"All good stories start and end in the same place." - Last of the Dogmen
In this case it all started three years ago when I got on my first grown up deer lease. I'd been waiting over 30 years for it, and I was like a kid in a candy store. I had grown up where you had a GREAT year if you SAW two or three deer a season. Then in my 20's I hunted a small tract in Hill county where I had a lot of success but no chances at mature deer. Always got one or two deer a year for a couple of years, but a bruiser of a buck was anything 6 points or better. So with the new hunting grounds came a whole new set of daydreams and wishes.
The first morning out I was sharing a blind with no other than TBH's own ToddP. We were covered up in deer. I think if memory serves we had 3-4 around us for over an hour. Then he walked in. He was muscled up, had a swagger, and was definitely the boss. Built like a fireplug was a great description for him at 3 and a half. Six points, inside his ears, no brow tines, but decent mass. A perfect cull buck. Well ToddP had mentioned his son really had a thing for this deer, and so being new to the lease and all I decided I'd let him walk. Little did I know what I was setting myself up for. Well the rest of that year I ended up chasing the dang sucker. I encountered him once again when I jumped him out of his bed walking to a stand one morning. Hence closed the first year.
I ran a bunch of cameras all off-season trying to figure out what was what around the lease. And guess who shows up, a tad taller rack wise, a little older, just as ugly, and minus a good eye.... yep, and with that I renamed him the "Mutant". The second year was a game of cat and mouse. I saw him 3 different times on stand. First was at first light and I had good shooting light, but I couldn't be 100% sure it was him from rack identification, but I noticed the deer had a slight limp. The second encounter in the same area I walked in one morning, and he was quite literally bedded between the legs of the tripod. We stared at each other for a minute or so and he decided to move on, as he left I noticed he had a limp, dang it. Finally in the same area I whacked a doe some time later, and while waiting to track I started packing my stuff up. At my first big movement I heard a snort and stomp. There standing looking at me from eye level up the hill was the Mutant. He bounded off sounding like a horse running through the mesquites.
Then a third year rolled around. I had committed to pulling out the boomstick if I couldn't end the Mutant's reign during bow season. Other lease members had him on camera in the same general area he had been in during previous years. He wasn't a "tropy" caliber deer, but he had gotten under my skin, and it felt for lack of a better term, personal. He was winning, and that just wasn't going to work out.
So one evening a few weeks ago, I decided to sit in what I knew was "his house" and see if I could catch him napping. About twenty minutes before dark I saw 2 bucks climb out of the draw in front of me. There was no shooting lane to them, and so I couldn't get a real bead on either of their potential beyond body size and antler mass. The buck in front was smaller, and his rack looked kind of small. The buck bringing up the rear was substantially bigger in body size with dark antlers, and considerable mass. My target lock zeroed in on him, and I prayed he would hook around and check out my hand corn as he passed. As they entered the clearing in front of me the smaller buck hooked around and began happily vacuuming up my hand corn. I was completely ignoring him though, as I was fixated on the monster he walked out with. Well the bigger one just kept walking slowly right out of sight. As he disappeared and I realized that it wasn't going to happen, I refocused my binos on the deer in front of me. Huh, immediately something tugged at my mind, like a half remembered memory. Wait, the crab claw on that beam looks kind of familar... there's no brow on the left side.... that deer is chunky.... OH MY ITS THE MUTANT!! And he's right there at 28 yards munching away and has been for 5 minutes.
Up to this moment of this season it had not gone well for me. My shooting had struggled for unknown reasons, and I was getting almost crippling cases of buck fever. I took a deep breath. I picked quite literally a crease of a fat roll halfway between his hip and shoulder as he was quarter away pretty hard. I came to full draw, performed a little acrobatics to clear limbs, etc and line the shot up. Pin was on the crease... aim... pull ... aim ... pull ... release made an audible click but didn't fire, God extended grace and I didn't respond... pull... CLICK! WWWWWOOOOOSSSSHHHH. THUMP. The mutant lumbered ahead the way he was facing like an out of control dump truck. I could see some arrow stick out from behind his shoulder as he gained speed, hooked right, and ran back down the trail in front of me he had come in on. As soon as he left my sight it sounded like someone was driving down that draw with a bulldozer as he bolted down the hill. Then a second or two later everything went quiet. I strained my ears to listen beyond my own labored breathing to see if I could detect any thrashing, gurgling, or anything else to indicate he was down. Nothing.
