Dugout

[Sam]

Very cool history.

 

[Tenured Student]

Familytradition- Don't worry about the size of farm you have-it's a blessing to have your own place. You and your family have done much work and made many memories from the looks of it. I am looking forward to following y'all's journey.

 

[BrianVT]

I'm going to enjoy following this thread. Cool history.

 

[Familytradition]

Even when you have great places to hunt it is very hard to kill mulitple mature bucks. My friends always gave me a hard time for killing as many deer as I did. They teased: you hunt a deer farm, you tie them up, or you ALWAYS kill a deer. Truth was I had good teachers, I was good at it, and had a good location. Despite our reputation we only all killed bucks one year.

Dad had eaten tag soup several years in a row and just couldn't pass this buck on opening day.

I had major ground shrinkage on this one. I saw him from the back first and I thought he was a large buck that we had seen earlier in the year. Once I know they are shooters, I never look at the rack again. I proud was of him anyway; my first deer as a dad.


Boy grandpa was mad when we walked up on his. His eyes were not great by this point and he thought he shot a monster. He did, but both sides didn't match. He has never liked to shoot "ugly" deer. We had a very strange recovery on this buck. He had his rack caught in a tree and I thought he was sitting up looking at us when we were tracking him. I started yelling at Grandpa to shoot him again. About that time I realized he was dead and that he had a weird rack. Both Dad's and Grandpa's buck came from the cherry tree stand.

 

[Familytradition]

Living in a high growth area and constantly loosing hunting land to development and watching my beloved city and county become suburban hell made me want to buy my own land. My grandparents have 17 acres and my great aunt has 50 next to that, but that is all I have access to at home anymore. It gives me a place for an after work sit sometimes. I wanted a place my kids and nieces could continue the family tradition.

 

[wbpdeer]

Sure hooks a kid fast when they start slingin arrows at an early age. Your thread is a joy to read and see.

Thanks for sharing - photos tell the story just right.

 

[Familytradition]

You get to choose 1 family member, the rest of the members are God's choice. My sister married a man that liked deer hunting, but had never killed a deer. We changed that. Unfortunately he didn't like hunting with us enough to stay married to my sister. I don't think that I'll be giving anymore brother-in-laws my best stand. 4 deer were killed out of the same stand that day. I killed 3 in the morning and he killed this buck that night. This is what great habitat and well placed stands can get you.


The picture isn't the best of this buck. He has extreme mass. I don't know if he ever had the deer scored.

 

[Weasel]

Another great thread I'm glad to see made the transfer. I'm in the under 100 acre club too, nice that you are showcasing the amazing bucks you have taken on 33 acres! I need a few lessons!

 

[dogdoc]

Beautiful mount and I would have dropped the hammer on your grandfather's buck also - love the character.

 

[Familytradition]

Another great thread I'm glad to see made the transfer. I'm in the under 100 acre club too, nice that you are showcasing the amazing bucks you have taken on 33 acres! I need a few lessons!

Most of these came from a 360 acre lease that we had before we bought our farm. We were very spoiled. I just figured everyone would enjoy. Plus I really miss the campfire deer stories that everyone told when I was kid; it seems like that part of the hunting experience is being lost. I'm trying to get them down somewhere for my son. It is the off season and I can't get to my farm so it's been my way of coping right now. I doubt our 33 will produce like that. We lease several tracts plus have a lot of government ground around, so hopefully we can keep it up.

 

[Familytradition]

Beautiful mount and I would have dropped the hammer on your grandfather's buck also - love the character.

We did not age or look at teeth wear back then, but this buck had a huge body with that puffy face look. He may be the oldest buck that I have to post. I wish we had trail cameras back then.
I also hate to admit that I think that I'm the one that gave him that ugly rack. He had been shot through the hips the year before. I might have messed up a really high scoring deer. I shot a buck the year before on opening morning that was running a doe; a dumb hothead young guy move. There is just something about getting an opening day buck that I love. This bug has bitten me many times. The buck crossed a right of way in 2 bounds. I was following it like a rabbit thinking that it would stop. At the top of the second bound before he disappeared into the thicket; I pulled the trigger. It was a stupid mistake that I knew not to do; I wanted a big buck real bad. This brings me to one my deer commandments: The best way to to learn to hunt deer is to hunt deer. I tell all new hunters this. You can be told and told to not shoot at running deer, but in this case I am a slow learner.

