Michael Tinker Pearce
Member
- Joined
- Oct 23, 2016
- Messages
- 1,575
My friend Jo has a place down near Chehalis, around fifty acres, fully fenced and posted 'No Hunting!' Of course that sign is for strangers, not her friends. Over the years I've hunted there a number of times, and several times I could have taken a shot but didn't; I have a very firm rule that I don't shoot unless I am dead-sure what I am shooting, and dead-sure of my backstop. The only time I took a shot was from a blind along the top-line of the property. Big buck. maybe a six-point at fifty yards. Had him dead to rights, line up and fired... clean miss. Firing a scoped rifle from a rest at fifty yards?! Turned out my scope was broken, and was suddenly shooting two feet high at that range. (Obscenity deleted.)
This year I decided to take the US Arms Abilene .44 Magnum. It has a 7-1/2" ported bull-barrel and is a marvelous machine. I almost thought I'd have to skip it a few weeks back when my back went out, but I recovered.
So I arrived at Jo's place and discovered this wasn't a hunt- it was a HIT. There were a couple of young deer, a spike-buck and a doe, that had been raiding her garden and apple trees. I took to thinking of them as 'Bonny and Clyde,' and she wanted Clyde dead. He wasn't just pillaging her vegetables, but she said, "He's too stupid to live." She came upon him merrily snarfing down her Currants, and had to get within ten feet of him, yelling her head off, before he moved off. Cheeky bastard. We discussed setting up a blind, but Jo very reasonably pointed out he was either raiding the garden of the apple and crab-apple trees next to it. I could just use the south fence of the garden as a blind. She was right, but I have to admit hunting from a 'blind' walled with tomatoes was a new experience!
First time out was a bust, and the weather forecast predicted a storm for the next day so I headed home; it's only about a two-hour drive. The storm never materialized, so Saturday morning I head south again. I spent the day sitting in the cold waiting for deer that never showed... until almost literally the moment it was too dark to shoot them legally. I was compensated by a lovely dinner of roast pork, sauteed Chantrells picked locally and potatoes from the garden. I passed a reasonably comfortable night in my van, and woke to a blazing migraine headache. Thanks to the miracle of modern medicine I rarely get them anymore, but this one was making up for lost time. I spent at least an hour praying that if I needed to puke I would be able to move enough to get the door open. Naturally I had left my medication in my hunting vest, which was on Jo's front porch about forty yards away. I finally dragged myself out of the van and for some reason thought it would be a good idea to take the .44 with me. Before I could even get to my meds Steve, Jo's roommate, popped up and signaled that there were two deer on the far side of the garden. OK, being an old infantry guy he actually signaled that there were two enemies, but I knew what he meant. I'd been waiting for days to get a shot at this little bastard, but I didn't feel any excitement. I think I thought something to the effect of, 'Oh sure, now you show up.' Except with a few more words involved, none of them fit for polite company. I snagged the vest and headed over.
Rounding the south end of the garden I spotted the juvenile delinquents about twenty yards away. I stared through the migraine-induced haze for a good couple of minutes trying to sort them out. I'd seen photos of Clyde, and he was definitely a spike. neither of the deer in front of me appeared to be. The closer and smaller of the two proved to be a doe, and she looked up at me with a bizarre blood-red grin. I was a bit taken aback, then realized she had a whole apple in her mouth. OK, not a flesh-eating demon-deer. Good to know. The larger deer behind her definitely had something on his head, so he was a buck. Must be Clyde. I had a good front quartering shot past Bonnie, and while normally I would have taken a head-shot at that range I was aware I wasn't at my best. I planted a solid shot into his shoulder, and he almost went down, then staggered away in a half circle which took him well clear of the doe, who didn't even react to the shot other than a small jump.
He was going to go down from the shoulder-shot, but I now had a rear quartering shot and what the hell, bullets are cheap. I put one through his heart and he dropped in his tracks. I actually had to walk past the doe to approach him, who just stared at me and chewed on her apple. I fired a final shot through the buck's skull, and then the doe ran... not because of the shot, but because Steve was running up. Peering down at the deer I realized it wasn't Clyde; this fellow had bumps but not spike-antlers. Black-tail deer are 'any buck' this season, so that was fine, but the slippery bastard had eluded me again. With a one deer limit someone else is going to have to shoot him, I guess. Anyway, this fellow won't be filching again. I told Steve I had a migraine and needed to sit down. "No problem," he said. "This guy will be fine for a bit." Given that it was 33 degrees I reckoned he was right.
There's no Trophy Photo. I don't do 'em, never have. It's odd; I don't object to them and actually like looking at other people's, but I find the idea of doing them myself repellent. Just a weird quirk, I guess. We went back and I took my meds, and Steve brought me coffee to help speed them into my system. Had about an hour to think and talk to Steve, and once mental function improved I realized something. I should not have had a gun in my hand, let alone shot a deer. Never hunt when you're impaired, and I surely was even though I wasn't drunk; neither my mental process of my vision is at it's best when I have a migraine. I have rules about what I can and can't do when I have one, because when I do my judgement is suspect. I never made a rule about what to do if I got one while hunting because it never occurred to me it would happen. I have that rule now; this worked out fine, but it was more from luck than judgement, and it could have just as easily gone terribly wrong.
