The eerie howls of a tracking coyote or wolf started just after I scared the forest-cloaked deer off it’s hidden bed. It was slightly unnerving and part of me wondered if the second hunter would have better luck than me. It seemed pointless to stay where I was (with all the howling in the area). So, I slowly walked off the watch we call the ‘Grand Canyon’ and began to plan where I might hunt until dark. I picked up the pace of my slow retreat (and planning session) when the four legged hunter’s shrill voice began to change direction.

It sounded like it was getting closer. There was a quickening silence across the frosty beech leaves I was walking on as I stopped to listen.

I remember muttering under my breath, “No way. There is no way that wolf is coming my way.” The freezing air made my whispered words come to life as they were whisked away in wintry condensation. Instinctively, my finger reached for the safety on my rifle as I waited for another howling volley from the beast.

It came sure enough and it sounded closer. Much closer and more excited.

I shrugged it off as coincidence and continued my hurried walk towards a tree stand at the ‘Evergreen’ watch. The homemade tree-stand, that dad made for this upcoming hunting season, was still a ridge and swampy ‘gut’ away. It did NOT feel close enough as I trudged through the frozen forest – with a potential bogey on my ’six’.

The animal’s next howl was close and loud. It was on top of the ridge I had just left and I hoped it would continue along the top of the ridge (dad if you are reading this – the mad howler was on the hydro line heading toward Aspdin) away from me. This would put me at the bottom of a capital “T” with the howling hunter in a travel line the same as the top of a capital “T”.

I stopped to catch my breath and hoped to confirm that the ‘following’ hunter would continue his tracking across the top of the ridge away from me. The sound of crunching leaves and another hair raising howl confirmed that my follower was coming off the ridge on MY trail and heading towards me!

I had become the hunted, and to be honest, fear began to trickle into my mind and my rising heart rate. I must have read ‘Peter and The Wolf‘ too many times as a kid. Quickly, I picked my way across the muddy low spot (known as the root gut) and hit the logging trail leading to the fortress on Mt. Evergreen Watch.

Now, I know what you veteran hunters and bushmen (and Dad) are thinking. You are thinking, “Bill…you were armed with a .308 rifle. Whatever is zeroing in on your trail is about to open up a can of lead ‘whoop’ butt from the barrel of your firearm. Suck it up!”

You would be right – but I wanted to pick ‘the ground’ this epic ‘hunter vs. hunter’ battle was going to happen on. My under pressure shooting has not always yielded great results.

When I hit the logging trail, I bolted for the tree stand some 75 yards away. Under the circumstances, I quickly debated whether or not I should unload my gun before I scampered up the tree-stand’s ladder. I had visions that a snarling, sharp-toothed, frothing-at-the-mouth creature could lunge at me at anytime. You will be proud to know that I decided to empty my magazine before I began my ascent up to the welcoming fortress.

Once at the top, I reloaded my gun and braced my arm against the the trunk of the tree and picked a spot on the trail through my scope. I could hear the sound of four legs splashing and struggling through the mud and water of the low spot I had just crossed.

I took a deep breath and waited.

A howl echoed across the snowy ridge I was fortified on and I knew the tracker was close.

I clicked off the safety on my gun and began to visualize the shot to a wolf’s front shoulder…

What happened next made me relieved and somewhat sheepish. A small beagle materialized on the trail. His wild sounding howl was nothing like the hound noises I was used to. I sat down with my back against the tree and laughed wondering how I was going to explain this one. The little hound came to the tree stand and began to paw at the wooden ladder. Looking down, I saw a beagle shaking and soaked to the core. I climbed out of the tree stand and clipped him in to a free strap I had on my back pack.

We walked back to camp together both slightly more happier to have a partner to walk with in the fading light. Dad listened to my ‘official’ story as we waited for the dog’s owner to pick it up. I left out the brisk run from the ‘root gut’ to the tree stand because I thought the little beagle (sleeping at my feet) was the big bad wolf.

I guess I’m no Peter.

The excitement of trophy class buck running by you is no different than a first chance buck that suddenly materializes in your line of fire. Disappointment was the last thing on my mind when I saw the spikehorn running towards me on the top of the ridge.

