ryanh487
Senior Member
My Granpa passed away a few years back after a long struggle with cancer. A few months before he passed, he took me out to lunch and gave me his deer rifle, a Birmingham Arms .243 with a Weaver 4x scope that my grandmother had bought him decades ago. He had only ever killed 2 deer with it, and told me it was mine now and to put one on the wall for him. After he passed, I kept the gun oiled and safe in it's case for a few years, scared to take it out to the woods. But I let the shooting forum talk me into taking it for a spin on the range, and I decided that I would try to kill a deer with it like my Grandpa wanted.
I've been trying to get my wife her first deer for a while now, with no luck, and we were supposed to go hunt the big food plot on my deer club Sunday afternoon. She was feeling a little under the weather, and since she knew I was itching to get to the stand after 3 weeks of not being able to go, she sent me off on my own. I decided to take the .243.
Right as I parked the jeep to start walking to the stand, it started raining. Just a light mist. I walked to the field and climbed into the elevated box and got situated. It was beautiful - gray skies, birds chirping, and the wind and rain just loud enough to drown out any hint of the noise of nearby civilization. About 4:10, I looked into the faaaaar corner of the field and saw what was definitely a buck coming down the bush hogged shooting lane. I couldn't tell how big he was, but I saw antler to the ears and sticking up past them, and made a quick decision that he was a shooter--especially with an empty freezer.
In the back of my head, I remembered that I had lasered that corner of the field from the box before and it was 230 yards. Buck fever made me forget that I was only shooting a .243, and when the deer stopped to make a scrape I fumbled the safety off and found him in the scope. As soon as he twisted his shoulders broadside and lifted his head to start licking the branch above, I centered the crosshairs with his front left leg and about 2/3 up his body, hoping for a high shoulder shot.
I squeezed the trigger, and he bucked hard, stumbled, and ducked into a low run into the thick. As soon as he did, the bottom fell out and the gentle mist turned into heavy rain for about 10 minutes. I was very nervous at this point, because I knew I had hit him, but not quite where I was aiming (he would have dropped otherwise), and now the rain was going to wash away any blood trail. I got down as soon as the rain let up a little, and started my search. No blood, and every trail I followed into the thick seemed to dead-end into a wall of briars and branches. I was very frustrated.
I spent about an hour trying to search the thick, but it was just too heavy to maneuver through. I decided I better call a dog.
I got on GON and called every dog within 2 counties of my club, and much to my dismay, everyone was either unavailable to come that night, unwilling to travel out of their county, or didn't return my call. Another club member and I went back and searched for about another hour in the dark, still with no luck, and decided we better pull out so we didn't mess things up for a dog. I ended up talking more with Steven Daily, and since both of us had to work all day Monday, we arranged to meet up last night (Monday) and go search after dark.
Steven, his partner (son? Friend? sorry I'm horrible with names and only remember Steven's because I saved it that way in my phone from the tracking list...), and his dog met me last night, and headed to the site of the kill. His dog did a few circles and then led us into the thick. We turned off the flashlights while he searched, and after a few minutes he came back. We turned the lights back on and followed him, and a short 30 yards away he led us through a blow-down and to my buck tangled up in vines and branches, hanging by his rack.
Turns out the round had hit about 2" lower than where I was aiming, but a high shoulder shot turned into a perfect heart/lung shot. The bullet had not penetrated, and came to rest under the skin about mid-ribcage on the opposite side--hence the lack of blood. He hadn't gone far, but it was so thick back there that if you didn't know exactly where the deer was, you weren't going to find it.
They helped me drag the deer out, and convinced me to try and salvage the meat. Unfortunately, I started skinning the deer out and the rancid smell from the hams about knocked me over. The low 50 degree temps and rain from Sunday didn't preserve the meat. I was bummed, but at least I'll have a pretty euro mount to hang over a picture of Grandpa with his two that he killed in Texas back in the day.
I've been trying to get my wife her first deer for a while now, with no luck, and we were supposed to go hunt the big food plot on my deer club Sunday afternoon. She was feeling a little under the weather, and since she knew I was itching to get to the stand after 3 weeks of not being able to go, she sent me off on my own. I decided to take the .243.
Right as I parked the jeep to start walking to the stand, it started raining. Just a light mist. I walked to the field and climbed into the elevated box and got situated. It was beautiful - gray skies, birds chirping, and the wind and rain just loud enough to drown out any hint of the noise of nearby civilization. About 4:10, I looked into the faaaaar corner of the field and saw what was definitely a buck coming down the bush hogged shooting lane. I couldn't tell how big he was, but I saw antler to the ears and sticking up past them, and made a quick decision that he was a shooter--especially with an empty freezer.
In the back of my head, I remembered that I had lasered that corner of the field from the box before and it was 230 yards. Buck fever made me forget that I was only shooting a .243, and when the deer stopped to make a scrape I fumbled the safety off and found him in the scope. As soon as he twisted his shoulders broadside and lifted his head to start licking the branch above, I centered the crosshairs with his front left leg and about 2/3 up his body, hoping for a high shoulder shot.
I squeezed the trigger, and he bucked hard, stumbled, and ducked into a low run into the thick. As soon as he did, the bottom fell out and the gentle mist turned into heavy rain for about 10 minutes. I was very nervous at this point, because I knew I had hit him, but not quite where I was aiming (he would have dropped otherwise), and now the rain was going to wash away any blood trail. I got down as soon as the rain let up a little, and started my search. No blood, and every trail I followed into the thick seemed to dead-end into a wall of briars and branches. I was very frustrated.
I spent about an hour trying to search the thick, but it was just too heavy to maneuver through. I decided I better call a dog.
I got on GON and called every dog within 2 counties of my club, and much to my dismay, everyone was either unavailable to come that night, unwilling to travel out of their county, or didn't return my call. Another club member and I went back and searched for about another hour in the dark, still with no luck, and decided we better pull out so we didn't mess things up for a dog. I ended up talking more with Steven Daily, and since both of us had to work all day Monday, we arranged to meet up last night (Monday) and go search after dark.
Steven, his partner (son? Friend? sorry I'm horrible with names and only remember Steven's because I saved it that way in my phone from the tracking list...), and his dog met me last night, and headed to the site of the kill. His dog did a few circles and then led us into the thick. We turned off the flashlights while he searched, and after a few minutes he came back. We turned the lights back on and followed him, and a short 30 yards away he led us through a blow-down and to my buck tangled up in vines and branches, hanging by his rack.
Turns out the round had hit about 2" lower than where I was aiming, but a high shoulder shot turned into a perfect heart/lung shot. The bullet had not penetrated, and came to rest under the skin about mid-ribcage on the opposite side--hence the lack of blood. He hadn't gone far, but it was so thick back there that if you didn't know exactly where the deer was, you weren't going to find it.
They helped me drag the deer out, and convinced me to try and salvage the meat. Unfortunately, I started skinning the deer out and the rancid smell from the hams about knocked me over. The low 50 degree temps and rain from Sunday didn't preserve the meat. I was bummed, but at least I'll have a pretty euro mount to hang over a picture of Grandpa with his two that he killed in Texas back in the day.