Once I was sure I wasn't going to puke I cut the scent glands off, then washed my hands thoroughly while Steve started skinning. I helped by holding the deer and moving it as directed until I felt I could join in without carving myself up. We moved over to the house and filled a bucket with cold water to rinse our hands and knives, and set to butchering. In about an hour we had the meat bagged and in the cooler. In the course of taking the critter apart we noted that all the hits were through-and-through; not surprising since I was shooting a 270gr Keith bullet at around 1200 fps. Blacktails aren't real big so I think I might go with a hollow-point next time; the first shot might have dropped him decisively if I had. As it was it smashed the shoulder and anchored him, just as I'd intended. The second shot clipped the bottom of his heart and annihilated the aorta. Nice to know I can shoot even with a migraine... even though I shouldn't.
The new hunting knife i made myself worked a treat; saber-ground to a honed zero-edge it parted the hide and meat like it was warm butter. The old Case slip-joint spey-blade was sharpened on a fine diamond-hone, so while it is hair-popping sharp there is just a tiny bit of 'tooth' to the edge, perfect for cutting the connective tissue while caping. Neither knife needed sharpening during the process, and they still don't. I headed home with a cooler packed full of venison, and after some coffee and visiting with my sweety we washed, sorted, bagged and labelled the meat. Between store-bought meat, last month's goat and the deer the chest-freezer is packed full. After we got it sorted and (mostly) boned it came to forty pounds of meat. Not bad at all. naturally I offered some of the meat to Steve and Jo, but they had a freezer full of goat (they raise them) and no room for more. Steve did request the heart and liver, and I was happy to let him have them. They kept the skin too; I have neither the knowledge or inclination to tan it myself and they do, so they are welcome to it.
Interestingly I never feel recoil when I shoot an animal, and it was no different with a handgun; these are moderately stout loads but I didn't feel a thing.
In the way-backs I shot some coyotes with a handgun, but this is the first time I've taken big game with one. I'd thought my first handgun hunt would be more challenging, but the only thing that got challenged this time was my patience and judgement. One out of two ain't bad, I suppose. Between the migraine, the ease of it and the failure of judgement by shooting when I was impaired this was not nearly as satisfying an experience as I'd hoped for. The object of this was pest-control, so it was a success. It was some compensation that I was able to place my shots precisely, and having forty pounds of venison in the freezer is no bad thing, but I am absolutely going to do things differently in the future.
But Black-Tail Clyde remains at large. Another time, Clyde, another time.
This year I decided to take the US Arms Abilene .44 Magnum. It has a 7-1/2" ported bull-barrel and is a marvelous machine. I almost thought I'd have to skip it a few weeks back when my back went out, but I recovered.
So I arrived at Jo's place and discovered this wasn't a hunt- it was a HIT. There were a couple of young deer, a spike-buck and a doe, that had been raiding her garden and apple trees. I took to thinking of them as 'Bonny and Clyde,' and she wanted Clyde dead. He wasn't just pillaging her vegetables, but she said, "He's too stupid to live." She came upon him merrily snarfing down her Currants, and had to get within ten feet of him, yelling her head off, before he moved off. Cheeky bastard. We discussed setting up a blind, but Jo very reasonably pointed out he was either raiding the garden of the apple and crab-apple trees next to it. I could just use the south fence of the garden as a blind. She was right, but I have to admit hunting from a 'blind' walled with tomatoes was a new experience!
First time out was a bust, and the weather forecast predicted a storm for the next day so I headed home; it's only about a two-hour drive. The storm never materialized, so Saturday morning I head south again. I spent the day sitting in the cold waiting for deer that never showed... until almost literally the moment it was too dark to shoot them legally. I was compensated by a lovely dinner of roast pork, sauteed Chantrells picked locally and potatoes from the garden. I passed a reasonably comfortable night in my van, and woke to a blazing migraine headache. Thanks to the miracle of modern medicine I rarely get them anymore, but this one was making up for lost time. I spent at least an hour praying that if I needed to puke I would be able to move enough to get the door open. Naturally I had left my medication in my hunting vest, which was on Jo's front porch about forty yards away. I finally dragged myself out of the van and for some reason thought it would be a good idea to take the .44 with me. Before I could even get to my meds Steve, Jo's roommate, popped up and signaled that there were two deer on the far side of the garden. OK, being an old infantry guy he actually signaled that there were two enemies, but I knew what he meant. I'd been waiting for days to get a shot at this little bastard, but I didn't feel any excitement. I think I thought something to the effect of, 'Oh sure, now you show up.' Except with a few more words involved, none of them fit for polite company. I snagged the vest and headed over.
