Even with my naked eye, I could tell the buck just wasn’t right. At 200 yards away, he took short, measured steps, head bobbing as he limped along a marsh edge. Using my binoculars, I could see a dark, angry wound on his right shoulder. I felt sympathy for the brute, who carried thick, hickory-colored antler bases, extending high in the air with 10 easily discernible points. Empathy was quickly replaced by sheer amazement as I watched the deer slog to a large, black-stained scrape. He nuzzled, chewed and lost himself in the overhead licking branch, suddenly oblivious to his injury. Then the buck used the hoof attached to that damaged appendage to dig into the scrape, squatted over it and urinated down his hind legs. He can’t be THAT hurt, I thought to myself.
This age-old scrape ritual took place two hours before shooting light ended. Although the buck didn’t come into bow range, just seeing him perform this scrape sequence was exhilarating, but I couldn’t help but notice that it also contradicted what researchers have long said about scrapes: that most deer
