KY Muzzleloader season has come and gone

Kentucky Muzzleloader season has come and gone. There were no deer on the meat pole to show for the weekend. The Hawken is back on the bench, and will soon be in the safe. It performed flawlessly, but the only two shots were into the ground to empty it out on Saturday night and Sunday afternoon. Why should I be so happy?

Saturday was the hands-down best day of deer hunting I have had in twenty some years. I was at the new stand. I had deer at hand in nearly constant succession from an hour before sunrise until 0930, when I finally thought I could leave without being busted. Five minutes after buckling in I had a deer come up and start feeding in the dark. I had to wait for her to leave before loading. Within a half-hour I had another group of two, then three with a small buck trailing behind and then a doe and two fawns.

Moose had already scored a good-sized doe in Yute season the weekend before. So the impetus to go hunting for freezer filler just was not there. We are still eating on the huge buck I took on Opening Day of rifle season last year. I had the luxury of waiting for something big. I did not lift my rifle all morning. It was fun just watching the floor show from my stand, overlooking a small shelf at the mouth of Hootin Holler. It is not a feature you would exactly call flat, but it is a bit less steep than the surrounding ridge face. It is populated by red and white oaks and bounded by small erosion gullies that set it apart. One of the grand old men of the woods sits in the middle, an ancient White Oak that pre-dates white settlement.

Occasionally I would have an old doe begin eyeing me. It is getting so they know me as well as I know them. These are the deer that have seen me take one of their buddies, and they are dead set on not providing a second chance. Once they had an idea I was there, the veteran does make a point of circling around to wind me. Somehow, for all their stamping and snorting, the rest of the deer did not seem to worry so much. Some just ignored the warnings and kept right on munching.

The group of three that came in were a group of two last year. John raised the muzzle of the Garand and let them pass-- a mother with a fawn still in spots. He knew if he touched it off, he would be killing two with one shot. His Yute season ended without another shooting opportunity, but he walked off the field justified. The fawn bred late and now has a daughter of her own in tow. This trio came up from the bottoms and had a young buck, just a fork horn, bringing up the rear. This is about false-rut time. He is showing signs that he is ready, but he knows if he gets too close, he’ll get a kick in the snout. He stayed well back.

The mother with two fawns that greeted John last Sunday put in a showing as well. John had been sitting on a log, waiting for me while I was up pruning a few limbs last Sunday, just before we left for town. The threesome got within a few feet of him before Momma figured out something was amiss and pulled the panic cord. I was up in the stand and got to watch the stand-off. John and the doe were nearly nose-to-nose while the fawns stood and watched in a state of youthful oblivion.

Another young buck arrived and ate a solo meal under the largest oak. I had to look through the binoculars to see the antlers. Shortly thereafter, one of the older does from earlier in the morning had circled back and got directly uphill and downwind and made her pronouncement. “YOU STINK!” That cleared out the rest and after a short wait, I felt it was safe to leave.

Over noontime, we went into Lennoxburg and picked up John’s Doe from Myers, the processor. She fit in one cooler. KYHillChick made us a lunch off some of the grind and then I went back out to Garbage Pit, while she set about making a feast out of one of the roasts.

In the afternoon, I headed out to Garbage Pit, another buddy stand. This one is in a small oak flat on top of the ridge, at the base of one of the smaller fingers. I tried to get #3 son, Angus, to come along, but he wanted stay behind. Garbage Pit sounds unsavory, but it really is gorgeous. About a hundred yards behind the stand is the sink hole that forms previous owner’s dump. Ask long as you are not looking for it, it is not there. The stand looks out in the other direction into a patch of Oak/Hickory savannah pocked with cedars. It could pass as someone’s slightly unkempt back yard, and it seems to attract deer as they move between the small creeks to either side of the finger.

Just as I was settled in, I noticed a piece of string hanging down just inside the treeline. I knew it was going to bug me, not knowing what it was, so I climbed back down and went over to investigate. Come to find out, it was the remains of a NOAA radiosonde. The string was attached to a parachute, hopelessly lodged in the top of one of the oaks. The sonde was a paper container with a highly engineered styrofoam packing assembly inside. Embedded in the Styrofoam was what remained of the battery, hooked to a circuit board. It was rusted, rotted, and corroded. The mice had eaten on it, so it had undoubtedly been down for some time. What was still readable said it was the property of the US Government and should be mailed back immediately, but the return address was gone.

