Whitetail Hunting Memories

By Dragan Vujic

A collection of whitetail hunting stories. Every hunt is a cherished memory. Each outing is an opportunity to observe and learn. Over time, the accumulation of incremental knowledge and experience leads to the formulation of proficient hunting strategies. Age and repetition eventually bring about success.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Mar 11, 2010
• ISBN: 9781450219242

Dragan Vujic

Dragan Vujic is a writer and an avid outdoorsman. He resides in rural southern Ontario, Canada where he enjoys a quiet, serene lifestyle. Dragan may be contacted at: [e-mail] or [e-mail].

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Copyright © 2010 by Dragan Vujic

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ISBN: 978-1-4502-1922-8 (sc)

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Contents

Introduction

Recurve Magic

Natural Bait Pile

The Hunt Camp Buck

Early Snow

The Swampland Buck

Cunningham Ghost

Late Harvest

Tough Doe

Buck Luck

River Flats Buck

The River Crossing

Opening Day Buck

The Hullet Experience

Grasslands Buck

Rough Haul

Stuck

Thanksgiving Day

Buckshot/Turkey Choke

Cut Corn

Walk On By

First Buck

Missed

Last Chance

Back Trail

Stalker

Power of the Voice

Long Shot

First Archery Hunt

Valuable Lesson

Late Winter Harvest

Heads or Tails

Cherished Memory

Snow Buck

Time Can Be Cruel

Whitetails in Virginia

Mister Unpredictable

A Terrific Party Hunt

So Close

Aerial Predator

Tough to Kill

Almost

West Virginia

Out of the Corn

Thanks

White Doe

Snowstorm

Shirt Tail

Crossbow

Neck Shot

The Licking Branch

Knock Down

Easy to Pattern, Hard to Harvest

Feeding The Hungry

Deer Patterning People

Eye of the Needle

More Tales

Waiting For the Big One

Newf’s Second Buck

Paul’s Whitetail Adventure

2008 Whitetail Hunting Season

By Tom Hutchings

2009 Whitetail Hunting Experiences – Tom Hutchings

Boxing Day Deer Hunt

Buffalo Bruce

Water Buck

The Bayne Buck

Tough Day

Junior Buck

Awesome

The Rueger Buck

Michigan

Tribute to a New Hunter

The Middleton Crossbow

Conclusion

Books by Dragan Vujic

Canadian Whitetail Hunting

Hunting Farm Country Whitetails

Whitetail Hunting Adventures

Bow Hunting Whitetails

Calling Whitetails

Cunningham Ghost

How To Hunt The Nocturnal Buck

Whitetail Hunting Memories

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Dedicated to my lifelong friend, Murray (Mugsy) Lusk.

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Introduction

Hello. My name is Dragan Vujic. Whitetail hunting is my passion. I absolutely love every aspect of every adventure. Hunting deer is a challenging endeavour and an exciting sport. The thrill of the chase and satisfaction of the kill is always a rewarding experience. However, sometimes we all have to settle for merely the thrill of the chase. Everyone misses a deer now and then, but no one likes to admit this disappointment. I am notorious for trying to avoid these embarrassing moments in conversations. Anyone who has ever hunted whitetails can appreciate the adrenalin rush that we all feel when we merely spot a nice buck. Thereafter, the sensation escalates. And when we actually harvest the deer, we all experience overwhelming exhilaration and a sense of accomplishment. Our feelings are beyond description. Words can never capture the true essence of what we really feel.

Whitetail deer are the most magnificent animals that I have ever seen and have had the privilege of hunting. They are definitely the most popular big game animals in North America. There is nothing more majestic than a big buck leaping and bounding across an open field of clover, unless he is the one that you just shot at and missed. Then, the situation takes on a very different perspective. I am sure that all of us have been flagged by a whitetail on more occasions than we care to remember or admit to. The deer has literally high-tailed it out of there.