There was only a few minutes of light left, so I packed up my gear, and five minutes later I was out of the stand. I decided I would check for blood, hair, or other hit indicators and then go get the golf cart. I stood over where he was standing, and my heart sank. Nothing. No hair, no blood, nothing. *sigh* I turned on my flashlight and walked a few yards the direction he had fled. About 8 yards from impact that was a huge spot of blood on the cactus. It was bright scarlet red. My heart soared. Given the situation I opted to go get the golf cart and track after bringing it to the general area.
Fifteen minutes later I picked up the blood trail again. In my maglite's beam I could follow it at a slow walk. Good things. After about 80 yards the trail was almost 3 feet wide. As the trail descended into the draw, it went through thickets, THROUGH mesquite trees, and ever downward. The blood trail was steady, with the only tricky parts being when he went airborne to clear an obstacle, but then when he landed there would be huge splotches. There, nearly to the bottom of the draw he lay. One eye staring back, half a tail, and a unique but horrible set of antlers. I couldn't believe it. It was the first time I pursued an animal I had "history" with and then closed the deal. It felt great, better than great, I felt accomplished.
Upon closer inspection the GrizzTrick 2 had entered a little behind his nearside shoulder and come to rest against his far side shoulder. He was tore up, as Waddell would say he looked "like a snake in a weedeater". He had run 176 paces with both lungs and his heart shredded. Weight is kind of a mystery. We could get him all the way off the ground, and our scale has been iffy. However, I'm pretty sure he was getting close to the 200 mark. Later I saw his jawbone and let's just say.... he was old old old.
It was a great experience, and I'll cherish this multi-season hunt for the Mutant for many years to come. Thanks for listening to a long winded story.
In this case it all started three years ago when I got on my first grown up deer lease. I'd been waiting over 30 years for it, and I was like a kid in a candy store. I had grown up where you had a GREAT year if you SAW two or three deer a season. Then in my 20's I hunted a small tract in Hill county where I had a lot of success but no chances at mature deer. Always got one or two deer a year for a couple of years, but a bruiser of a buck was anything 6 points or better. So with the new hunting grounds came a whole new set of daydreams and wishes.
The first morning out I was sharing a blind with no other than TBH's own ToddP. We were covered up in deer. I think if memory serves we had 3-4 around us for over an hour. Then he walked in. He was muscled up, had a swagger, and was definitely the boss. Built like a fireplug was a great description for him at 3 and a half. Six points, inside his ears, no brow tines, but decent mass. A perfect cull buck. Well ToddP had mentioned his son really had a thing for this deer, and so being new to the lease and all I decided I'd let him walk. Little did I know what I was setting myself up for. Well the rest of that year I ended up chasing the dang sucker. I encountered him once again when I jumped him out of his bed walking to a stand one morning. Hence closed the first year.
I ran a bunch of cameras all off-season trying to figure out what was what around the lease. And guess who shows up, a tad taller rack wise, a little older, just as ugly, and minus a good eye.... yep, and with that I renamed him the "Mutant". The second year was a game of cat and mouse. I saw him 3 different times on stand. First was at first light and I had good shooting light, but I couldn't be 100% sure it was him from rack identification, but I noticed the deer had a slight limp. The second encounter in the same area I walked in one morning, and he was quite literally bedded between the legs of the tripod. We stared at each other for a minute or so and he decided to move on, as he left I noticed he had a limp, dang it. Finally in the same area I whacked a doe some time later, and while waiting to track I started packing my stuff up. At my first big movement I heard a snort and stomp. There standing looking at me from eye level up the hill was the Mutant. He bounded off sounding like a horse running through the mesquites.
