Whitetail Lessons

By Dragan Vujic

A collection of valuable lessons learned within the context of specific whitetail hunts. This book is not an organized, smooth flow of information. On the contrary, this work is a collage of discrete pockets of knowledge gleamed on particular outings. Hit or miss, there is usually something to appreciate and build on in the pursuit of game animals. The purpose of this book is to give a more detailed account of what exactly was learned and when. There is no chronological order to the presentation of material. All of the excerpts are independent of one another and can be read separately. Inadvertently, whitetails teach us many lessons to their detriment. We just have to pay attention.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Apr 6, 2016
• ISBN: 9781491794159

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 © 2016 Dragan Vujic.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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ISBN: 978-1-4917-9416-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4917-9415-9 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2016905612

iUniverse rev. date: 04/04/2016

Contents

Abstract

Introduction

Lesson # 1 First Hunt

Lesson # 2 Return

Lesson # 3 Click

Lesson # 4 Moon

Lesson # 5 Whistle

Lesson # 6 Denny

Lesson # 7 Late

Lesson # 8 Old

Lesson # 9 Skyline

Lesson # 10 Thanks

Lesson # 11 Neck

Lesson # 12 Pattern

Lesson # 13 Vocal

Lesson # 14 Recurve

Lesson # 15 Bait

Lesson # 16 Finger

Lesson # 17 Swamp

Lesson # 18 Scat

Lesson # 19 Crossing

Lesson # 20 Lois

Lesson # 21 Rabbit

Lesson # 22 Curious

Lesson # 23 Walk

Lesson # 24 Genetics

Lesson # 25 Backyard

Lesson # 26 Nocturnal

Lesson # 27 Harvest

Lesson # 28 Foresight

Lesson # 29 Distress

Lesson # 30 Distance

Lesson # 31 Bachelor

Lesson # 32 Flight

Lesson # 33 Cody

Lesson # 34 Wind

Lesson # 35 Fog

Lesson # 36 Priority

Lesson # 37 Angelo

Lesson # 38 Hidden

Lesson # 39 Staging

Lesson # 40 Bryan

Lesson # 41 Blade

Lesson # 42 Corner

Lesson # 43 River

Lesson # 44 Tarsal

Lesson # 45 Tail

Lesson # 46 Trail

Lesson # 47 Apples

Lesson # 48 Observation

Lesson # 49 Tough

Lesson # 50 Air

Lesson # 51 Scrapes

Lesson # 52 Vacuum

Lesson # 53 Strange

Lesson # 54 Heart

Lesson # 55 Lung

Lesson # 56 Double

Lesson # 57 Urine

Lesson # 58 Decoy

Musk Deer

Recipe

Conclusion

A Few More Tales

Dedicated, in memoriam, to my uncle, Eric Oswald Ferguson (1942 -- 1986), for introducing me to the wonderful world of whitetail hunting.

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

Whitetail Wisdom

Whitetail Lessons

Abstract

A collection of valuable lessons learned within the context of specific whitetail hunts. This book is not an organized, smooth flow of information. On the contrary, this work is a collage of discrete pockets of knowledge gleamed on particular outings. Hit or miss, there is usually something to appreciate and build on in the pursuit of game animals. The purpose of this book is to give a more detailed account of what exactly was learned and when. There is no chronological order to the presentation of material. All of the excerpts are independent of one another and can be read separately.

Everything we hear is an opinion, Not a fact.

Everything we see is a perspective, Not the truth.

Marcus Aurelius

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Photo Credit: Allan Cunningham

Introduction

I have decided to write this book in order to cover any possible gaps or inadvertent omissions of information in my previous books. Although this work does not contain an encompassing pool of knowledge, it is an excellent companion reader to Hunting Farm Country Whitetails, Bowhunting Whitetails and Whitetail Wisdom. My intention is to supplement that which I have already presented. Whenever practical experience is put into words, there is always the risk that something of value may have been left out. Perhaps, a false assumption is made that this fact is obvious or that it is something that the reader ought to know. In any event, I aspire to cover any elisions made in the past.

