Deer season this year saw me forced to shoot from my left shoulder/eye, as my dominant right eye was afflicted with cataracts bad enough to make seeing sights or crosshairs almost impossible. With surgery still months away, I had practiced all summer from the left side. I could put bullets where they needed to go, but I was slow getting off shots. When a nice 4x4 buck appeared only minutes into legal light on day 1, rutted up and hotfooting along on a scent trail, I simply could not get on him fast enough and he disappeared.
I sat on stand the rest of the day, and all the next day; too warm, clear, windless, with only a few deer seen. I amused myself by stewing about my clumsy first-day blunder. On day 3, the forecast called for cold air, wind and heavy snow to hit mid-day; when it struck I couldn't even see the ground beneath my stand, and headed indoors.
The next morning, a foot of snow lay on the ground, and it continued to fall but more gently than the previous day. I had high hopes as I hiked through still air and big flakes, moving silently on the soft white blanket. Tracks were everywhere; as I climbed into my stand I spotted several dark shapes moving across the field, barely visible against the white background. I was so pumped that I almost stopped thinking about the day 1 buck.
The sun came up and deer were constantly in sight; does, fawns, bucks. I was concerned not with shooting a deer, but rather with shooting too soon. I had my gun half-raised all the time, sighting on first one and then another gray form, checking my steadiness and sight picture. By 10:00am I had watched dozens of deer, and pretend-shot at least a third of them. When my head swiveled to the right for the 100th time, a big bodied deer was half-trotting into the field. I glassed him and saw the the same symmetrical 4x4 rack, the same little baby point near the distal end of the left antler, the same slightly bent larger right-hand brow tine. My day 1 nemesis was back.
But this time I quickly dropped the binoc, laid my cheek on the rifle stock, attained a not-too-clumsy shooting grip, slipped the safety, eyeballed him through the scope and bleated once. He didn't flinch, just kept coming, perfectly broadside at 100 yards. I bleated again, louder...no reaction. He could see several does in front of him in the field; why would he respond to an unseen and odd-sounding lady? With the crosshairs steady on his shoulder, I said loudly "Hey, stupid!"
He took the bullet hard, ran forward about 30 yards and crashed spectacularly in the deep snow. I giggled like a school girl, climbed down from my stand, and crashed somewhat less spectacularly in the deep snow. Then I went to tag the buck and grab my firewood sled to drag him to the house.
I sat on stand the rest of the day, and all the next day; too warm, clear, windless, with only a few deer seen. I amused myself by stewing about my clumsy first-day blunder. On day 3, the forecast called for cold air, wind and heavy snow to hit mid-day; when it struck I couldn't even see the ground beneath my stand, and headed indoors.
The next morning, a foot of snow lay on the ground, and it continued to fall but more gently than the previous day. I had high hopes as I hiked through still air and big flakes, moving silently on the soft white blanket. Tracks were everywhere; as I climbed into my stand I spotted several dark shapes moving across the field, barely visible against the white background. I was so pumped that I almost stopped thinking about the day 1 buck.
The sun came up and deer were constantly in sight; does, fawns, bucks. I was concerned not with shooting a deer, but rather with shooting too soon. I had my gun half-raised all the time, sighting on first one and then another gray form, checking my steadiness and sight picture. By 10:00am I had watched dozens of deer, and pretend-shot at least a third of them. When my head swiveled to the right for the 100th time, a big bodied deer was half-trotting into the field. I glassed him and saw the the same symmetrical 4x4 rack, the same little baby point near the distal end of the left antler, the same slightly bent larger right-hand brow tine. My day 1 nemesis was back.
But this time I quickly dropped the binoc, laid my cheek on the rifle stock, attained a not-too-clumsy shooting grip, slipped the safety, eyeballed him through the scope and bleated once. He didn't flinch, just kept coming, perfectly broadside at 100 yards. I bleated again, louder...no reaction. He could see several does in front of him in the field; why would he respond to an unseen and odd-sounding lady? With the crosshairs steady on his shoulder, I said loudly "Hey, stupid!"
He took the bullet hard, ran forward about 30 yards and crashed spectacularly in the deep snow. I giggled like a school girl, climbed down from my stand, and crashed somewhat less spectacularly in the deep snow. Then I went to tag the buck and grab my firewood sled to drag him to the house.
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