The familiar tail goes up, the buck absconds at high speed and his tail waves good-bye to us. That is the last scenario that we see. Irrespective of our momentary frustration, hope remains that we will see this king of the wild at least one more time before the season draws to a conclusion. Grace, beauty, speed and cleverness are just a portion of the multitude of gifts that nature has bestowed upon these beasts of the wild. I still find it hard to believe that an animal as majestic as the whitetail deer is a direct descendant of the pig. Chew on that and share some thoughts

I started hunting when I was fifteen, which, at that time, was the legal hunting age in Ontario, Canada. It was in the early autumn of 1965. I remember this cherished moment extremely well. Everything is as clear as a bell. That was forty-five years ago. Where has the time gone? I have had the good fortune of having had some excellent teachers and superb hunting partners along the way. I am most grateful for all of the wonderful opportunities that have come into my life. Communing with nature has always provided me with a peaceful, easy state of mind. I have experienced some of my greatest joys through hunting. A multitude of fond memories have been collected and shared.

Barry, one of my grade ten classmates, was the first to invite me to go hunting with him on a late Friday afternoon right after school in late September of 1965. I readily accepted the offer. It was such a novel adventure. In the bush, he even let me shoot his repeating twenty-two-calibre bolt-action rifle. That, in and of itself, was a most thrilling experience. It was the first time in my life that I had shot a real firearm. Even though I did not kill a rabbit that day, despite my valiant efforts, I knew that I wanted to go hunting on a regular basis more than anything else in the world. All other sports and social activities took a back seat that fateful Friday afternoon.

Within days, I wrote and passed the hunter’s test. It was a relatively simple procedure and reasonably inexpensive back then. The very next day, I bought my first hunting license. Back then, a small game hunting licence only cost one dollar. Thereafter, I convinced my father, who was not a hunter, to come with me to buy my first Cooey single shot twenty-two calibre rifle. The brand new firearm sold for twenty dollars. Although I was old enough to hunt by myself at the age of fifteen, I could not purchase a firearm on my own until I was eighteen. However, I could buy a rifle at the age of fifteen only if an adult accompanied me. The logic of that legislation was beyond me at the time. It still is.

Oh well, at least back in 1965 we did not have the crippling and crushing gun laws that we have today. Hunters and firearms owners had so much freedom and liberty back then. There seemed to be so much more respect for other people’s individual rights in the sixties. At that time, no one was attempting to impose their personal values and beliefs on some one else. There were no pious groups passing moral judgments and trying to dictate acceptable social norms.

Reluctantly, my dad agreed to assist me in this extremely important matter of buying my first rifle, but only after I had promised to do exceptionally well in school. Although I had good intentions, it turned out to be one promise that I failed to keep. We drove off to the gun store. That was one of the most exciting days in my life. The very next Friday, Barry and I went hunting once more. I actually shot my first rabbit that day. Wow! What a thrill! I must have reiterated that experience over a thousand times. I told everyone who cared to listen.

On Saturday morning, he introduced me to some of his hunting buddies, Bill, Neil, Bob and Joe. Shortly thereafter, the five of us went off hunting for the entire day. We sure shared some wonderful memories in the years that followed and we even managed to shoot a considerable number of rabbits. Hunting with a group of guys taught me some valuable lessons in life. I learned to work as member of a team, to share the game bag, to appreciate the value of an efficient hunting strategy and the need to hone certain skills. Although I already knew how to skin a variety of animals from my trapping experiences, I did learn how to field dress and butcher wild game. I was also shown what shocked meat looked like. Barry stressed the importance of ensuring that all of the shocked meat was cut out and discarded.

The hunter’s code dictates sharing your good fortune with others. Whatever you give away shall always come back to you multiplied. This is an unwritten universal law. I have always lived by this norm and I have always been lucky in my hunting pursuits. Every hunting season I enjoy a bountiful harvest. In some years, I have shot and killed so much wild game that it would have been impossible to eat all of the meat by myself. I have always given generously to the less fortunate and the needy. In turn, I have been blessed in all aspects of my life.

Realizing the limitations of the twenty-two calibre rifle, I soon purchased an old single shot Cooey twelve gauge shotgun from my uncle, who was a farmer/hunter. That firearm cost me a grand total of ten dollars. It was certainly old, but it shot straight. Although I had shot a fair number of rabbits and groundhogs with my rim fire rifle, I knew that I needed a scatter gun to hunt partridge, pheasants, ducks and geese. Also, I could shoot big game such as deer, black bear and moose with a shotgun if I used slugs. The obvious benefits of a centre fire big bore weapon were many.

