Re: Plz Share Your Hunting Plans/Stories.....
Well, here's my stab at illiteracy.
Arrived at camp Monday pm amidst steady rain. More rain Teusday, 3.5" by noon Wed. All the lies that could be told had, and then it cleared. Beautiful evening, blazing sunset under the retreating cloud deck, all the animals up and at it except the deer.
Heavy frost the next AM, buddy has to go to town to replace the window he broke after he locked his keys in the truck. Stearnly informs me that I'm going to be late getting to the woods(sorry, it's a short range story). I mumble something that sounds like contrition I think, he seems mollified and hits the road. Absolutely gorgeous morning! Bright sun on frost so heavy it looks like snow. Birds and squirrels making up for lost time. Only thing I ever got on a cold morning in Georgia is a cold ass, so I have another cup of coffee, then a nice shower before heading out at 8:00 am. Park Ol' Blue at the back gate of the lease, mask up and drop one in the chamber of my T/C carbine. Loaded with Sierra 150's, it shoots .6" groups which is acceptable for still hunting creek bottoms.
Down the Beaver Pond Road slowly, looking, watching, waiting for that first flicker or line that doesn't fit. It's only 450 yards to the pond but it takes nearly an hour. A bit fast for still hunting but it was a road after all. Just before the pond there is a trail I cut 3 years back that parallels the bank about 30 yards upgrade. I turned into a 2-3 mph steady breeze and began the ritual of true still hunting. Moving without motion, listening, seeing, smelling, senses spooled up totally. It is physically intense, very tiring. The temp is in the mid 30's and I'm slightly damp under one tee shirt and a camo blouse. For 75 yards and nearly 40 minutes I make no sound and no mistakes. Then thru the brush is movement. Brown legs comming toward me on the trail. At a bend in the trail we will be face to face at only 15 yards. I raise the rifle, crosshairs at a hole in the brush were I expect to see chest. Horns now visable but indistinct, the moment is near and I cock the hammer a fraction late. The buck freezes 6" too close. I see only a grazing shot at his shoulder and stand frozen as his eyes search for the source of that click he heard. Thank God for 5 pound rifles! I stood, he looked, I stood some more. Finally, he recognized that there was something in the trail that wasn't there yesterday, and his head popped out from behind the brush on an elegant long neck, ears forward under a symetrical battle scarred rack. The shift was quick, a magazine picture in my field of view, hairs centered at mid neck. The trigger broke, and he was gone, down behind the scrub as if napping.
I like the long range thing, but for me it will never have the adrenalin rush of meeting my quarry at close quarters in their turf and on their terms. I lose more than I win, but it's never, never boring.
Best of luck to all of you this season.