I got back in the stand and belted back in. Within a half hour, a young 4pointer was wandering along the trail created by my rubber boots. He followed me all the way to the stand and stood munching acorns for ten minutes before wandering back the way he came. He was a yearling, but he had the start of a very nice rack. Just for grins, I put the sights on him and pulled the set trigger on the Hawken.

“Click.” I touched off the hair trigger. I had deliberately not pulled back the hammer, so that was all it was. I had counted coup on him.

“There,” I said. “Your life is mine.” The young buck looked up for a moment and then went back to eating before leaving.

After the buck left, In fifteen minute intervals, a matched brace of young raccoons made an appearance. Each time, the coon followed my trail from the sonde all the way back along eighty yards to my stand. There, each one started climbing the tree before something told them this might not be a good idea.

I had a total of five deer before I managed to escape my stand. Before it got too dark, a solitary doe came in and spied me and made a wide circle around my stand before winding me. As with the morning crowd, none of her friends seemed to be particularly worried. I suspect this might have been the doe who watched as we gave her buddy a dirt nap last year. For all her histrionics, it convinced no one.

“Cut it out, Marge. Come over and eat acorns and stop making such a fuss.”

Marge left in a huff, but I still had a buck and two does scattered around my stand with their heads down eating. The last doe was just a silhouette against the pasture as she wandered out of the oak grove and gave me a chance to get down.

Saturday night, KYHillChick gave us a feast centered on Henry VIII’s favorite venison roast. Before we started eating, however, I had to recognize Moose for delivering the fine doe to the table and also present Angus his Hunter Education card that had just come in the mail. I had recently written a soliloquy for the novel that I thought would be appropriate for the occasion.

“He that outlives this day and comes safe home will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam’d, And point a finger at his mounted antlers saying ‘These wounds! These wounds, I gave on Opening Day!’ For he today that sheds blood with me shall be my brother; be he ne’er so vile. This day shall gentle his condition. And Gentlemen all now in bed shall think themselves accurs’d they were not here, and hold their manhoods cheap whilst any speaks that hunted with us on Opening Day”

My apologies to The Bard. The kids thought it was cool

Sunday morning was more of the same, except I had Angus with me. He is a game little hunter. He’s sitting out this deer season—he still can’t hit keep a deer rifle printing on a pie plate. However, he’s sanguine with the whole thing and it does not stop him from going out with Dad. He is a joy to have in the stand. He stays awake and attentive and does a fair job of covering half the woods for me. When we started getting the parade of deer after sun-up, he was amazed I was not shooting any of the deer. At last a small buck with only one antler showed up and got within ten yards of the stand. I brought the rifle up and counted coup on him as I had done with the other buck the previous afternoon. The buck was unimpressed and finally decided we might be a threat after walking over the trail left from our ingress. He gave it careful thought, examined the ground as well as some of the foliage that had brushed against us. He gave a half-hearted snort and walked off.

“Why don’t you want to shoot?” he asked.

“Look at it this way,” I said. “I got to see ten deer yesterday. We’ve had three already this morning. The moment I pull that trigger, we probably are not going to be seeing any more deer for the day. I’ve got a load of venison in the freezer already, and the last thing I want to do is put a cap in one of these deer and then have to schlep a hundred-pound carcass up that hill. It’s more fun staying up here and watching the show.”

“So why did you even go out?” Asked Angus.

“Because if we’re real quiet, one of the big bruisers might show up.” I said. “If he does, you can bet I’ll bust a cap on him. Besides, I don’t know about you, but this is the best two days of deer hunting I’ve ever had.”

Angus had to agree. Eventually another young buck showed up. I was standing up to stretch when I saw him staring at me. He did not seem to mind, and went about his browsing. I counted coup on him as well. By the time the wind got to be to stiff to warrant staying Angus and I owned the souls of five deer.