Mustangs Rule
Well-known member
- Joined
- Feb 4, 2021
- Messages
- 699
The Donut Buck
Hunters have to be able to run.
A month before deer or elk season begins, I begin to do some running again. I do not like doing this. At 73, it is embarrassing, but I do my best anyway, up hill and down. It scares me. I think about my minor knee surgery a few years ago, will I do damage to myself?
I run more carefully now, not as far, nowhere near as fast, but I run. In the field I keep all my gear tight and tied down, ready run in second. Sometimes that is what it takes, gotta give all you got.
Two years ago I looked up a high hill, or low mountain, call it what you will, and there was flock of wild turkeys looking down at me.
My mind said going after them was impossible, my legs said “try”. I listened to my legs and a tom turkey, the very last one in the flock died. My legs were right.
Too many years ago, I was on top of this rolling grass mountain. In the far distance I saw two does. Looking with my binoculars, I could see one was a spike buck. Pulling out my fixed 20X Leopold spotting scope I could see a small fork,,,,a legal buck!
I really like feeling that raw hunter instinct take over,,,let it own me. My carnivore computer tracked the situation. I dropped my pack and ran my guts out along a steep slippery dry grass slope with just my 30-30. Chest heaving, lungs burning, my hunters instinct said stop right now. I dropped to my knees. Maybe 5 seconds later the buck and doe crested the ridge just started coming down, right into me.
I shot, they turned and were gone. The first run was a side hill, This next one was straight up.
I got to the top, dropped to me knees and saw nothing, just all short dry grass like Charlie Brown’s round head. My hunting partner caught up, running behind me. He was a half Tarascan Indian from the central highlands of Mexico. A fine lifelong hunter, lean as a plank, he brought my pack.
I did not know know what to do or where to go. Like a dog following messages people cannot see, he walked over to this one small patch of rabbit bush, maybe just 4 or 5 feet around, three feet high, he smiled and said “Venga Aqui”,,laying curled up in the bush, like a big furry donut was my dead buck.
MR
Hunters have to be able to run.
A month before deer or elk season begins, I begin to do some running again. I do not like doing this. At 73, it is embarrassing, but I do my best anyway, up hill and down. It scares me. I think about my minor knee surgery a few years ago, will I do damage to myself?
I run more carefully now, not as far, nowhere near as fast, but I run. In the field I keep all my gear tight and tied down, ready run in second. Sometimes that is what it takes, gotta give all you got.
Two years ago I looked up a high hill, or low mountain, call it what you will, and there was flock of wild turkeys looking down at me.
My mind said going after them was impossible, my legs said “try”. I listened to my legs and a tom turkey, the very last one in the flock died. My legs were right.
Too many years ago, I was on top of this rolling grass mountain. In the far distance I saw two does. Looking with my binoculars, I could see one was a spike buck. Pulling out my fixed 20X Leopold spotting scope I could see a small fork,,,,a legal buck!
I really like feeling that raw hunter instinct take over,,,let it own me. My carnivore computer tracked the situation. I dropped my pack and ran my guts out along a steep slippery dry grass slope with just my 30-30. Chest heaving, lungs burning, my hunters instinct said stop right now. I dropped to my knees. Maybe 5 seconds later the buck and doe crested the ridge just started coming down, right into me.
I shot, they turned and were gone. The first run was a side hill, This next one was straight up.
I got to the top, dropped to me knees and saw nothing, just all short dry grass like Charlie Brown’s round head. My hunting partner caught up, running behind me. He was a half Tarascan Indian from the central highlands of Mexico. A fine lifelong hunter, lean as a plank, he brought my pack.
I did not know know what to do or where to go. Like a dog following messages people cannot see, he walked over to this one small patch of rabbit bush, maybe just 4 or 5 feet around, three feet high, he smiled and said “Venga Aqui”,,laying curled up in the bush, like a big furry donut was my dead buck.
MR