The Challenger

[sampotter]

November 14, 2013

 

It was hard to leave the warm comfort of my sleeping bag but it was already an hour later than I had planned on getting up to hunt that morning. I had driven seven hours the night before to meet up with longtime family friend, Ken, to hunt his slice of whitetail paradise in the Hocking Hills of southern Ohio for a few days. We didn’t go to bed until after midnight, but it was now 5 am and the sun would make its morning appearance at about 6:40. That didn’t leave much time to get in a tree, so it was time to move!

Ken was just getting up as well and we gulped some coffee, I took a quick shower, and rushed out the door. As I stepped into the crisp, 25 degree, starlit hollow, I smelled a strong, musky odor… As the scent registered in my brain I heard a couple of loud snorts just up the hill from the camp as a big deer bounded away. Buck!

Encouraged to know there was at least one rank buck in town, we both headed to our selected stand sites. Ken’s was at the head of one of the many small hollows that are typical of the area. I chose the leeward side of one of the steep hills that the deep hollows leave behind. Although the distance was relatively short, the steepness of the 300 foot climb left me quite hot despite only having a long-sleeved t-shirt on. Part of the problem were the insulated pants and two pairs of long underwear I was wearing. Although the sun was breaking the horizon I knew I had to cool down before I became too sweaty, so I took off my shirt, pulled my pants and one pair of long johns down, and stood there for 15-20 minutes. This worked amazingly well and soon I ascended the tree I had chosen. Settling in at about 7:30, I analyzed my surroundings, enjoying the crisp bluebird morning. A light dusting of snow covered the forest floor and I confirmed with milkweed that the steady south/southwest breeze was blowing my scent stream out into the tree tops of the hollow below. I felt reasonably confident I would not be busted by a buck’s notorious nose.

After about thirty minutes I heard the unmistakable crunch-crunch-crunch of heavy footsteps in frozen leaves coming up the hill from the southwest. A stick broke as I scanned the hillside for movement. Presently a thick set of antlers glinted in the morning sun as a nice mature 8 pointer stepped into view. He approached an overhanging branch and raked it with his antlers, scent-marked it with his facial glands, and pawed the scrape at his feet. I reached for my bow with one hand and my grunt call with the other. Letting out a deep grunt, I called to him, and his ears snapped forward in my direction. Obviously game to take on the unforeseen foe, he took a few steps forward and pounded the life out of a poor, hapless sapling that was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I grunted again.

Unsure of exactly where the sound was coming from, he stepped into some thick greenbrier that separated us and I momentarily lost sight of him. I grunted three more times and that was it! Out of the prickers he came and he was locked onto my location. With a shaking hand, I placed my grunt call in my pack and shifted into shooting position as he closed the distance. When he got to twenty yards from the base of my tree, he laid his ears back and sided-stepped towards some yet unseen enemy. At ten yards he stopped and looked straight up at me! Apparently a motionless form thirty-five feet above him didn’t alarm him and he took a step behind a small tree which allowed me to draw. Two more steps and he stopped slightly quartering to.

At the shot he bolted down the hill and stopped at fifty yards with half of my arrow sticking out. As he looked back in my direction, I reached for another arrow, but he suddenly flopped over, rolled down the steep hill twice, and was still. With a broadhead directly to the heart, it was all over in less than ten seconds.

            Ecstatic at my first day success, I sent a text message to Ken along with my brothers and friends. As the adrenaline coursed through my veins and I began to shake in the tree, I tried to catch my breath and enjoy the warming sunrise. Had I really just shot my first Ohio buck on the first morning? Did the buck really respond to my calling and come straight to my tree? 

            Crunch-crunch-snap-crunch, I snapped back alert! Amazingly, a second mature buck appeared downhill from me to the northeast! He was locked on to where he must have heard my buck fall and in a few short moments he was 10 yards downwind of my dead buck. Too late, I realized my video camera’s battery was dead but I improvised with my cell phone and recorded the amazing scene that unfolded over the next nineteen minutes. (It is important to note there is a one buck limit in Ohio, so all I could do was watch and enjoy.)

            Catching my buck’s scent, the second buck (later dubbed “The Challenger”) climbed the steep hill to face my dead buck. Five feet from my buck’s lifeless nose, The Challenger (TC), postured sideways, laid his ears back, and with hackles on end, snort-wheezed, “fut-fffvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv!” Although I was hoping he would do that it still made me jump a little bit when it happened. He then began to paw an intimidation scrape, flinging snow-covered leaves behind him as he showed he was ready for whatever my buck was bringing. For a while I thought TC would actually attack, but after he spent a full twelve minutes of snort-wheezing, pawing, grunt-snort-wheezing, and pawing some more he seemed to realize my buck wasn’t going to throw down his gloves.

