Rack Magazine

Being called a fair-weather hunter isn’t all bad.

Opening day of Indiana’s 2013 firearms season was one of the most memorable days of my life, but not for the reason you’d think. My oldest daughter was married that day, and the entire extended family was in town to join us in celebration.

I have to admit, though, that the wedding was not the only thing on my mind as we were decorating the church and readying everything else.

Deer hunting (bow and firearm) has always been part of my life, so as soon as the “I dos” were said and the happy couple was off to their honeymoon, my mind shifted gears to a buck I’d encountered two weeks earlier while bowhunting.

The only problem was time. Because I’d missed so many hours at work, I really needed to put shoulder to grindstone. Resuming my hunt for that buck would have to wait until the next weekend.

But I couldn’t get the deer out of my head.

On the day we met, I’d climbed into a favorite stand at the edge of a small swamp on the family farm. It was the first week of the rut, so I’d laid down a trail with doe-in-estrus scent.

Eventually, I spotted a nice healthy doe. She was grunting repeatedly and deeply, or at least that’s what I thought until I realized her mouth was closed. That was easy to tell because she was only 10 yards from my stand.

As I scanned the woods behind her, I saw the source: a mature buck 30 yards to her rear. Its antlers looked fairly thick and tall from the front. And when it turned its head for a few seconds, there were too many tines to count on the right side.

I’d never seen photographs of that buck on my trail camera. It was definitely the biggest, live free-roaming buck I’d ever seen!

Forty yards — even at a broadside target — is slightly beyond my comfort range with a bow, however. So I waited, and I never got another chance before the doe led it back into the swamp, away from me. I spent the remaining half-hour of dusk hoping they’d return.

When I got home, I told my 14-year-old daughter and hunting partner, Elizabeth, that I saw a buck that had to have had 15 points.

I never did collect a photo of it, and I never saw it again while bowhunting.

The weather forecast on Wednesday evening, Nov. 20, promised certain rain for the weekend. It was like a dagger in the heart to think that the firearms season was approaching the halfway point, and that harsh weather was going to make things difficult on the only weekend I could hunt.

I am fortunate, though, to work for a company that extends a reasonable amount of flexibility as far as scheduling, so I decided to squeeze in a hunt before work the next morning, Nov. 21.

Since other hunters had mentioned that the rut seemed to be lingering, I decided to apply a small amount of doe-in-estrus scent to the bottom of one boot every 70 or 80 yards during the last 400 yards to my stand.

The wind was wrong to hunt the closer, original swamp stand.

The morning was overcast and still, and the temperature was about 40 degrees. Soon after settling in, I heard a buck grunting. It was the same tone and cadence — once or twice every 30 to 40 seconds — I’d heard when I saw the big one during bow season.

I had no idea where it was.

After several minutes — an eternity — it sounded like the deer was right on top of me. Frantically, I looked everywhere. I saw nothing until I glanced behind the tree. The deer was less than 8 yards away, nose to the ground, scraping at the swamp grass I had walked across to arrive at my stand.

I pulled my shotgun to my shoulder and found the deer in my scope, but all I could see was brown hair. I must have transitioned from looking over the top of my scope to looking through it three times before adjusting my aim and squeezing the trigger.

The buck collapsed, but regained its feet and took off running through the tall grass.

I don’t remember descending, just that I was suddenly on the ground, looking for sign, which looked very promising. I decided to wait in the nearby field before picking up the trail. And when I did, the search was short.

The buck had gone only 20 yards.

I had no idea how big it actually was until closer inspection revealed at least 18 points and exceptional mass. After looking at where this buck had come from, it appeared as if it had followed my tracks directly to my stand, obviously trailing the doe scent.

I called Dusty, my brother and longtime hunting buddy, and described the buck. He immediately grabbed his camera, picked up our dad and drove down from Michigan to help me celebrate this magnificent creature.

I also texted a picture of the buck to my wife, who was at a work-related meeting. When she saw the photo, she blurted out, “Oh my word!” while the special guest was speaking. The entire meeting was disrupted as all the men had to see the buck on her phone.

I went to work VERY late, but my excuse was more than enough to get me off the hook when the boss saw the picture and sent it to his friends.

I told my middle daughter Melinda that when I walked up on the deer for the first time, I exclaimed, “Dear Jesus!”

She laughed, and said, “Well, that’s his name: DEERJESUS!”

Silly girl. Now, Mark Freshour with Wall Hangers Taxidermy calls the buck Deerjesus. I'm not sure how appropriate that is, but it makes me laugh all the same.                             

Hunter: Darren Schrock
BTR Score: 199 7/8
Shotgun
Irregular

– Photos Courtesy Darren Schrock

This article was published in the August 2014 edition of Rack Magazine. Subscribe today to have Rack Magazine delivered to your home.

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