually bagging one in my book.”

“Huh?” he replied. “I don’t understand.”

“That’s okay.” I said.