The old adage 'the more you do something, the better you get at it' rings true in the fine art of deer hunting. We all learn as we play the same game over and over. Every year our knowledge and experience increases incrementally. Whitetails teach us valuable lessons. We may not realize this at the time. Often, the same lesson is repeated until we grasp what is being elucidated. How many times have you made the same mistake? I have done that same thing wrong several times on different occasions. The result is always the same -- an escaped whitetail. No harvest today. When I realized that every unsuccessful hunt contained an important piece of information, I started learning. I replaced frustration with appreciation. Thank-you for the lesson.

Over the years (close to fifty now), I became a better hunter. I still have a lot left to learn. The academy of whitetail hunting, or Buck U as I prefer to call it, has no graduation date. There is no diploma and no degree. Whitetail hunting is a perpetual learning experience. Imagine yourself running a race that has no finish line. Success is a journey, not a destination. Savour every deer hunting outing that you are fortunate enough to experience. They are cherished gifts that should never be taken for granted. More importantly, reflect on every hunt and ask yourself one very important question. What have I learned? Never berate yourself for having missed a whitetail. Anger has no place in the hunting world. Just ask -- what did I do wrong and how can I avoid this mistake in the future? Change your perception -- view failures as stepping stones, not stumbling blocks. You will be surprised at how much you will learn.

Well, that is enough philosophy. I have organized this book as a series of personal hunting experiences. Each excerpt contains a summary of what I have learned from the experience. Although I have not included the story of every whitetail that I have ever shot, I have picked the ones that have taught me something of value. I hope that you enjoy reading this book as much as I have loved writing it. May you find pleasure in all of your future deer hunts. Now, pay attention. Class is in session.

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Lesson # 1

First Hunt

My uncle, Eric Ferguson had introduced me to the wonderful world of whitetail hunting in the autumn of 1966. That year, we loaded up our stuff into his sedan and headed to a 680 acre farm located near Lanark in the Ottawa valley. Along the way, Eric had covered most of the basics of whitetail hunting. He had shared the information that he had gathered over the years. The rest would be learned through personal experience through the passing of time. Some knowledge and explanations could be acquired through literature. But, you had to be careful what you read. Whitetail behaviour is directly related to their environment. In other words, northern deer will react differently than their southern brethren and wilderness whitetails exhibit dissimilar behaviour to their urban cousins. Additional valuable information could be derived from other hunters.

However, experience has always been and will always be the best teacher. For the rest of the journey, my uncle related a few of his most memorable hunting adventures. He had grown up in the bush and had hunted with a firearm since he was eight years old. Everyone started hunting at an early age in the backwoods farms of the Ottawa Valley. I listened with great intent and interest. He painted such beautiful pictures with words. I began to envy his childhood. The wilderness seemed to hold so many wonders. Whitetails were delicately woven into this mysterious tapestry.

It was well after dark when we arrived at his parent's residence. A long winding gravel laneway led to a wood frame, two-story house that sat on high ground. The huge oak door that hung on the front entrance was purely for decoration purposes. No one ever used it. Everyone entered and exited the domicile through the kitchen door or the side door. The porch light was on and Eric's mother came to meet us at the door. After hugging her son, Mrs. Ferguson greeted me with a warm smile, welcomed me and invited me inside. Although my uncle had been married to my aunt for over five years, I had never had an opportunity to visit them in the Ottawa Valley. We had all been invited to the wedding, but my father could not afford to take time off work in order to make the trip. Thus, we missed the wedding. I was the first to venture to the Ottawa Valley. My adventure commenced.

I met two of Eric's younger brothers, respectively aged fourteen and ten, who still lived at home. Eric came from a family of twelve children -- eight boys and four girls. Everyone in the community joked that the Fergusons were good Catholics because they enlarged the Catholic congregation by having so many children. Bill Ferguson, the father, always responded that religion had nothing to do with it. He adamantly advocated that he loved his wife and every single one of his children unconditionally. They could do no wrong. Besides, children were always valuable assets on a working farm. Many hands lightened the load of farm work.

