GAHUNTER60
Senior Member
Many years ago, my hunting buddy and I rode together to our lease on the morning of the first doe day (back when we only got two either sex days in the first season). When we retrieved our rifles from the truck to go to our stands, he let out a series of choice words when he discovered that he had left the magazine to his Remington 742 at home. After offering him my spare rifle to hunt with (an open-sighted Marlin 336C in .35 Rem.), he decided that he would just go to his stand and hunt with his rifle as a single shot. About an hour after daylight, a shot rang out from his direction, and, sure enough, he killed a fat doe.
Just because he was successful that morning didn't keep me from teasing him for the next 15 or so years about his hunt preparation. I would still be teasing him had he not passed away, unexpectedly, about 18 years ago, ironically at his deer camp!
What brings this to mind is what happened a week ago, Friday. I had invited a friend to my present lease in Morgan County. He's very new to the sport and not well outfitted for hunting, so I spent a lot of time loading the SUV with everything either of us would need: two knives, a gallon of wash-up water, hand cleaner, a roll of paper towels, two pull up ropes, Three LED flashlights, a Coleman lantern (for following blood after dark), a receiver hitch luggage carrier to transport our kill -- I'd rather have it and not need it, than need it and not have it!
The last thing I grabbed was my rifle case containing my custom .358 Winchester, Remington Model 600 carbine and a box of .358 Winchester 225-grain handloads. I picked up my buddy at his house in Snellville, and an hour later, we were on the property, getting ready to head to the woods. I was acting like a mother hen making sure he had everything he needed for the afternoon hunt, before sending him to his stand (like I said, he is new to the sport). When I was satisfied that I had him properly squared away, I started unloading my gear from the truck. I unzipped my rifle case, pulled the gun out and laid it on the hood. That's when I did a double take!
Instead of looking at a wood-stocked Model 600, I was looking as a synthetic stocked, bright stainless steel Ruger M-77, Mark II. Then it hit me: my son's Ruger in .260 Rem. was in the same corner of my den in an identical case as my Model 600, and I had grabbed it by mistake. What I didn't have was any .260 ammo! You think my friend 30 years ago let out some choice words, they were nothing compared to the tirade I let out.
Well, when I calmed down, I told my buddy that I would take him to his stand and come back to the truck and wait on him to finish the hunt. But he had another idea: "You know that stand is a two-person stand" he said. "Why don't you sit with me and help me spot deer?" Since I really didn't have anything better to do, I agreed, and 10 minutes later we were side-by-side 16 feet up a ladder stand. As his wife said when he face-timed her right after got settled, we were very romantic looking!
We had not been there ten minutes, when a big doe comes tripping down the trail in front of us. For some reason, though before my buddy could shoot her, she veered into a thicket and disappeared. I felt that there was a good chance that she was being pushed by a buck, due to the fact that she was alone, and was traveling, not feeding. I told my buddy to be ready. I was right!
30 minutes later, a buck comes out, nose down, trailing the doe. A quick glance at it showed that it was a shooter, and I told my buddy to take him. Fortunately, he stopped broadside about 70 yards out, right where the doe made her turn. My buddy was ready and squeezed off the 150-grain Power Point loaded in his .308.
At the report, the deer jumped, and came down on its chest, and pushed, using its hind legs, into the thicket. I could tell that at least one leg was broken, and assumed he wouldn't go far. He didn't. We found him, dead as a hammer, about 30 yards into the thicket. The buck was a 16-inch, nine pointer. Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on your point of view), the bullet had broken both shoulders before stopping under the skin on the off shoulder. There was not one single drop of blood leading to where he died.
Frankly, I really enjoyed being a "guide" for a new hunter as he took his first buck (he killed a doe out of the same stand last season). He was as happy as if the deer was a Booner. But still, I would rather have been in the woods elsewhere trying to make my own magic.