            At this point I attempted to call The Challenger closer by grunting and snort-wheezing to him using my mouth. Initially he acted as though the sound may have been echoing off the opposite hillside but once he got his bearings he began to make his way towards me. Rut-drunk and buzzing on testosterone, TC left my lifeless buck and took out some of his frustration on a sapling forty yards below me.

            I called to him again and straight up the hill he came, passing by me at about 25 yards. He reached the top of the hill and once more I called to him, which turned him. Right down the hill and directly under my tree he passed. I gasped when I saw his thick rack with long brow tines from above, especially as he was walking away. Finally he crested the hill and was gone, or so I thought.

(While all of this was taking place I was trying to analyze TC. I could tell he had really good brow tines, appeared to have a nine point frame, and may have had a broken off drop tine. I realized he was a buck who’s matched 2011 shed antlers I had picked up in the yard of Ken’s camp 2 years before and I also had a trail camera video of him from last fall in 2012. When I initially saw him I thought he was similar in size to the buck I had already shot but as he came closer I could see his brow tines and mass more clearly and my estimation of his size continued to increase until I finally concluded that he was somewhere in the 150” neighborhood.)

            Later, I met Ken at the bottom of the hill and we made plans to meet back at my buck after I ran to the camp to get my good camera to document the scene. Ken rode his atv around on a trail that took him to the far end of the hill my buck was on and walked in my direction. As I searched for my arrow, I heard a bounding deer headed towards me. The Challenger again! He paused at the top of the hill and I grunted at him one more time. Amazingly, he locked in and took several steps in my direction! Ken suddenly appeared to my right and with one bound, TC vanished over the crest of the hill.

            Ken took several pictures of me with the dead buck at the scene and offered assistance with dragging my buck out, but there was no need, it was literally all downhill. In fact, because I was having so much difficulty holding him back, I just let him slide down the hill 50-60 feet a couple of times. It was the easiest “drag” I ever had.

            This was absolutely the most amazing show I’ve ever seen in the deer woods. My buck has nearly five inch bases and would have made Pope and Young if his left brow tine wasn’t broken off. He had several fresh punctures and cuts on his head and neck and also had a fresh broadhead wound in one of his hindquarters. With worn teeth and a shed antler I picked up two years ago, I suspect he was at least four years old and maybe five. Sure, it would have been slightly better if The Challenger had shown up first but I’m not complaining. To pick a spot on a map, call two mature bucks to the base of my tree, and be treated to such an adrenaline-pumping display was more than I could ever hope for. Would I drive fourteen hours in two days to see it again? You bet.

 

 

Map:

 

My Buck

 

The Scene

 

The "Drag"

 

 

The Video: (turn up the volume to hear the buck and my poor commentary)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mG5939stZvw

 

 

 

 

[Cabin Fever]

Great story and another great buck Sam! Congrats!!

[chiefbkt]

Congrats on a great buck!

[BUCKANDAQUARTER]

Awesome story! Congrats!

[F-150]

Congrats on a great buck , and a great story !!!

[sampotter]

Thanks guys! Glad you enjoyed it!

[NFA-ADK]

LOL that was funny when you snorted at him around 17 min.  I think you scared him.  Cool video and great story! Thanks for sharing.

[MACHINIST]

nice!!!

[Terry]

Wow, very cool!

[First-light]

Great video Sam!!!!

[sampotter]

Small update: I sent the teeth out on the 8 point that I killed in this story to have the buck aged by cementum annuli analysis. I just received the results and it turns out he was 5.5 years old, making him the oldest I've killed by bow. I also picked up one of The Challenger's sheds last weekend!

 

[Bone Seeker]

now that's a good read. let me know when the book comes out.

[moog5050]

good stuff!

[JALA RUT]

Congrats on a nice buck and a great encounter...Good find on TC's shed too!

[dbHunterNY]

great story!  maybe you can go back to the same spot next year.  maybe that second buck will be there!  it was cool the first time I heard a snort-wheeze.  things usually don't get that intense here with such a messed up buck to doe ratio.  congrats 5.5 years old is a true trophy he was probably at or close to his peak.

[F-150]

Great story Sam , hopefully you will have the oppurtunity to harvest the challenger this year , good luck      !!!!!!!