As I have stated, I initially started out hunting rabbits. Thereafter, I progressed to other small game animals including partridge, pheasants, ducks, geese and groundhogs. I am sure that most of us commenced our journey into the world of hunting in this manner. However, on the early frosty morning that I shot my first white-tailed buck, I knew that I had found my true passion in life. How big was he? Well, lets just say that he was nice eating. I will tell you later in one of my stories. Since that cherished moment in November of 1966, I have harvested an abundance of whitetails. Over the decades, I have accumulated a treasure chest full of wonderful recollections and pleasant experiences related to deer hunting.

We all collect memories through the process of living. Some of our experiences in life are pleasant and others are painful. However, when it comes to hunting, every moment is exhilarating and refreshing. I do not have a single bad recollection concerning my time in the field hunting. Even on the occasions that I messed up big time and forfeited the golden opportunity to harvest a monarch buck – and there have been several – are cherished. Each hunting excursion, whether it culminated in success or failure, taught me a valuable lesson. Knowledge accumulates over time and we all become better hunters in later life.

My purpose in writing this book is to share some interesting whitetail hunting adventures with you. I hope that you enjoy reading about them as much as I have enjoyed reliving them by putting pen to paper – or, more accurately depicted in this day and age, keyboard to computer screen.

Before moving on, I wish to state my perception of hunters. As hunters, we are all wildlife stewards, conservationists and environmentalists. Similar to farmers, we harvest what the land provides. Thereafter, we take our harvest directly to our kitchen tables. There are no intermediaries, no giant meat conglomerates and no huge supermarkets. Hunters participate in the natural food chain. There are no hormone supplements, no steroid injections and no other meat enhancing additives. Styrofoam and plastic packaging is avoided entirely. There is no unnecessary pollution of our environment. Our venison and other wild game is fresh, drug free, healthy and extremely low in fat content. Deer hunting is something that we all cherish dearly. It is a valuable heritage that is worth protecting. Stand tall for what you believe in and always voice your opinion.

If you have any stories to share, ideas to discuss or comments to make, feel free to contact me at: [e-mail]

I would be most interested in hearing from you. In the interim, enjoy reading the whitetail hunting stories that follow.

.

Recurve Magic

On opening day, October 1st, 2007, in the morning, I got together with four of my hunting buddies and we went hunting in the Komoka/Iderton area. After a two hour sit, no one even saw any whitetails. The corn was still up and the weather was unseasonable hot. We blamed it on the warm temperatures. Thereafter, we got together for breakfast at one of the local restaurants. We enjoyed one another’s company and shared a few laughs. Then, we went our separate ways.

In the afternoon, it rained off and on. By the time that the evening hunt came along, there was still a bit of a drizzle. I decided to take advantage of these weather conditions to hunt the Cunningham Ghost in one of his bedding areas. There was a south wind. I managed to work my way to the north end of the property across the creek, which at this time was almost dry. The water was so stagnant that algae were growing everywhere. With the wind in my face and a wet floor of vegetation beneath my feet, I commenced my still hunt in a southerly direction.

Knowing that I would be forced to make a fast shot at best, I brought along my recurve bow. Having learned through the course of the spring and summer months that an arrow with wet feathers does not fly true. I covered the feathers on my three arrows in my hip quiver with a medium sized zip lock plastic bag. The nocked arrow I kept sheltered. Luckily, shortly after I started my hunt, it ceased raining. This was indeed a blessing. The first hour passed quickly and I continued my slow walk on the last leg of my journey. I had about another two hundred yards to cover before I reached the creek. Proceeding cautiously, I scanned the area in front of me vigorously.

Then, I noticed a tan coloured shape in the grassy area approximately fifteen yards ahead of me. I knew that it was a bedded down deer and, judging by the size, I also surmised that this was not the Cunningham Ghost. The only question in my mind – Is it a doe or is it a buck? If it turned out to be a buck, I would shoot it. On the other hand if it was a doe, I would not shoot. Ever so slowly, I covered another five yards.

Suddenly, the deer stood up. It was a buck. We both seemed to see each other at the same time. Perhaps, I had a slight time advantage. I came to full draw and released my arrow. The buck attempted to leave. But, my arrow caught him. The shaft hit a little lower that I had wanted, but it was still fatal. The deer bucked and ran off into the woods. I had witnessed my arrow pass through the heart region. All that practice paid off in the moment of truth. I saw and mentally marked the opening where the buck entered the forest.

