by Kevin Reese
Published by the Union Sportsmen’s Alliance - August, 2008 Newsletter – www.UnionVoice.org
The subzero wind bit at my lips and earlobes, and I questioned my choice in attire as I forged on toward my quarry. The Montana sky, aglow with stars and moonlight, lit the alfalfa field with a silver hue. Distant antlers moved in the silver mist, adding to my excitement as I hurried into position. The crisp air magnified the sharp sounds of clashing antlers in the distance as my binoculars recorded the early morning antics of two bucks mid-field. A young buck with squatty antlers charged out of the field at a healthy trot. Even at 300 yards, the sound of his hooves seemed to echo against the ice-laden ground.
As the sun rose, I realized a vital mistake. An irrigation ditch 100 yards out interrupted what should have been a clean 300 yard shot. Traversing the field now posed quite a problem, and there was no way to get in position quickly as the deer began to move. I dropped my gear and bulky parka and rolled onto my belly. I began my painfully slow stalk in a low crawl, dragging my body across the ground with a range finder in one hand and rifle in the other. Unfortunately, I was not in the same shape as my Marine Corps days, and the 100 yards I now traversed seemed exponentially more painful than the 200 yard crawls of years past.
Clouds of breath rose above me as I strained and clawed to the top edge of the irrigation ditch, carefully peering over. At 200 yards and 220 pounds, his graying frame and mature gait assured me that he was a mature buck, though he lacked some height and width on his beautiful, nearly symmetrical rack. I slid back down the embankment and wiped the fog from my glasses. I clawed back up in time to see him dip his head before my glasses fogged up again! I slid back down the embankment and wiped them off. Peering over the edge once again, I was horrified to see that the buck was heading away from me. At 200 yards, he stopped to feed for just a moment. I held my breath at a natural pause as I placed my crosshairs behind his front shoulder and squeezed the trigger. The bullet shot directly to his boiler room. He didn’t take a step.
The stalk and the quick harvest made for one of my most memorable hunts. The stalk was, and still is, by far the toughest stalk I’ve engaged in. The hunt was magnificent! Was it a trophy? For me, yes. I found him, stalked him, and used every ounce of energy to harvest him. He only measured 17” inside, but he made great table fare for the family.
Moreover, during that hunt, I spent quality time with quality people, family. Hunting is more than a passion for us; it’s more than an obsession. For us, it is living the gifted life worth living. That buck, that story, that adventure—that is my life worth living. What’s yours?
Original URL: http://www.unionvoice.org/unionsportsmen/October_08_Newsletter_clone.html?member_key=nar75k7it7&
Kevin Reese is a Freelance Outdoor Writer/Photographer
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