Rounding the south end of the garden I spotted the juvenile delinquents about twenty yards away. I stared through the migraine-induced haze for a good couple of minutes trying to sort them out. I'd seen photos of Clyde, and he was definitely a spike. neither of the deer in front of me appeared to be. The closer and smaller of the two proved to be a doe, and she looked up at me with a bizarre blood-red grin. I was a bit taken aback, then realized she had a whole apple in her mouth. OK, not a flesh-eating demon-deer. Good to know. The larger deer behind her definitely had something on his head, so he was a buck. Must be Clyde. I had a good front quartering shot past Bonnie, and while normally I would have taken a head-shot at that range I was aware I wasn't at my best. I planted a solid shot into his shoulder, and he almost went down, then staggered away in a half circle which took him well clear of the doe, who didn't even react to the shot other than a small jump.
He was going to go down from the shoulder-shot, but I now had a rear quartering shot and what the hell, bullets are cheap. I put one through his heart and he dropped in his tracks. I actually had to walk past the doe to approach him, who just stared at me and chewed on her apple. I fired a final shot through the buck's skull, and then the doe ran... not because of the shot, but because Steve was running up. Peering down at the deer I realized it wasn't Clyde; this fellow had bumps but not spike-antlers. Black-tail deer are 'any buck' this season, so that was fine, but the slippery bastard had eluded me again. With a one deer limit someone else is going to have to shoot him, I guess. Anyway, this fellow won't be filching again. I told Steve I had a migraine and needed to sit down. "No problem," he said. "This guy will be fine for a bit." Given that it was 33 degrees I reckoned he was right.
There's no Trophy Photo. I don't do 'em, never have. It's odd; I don't object to them and actually like looking at other people's, but I find the idea of doing them myself repellent. Just a weird quirk, I guess. We went back and I took my meds, and Steve brought me coffee to help speed them into my system. Had about an hour to think and talk to Steve, and once mental function improved I realized something. I should not have had a gun in my hand, let alone shot a deer. Never hunt when you're impaired, and I surely was even though I wasn't drunk; neither my mental process of my vision is at it's best when I have a migraine. I have rules about what I can and can't do when I have one, because when I do my judgement is suspect. I never made a rule about what to do if I got one while hunting because it never occurred to me it would happen. I have that rule now; this worked out fine, but it was more from luck than judgement, and it could have just as easily gone terribly wrong.
Once I was sure I wasn't going to puke I cut the scent glands off, then washed my hands thoroughly while Steve started skinning. I helped by holding the deer and moving it as directed until I felt I could join in without carving myself up. We moved over to the house and filled a bucket with cold water to rinse our hands and knives, and set to butchering. In about an hour we had the meat bagged and in the cooler. In the course of taking the critter apart we noted that all the hits were through-and-through; not surprising since I was shooting a 270gr Keith bullet at around 1200 fps. Blacktails aren't real big so I think I might go with a hollow-point next time; the first shot might have dropped him decisively if I had. As it was it smashed the shoulder and anchored him, just as I'd intended. The second shot clipped the bottom of his heart and annihilated the aorta. Nice to know I can shoot even with a migraine... even though I shouldn't.
The new hunting knife i made myself worked a treat; saber-ground to a honed zero-edge it parted the hide and meat like it was warm butter. The old Case slip-joint spey-blade was sharpened on a fine diamond-hone, so while it is hair-popping sharp there is just a tiny bit of 'tooth' to the edge, perfect for cutting the connective tissue while caping. Neither knife needed sharpening during the process, and they still don't. I headed home with a cooler packed full of venison, and after some coffee and visiting with my sweety we washed, sorted, bagged and labelled the meat. Between store-bought meat, last month's goat and the deer the chest-freezer is packed full. After we got it sorted and (mostly) boned it came to forty pounds of meat. Not bad at all. naturally I offered some of the meat to Steve and Jo, but they had a freezer full of goat (they raise them) and no room for more. Steve did request the heart and liver, and I was happy to let him have them. They kept the skin too; I have neither the knowledge or inclination to tan it myself and they do, so they are welcome to it.
Interestingly I never feel recoil when I shoot an animal, and it was no different with a handgun; these are moderately stout loads but I didn't feel a thing.
In the way-backs I shot some coyotes with a handgun, but this is the first time I've taken big game with one. I'd thought my first handgun hunt would be more challenging, but the only thing that got challenged this time was my patience and judgement. One out of two ain't bad, I suppose. Between the migraine, the ease of it and the failure of judgement by shooting when I was impaired this was not nearly as satisfying an experience as I'd hoped for. The object of this was pest-control, so it was a success. It was some compensation that I was able to place my shots precisely, and having forty pounds of venison in the freezer is no bad thing, but I am absolutely going to do things differently in the future.
But Black-Tail Clyde remains at large. Another time, Clyde, another time.