Monster snowflakes helped conceal my location on the ground. The falling snow also covered the noise of my trek across the crest of the ridge I was going to watch on. It was one of those cold, damp mornings that made getting out of your warm bunk seem like a bad idea. Until I saw the buck – I was still wondering why I bothered to wake up. I used my camera (video right) to record the misery of the morning I thought I was going to have. The video is just a quick pan looking down the ridge I was watching on.

About 2 minutes after I put my camera away, I spotted the the young buck running towards me at 40 – 50 yards. It had been startled from his evergreen hideout by dad approaching from the north end of the ridge. I could tell very quickly that this deer was only a spikehorn and somewhere between telling myself to calm down and take a deep breath – a brief debate raged in my mind. Do I pass up this shot and hope to see a larger buck in the two remaining days of my hunt? This thought was countered with the reality that we had yet to shoot a deer this week. It was far from a ‘buck of legend’ and I doubted there would be ’songs of victory’ sung for me at the hunt camp table.

Still. There he was coming closer. This first chance buck. He was preparing to jump to Mach 2.

Memories of past hunts with the guys began to flash into my mind. The excitement of hearing shots fired, the thrill of radio chatter announcing that a deer was down, the camaraderie of processing the deer and dragging it through thick forest undergrowth to a waiting ATV, the satisfaction of a freezer full of meat that you played a part in preparing  are all things that make a hunt worth of memory. They are all things that occur despite the size or gender of the deer.

It was decided.

The silent debate in my mind ended as I placed the crosshair just behind the spike’s shoulder. Three shots thundered across the ridge and the first chance buck fell. Elsewhere on the ridge, cold hunters turned up their radios and listened for 2 words that would warm their memory makers,

“Buck Down.”

*it turns out this was the only ethical shot deer I saw this rifle season.

Two days after Kyle missed the ‘Brow Tine’ Buck, the huge buck returned to the same location and left a glamour shot on Kyle’s trail cam.

You can see from the photo how close Kyle came to bagging the large buck that was at the bottom of a steep ridge when Kyle shot. If the wound wasn’t from a ‘rut fight’ – Kyle’s near miss is heart breaking.

Here is what Kyle had to say,

… I  have been trying to decide if I was going to show anyone else this picture since I got it yesterday afternoon - it’s a whitetail hunter’s worsed case scenario.  This picture was taken 26 hours after I missed it on Tuesday night… It’s back out and there and there is at least 6 other bucks in the area.  It’s part of hunting – so thats why i decided to send it on.  Maybe,  some of your Bloggers can get something out of it. The only thing I can suggest is to always aim lower on a steep ridge. My only comment is “What a tough old buck”.

Thanks for the photos Kyle. I’ll keep my eyes open for this buck this weekend. Where is Heartbreak Ridge again…?

Night two of our deer hunt had Kyle in face-to-face encounter with the brow tine buck! Unfortunately, round 1 went to the giant buck.

Instead of setting up his stand at the bottom of the ridge (where he normally does) he ‘watched’ at the top of the ridge. As fate would have it, the monster buck showed up with a ‘doe in tow’ at the bottom of the ridge. Kyle was able to see the buck make a scrape and waited for him to present a good shot. At 75 yards (and uphill), Kyle shot – and missed. The buck vanished into the fading light.

This has been the highlight of our week so far – despite the fact that I have not seen any deer yet. Our sightings are now at 6 deer. Howie missed two deer yesterday afternoon. We are seeing more fresh scrapes as the week progresses. This could indicate that the pre-rut is heating up.

Remember you can follow my real-time hunting updates on my twitter account @muskokaoutdoors.

*the brow tine buck photo was captured last year on Kyle’s trail cam

The coyotes came within feet of dad and I. It was too dark to see them – but we could hear them walking!

It all started late into a week of deer camp. While walking from different directions, dad and I were returning from our evening watches on a cool, crisp November evening. The walk back to the cabin was dead quiet until a few hundred yards from the cabin. That was when our ‘new to the neighborhood’ coyotes started filling the still air with their eerie howls. The hair on the back neck tingled as I picked up the pace to catch a glimpse of the the cabin’s porch light.

This was always welcome sight on the lonely walks back from an evening deer stand.