However, the farming and logging operations had not been very profitable in the past few years. Thus, Bill had found alternative employment with the Ontario Hydro. He was a quiet man who did not say much and he never complained about anything, but, as I remember, he had a powerful grip when he shook my hand. His warmth, strength and kindness radiated from within. Eric was certainly lucky to have been raised by such loving parents.

That evening, after a delicious meal of venison stew that Mrs. Ferguson had prepared for our arrival and some home baked bread that was still warm, Bill, Clare, Eric and I settled in to play some cards. This was a night of several firsts -- the first time that I had been to the Ottawa Valley, the first time that I had eaten venison, the first time that I had played Euchre and tomorrow, Monday, would be the first time that I would hunt whitetails. I readily admit that I have never been much of a card player and that I virtually have no card sense whatsoever. Perhaps, this blatant inability is responsible for keeping me out of casinos and gambling halls. Eric was a forgiving individual. I literally messed up hand after hand. His only comment was, Oh well, it's only a game. The cheerful evening came to a close and we all went to bed.

I was much too excited to sleep that night. The minutes could not go by fast enough. My bedroom was on the second floor, directly above the kitchen. A wood stove pipe came up through the floor to about waist level, took a ninety degree turn to the right, proceeded for about three feet, curved upward and passed through the ceiling. It was a very warm and cozy atmosphere. I know that I tossed and turned for most of the night. But, I must have fallen asleep near the morning. I recall a gentle hand waking me in the darkness.

My uncle, who was already dressed, smiled and motioned for me to get up. I scrambled to my feet, jumped into my clothes and headed for the washroom in order to alleviate myself and wash up. Within minutes, I was downstairs. Although the two young Fergusons were still sleeping, Bill had left for work about two hours ago. A crew boss had picked him up and several other men in the vicinity. They had about an eight-hour drive due north. The men would commence work on the following day. Bill would be gone for approximately three weeks. Mrs. Ferguson had already cooked us a wonderful breakfast of bacon and eggs. There was also fresh coffee. Eric had two large cups and smoked two cigarettes before we left. Smoking was okay, but no one dared touch a drink in the Ferguson residence. That was absolutely forbidden. At the time I neither smoked nor drank coffee. I was just anxious to get going. Hunting was my high. I needed nothing else back then.

It was pitch black when we stepped outside. I could not see a thing. Dark in the country is significantly different than dark in the city. There were no city lights reflecting off the cloud cover. It was really black outside. I didn't know how Eric could possibly see anything. Due to the fact that he had grown up on this farm, he knew where everything was. However, he still brought along a flashlight to navigate his way through the bush. Eric told me to be quiet, not to talk anymore and stay close behind him. He said that he would set me up in a good spot. Later, he would come back and get me when it was time to comb the forest.

All I had to do was sit still and watch the meadow. Whitetails used a trail, leading from the forest to the field, which was approximately forty meters to my left. If I could remain undetected, there was a strong possibility that deer would emerge from the woods and walk into the meadow. They would be within shotgun range. Therefore, I could be granted an opportunity to harvest my first whitetail. This was a favourite annual hot spot that consistently produced results. Eric showed me exactly where to sit and then quietly disappeared. I did not even hear him leave. At the time, I had a single shot Cooey 12 gauge shotgun loaded with a slug. Four more cartridges were in my right coat pocket.

It was a frosty autumn morning. After about an hour, I felt a chill coming through my clothes as I sat on a fallen log with my back against the trunk of a thick maple tree. I was about two meters within the forest perimeter. My eyes were glued on the meadow. Back then, there were no blaze orange requirements and camouflage clothing was something that only the covert operators in the American army wore. Hunters wore ordinary work clothes, leather work boots and blue jeans into the bush. The clothing was relatively warm, but is certainly was not waterproof or windproof. Only rubber boots were waterproof. However, they were too cold to wear in the forest at this time of year. We all waterproofed our insulated leather boots by rubbing dubbin or mink oil into them. This procedure had to be repeated three to four times a season, depending on how much hunting one did. I did not acquire my first blaze orange coat until the autumn of 1970.