 

[jvanhees]

great thread so far - keep it up!

 

[Familytradition]

As a boy I was very fortunate to kill a buck a little bigger than the year before several years in a row. I never killed anything smaller than a broken up 8 pointer. Not because I would have passed smaller ones; I just never saw smaller ones. Spikes and forkhorns were rare on this farm; most yearlings were 8 pointers. Once you hit 100 inches or so it gets a lot harder to kill larger every year. I really don't get too caught up on score, I would rather kill the oldest buck rather than the biggest most times. I love unique racks and have killed many. I have killed a 3 horned deer and a droptine buck. Neither are huge, but how many can claim that. Since I am journaling about the past a little more than I intended to, I think I will give the hunt story of each buck and some select others from my family. I enjoy hearing these stories from others and I think it really builds the hunting brotherhood.

 

[Flyfixer]

Y'all have killed some nice bucks! Love the pic of your son with the rabbit, looks like he has the hunting gene

 

[Familytradition]

Y'all have killed some nice bucks! Love the pic of your son with the rabbit, looks like he has the hunting gene

They weren't all big. We made every mistake possible over the years. I believe it is my job to talk about that too. Not everybody has a good mentor. I made few mistakes after I quit trying to shoot them across a field; until I returned from college. I didn't get to hunt much in college and when I got home I just rushed everything. After a couple of long seasons, I calmed down and turned things around.

 

[Familytradition]

Here is every buck that I have ever killed. Minus 2015.

 

[Familytradition]

I have hunted in a tree stand by myself since I was 8 years old. I had a steep learning curve, but in the end it made me a better hunter. My first deer was a large doe that I shot with an old hawkins muzzleloader. I think I was 10. I was in the cherry tree stand, which never happened. We had four or five plywood and 2x4 stands hung back then and I chose last. I had a herd of deer come out of a woods into a field full of 1 year old trees. They mowed every row and clover grew in extremely well. I knew the deer where not going to come near me, so I decided to take matters into my own hands. I climbed down the stand and ran bent over along the fence until the tall grass stopped. Once I ran out of cover a crawled on my hands and knees until the fence row began to have a few trees. I mean real GI Joe style. All the while I was watching the deer in the field. I put that heavy old gun on the fence and picked out the largest deer. I knew she was far, but I could make that shot. I put it right on her spine thinking that the bullet would drop into the vitals. Bang! Smoke blurred everything and deer ran in every direction. I started to reload before I did anything just as I had been taught. While reloading I heard "pffffft". A large buck and small doe had been standing 20 yards from me in the fence row the entire time. I about soiled myself. They jump into the trees about the time I found a new percussion cap. My attention then went back to the field; there was a deer flopping around out there. Ok, deer did not die right away, I have to put it down, out comes one of my prize possessions: the case knife my Grandpa had given me a few years before when I first started hunting, and I start my march to the deer. The closer that I get to her; the more she flips out. She is tearing out a huge circle in the muddy field. I go to to trap her ear in order to put her down like I had been taught to do. I was brave up until this point; she kicked a rock about half the size of a baseball into my shin. I thought I cannot do this, so I grabbed my gun. Now what? Where do I shoot a deer that I am close enough to touch? In the chest? No. The neck? No. I know, the head just like that downed cow in the field that they let me shoot the spring before. Bang! I started to field dress the deer. About that time, Grandpa got to me. He asked how in the world I got into this field hundreds of yards from the stand he left me in. I crawled. He asks where I crawled to. I pointed to the fence row. Where was the deer?, he asked. I pointed to the circle. He sratched his head, boy that is a far shot. I beam. Why did you shoot twice?, he asks. It was alive and kicked a rock at me. He said, You hit it in the backbone. Where were you aiming? The backbone, I said. We went and retrieved the truck. He stepped off the distance from the doe to the fence row: 175 yards. I must have been aiming a foot above that deer; I doubt that those lead buffalo bullets that we used back then had a flat trajectory at 175 yards. Boy did those Polaroids get passed around school the next day. Lessons learned: deer are way meaner than I thought, look around one more timebecause there might be a buck, and do not shoot them in the head. Their head gets squishy and Grandma and mom yell at you for getting all bloody and making the deer ugly in the pictures.