During my brisk walk to the cabin, I theorized that the howling brush wolves were somewhere near Spier’s swamp. Fortunately, that location was opposite to the direction I was heading in. I released the grip on my rifle slightly in response this prediction about the coyotes location.

After several minutes, I made it back to the cabin and sat under the inviting glow of the porch’s dim light and listened more closely to the wild orchestra now playing before me. Within minutes of my arrival, Dad returned to camp and after we unloaded our guns and put them in the cabin (legal shooting time was over) we returned back outside to the porch.

That’s when dad whispered, “Why don’t you give them a howl?”

Hesitantly, I put my hands to my mouth and tried to mimic what I was hearing. The rustic music paused for a few moments. Then, silence.

Then…

Mom’s chili kicked in! Just kidding.

Then, surprisingly, one of the coyotes responded. After a few more minutes, the concert began again. Only this time much closer.

Dad said in a low voice, “Again.”

I let out another sudden solo and abruptly the music ended again.

Time passed.

Like the first time, it started up again even closer. Much closer.

Dad didn’t have to ask me a third time. I ripped out a howl and waited with baited breath for the results. This time we could hear the coyotes breaking and snapping branches within several feet of myself, dad and the old cabin porch. It was too dark to see anything but their they were – walking amongst the black tangled mess of the forest’s undergrowth.

Unfortunately, as soon as we noticed they were there – watching us. They silently crept away back into the night. The night time sounds of the forest returned with the wolves’ backstage exit. Dad and I retreated to the cabin in silence.

We both knew it would be an uneasy walk to the outhouse.

*coyote photo from wikipedia

West of Spiers’ pond is a ridge of beech trees. They are on the east side of the pond and they are right in the middle of one of our deer runs. The plan was for me to walk with ‘Bella’ (ye old trusty hound) north around the pond and along the ridge. The goal was to push deer off the ridge and along the pond to strategic points on the north and west sections of the pond.

After a half hour wait in solitude (except for an anxious hunting dog), I started the trek north. Bella, ranged on all sides of me as I walked. Things were looking good.

That was until I reached a stand of Beech trees. Then, things got interesting.

As I pushed through some evergreens and walked into an opening of beech trees I got that ’someone’s watching me feeling’. The dog felt it too because she stopped suddenly and began growling. I pulled my gun up a little closer to my shoulder (though not in a firing position) and waited. That’s when I heard some ‘crashing’ through some evergreens ahead of us. The dog stopped growling and began sniffing the ground again. I eased up on my gun and began to look curiously at the beech trees in front of me.

It was obvious that a bear had just been up it as there were fresh claw marks going up to the top of the tree. I had seen those before in other trees in our hunting area. What I had not seen before were all the leaves around the base of the trees had been pushed away into a ring that surrounded it. Picture a large donut on the ground with this beech tree coming out of the hole in the center. There were other beech trees in the area with the same pile of leaves. Bear tracks were clearly visible in the leaf-free dirt.

Nervously, I began to walk again as I did not want to let the guys down who were waiting across the pond. About 25 yards later, I came across another grouping of beech trees with the same leafy formations. A splash of black grabbed my attention, to my right, as I snapped my gun up to my shoulder. My heartbeat gave away my position.

It was nothing. Just bear shadows.

I didn’t have a tag for those.

This time the dog walked over tight behind me and stood there panting. It was like she had enough of this.

So, I pulled my hunter’s prerogative card and cut west and low to the pond. I got no arguments from Bella. She was already ranging between the swamp grass and the pond’s evergreens.

Over dinner, I explained to the guys what I had seen – leaving out the part about my slight course change. After supper, I stepped outside to visit the outhouse and Bella followed. She had to do her thing. Upon returning to the cabin deck, I reached down to scratch an itch on my ankle and I pulled off a beech nut from my sock.

I threw it out into the darkness. Seconds later, I heard some branches breaking. Bella and I looked at each other and walked back into the light and warmth waiting just behind the cabin door.

The glow of the woodstove kept the bear shadows outside.

*If you have read this before that’s because I have been occasionally reposting some of my favorite posts from when my blog was just starting out. This way, some of my, ‘buried’, posts may get read by my newer visitors.