Then a third year rolled around. I had committed to pulling out the boomstick if I couldn't end the Mutant's reign during bow season. Other lease members had him on camera in the same general area he had been in during previous years. He wasn't a "tropy" caliber deer, but he had gotten under my skin, and it felt for lack of a better term, personal. He was winning, and that just wasn't going to work out.
So one evening a few weeks ago, I decided to sit in what I knew was "his house" and see if I could catch him napping. About twenty minutes before dark I saw 2 bucks climb out of the draw in front of me. There was no shooting lane to them, and so I couldn't get a real bead on either of their potential beyond body size and antler mass. The buck in front was smaller, and his rack looked kind of small. The buck bringing up the rear was substantially bigger in body size with dark antlers, and considerable mass. My target lock zeroed in on him, and I prayed he would hook around and check out my hand corn as he passed. As they entered the clearing in front of me the smaller buck hooked around and began happily vacuuming up my hand corn. I was completely ignoring him though, as I was fixated on the monster he walked out with. Well the bigger one just kept walking slowly right out of sight. As he disappeared and I realized that it wasn't going to happen, I refocused my binos on the deer in front of me. Huh, immediately something tugged at my mind, like a half remembered memory. Wait, the crab claw on that beam looks kind of familar... there's no brow on the left side.... that deer is chunky.... OH MY ITS THE MUTANT!! And he's right there at 28 yards munching away and has been for 5 minutes.
Up to this moment of this season it had not gone well for me. My shooting had struggled for unknown reasons, and I was getting almost crippling cases of buck fever. I took a deep breath. I picked quite literally a crease of a fat roll halfway between his hip and shoulder as he was quarter away pretty hard. I came to full draw, performed a little acrobatics to clear limbs, etc and line the shot up. Pin was on the crease... aim... pull ... aim ... pull ... release made an audible click but didn't fire, God extended grace and I didn't respond... pull... CLICK! WWWWWOOOOOSSSSHHHH. THUMP. The mutant lumbered ahead the way he was facing like an out of control dump truck. I could see some arrow stick out from behind his shoulder as he gained speed, hooked right, and ran back down the trail in front of me he had come in on. As soon as he left my sight it sounded like someone was driving down that draw with a bulldozer as he bolted down the hill. Then a second or two later everything went quiet. I strained my ears to listen beyond my own labored breathing to see if I could detect any thrashing, gurgling, or anything else to indicate he was down. Nothing.
There was only a few minutes of light left, so I packed up my gear, and five minutes later I was out of the stand. I decided I would check for blood, hair, or other hit indicators and then go get the golf cart. I stood over where he was standing, and my heart sank. Nothing. No hair, no blood, nothing. *sigh* I turned on my flashlight and walked a few yards the direction he had fled. About 8 yards from impact that was a huge spot of blood on the cactus. It was bright scarlet red. My heart soared. Given the situation I opted to go get the golf cart and track after bringing it to the general area.
Fifteen minutes later I picked up the blood trail again. In my maglite's beam I could follow it at a slow walk. Good things. After about 80 yards the trail was almost 3 feet wide. As the trail descended into the draw, it went through thickets, THROUGH mesquite trees, and ever downward. The blood trail was steady, with the only tricky parts being when he went airborne to clear an obstacle, but then when he landed there would be huge splotches. There, nearly to the bottom of the draw he lay. One eye staring back, half a tail, and a unique but horrible set of antlers. I couldn't believe it. It was the first time I pursued an animal I had "history" with and then closed the deal. It felt great, better than great, I felt accomplished.
Upon closer inspection the GrizzTrick 2 had entered a little behind his nearside shoulder and come to rest against his far side shoulder. He was tore up, as Waddell would say he looked "like a snake in a weedeater". He had run 176 paces with both lungs and his heart shredded. Weight is kind of a mystery. We could get him all the way off the ground, and our scale has been iffy. However, I'm pretty sure he was getting close to the 200 mark. Later I saw his jawbone and let's just say.... he was old old old.
It was a great experience, and I'll cherish this multi-season hunt for the Mutant for many years to come. Thanks for listening to a long winded story.
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