Thankfully, Eric had given me one of his wool sweaters to wear underneath my black hunting coat. But, my blue jeans did not keep the cold from my legs. Not knowing ahead of time that I would end up whitetail hunting in the Ottawa Valley, I had not bothered to wear long johns. It was getting colder by the minute. Also, the log that I was sitting on had become hard as a rock. My toes were staring to get numb. Stiffness set in and my back became sore. I started to wonder how much longer I could endure the intensifying cold and mounting discomfort.

Suddenly, I noticed movement. The deer were coming out of the forest. I was awestruck. It was such a beautiful sight. First, two does emerged. Thereafter, a little fawn came out. The three of them commenced feeding along the edge of the meadow. Then, a small buck made his exodus. He had a rack, but I could not count the points. The buck was the one that I had to harvest. My heart started pounding. I experienced an adrenaline rush. I was much too excited to shoot. My body was shaking. I tried to calm myself and attempted to remain sitting still. The slightest movement, the slightest noise could spook them.

This was the second occasion that I saw whitetails in the wild. My first experience occurred when I was twelve years old -- about four years ago. This happened in the Wasaga Beach area. I had risen early on an early August morning. After eating a breakfast of cereal and packing my fishing gear, I got on my bicycle and sped off to my favourite spot, which was about five miles away. Twilight had already made its debut and was making a graceful surrender to the approaching light. It was so quiet at that time of day. The sun slowly commenced its ascent. I was the only one on the paved road as I pedaled towards my destination. I had traveled about three miles.

All of a sudden, a huge buck exploded out of the bush on my right. He ran directly in front of me and vanished into the forest on the other side of the road. It was a sight to behold. I remember it exceptionally well. His fully-grown antlers were completely covered in velvet and his reddish brown coat caught and reflected the early rays of the rising morning sun. He passed less than six feet in front of me. If I had been going any faster, we may have collided. I stopped and savoured the moment. I must have replayed that scene over a dozen times in my mind. This was indeed a wonderful experience. Eventually, I did move on and proceeded to my fishing spot.

Slowly and quietly, I thumbed back the hammer on my shotgun. Eric was very safety conscious and always stressed that a good hunter should always keep the safety on until he is ready to shoot. In order to avoid the click that a hammer made when it set, I kept pressure on the trigger until I felt the hammer fall into the cock position. There was virtually no noise.

Ready to fire, I raised my shotgun and aimed at the buck. I was still shaking. The front bead of the barrel was all over the place -- sporadically on the buck and off the buck. I knew that if I pulled the trigger, I would probably miss. Quietly, I put down the shotgun and tried to relax. I commenced to take long, deep breaths. The whitetails continued to feed, apparently oblivious to my presence. Time dragged on at a snail's pace. The seconds seemed to pass like hours. Finally, my body had stopped trembling. It was time to take the shot.

Once again I shouldered my shotgun and took careful aim, knowing that I only had one chance to kill this nice buck. If I missed, he would vanish forever. There are no second chances and no replays in hunting. You have to get it right the first time. This I knew. The buck was about thirty-five yards away and presented an almost perfect broadside shot. I set the front bead roughly half way on his chest. Letting it rest there for a couple of seconds and steadying my aim, I gently squeezed the trigger.

KABOOM

It was the loudest gunshot that I had every heard. The recoil from the slug was noticeably harder than from a shot shell. The silence of the early morning was shattered.

Initially, I thought that I had missed him because the buck ran away at high speed across an open field. Out of my peripheral vision, I saw the two does and the fawn immediately vanish into the forest. My eyes never left the fleeing buck. Then, I watched him fall and my mind exploded with joy. It was the most exciting moment of my life. I had never felt so terrific in all of my life. I had just shot and killed my first deer at short range with a shotgun slug.

At that very instant, I knew that I had found my true passion in life. After that fateful moment, everything else paled. Deer hunting became my favourite recreational activity. It has been the most stable element in my constantly changing life. Since that first buck, I look forward to deer season every year. But, I still enjoy hunting small game, especially cottontail rabbits and jackrabbits (varying hares). How big was that first deer that I shot? Well, let's just say that it was really good eating and leave it at