After nocking another arrow, I proceeded to the entrance point, stepped inside a relatively thick forest and quickly found blood. The buck was bleeding heavily. I followed the blood trail for about forty yards. Then, it became too dark to see. Reaching for my flashlight, I realized that I had forgotten it on the back of my truck. Oh well, such is life. I must have had a senior’s moment. After all it was the opening day and I was not yet fully focused. I marked my last spot of blood with a piece of blaze orange ribbon and walked out of the bush. The truck was a fair distance from where I had shot the buck. But, I did not mind the walk, knowing that there was a dead buck down in the bush somewhere.

Anyway, to make a long story short, I exchanged by bow and quiver of arrows for a buck cart and returned to my ribbon. Thereat, I left the buck cart and proceeded to follow the blood trail. I was amazed to see some of the growth that the wounded deer had managed to plough through. After another hundred yards, I was starting to wonder if this buck was ever going to drop. But, another fifty yards brought me to my prize. I was overjoyed to find him and happy to have successfully harvested a buck on opening day. He was not an overly big buck. However, he did sport a rack with eight points. Between the Good Eating category and the Wall Hanger category, this buck unquestionably fell into the former.

It took another forty-five minutes to take few pictures, field dress him and haul him out of the bush. This experience granted me a pleasant deer hunting memory and taught me that I could shoot reasonably accurately at a short distance with a recurve bow without thinking. My intuition seemed to automatically kick in. All in all, opening day was a great day in the deer woods.

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Natural Bait Pile

In the last week of October, the corn started to come down and the whitetails commenced seeking other areas for shelter. They would still cruise the edges of the cornfields eating the left behind corncobs. Any harvested corn field serves as a natural bait pile that will draw whitetails like a magnet. While sitting on one of the well known travel routes, I noticed a fair amount of activity on another sector of the farm. I decided to relocate to that section. On my first evening, I observed four does and two fawns walk within striking distance of my set up. I was sitting in a fold up chair at the edge of the forest, near a frequently used opening. The tall grass in front of me adequately concealed my presence. All I had to do was watch the wind in order to remain undiscovered.

The following morning, nothing came by. In the evening, I heard the rustling of leaves behind me. Something was coming down the path that led into the field. Due to the still thick foliage, I could not see what it was. However, it definitely sounded like a whitetail. Once out of the forest, I would know if it was a buck or a doe or a fawn. Sometimes, fawns make an awful amount of racket. Slowly an eight point buck stepped out of the forest. I let him walk a bit along the fence line. When his head went down and we lost eye contact, I quietly stood up and came to full draw with my compound bow. I bleated. The buck stopped for a moment and looked in my direction. I gently squeezed the release and sent an arrow his way. My aim was true. On a slight angling away position, I saw my shaft enter, but not pass through, the body. The buck sped away on his last death run. I watched him fall less than seventy yards along the fence line. The arrow had punctured both lungs.

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The Hunt Camp Buck

It was a cool Wednesday morning as I made my way to my allocated spot for the morning sit. I came in approximately twenty minutes prior to legal shooting time, settled into my chair and waited for the magic twilight hour. Patience is not my long suit. I kept looking at my watch every three or four minutes. Finally, legal shooting time (one half hour before sunrise) arrived. I drew my muzzleloader from the case, made sure the safety was on, popped in a primer and commenced my hunt. Sitting on a finger of one bush, I attentively watched the harvested cornfield and the edge of the opposite bush.

Roughly fifteen minutes passed and something caught the corner of my right eye. I knew that if I moved, whatever that something was would abscond. Sitting motionless, I observed a brown shape materializing in the cornfield. At this point, I knew that is was a deer that had come out from behind me. Straining my eyes, I noticed that it was a fairly large whitetail. Assuming it was a buck, I sat and waited for him to come into full view. Seconds can seem like hours in these situations.

Finally, I saw that it was an admirable buck with a respectable rack. He did not seem to be in a hurry. His head bobbed up and down. I surmised that he was either feeding or trying to pick up the scent of a doe in estrus. Wandering through a bit of a hollow, the buck put his head down and offered an almost perfect broadside shot. I shouldered my muzzleloader, took the safety off, set the crosshairs of my scope on his chest and calmly squeezed the trigger. The discharge shattered the serenity of the morning.