I'm sure that my old friend was looking down from heaven and laughing at me, considering the hard time I gave him for all those years. "Just wait," he's saying. "Just wait 'til you get here. Your are never going to live down the day you showed up to hunt deer with nothing more lethal than a knife. At least my rifle would still shoot, but there was no way you were going to fire .358 ammo from a .260. You know, that was really dumb!"
Oh well, as they say: Karma's a, well, you know!
Just because he was successful that morning didn't keep me from teasing him for the next 15 or so years about his hunt preparation. I would still be teasing him had he not passed away, unexpectedly, about 18 years ago, ironically at his deer camp!
What brings this to mind is what happened a week ago, Friday. I had invited a friend to my present lease in Morgan County. He's very new to the sport and not well outfitted for hunting, so I spent a lot of time loading the SUV with everything either of us would need: two knives, a gallon of wash-up water, hand cleaner, a roll of paper towels, two pull up ropes, Three LED flashlights, a Coleman lantern (for following blood after dark), a receiver hitch luggage carrier to transport our kill -- I'd rather have it and not need it, than need it and not have it!
The last thing I grabbed was my rifle case containing my custom .358 Winchester, Remington Model 600 carbine and a box of .358 Winchester 225-grain handloads. I picked up my buddy at his house in Snellville, and an hour later, we were on the property, getting ready to head to the woods. I was acting like a mother hen making sure he had everything he needed for the afternoon hunt, before sending him to his stand (like I said, he is new to the sport). When I was satisfied that I had him properly squared away, I started unloading my gear from the truck. I unzipped my rifle case, pulled the gun out and laid it on the hood. That's when I did a double take!
Instead of looking at a wood-stocked Model 600, I was looking as a synthetic stocked, bright stainless steel Ruger M-77, Mark II. Then it hit me: my son's Ruger in .260 Rem. was in the same corner of my den in an identical case as my Model 600, and I had grabbed it by mistake. What I didn't have was any .260 ammo! You think my friend 30 years ago let out some choice words, they were nothing compared to the tirade I let out.
Well, when I calmed down, I told my buddy that I would take him to his stand and come back to the truck and wait on him to finish the hunt. But he had another idea: "You know that stand is a two-person stand" he said. "Why don't you sit with me and help me spot deer?" Since I really didn't have anything better to do, I agreed, and 10 minutes later we were side-by-side 16 feet up a ladder stand. As his wife said when he face-timed her right after got settled, we were very romantic looking!
We had not been there ten minutes, when a big doe comes tripping down the trail in front of us. For some reason, though before my buddy could shoot her, she veered into a thicket and disappeared. I felt that there was a good chance that she was being pushed by a buck, due to the fact that she was alone, and was traveling, not feeding. I told my buddy to be ready. I was right!
30 minutes later, a buck comes out, nose down, trailing the doe. A quick glance at it showed that it was a shooter, and I told my buddy to take him. Fortunately, he stopped broadside about 70 yards out, right where the doe made her turn. My buddy was ready and squeezed off the 150-grain Power Point loaded in his .308.
At the report, the deer jumped, and came down on its chest, and pushed, using its hind legs, into the thicket. I could tell that at least one leg was broken, and assumed he wouldn't go far. He didn't. We found him, dead as a hammer, about 30 yards into the thicket. The buck was a 16-inch, nine pointer. Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on your point of view), the bullet had broken both shoulders before stopping under the skin on the off shoulder. There was not one single drop of blood leading to where he died.
Frankly, I really enjoyed being a "guide" for a new hunter as he took his first buck (he killed a doe out of the same stand last season). He was as happy as if the deer was a Booner. But still, I would rather have been in the woods elsewhere trying to make my own magic.
I'm sure that my old friend was looking down from heaven and laughing at me, considering the hard time I gave him for all those years. "Just wait," he's saying. "Just wait 'til you get here. Your are never going to live down the day you showed up to hunt deer with nothing more lethal than a knife. At least my rifle would still shoot, but there was no way you were going to fire .358 ammo from a .260. You know, that was really dumb!"
Oh well, as they say: Karma's a, well, you know!
