A Woman’s Intuition

There is always a bit of regret.

Now, Shelley isn't your average nimrod. She has a few "tendencies" that are, well, let's call them "unusual". Among them, and most prominent, is the desire to hunt one weekend a year - a single day is generally preferable. In addition, due to her night-time work schedule, she insists that we hunt afternoons. Understandably, getting up before dawn when you had gone to bed just a few hours before is not enjoyable!

Many of us “real” hunters would scoff at such foolishness but I have been silenced by decades of Shelley's success. For, most of the years we have hunted together, she generally fills her tag ON the day she decides to hunt. Shelley is a savvy huntress, she knows the November rut, weather, and whitetail tendencies. But there is an uncanny side, a “woman's intuition” about it, as well.

SET-UP: There was an unusually spectacular full moon during the week. I had learned many years ago that heading into the fields and forests in the pre-dawn glow of morning is generally a fruitless endeavor during a bright moon phase. Not due to some sort of mystic combination of biology and lunar phases but, simply, deer activity. My experience has demonstrated that deer frolic and feed during these moonlit nights and head to their bedding quarters long before the sun creeps over the horizon.

Increased activity under cover of darkness and ceasing pre-dawn increases the length of time they are bedded. If they deem the surroundings safe, deer will get up in mid-day to stretch and feed a little - especially if it is cold. The plan is to sit, wait, and watch a location that has good bedding cover and a nearby (secluded) source of food - say, an old apple tree lost to years and deep in a thicket. You may also catch them moving to staging areas; places where they can watch the night-time feeding areas as they prepare for the moon to rise. It is my experience that you will very likely see deer movement during the late afternoon under these conditions.

THE HUNT: So, setting off in the early afternoon on our ATV, we got as close as comfort would allow to the south-facing rim of a wide drainage. Shelley would hike in from there. She is very familiar with this place; thanks to gracious landowners, she has visited this area for decades. It’s almost a mile from the spot she had hunted for so many years that the landowners even referred to it as the “Shelley Bowl”. But, today, that intuition I mentioned tells her that this other broad expanse is where she wanted to hunt.

One of many bucks the “Shelley Bowl” has provided over the years - 2005.

The north-facing slope across from where Shelley would take up her vigil has patches of dense hawthorn, multiflora rose, and fruit trees such as apple; the trickling creek at its base providing water year-round. There are small openings and trails that offer sightings of movement and an opportunity for a well-placed shot. To prevent any unnecessary disturbance, I would loop around about a half-mile up to cross the drainage near its beginning. From there, I travel over the ridge, that Shelley faces, to hunt large islands of hawthorn brush in a sea of stubbled wheat.

I had shut-down the ATV and began a stealthy advance toward the cover I intended to slip into. I could just see the tops of hawthorn brush along the steep slopes when I heard the lone report of Shelley’s Savage bolt-action chambered in 7mm-08. Both gun and caliber have served her well over the years. “Okay, so now I have to periodically check my phone,” I thought with a grin while continuing my slow advance.

There was a good trail that would allow quiet passage. I had just entered the brush when a second shot echoed across the landscape. Checking my cell as I sat, I noticed that Shelley had already tried to call once and now began to text, “I got a buck down”! 

“That’s crazy!” I thought as I tapped out a reply. Shelley’s response, “I shot again. It’s in the brush. I need you”!  I returned to the draw; across from where I had last seen Shelley. After a rather lengthy discussion over the phone, I finally located her standing in the open, waving an orange shirt in the bright sun like a like a fanatic at a football game. It was remarkably odd that I could not seem to locate the spectacle on an open hillside. Shelley was not amused with my inability to find her. Well, I thought it was funny, anyway.

With hand signals and the occasional verbal prompt, Shelley had me close enough that I could hear the buck’s movement through the thick jungle of vegetation – even got a quick glimpse. I had gotten below where the buck had bedded; causing it to amble up-slope through dense cover. It stepped through a tangle of plum trees and brush; I dropped to one knee hoping for a quick shot! “Dang, gone again”!

The wounded buck made its way up to the field edge above me and over the stubble field that I had just crossed. The sun struck Shelley’s scope in such a way that prevented any sensible shooting opportunity as it limped over the ridge and from sight. I made my way back up to the four-wheeler and proceeded with a plan.

I knew the buck was injured and figured that it will look to bed-down. The hillside beyond was dotted with those islands of cover that would beckon a wounded buck looking for rest and recovery. The first patch resembled an eyebrow; approaching it along the uphill side would offer a better perspective for shooting. That was the plan but even I would be surprised by the results.

Making my way along the steep stubbled slope, I approached that first patch of brush. Almost instantly, I spied the silhouette of a bedded buck and was stunned that it was just lying there less than twenty yards below me! The rifle slung across my back and the machine beneath me wanting to roll backwards down the hill - I was in no position to take a quick shot! I affixed the brake and pulled the slung rifle over my head, knocking my cap to the ground in the process. I slapped the (Winchester) Featherweight’s safety forward as I brought the scope to my right eye! Amazingly, after all the gyrations, the buck was still there; bedded lying away - tail toward, head on the far end - looking back over its body at me…

“Did you get it”?!! Shelley’s text was surprisingly fast after hearing my ott-six’s loud report. Shaded from the sun all day, the frozen ground caused unsettled steps as I made my way down the slope. Cautiously, after making certain that the buck would not rise again like some sort of deer zombie, I sent Shelley a photo; “That it?” I asked. She was understandably excited and wanted to know where I was, how to get there, and could I come get her?!

SHELLEY’S STORY: As it turned out, she had spotted the buck soon after reaching the edge of the draw. As predicted, it was feeding in a small opening about two hundred yards across the draw and had no idea she was there. That gave her time to set up for her shot. Since she had shot the deer while I was still enroute on the ATV, she figured (correctly) I hadn’t heard her first actual attempt. The first shot I heard was really her second shot; an attempt to get my attention. The second shot I heard was her third; an attempt at the buck as it moved to another location. That’s when the texting began.

“Why does it take you guys so many days to harvest a deer”?

SUMMARY: It generally doesn’t work out, you know. The planning and presupposing; wildlife often elude our best laid plans. From choosing a day and time based on the conditions, the location having everything a deer needs, catching a nice buck unaware of your presence and taking a settled shot; these things just don’t line up this way – for most of us, most of the time.

Now, add to that the final recovery strategy working-out as planned and now you understand what it’s like to hunt with Shelley. I haven’t figured out just what to call it but I have long-since stopped calling it, “Luck”.