The buck ran at high speed and vanished over a small hill. Although I was confident that I had hit him, I reloaded my muzzleloader with shaky hands. After forty years of hunting whitetails I still get excited after shooting a deer – irrespective of size. The energy, adrenaline rush and excitement of the moment are always there. There is no feeling like it in the world. Now came the moment of truth. Did I hit him? Since I was the only hunting that particular spot that morning, I left my post and went to investigate.

As I crested the knoll, I saw a large whitetail lying in the cornfield. Then the exhilaration really kicked in. I had just harvested my first buck with a muzzleloader. It was indeed a novel experience. After ensuring that the game animal was dead, I examined the antlers. He had ten points, but two tines on the right side were broken off. Although the buck may have been a borderline candidate, he still fell into the good eating category –juxtaposed to the wall hanger category. This was a great morning and one that I would always cherish.

I went back to my truck, unloaded my muzzleloader, put it back in the case, grabbed my photography equipment and returned to the buck. Thereat, I took some nice pictures. Satisfied that I had captured the spirit of the kill to the best of my ability, I field dressed the buck. Then, I returned to my truck and called Darrell on my cell phone. Darrell congratulated me and told me to wait another hour and a half until the rest of the gang finished hunting. Thereafter, he would come to and give me a hand to haul the buck out. I went back and hunted another part of the bush in the interim.

Later, I heard the whirr of an ATV and saw Darrell coming across the field. Within minutes we had the buck loaded and strapped down on the front of the vehicle. I hopped on the back of the ATV and received a ride back to my truck. About ten minutes later, we rendezvoused back at Darrell’s place and hung the first harvested buck on the meat pole. It was a time of celebration. I had shot the first buck that week. Subsequently Dale Butcher shot a buck and then Jim Malcolm shot a buck.

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Early Snow

Early Wednesday morning in the last week of November, I arrived at my ambush site. I had a fold up chair situated less than half way down a ridge that led into the river flats. It sat on a sheltered level spot. Prior to actually sitting down, I liberally sprayed the area with doe in estrus urine. The tail end of the rut was fast approaching, but the bucks still seemed to be rutting. I also sprayed a generous dose right on the trail that the deer normally travel. Legal shooting time arrived and I removed my Bowtech Tribute from the case and nocked an arrow. After testing my sights, I settled into my chair and let out a couple of doe in heat bleats. I let approximately five minutes pass and bleated once more. Then I waited, but I did not have to wait long.

In the twilight of the calm morning, I heard the crunching of dry, snow covered leaves as something approached from the bedding area and headed in my direction. I was situated ten yards from a well travelled trail. As I suspected, the small eight point buck made his way through the brush and commenced his ascent up the trail. I waited until his head temporarily vanished behind a huge oak tree. When we lost eye contact, I came to full draw. As soon as his chest cleared the obstruction, I set the twenty yard pin about two inches low due to the fact that the distance that separated us was a little less than ten yards. He was coming at a slow gait. I aimed slightly forward of my intended mark and released a carbon shaft. I watched the arrow pass through his chest.

The buck bolted back down the trail and headed into the hawthorns. I nocked another arrow as I observed his departure. Confident that it was a good hit, I sat and waited for another ten minutes – just savouring the moment and allowing my mind and body to calm down. Then, I got up and went to retrieve my prize. The blood trail was easy to follow in the snow dusted forest floor. There was a considerable amount of blood. When I reached the bottom of the river flats, I peered through the hawthorns and saw a body lying in the snow. My buck was down.

After taking a few pictures, I field dressed the buck and went back to my truck. Thereat, I retrieved my hauling apparatus and returned to my kill. This buck may not have appeared to be very big, but he proved to be too heavy to haul out of the bush by myself. Thus, I came out of the bush and drove down the gravel road to a familiar farmhouse. There I enlisted the assistance of Allan Cunningham, a local farmer whose property I hunt on. The two of us managed to put him into my cart and carry him out of the bush. We resembled two men carrying something out on a stretcher. Thereafter, we loaded him on my truck and, after thanking Allan for his help, I drove off. I spent the balance of the day skinning and butchering my buck.

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The Swampland Buck

In the late spring of one year, I acquired hunting rights on three consecutive farms