 

[Familytradition]

This is my first buck. It was a slow opening day of gun season for us. There was lots of shooting on opening day back then in the early 90's. Nothing from our farm. Around 9:00 I had a buck come running full speed across the corn field that I was sitting on; I could tell that he was hurt. At around 11 my dad and grandpa pulled up in the truck and asked what I saw. It just so happened that my dad had seen the same buck and knew about where he was. He was unaware of his injury. Sure enough he had bed down in the the young trees that are planted in rows. He had seen us pull up and tried to get away. We got out and they tried to push him to me. By the time they caught up to him; he was too exhausted to run, but he was still on his feet. Knowing what I know now; he was on his last leg. They called for me and I came running. I walked around him and used my 20 gauge youth express to finish him. Oddly enough he was standing near the cherry tree stand. Someone had gut shot him; God used that person to help a kid get his first buck.

 

[Familytradition]

My second buck finally came while I was sitting in a deer stand. I can't remember if it was the year after or two. I do remember that it was opening morning again. I was in the same stand on the edge of a mature woods, a 50 acre field meets a thicket that is 50 yards wide and 300 yards long, and a grass road separates all of this from more mature tree plantation. This was the stand that I hunted the most through middle and high school. All in all it was a sweet set up. My original stand sat about 10 yards into the woods, but my tree was hit by lighting. It was moved to a poplar right on the edge and I was skylined by a mature buck one time, but other than that it was a very productive stand for many years. West wind was very good and south west was perfect. I was watching a squrriel when he stopped and stood on his back legs looking to the west. The buck was coming in on the trail that crossed about 15 yards to the south of me. He stepped into an opening and I let the 870 bark. He took 1 huge lunge and landed behind a large beech tree. I couldn't see him and this drove me nuts. So I broke another commandment and rushed down to the buck. I finally had the deer hunting experience that I craved. This buck was a monster as far as I was concerned.

 

[Familytradition]

The next opening dat was extremely foggy. Fog that you could wave around and push. I think the year was 1998 or 1999; many hoosier hunters seem to be able to remember that foggy start. I was in same same as year before. It was so strangely quiet in the woods, everything was wet, and the critters did not seem to like moving in the fog. It seemed to take hours to even get daylight. Once it did get light, I caught movement coming out of the thicket on same path as the buck that I had killed the year before except moving the other direction. The buck seemed to be floating because I couldn't even see his legs. Once he stepped into woods I could see him much better. He cleared the giant beech and I shot him in same opening as the year before. Instead of one longe, he was off to the races. I did manage to stay in the stand about 10 minutes this time. I climbed down to find one of those wide foamy pinky blood trails that you hope to see everytime; my first solo tracking job was an easy one. I found him piled up on the same path about 30 yards from where I shot him. I remember that I wasn't old enough to drive yet, but I was allowed to drive around the farm. I walked to truck. My dad had bought this old gold ford with a matching camper shell and running boards. The truck was 2 wheel drive and the conditions did not support a 14 year old driver. I slipped all over the grass right of ways; cutting ruts as I went. I was detrimened to kill, track, and load this deer by myself. I grabbed the bucks horns, stood on tail gate, and pulled up to my chest. Now we are at point where solo loading a buck can get tricky; so I just basically held on tight and fell down like a wrestler with a body lock. The buck fell on top of me. I then parked the truck at our rally spot; I waited hours for everyone to meet up. I think we were under A restriction then; which meant that I couldn't kill another deer until Thanksgiving. My dad always wondered how I managed to get so bloody. Between gutting, loading, and my total disregard for what the blood gets on, I must have looked like I had been the one who was shot. On top of the blood I now smelled like a rutting buck. It was a pretty long ride home in the camper shell sitting on a deer.